Page 117 of Wild Eyes
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SKYLAR
BREAKING NEWS: Skylar Stone is a stone-cold badass who completed her own album and released a banger of a single that everyone loves almost as much Weston Belmont, her number one fan.
I wakewith a start to a pitch-black room, light filtering in from the door that leads to the hall.
“Dad? Skylar?” Emmy’s sugary voice filters in from the bedroom door and I freeze.
West and I have been sleeping together for several weeks now, but it’s not something we’ve advertised to the kids. I must have passed out after sneaking in here.
We’ve been making up for lost time since I became a woman obsessed with getting him naked. Everything is hot and filthy between us, and I’ve never felt freer or safer to experiment with sex in my life.
He’s my new addiction.
The kids are back to school. The album is recorded. We released the first single almost immediately, and it was an instant fan favorite.
Once the words started flowing, they poured out of me like a faucet. The minute the studio was ready, Ford and I got busy making music. He brought in musicians. I brought the words. We worked like mad. It feels like we put our heads down to see what we could come up with and got so obsessed that by the time we looked up, we had an entire album.
Inspiration has never felt so consuming.
“Emmy?” I whisper back, hearing her feet pad across the floor as she approaches the bed.
He hasn’t said it to my face, but I know why he hasn’t outright told them. He told me once that he wasn’t going to bring someone into their life who was impermanent.
I know he thinks I’ll leave. Leave them all behind for the city lights. With my album recorded, it feels like we’re barreling toward that moment. But the longer I spend here, the more impossible it feels to leave.
Emmy’s small hand wraps around mine, and her voice cracks when she tells me, “I had a bad dream.”
“Hey, hey. That’s okay.” I push up on an elbow and reach forward to swipe a hand over her hair. “We all have bad dreams sometimes.”
What I don’t tell her is that my recurring one is about having to leave Rose Hill and going back to my old life. The one I dread. The one I’m more and more happy to leave behind.
“Can I come in with you?” I hesitate at that, and not because we haven’t been affectionate. Hell, she’s crashed in my room on more than one occasion. But with both West and myself in the bed, it feels infinitely more…family-like? And I don’t know if I fit into that.
All the same, she doesn’t seem alarmed to find me here.
“Of course. I’ll go back to my room so you can get in.”
West stirs and throws an arm over me as I lift the covers.
“Oh, no.” Emmy’s small hand lands on my forearm. “You probably had a bad dream too. You should stay.” Then she crawls up onto the bed, rolling herself over my body to wedge herself between West and me.
“I had a bad dream?” I whisper as she hunkers down.
“Yeah. You had a bad dream and came to my dad. He’s the best at making you feel all warm and happy inside.”
West’s deep chuckle rumbles across the sheets, and I can hear the smile in it.
And Emmy is right.
I feel warm and happy inside.
“Go to sleep, girls. No bad dreams allowed here,” West rasps sleepily as he edges back to make more room.
I feel like an interloper. Entirely out of place. Whenever I had a nightmare, my parents sent me back to bed, and the next day, I’d have to hear about how annoying it was that I woke them up. There were no 3 a.m. snuggles in the Stone household.
“I should go.”
