Someone to Watch Over Me (27 page)

Chapter
14

I
woke in a hazy
fog of noise and light. It sounded like I was on a jet plane and we
were descending. Oddly enough, it felt like that too. The bed
shimmied and shook beneath me, jiggling my ass in a completely
disconcerting manner. It wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare.

“Babe.”

“Hmm,” I murmured, fighting the growing
light in my eyes.

“Coop.” This time, I felt an added
horizontal shake, which concentrated on my right shoulder. “Coop,
you need to get up. We’re going to descend. We need to get
buckled.”

“Descending where, to the gates of Hell?” As
I sat up and pushed the hair from my face, my heart worked its way
up my neck and into my head, pounding like a snare drum. Holy
Christ on a crutch, I
was
on a plane. “Where the hell am
I?”

“Philly, babe, come on. Put this on.” Tate
proffered a plush white robe. I slid ungracefully to the edge of
the bed and slipped into the robe, thankful since I was wearing
nothing else. If we were going to crash, I wouldn’t have to go out
of this world as bare as the day I was born.

“Tate, why are we on a plane?”

“We had to get back in time for the show
tonight.”

Following Tate from the cabin, I found
Carter adjusting the back of his plush leather seat into an upright
position. He looked none the worse for wear, aside from the slight
dent in his brown curls. I sat in the seat across from him, beside
Tate, and began buckling my seatbelt.

“Why, good morning, Mrs. Watkins.”

“What’s so good about it.”

“Chipper this morning, aren’t we.”

“Oh lord…why does my head hurt so bad?”
Reaching down, I released the lever to recline my seat. “I think
I’m having an aneurism.”

“Not yet,” Carter muttered. “But give it a
couple minutes.”

“Babe, you need to sit up,” Tate told me,
reaching for the lever to raise it again. “We’re landing.”

“Are we going to crash?”

“No.”

“Then leave it the hell alone.” As I lay
there wincing behind the blood red glow of my eyelids, something
occurred to me. I lifted my head and squinted at Carter. “Did you
just call me
Mrs. Watkins
?”

“Those stones on your finger aren’t just for
show.”

My thumb moved to the underside of the rings
hugging my fourth finger. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last night too,”
Carter quipped with a well-timed eye roll.

Reaching for the seat lever, I jerked it
hard, catapulting myself into an upright position. My eyes flew to
the multi-carat diamond ring nestled on my finger. “Oh. My.
God.”

Carter sank into his seat as if he could
make himself smaller. “Wow if this isn’t uncomfortable.”

I glared at him, my irises flashing red.
“Fuck the fuck off, fuckhead!”

“Do you kiss your son with that mouth?”

“Carter,” Tate scolded, pinching the bridge
of his nose. “You’re not making things any better.”

“I’m sorry, let me give you some privacy,”
Carter scoffed. “Oh, that’s right, I can’t! We’re sort of landing
right now!”

“Tate, please tell me we didn’t go to Vegas
last night.”

Tate’s response was to hold his left hand
upright and wriggle his finger. A thick platinum band winked back
at me. My head dropped. I pressed my temples with the tips of my
fingers. This was so not happening. Tears blurred my vision, and
traced the curve of my nose.

Both men had the sense to leave it alone
until the plane landed. I suppose neither wanted Carter to witness
the scene that was about to occur. I, myself, didn’t want to be
involved.

With a few short jerks, the wheels touched
down. The engines quieted, relieving me of the rumble aggravating
my headache. About twenty minutes later, we rolled to a stop. The
cockpit door opened and a short, squat man in a pilot’s uniform
emerged. With a genial smile, he tipped his hat and pulled the
lever for the exit door.

“Your car is waiting, but feel free to take
your time.”

“Thank god,” Carter sighed. “Good luck, bro,
she’s all yours.” Releasing his buckle, he climbed from the seat
and exited the plane as soon as the stairs touched the ground.

Tate waited for the pilot to exit the plane.
Then, he moved to the seat across from me. “Cooper.” Tipping my
chin up, he took in my red eyes and wet cheeks. “I’m sorry. I never
planned for it to go this far.”

“The hell you didn’t.”

“That’s the hangover talking. You’re going
to feel like shit for a while, a little depressed, or maybe a lot,
but it’s just the hangover.”

