Page 94 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

The flash of a camera catches my attention, and my stomach drops.

I whip my head toward the door, where a man with a professional-grade camera stands, grinning like he’s just struck gold. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.

“Smile for the tabloids, Sam!” the guy shouts before darting out the door.

“Dammit, Bobbi Jo, I’m married,” I snap, stepping back from her. “What the hell was that?”

“What? I don’t see a ring on your finger.” She blinks, feigning innocence. “It was just a friendly kiss. Don’t be so uptight.”

“Friendly or not, that’s not the kind of attention I need right now,” I growl, grabbing the grain bags and heading for the door. “Not with a pregnant wife at home.”

Her voice follows me. “Lighten up, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

But as I load the grain into the truck, I can’t shake the sinking feeling in my chest. The last thing I need is a headline implying something is going on between me and Bobbi Jo. Especially not when Emily is already questioning my feelings for her.

The drive back to the farm feels longer than it should, my mind racing with what the fallout of that photo might be. By the time I get back and unload the truck, my phone is already lighting up with messages from Cass and others. The pictures have already hit social media. In this digital age, there’s no waiting for headlines.

With a frown and a heavy sigh, I call Emily.

“Hey,” I greet her, my voice hesitant. “It’s me.”

“Hi,” she replies, but her tone is sharp and cuts like a knife.

“I—uh, I guess you’ve seen the picture,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“Hard to miss it,” she says tightly. “Bobbi Jo’s quite the affectionate type, isn’t she?”

“Emily, it’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly. “She just showed up at the feed store, and—”

“I don’t need the play-by-play, Sam,” she interrupts, her voice cold. “I’ve got a lot going on here, and I don’t have time to deal with... this.”

Her words sting, but it’s the underlying hurt I can hear in her tone that really gets to me. “Emily, I swear—”

“I have to go,” she says abruptly. “Goodbye, Sam.”

The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone, the empty static filling the space where her voice should be. I let out a long breath, gripping the device tightly. She didn’t yell, didn’t accuse, but her silence spoke volumes, cutting deeper than anger would have. The hurt beneath her controlled words makes my chest ache, knowing I'm the cause of her pain. She’s upset, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it from here.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of chores and frustration. My dad notices my mood but doesn’t comment, giving me the space he knows I need. When I crawl into bed that night, my mind is still replaying Emily’s voice over and over, the distance between us feeling larger than ever.

The next morning, I wake up early and tell my dad I need to head home. He nods, his expression understanding. “Take care of your girls, Sam,” he says gruffly. “Emily and the baby.”

“I will,” I reply quietly.

The drive back to the beach house feels like an eternity, the miles stretching out endlessly. When I finally pull into the driveway,my heart sinks at the sight of the empty space where Emily’s car should be.

I sit in the truck for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Has she left me? The thought sends a wave of panic through me, and I practically jump out of the truck, rushing inside.

The house is eerily quiet. The only sound is the faint crash of waves outside. I check the living room and the kitchen, then head upstairs. Seeing her clothes still hanging in the closet makes me let out a shaky breath of relief.

Emily hasn’t left. Not yet.

I wander into the nursery, the soft yellow walls and neatly arranged furniture bringing a strange sense of comfort. I run a hand along the edge of the crib, the thought of our baby girl soothing me in a way nothing else can.

As I stand there, surrounded by all these tiny reminders of our future, the thought of losing Emily and our daughter makes it hard to breathe. This isn't just about a misunderstanding anymore—it's about our family.

The weight of everything—Emily’s hurt, the tabloids, the growing distance between us—settles heavily on my shoulders. I don’t know how to fix this, but I know one thing for sure.

I can’t lose her.

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