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Michael barked out another laugh. “Because you say so? You weren’t fucking there. I have the marriage license and I have the rings—”
“You filed for a license, but you never married her. You got to the aisle, and you stopped it at the last minute. She never said I do, and neither did you.”
Pain slashed through him so fast that he nearly doubled over. Of course he’d said “I do”. He had to have said it. But of course he didn’t truly know.
Because he couldn’t fucking remember.
“You don’t know that. You can’t,” Michael breathed.
“I have proof. I have the video from the so-called ceremony. You didn’t know they did those, did you? Insurance for the ridiculous chapel that took your money and gave you nothing in return. No refunds. But they make sure to cover their own asses with video proof, in case the brand new bride and groom come back the next day and don’t remember taking their vows.”
Michael sucked in breath after breath and it didn’t clear away the dots forming in front of his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’d be surprised.” His father’s tone turned taunting. “That wouldn’t be you though, right? After what your mother and I have done with our marriages, you would never be like us. You’d never get married on a whim. Isn’t that what you always said? I’m sure you loved your bride so much that you remember every single little detail. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
Michael clicked off and threw the phone against the wall just as he’d wished. When it hit the ground, he stomped on it with the heel of his boot, slamming it again and again until it was in pieces.
It didn’t matter. He could still hear his father’s sly voice echoing in his head.
“She never said I do, and neither did you.”
Chapter 28
Three days.
For three days, he’d known he wasn’t married.
Might as well have been a lifetime.
First, he’d struggled with the fact that he’d married a stranger. Who does that? A drunk asshole, that was who. Then when he’d begun to come to terms with that possibility, he’d had to face the reality that Chloe came with a baby. Axl was more of a toddler now, but still. He was damn small, and he had tons of needs, and Michael had never been around kids. Had never felt a huge draw toward them either. They seemed like too much trouble.
Loud. Impatient. Demanding.
Turned out they were all those things. At least Axl was. And it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference, because they were other things too.
Sweet. Loving. Soft.
Everything about Axl was so damn soft. His skin, his hair, his tiny fingers when they curled around Michael’s. Sometimes he pushed and shoved, but for the most part, he wasn’t too much of a wrestler.
At night, when Chloe gave him a bath and shampooed his hair into a mini faux hawk like Michael’s, he was pretty damn cute. And he smelled so good. Now and then he was even quiet.
Somewhere along the way he’d decided he liked having a wife and a child. Instead of feeling scared by being counted on, he’d discovered he enjoyed it. Life had more meaning when someone needed you. When you needed them right back.
And fuck, even beyond that, he wanted them around. He could live without them, sure. He’d gone through twenty-plus years without Chloe and Axl in his world. He could carry on if they were gone. But why should he? Chloe’s smiles made him feel like Superman. Axl’s laughter triggered his own every damn time, no matter what kind of a mood he came home in. And band shit ceased to be quite as important.
Like Lila’s not-so-subtle concern about Malachi’s whereabouts.
“Donovan’s talking about a full EP. He thinks the success of the ‘In Your Arms’ mix is a positive sign and that if you had more room to showcase your songs, you’d do even better. He’s even mentioned a real tour. Across the US, Michael. His goal is to put together a kind of a package concert with a couple of the Ripper acts to get you all more exposure.”
Michael scraped his fingers through his hair and leaned forward on the leather sofa in the studio. They’d been at it for hours to prep for tomorrow’s show at The Troubadour. After Guns ‘n Roses had played one of their reunion shows there, artists had been clamoring to get in. Lila had managed to book them a slot, and once again, working without a healthy drummer.
Ryan was back on the drums after the latest studio dude had split, citing creative differences, but he had to take lots of breaks. His failure to heal as fast as the doctors had hoped had sent him back to be checked out again, and they’d discovered he had a partial ligament tear. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant surgery—yet—but the splint he put on as soon as he was off the kit didn’t seem to be doing much.
All Michael could hope for was that he’d make it through tomorrow’s set, and then he’d try harder to reach Malachi. Even trying to find a dude who clearly didn’t want to be found was better than imagining what might be occurring behind the scenes with his father.
Martin’s cryptic texts certainly hadn’t reassured him.
MS: I told you the marriage hadn’t gone through so you wouldn’t find out on TV. People are digging into what happened besides me. It’s going to come out.