“It’s not the hangover! It’s the rings on my
finger!” I held up my hand as if they were hard to miss. Obvious
and unpretentious, he gave me both as requested. “How do you
explain this?”

“I was shitfaced.”

“You had this all planned!”

“Whoa now,” Tate growled, straightening in
his seat. “I planned to get you drunk, yes, but I had no intention
to elope.”

“I don’t believe you! You told all those
reporters we were engaged! Then you got me drunk and told me Taylor
and Marshall would make sure I didn’t do anything stupid! We’ve
known each other two weeks, Tate! I, along with many,
many
people, would consider getting married highly stupid! How could you
do this to me?”

“You’re running on only a few hours of
sleep, and you’re crashing. Get some rest. You’ll feel more
rational when you wake up.”

“I’m not
irrational
; I’m
married
!” Yanking the strap to the seatbelt, I unbuckled and
rose from the seat. Tate stood and followed me into the small
cabin. The bed was a mess. I tried to ignore the dubious stains on
the sheets as I searched the rumpled linens for my clothes. Unable
to find any sign of them, I huffed and ran my hands through my
hair. “Tate, where are my clothes?”

Behind me, Tate was pulling his shirt over
his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he panned the floor around
the bed as if I had overlooked my clothes in the three square feet
of space. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” God, that wasn’t a good
sign. He really didn’t remember anything. My mind immediately began
listing the many other things we might’ve done through the course
of the night. “You didn’t clean up in here before you woke me
up?”

“Carter woke me about five minutes before I
woke you.”

“Fuck,” I hissed, searching the sheets a
little more frantically. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I pulled back the
comforter with one sharp jerk and tossed it to the floor. The flat
sheet joined it, followed by the pillows. I found nothing except an
empty bottle of Bollinger, which fell to the floor and spun in a
circle. “Oh God no.” In full panic, I dropped to my hands and
knees, feeling along the skirt of the bed with my hands for some
sign that one of us had an ounce of sense.

Nothing.

Inside of the bedside table, I searched the
one tiny drawer and the small built-in wastebasket. They too, came
up empty. Sitting with my back against the side of the bed, I
dropped my head into my hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Easy now. Settle down. They’ve gotta be
around here somewhere.” Tate took this as a sign of mental
collapse, and began searching the compartments by the door. “Found
them… it… wow… I’ll be damned… I had my doubts, but we really did
it.”

Lifting my head, I found Tate holding a
long, white gown made of tulle and satin. Yeah, I guess we really
did. Tears sprang from my eyes. I muffled a sob with the back of my
hand.

Kneeling on the floor beside me, Tate pulled
me under his arm, tucking my face against his shoulder. My tears
wet his t-shirt, turning it to a darker shade of black.

“I swear to you that I didn’t plan any of
this. What I did and what you’re accusing me of are two different
things. I wouldn’t trap you like that. I’m desperate, but I’m not
deluded. I wouldn’t force you to come with me…”

With the back of my sleeve, I rubbed the
tears from my nose. It was so much worse than marriage. A marriage
we could have annulled. But this…some things were irrevocable.

“Tate,” I said, trying to get his
attention.

“I was drunk. It’s as simple as that. I had
a few too many drinks and I—
we
—acted impulsively. If you
think about it, though, Coop—”

“We didn’t use protection!”

“What?”

“There isn’t one single condom in here. Not
even a wrapper.”

“Relax, Coop. Don’t jump to
conclusions.”

I laughed deprecatingly. Tate’s unwarranted
optimism was almost endearing. “Have you
seen
the sheets?
They look like a fuckin’ Jackson Pollock.”

“Well that’s a good sign.”

“How is that a good sign?”

“I pulled out.”

“That is NOT an effective method of birth
control!” Shoving off the floor, I began rooting through the
compartment for my bag. I would’ve needed my ID in order to get
married. Perhaps Carter would’ve grabbed my clothes too. There was
no way I was putting that gown back on my body. It was too much of
a reality check. I had enough to process already.

“Coop.”

I couldn’t be pregnant again. I wasn’t
ready. Levy wasn’t even out of diapers yet. Then there were the
nighttime feedings. The bottles. The burp cloths. And where would I
live? My apartment was barely big enough for the two of us. Where
the hell would I fit a crib?

