“I’ve never really thought of him that way. He’s just Dylan to me. His sister and I have been best friends since grade school.”
“Are you going to—”
“Please,” Dylan said, putting up a hand. “My publicist will issue a statement in the morning that will answer all of your questions. The movie is about to begin and my wife and I would like to enjoy the premiere together. Thank you.”
With bodyguards in front and behind him, Dylan moved through the crowd keeping Emma right by his side. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d make headlines and their secret marriage would be a thing of the past. He felt the loss in the pit of his stomach. He loved the anonymity, the intimacy of having Emma all to himself these past few days. Now the news would be out and their lives would change, once again. Lack of privacy was a penalty of fame and he accepted it graciously for himself, but there was Emma to consider now. And their baby.
“You handled yourself pretty damn well, Em,” he whispered in her ear.
“I winged it.”
“I like a woman who can think on her feet.”
He took her hand and entered the iconic movie theatre. It was one of the last few truly historic theatres in Los Angeles, with its plush red velvet seats, sculpted walls and miles and miles of curtains. “Well, what do you think?”
Her pretty green eyes took all of it in. He wanted so badly for Emma to experience the same sort of awe that he did. Moviemaking was in his blood. He was producing more and planned to continue to direct other projects in the future.
“I’ve never seen anything like this, Dylan. I can picture this theatre back in the day. All those classic movies flashing on that big screen. The actors, directors and producers who’ve taken their seats here. It’s all so...grand.”
He smiled. She got it. Emma was an amazing woman. He hadn’t lied to the press today. He was falling for her and it didn’t scare him, or make him nervous. Brooke had said Renee had scarred him for life, but maybe it had taken a woman like Emma to make him realize he was completely healed.
He kissed her cheek then, and she glanced up at him. “What was that for?”
“Can’t a man kiss his wife just because?”
She smiled and his heart warmed. He took her hand again. “C’mon, Mrs. McKay, there are bigwigs who would love to meet you. I guess we should get this over with before we take our seats.”
“I’m down with that,” she said. And he cracked up.
So far, marriage to Emma had been anything but dull.
Nine
“Honey, I’m home,” Dylan called out as he entered his house on Monday afternoon. He’d always wanted to say that, but now that he had, his wife was nowhere to be found. He was home fairly early from the set, though. He took a look at his phone and saw that she’d texted him.
I’ll be home a little late. Behind on work today. See you at 6ish.
Dylan was disappointed. Each day, he looked forward to coming home to Emma. He’d find her doing pregnancy exercises or poring over a book of baby names or helping Maisey make a healthy dinner for the two of them. Each day also brought him closer to fatherhood, something he discovered he could hardly wait for now. He and Emma had plans to design the nursery. It would be just another few weeks before they found out the sex of their baby.
“Emma’s not here, Dylan,” Maisey said, greeting him in the hallway off the kitchen. “I’ve got dinner ready. It’s in the oven, keeping warm. If you don’t need me, I’ll be heading home.”
“Thanks, Maisey. Sure, go on home. I might as well take a run. Emma’s going to be a little late.”
“Have a good evening, then,” Maisey said.
He waved goodbye and dashed up the stairs to change his clothes.
A few minutes later he was on the beach, the shoreline nearly empty as he began to jog. He started out at a good warm-up pace and did at least half a mile before he kicked it into higher gear. It was cloudy and cool, making the run more enjoyable. What had started out as a chore—a fitness program for his role as a Navy SEAL—had become a ritual lately, one he enjoyed. His runs helped him think, helped him work out his upcoming movie scenes and gave him a way to reflect on his life. He’d asked his bodyguards to keep their distance. They had trouble keeping up anyway and he loved the idea of solitude on the beach.
Once he got going, his mind clicked a mile a minute and he made mental tallies of his thoughts as they rushed by, one after the other. And as he ran, he thought back on the night of the blackout. If only he could remember his last day with Roy...
