How To Have Surprise Quadruplets (How To... Book 2)

by Layla Valentine

  Oh. Oh, God.

  “What?” I asked hoarsely.

  She came and sat beside me on the table and put a hand on mine in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture. Instead, it just made me want to hit her. Because if she was about to tell me what I thought she was about to tell me, no amount of handholding was going to make it any better.

  “Out with it, Doc,” I said quietly.

  “Alexis, you’re pregnant,” she said just as quietly.

  I gulped, and then gulped a second time, just for good measure, before I even tried to speak.

  “Pregnant.” My thoughts were flying through my head, desperately trying to rearrange themselves into something that resembled a plan. A completely different plan than the one I’d thought I was going to be following. I mean…not for the next couple of months, but certainly after that. Definitely for the rest of the year. Definitely for the rest of my life.

  “And that’s not all,” she said suddenly.

  Oh God, there was more? What else could she possibly throw in my path at this point?

  “There are four fetuses,” she said firmly, standing up and walking toward the counter, where she’d left my file. “Or there will be, given some time. How long has it been since you had unprotected sex?”

  Well that was quite a jump—and quite a personal question. Then again, she was a very personal doctor.

  “About two weeks,” I said.

  She shook her head. “That can’t be it, then. We wouldn’t be seeing individual clusters of cells within that time. When before that?”

  My stomach did a full flip. China. China was the only time before that. The only time that made sense for a pregnancy to have happened.

  “About nine weeks,” I said in a small voice.

  She gave me an abrupt nod. “That would be it. Right on the nose for the amount of development I’m seeing.”

  Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’d only done an ultrasound because I’d had problems with cysts in the past. It was never supposed to show…babies.

  Rian’s babies.

  Babies. Not singular, but plural. This couldn’t be happening. My stomach did another flip and I put my hand on it, trying to quiet it, and was hit with the sudden knowledge that there was life growing there. It was both terrifying and somehow…grounding. Something about not being alone anymore. Something about being responsible for another human. Four of them!

  Well, not even humans yet. At this point, just clusters of cells. But even that didn’t change the sudden glow I felt coming from that general area.

  “Do multiple births run in your family?” Dr. Burns asked, jerking me back into the real world.

  I looked up at her. “Uh, I only know of twins in my family. My grandmother was a twin.”

  She gave me a quick nod. “Well, it’s the same basic idea. You’ve just done twins twice. It’s rare, but it does happen sometimes.” She gave me a considering look, her eyes narrowed, and said, “Have you even considered having children yet? You’re very young and in the midst of a thriving career. If you want to—”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to.” I hopped off the table, my palm still on my belly. “I don’t know if I believe in God, Dr. Burns, but I do have a strong belief in fate and the universe. This happened for a reason. I’m not going to do anything to hurt these babies.”

  She gave me the flash of a smile. “Well, that’s wonderful to hear. Can I ask—do you know who the father is?”

  I took a deep breath, expanding my lungs as far as they would go, and got ready to let that part of the equation hit me.

  “Yes, I know exactly who the father is,” I told her.

  He was the man I’d walked out on—not once, but twice. A man I didn’t know how to contact. A man who might not even be speaking to me anymore. Not that I would blame him, when I’d acted the way I had. It might have been for his own good, but I wasn’t going to put any bets on him having seen it that way.

  And that was going to make it a whole lot harder to tell him that there were four little children growing in my belly who were his.

  I took a cab home rather than walking through the chilly winter day, my mind coming up blank when I tried to get it to consider what my next step might be. This was not only completely unexpected, but also…dangerous. Dangerous to my career, dangerous to my way of life. Yeah, I’d seen a lot of models go away and have kids, and then come back into the industry. It could be done. It had been done.

  But it was mostly when those models were extremely young and had bodies that bounced right back to where they’d been. Also, they’d only had one baby at a time. I was looking at having four. The physical repercussions were going to be slightly different.

  Keeping these babies was going to be a huge risk to take, and when you were already facing the twilight of your career, as Sophie insisted on telling me time and time again, this was the kind of thing that could escort you right out of the industry. There was no guarantee that I’d be able to come back from it. No guarantee that my body would bounce back. After carrying four kids at once, it would be nearly impossible.

  I would have to face the fact that it could mean the end of modeling for me. I’d already been considering getting out of the industry. Hell, I’d been absolutely dying to get out of the industry. That was why I was pursuing photography like a dog with a bone.

  It felt a whole lot different, knowing that I might not have a choice about making that change, though. A whole lot different to know I might have to make the change sooner than I’d anticipated.

  Alexis

  I almost growled into the phone.

  “Sophie, I have to have his number,” I repeated again. “I know it must be frustrating for you that I won’t tell you why. Believe me, I get it. But you’re going to have to get over this one. It’s private, and that’s all I’m telling you. Believe it or not, you’re not in charge of everything to do with me, and you don’t have the right to access all my innermost thoughts. Now, I have to have a way to get in contact with Rian Cassady, and you’re my best route for that. Get. It. Done. Please.”