“Coop.”

In truth, my living conditions were the
least of my worries. I still had to worry about Grant. He knew
where I lived. He knew about Levy. Christ, he tried to break into
my house.

“Cooper.” Grasping my shoulders, Tate spun
me around. “Look at me, babe.” Tipping my chin up, he ducked his
head until I met his eyes. “Now breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out.
Good. That’s good. We’re going to get through this. It’s nothing.
Just a bump in the road.”

“Pregnancy is not a bump in the road. It’s a
landmine.”

“I’m almost twenty-nine. The notion doesn’t
devastate me.”

“I’m only twenty-one—”

“Then you should bounce back quicker.
Imagine us doing this in another few years when you’re on tour and
trying to put out a new album. It’s exhausting.”

“I won’t be on tour. I won’t even have a
music career.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Kids cost money, Tate. There’s diapers,
clothing, food, health insurance, daycare… That stuff isn’t free. I
have to work.”

“My net worth is two hundred mill. I’ve got
money.”

“I’m not
taking
your money.”

“Actually, it’s our money.” Tate held up his
left hand and flashed his ring at me. “We’re married now,
remember?”

“I’m not holding you to this.”

“I am.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“We’re married. It’s a lot sooner than I’d
anticipated, but it was going to happen anyway. Having it annulled
would be pointless.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Tate’s eyes flashed with dark humor. “I
didn’t plan any of this, but the hell if I’m going to squander the
opportunity. I told you, strawberry girl, I’m in this to win.”

“This is extortion!”

“Why do you always look at the downside of
things? You act as if I’m strong-arming you into driving across the
country, when all I’m doing is opening a path for you with the most
favorable conditions. You have nothing to lose. What are you
leaving behind?”

“Control over my life!” I exclaimed, my tone
just shy of hysterical. “I don’t have much, but I can’t hand over
what little I do! I would be nothing but dependant on you! I can’t
put myself in that position!” Shaking with emotion, I gasped for
air, choking on a sob.

I was wrong. I
was
mentally scarred.
I did blame the entire male race. I hadn’t wanted to see it, but
there it was. “Everything is happening too fast, Tate. I need
time.”

“I’m not forcing you, Cooper.” At the full
use of my first name, I met his gaze, noted the absence of humor in
his expression. “I’m desperate. I’m begging. Please don’t make me
leave here without you. I’ll worry about you night and day. It’s as
simple as that. I’ll worry.”

Pressing his lips to mine in a chaste and
despairing kiss, he let me go. He took a step back, rubbed his
palms along the hips of his jeans, and turned for the door. “I’ll
be outside."

As I watched Tate stride out the door, I
dropped onto the bed, my eyes once again spilling over. This was
not how I planned for my weekend to go. How did it all get so out
of hand? Since when did eloping fall off the list of amazingly
stupid things to do?

I was going to kill Marshall. Slowly.

Sunlight filtered through the small portal
window of the plane, and glinted off the cluster of diamonds
encircling my finger. The center was princess cut, circled by a row
of smaller stones, which rested on a diamond encrusted band. The
wedding band was no less appealing.

It was every girls dream. And my worst
nightmare.

Ok, not my worst by any shot, but it was
certainly unnerving.

How many girls can say they went out for a
night of partying and no strings attached sex with a rock star, and
came home married? Me, Cooper Hale, that’s who. It was as if I had
some small, mythical, winged creature shooting me with arrows of
heartache and complication.

“Coop?” Carter called. “Cooper!”

“I’m in here.” Standing, I wiped my face and
resumed the search for my clothes. “Do you know where my clothes
are?”

“Vegas.”

Great. Wonderful. “My purse?”

“Vegas.”

“Just fuckin’ perfect.” Bending, I grabbed
the dress from the floor. I tried to make heads and tails of the
skirts. The bodice was lost in the bulk of tulle.

“Give me that,” Carter grumbled, taking the
dress from my hands. “This thing has pockets. You upended your bag
in them last night.” He snapped his wrists and the skirts fell into
conformity. “Step in.” I stared as he lowered the bodice for me.
When I didn’t move, he looked up at me and nodded toward the dress.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?”