And then images popped into his mind. He was sitting in his house, drinking with his buddy Roy. He was laughing and they were talking about the upcoming stunt and then his phone rang. It was Emma. She was freaking out and slurring her words. She was drunk. She’d said there was a blackout in the city. Dylan’s lights were still on. The power outage hadn’t reached the beach. He still had full power. Emma was looking for Brooke to come pick her up. Dylan immediately told her to stay put, and he’d come get her.
Dylan slowed his pace, thinking back, happy to have the memory return. To see Roy in his mind, who looked so much like him they could’ve been brothers. To remember their laughter and then...then he remembered Roy getting pissed at him. “Dylan, you’re in no shape to drive. You’ve worked your way halfway through that bottle of Scotch. Give me your keys. I’ll go get Emma.”
The scene played out in his head. He’d been stubborn with Roy, but when he’d tried to rise to go get Emma, the room began to spin and he’d sat back down.
Holy crap.
He came to an abrupt halt on the beach, his feet digging into the sand. His limbs wouldn’t hold him; they were like rubber now. He dropped to his knees, his face in his hands. He saw himself handing Roy the keys to his car.
Dylan’s face crumpled. Tears burned behind his eyes.
Images that he’d prayed would return now haunted him. He’d let Roy pick up Emma that night, because his friend had been right—Dylan was in no shape to get Emma. Roy picked Emma up that night. Roy...made love to Emma. It was Roy all along.
And the next day on the set, right before Roy got into that car, they’d argued. About Emma. Roy told him what happened and said he’d let things get carried away with her that night. Dylan had gotten hot under the collar, accusing him of taking advantage of Emma. And minutes later, the car exploded, with Roy inside. A fire cloud went up and Dylan was hit with shrapnel.
Dylan dug his fingers into the sand to keep from collapsing entirely. His head was down as he rehashed his thoughts, trying to contradict what he knew in his heart to be true. A woman walked over to him, the only other jogger on the beach beside his bodyguard. “Are you okay?”
Dylan nodded. “I’m...okay,” he told the woman. “J-just need a little break.”
He warned Dan off. The woman wasn’t a threat, but he might never be okay again. His whole future had been destroyed. The baby Emma carried wasn’t his. He was married, but his wife had lied to him. Was it all a ruse? Had she deceived him on purpose? How could she not know what man she was screwing?
The woman walked off slowly and Dylan waited until she was out of sight before he tried to rise. His legs barely held his weight. His entire body was numb from neck to toes. His head, unfortunately, was clear for the first time in weeks, and the clarity was enough to squeeze his gut into tight knots and suck the life out of him.
He walked along the beach, feeling broken, each step leading to his house slower, less deliberate. He was more broken than when Renee had dumped him.
More broken than at any other time in his life.
* * *
Emma tossed her purse down on the living room sofa and went in search of Dylan. His car was in the garage; he must be home. She couldn’t wait to see him. They’d talked about planning the nursery and she’d brought home paint samples of blues and pinks, greens and lavenders. The sex of the baby would determine the color themes, and they’d find that out pretty soon. At least they could narrow down their options, if Dylan wasn’t too tired tonight to help her make some selections.
Unless he had other things on his mind, like taking her to bed early. Lately, they’d been doing a lot of going to bed early and not sleeping.
She smiled as she walked the downstairs hallway, popping her head inside rooms in search of him. A delicious aroma led her to the kitchen. She opened the oven door and peered at the meal Maisey had left for them. The garlicky scent of chicken cacciatore wafted in the air.
She closed the oven door when she heard Dylan enter from the beach. He was dressed in a tight nylon tank and black running shorts. Her heart skipped a beat, he was so gorgeous.
“Hi,” she said. “How was your run?”
Dylan didn’t answer right away. He headed to the bar in the living room. She followed behind him, noting the lack of pep in his step. His shoulders slumped and he was extremely quiet. “Dylan, are you all right?”
Silence again. She waited as he poured himself a drink of some sort of expensive whiskey and gulped it down in one shot. “Did you have a bad day?”
He looked at her then, his face ashen, his cloudy blue eyes dim and lifeless. There was something so bleak in the way he looked at her. “You could say that. I got my memory back.”