  I hung up without waiting for her answer and got busy cleaning my condo. It was a misty, cold day outside still, and I had no wish to be out in it. I just wanted to be at home. Where things felt familiar. And safe.

  Most of all, I wanted to be in a quiet place when Sophie finally managed to get Rian’s number. I didn’t want to make that call in the middle of Central Park. I wanted to be somewhere where I could at least hear his tone of voice when he reacted. I needed to know whether he was going to be my partner in this, or whether I was going to have to go it alone.

  Don’t get me wrong. I would have gone it alone just fine, all the same. I’d been taking care of myself for ten years, and if I had to, I would take care of four babies by myself, too. I’d probably even do a hell of a job of it. But my more rational mind was giving me a hard dose of truth, and that truth included the idea that I would much rather do this with a partner. I’d much rather do it with Rian. I’d never thought much about settling down and having a family, but now that idea was dangling right in front of my face, a vision that I could almost touch, and I found that I was wanting it very, very badly.

  More badly than I ever would have guessed I would. Probably because it included a lifetime spent with the man I was starting to realize I loved.

  I just hoped he would give me enough time to explain why I’d walked out on him. Give me enough time to tell him how sorry I was—and how I’d done it for his own best interest.

  Half an hour later, Sophie called me back.

  “Understand that I do not want to do this,” she said before I could even greet her. “Understand that I know his agent well, and I know how hard they’ve worked to give him the reputation he has. To keep that heartthrob label on him.”

  “Wait, you know his agent?” I asked, heat rising in my cheeks. “And you kept that from me when I asked you for his number before?”

  “I know his
agent. And I know how hard John and the publicists are working to keep Rian on the path the label wants,” she said sternly. “This is not someone you can just fool around with, Alexis. This is someone who has a whole lot riding on what he’s built. He’s supporting not only himself, but a bunch of other people, too. None of them want him in a real relationship. It might make him too hard to control. And if he wanted to see you again, you need to consider that he would have given you his number himself. Perhaps if he wanted to see you again, you wouldn’t find yourself in your current situation.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, furious that she’d known exactly how to contact him and had refused to help me. That she was now trying to lecture me about being responsible. That she had the guts to imply that Rian didn’t want to see me again.

  Furious that she was right. He had given me his number—because he had wanted to see me again—and I’d thrown it away.

  “You are not my mother, Sophie, no matter how much you like to think you’re up for the job. I’m not going to sleep with him and then run off.” Again, I didn’t add. “And I’m not going to screw up his career. I’ve been in this business long enough to know how to tread carefully, and you damn well know it. Right now, you have one job, and only one. Get me that number. Get it for me, or I’ll find a new agent.”

  I let that threat hang out there, my eyes narrowed at her silence. It wasn’t an idle threat, and she knew it. Other agents were constantly after me. I was loyal as hell, though, and Sophie had been with me for a long time. She’d helped to get me where I was, and I didn’t take that lightly.

  That said, however, I was also getting very tired of her telling me what I could and couldn’t have out of life. Starting with Rian Cassady’s fucking phone number.

  This also wasn’t the time to mess with me. I was terrified at the idea of being pregnant, worried about what it was going to do to my plans for my life, and more than a little bit angry at Rian himself for having put me in this situation. I was frustrated with the process of having to find his number—particularly when I’d been holding it in my goddamned hands yesterday.

  Of course, I’d taken out the trash right after I’d thrown his number away—just to keep myself from second-guessing my decision—and once trash went down the chute, there was no way anyone was finding it again.

  That strip of paper was gone forever. And, of course, I hadn’t put his number in my phone, are you kidding? I’d been sure that I was doing the right thing, and that I’d never have to get in touch with him again.

  Now, I was thinking about what it would be like to get in touch with him again. About the actual need for it. And my heart was singing with the idea. Singing with the thought that I might get to know him for more than three days or even three hours at a time. I couldn’t help it; I liked the guy. More than I’d ever liked anyone else. And I was able to open up to him in a way that I’d never been able to open to anyone else.

  The idea that we might find ourselves in a position where we had to make a life together wasn’t as scary as I expected it to be. It was sort of…wonderful. If he would even speak to me again. If he would even hear me out.

  I could have gone back and throttled Past Alexis for being five kinds of fool when she threw that number out. Unfortunately, that fell on the list of things I didn’t currently have as an option.

  Sophie was my best bet, and she was making it perfectly obvious that she was going to drag her feet about this particular task. Judge me for asking it of her. Judge me for my motives. None of which I had time for.

  “Look,” I said, breaking the silence in our conversation while staring at the billboard I could see from my window. “I want the number, Sophie. Get it for me, or I’ll find someone else who can. I don’t want to be a hard-ass, but you’re not giving me much choice, here.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said through what had to be pinched lips, and the line went dead.

  I stared out the window at that billboard, grinning to myself. Sophie might be playing hard to get, but I’d always made a point of having a Plan B, and though this hadn’t been the plan I’d originally been thinking of, the world was putting it out on a silver platter in front of me, right there on that billboard.

  My heart thrilled a little bit again. Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night, I’d go after him myself. Sophie may or may not give me the number—and I may or may not forgive her for having acted the way she did about it, and honestly, it was time to start thinking about a different agent, anyhow—but I’d just figured out that I didn’t have to wait on her to do it.

  Because there, right outside my window, was that billboard with Rian’s face on it. From the shoot in China. I could have been within shouting range of him when he took that picture. I might still have had the feel of his fingers on my arm. I might still have been shaking my head, trying to figure out why he’d affected me the way he did.

  Regardless of any of that, the billboard was now giving me an entirely different feeling. Because underneath his face, a list of cities and venues advertised where he and his band would be playing on their tour. And there, right at the top—the opening date—was one of the best clubs in New York City. It looked like the only small club on the list, which was strange, but it was happening right there. Just three blocks away from me.

  And it was happening tomorrow night.

  Rian

  I stared out at the crowd, which was full of people who were already jumping around to the opening band—a small, local group I’d insisted have the chance to play tonight’s gig before us. It was a small joint, with an audience of five-hundred max, and I should have been ecstatic. I should have been jumping with the crowd, getting into the energy of the place, sharing in their joy and pumping myself up for the show.

  Instead, I felt…empty. Empty and sad and like I would rather be at home in my apartment, eating macaroni and cheese (the good kind, where you added shredded cheddar and actually baked it in the oven, not the boxed stuff) and reading a book.

  Well, it was more than that, if I was being honest. Because I didn’t want to be at home alone, and I couldn’t make real mac and cheese myself—I usually stuck to the easy stovetop one. I wanted to be there with someone specific, laughing as we made dinner together, discussing what movie we wanted to watch that night, maybe even arguing about whether we would have rosé or red wine with dinner. Laughing about something that had happened during the day. Teasing each other about something someone had said. Pausing to kiss over the first forkful.

  Dammit. I was slipping. This was not the right mindset to have when I was going into a show. It was the opposite of the right mindset—and I owed my fans a whole lot more than I was giving them, if I went onstage in this funk.

  The venue around us had walls papered with the posters of the bands that had played there before, and it looked like some of them were even signed. I made a mental note to go around after the show and see whether they had anything good—but I knew that would probably never happen. Even in a club this small, security was so tight that it was almost impossible for me to go out onto the floor, even hours after a show was over. This place served drinks and food, which meant a lot of people might stick around afterward with their friends, and if I got out into an open space, I’d get mobbed.

  They wouldn’t mean any harm by it. They’d just be excited. Wanting to take selfies, get autographs, ask me about our next album, that sort of thing. But I’d seen too many of my friends get overwhelmed and stuck for hours in situations like that, and I’d learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Just another of the many deals I’d made when I’d signed the contract to become a musician, I thought with a mental shrug. Just another part of me that I’d sold away without ever realizing I was doing so.

  Damn, I was really morose tonight. This shit had to stop. I looked at the audience, watched them jumping around for a moment, and finally picked up the rhythm they were jumping to. A moment later, I was jumping with them, going through th
e process of winding myself up and forcing myself to get excited. Pretty soon, my bandmates were jumping with me, and we were all shouting and cheering, working ourselves up toward the energy it took to be onstage for two hours, giving our all. Even Haley was getting into it, her eyes flashing with excitement, her hair—now bright green—swinging behind her in a high ponytail. She shot a smile at me—totally fake, I knew, but I returned it, anyhow. It was all about the act. All about keeping that balance. The moment either of us let it go, the whole thing might come crashing down.

  And I didn’t think either of us wanted to deal with the fallout.

  Then the stage manager turned around and gave us the “get it together" sign and flashed us a palm with all five fingers extended. We were on in five minutes. Five more minutes to get myself together, put the last week—and the empty bed, the Alexis-shaped piece missing in my life—out of my mind, and get ready to perform.

  By the time that five minutes was up, I was ready. I had my mask in place, and my heart was racing with the excitement that only came when we did live shows. This was it, the thing I would never want to give up. Being up there in front of the audience…that was what made it all worthwhile. That was when I truly loved the music again, and truly felt alive.

  I might not be able to have a real relationship. But at least I could have this.

  I took a deep breath, waited for the sign from the stage manager, and then stepped out onto the stage to the roar of applause.

  Alexis

  I clapped madly with everyone else when they started cheering, watching from my place toward the back of the room as the band came on stage. First came the drummer, then came the rhythm guitarist. Both of them friends of Rian’s who he’d known for some time before the band became famous. All from the same hometown—a suburb of San Diego. All of them part of San Diego’s notorious music scene, up until they’d hit it big on a national level.