Playing With Fire (Grindstone Harbor, #2)

by Cat Mason

  Tage is immediately at Bristol’s side, hugging her trembling body tightly to him. She wraps her arms around his waist. Pressing her cheek to his chest, she blows out a breath, her eyes staying on Quinn. Evan comes to stand beside me. Yanking a hand through his long black hair, he takes a knee. Starting down at her, he breathes deep, working to keep himself calm. I know the feeling. “This your way of being the center of attention, Foxy?” he teases, dropping a hand to her shoulder.

  “Unconsciousness really isn’t my style,” Quinn murmurs, her lips twitching up into a barely there smile. She moves her arms, shifting on the board, but gets nowhere in the straps. “Neither is bondage.”

  “She’s stable and coherent,” the male medic announces, checking her pupils with the tiny flashlight he pulls from his inside jacket pocket. “They said you’re pregnant. Has this happened before?”

  “I’m a first-time fainter,” Quinn answers. “I just got a little dizzy, guys. Really,” she struggles on the board again. “I’m fine.”

  Red and white lights flashing without the siren, the ambulance pulls up. “I’m sure you are,” he says, pushing to his feet. “Consider the trip to the E.R. for everyone else’s peace of mind.”

  Pressing a kiss to the top of Quinn’s head, I close my eyes tightly and breathe her in. It takes me a second to pull back, but I need the time to get my emotions in check. Pushing to my feet, I step back with everyone else to give space for Quinn to be loaded onto the stretcher for the ambulance ride to the hospital. Her head turns, eyes landing on me. Those deep blues are glassy, the nervousness showing through, even though she’s trying like hell to hide it from all of us.

  “Is someone riding with?” the driver of the ambulance asks, looking our way. “Got room for one. Anyone else heading to the hospital can follow behind us.”

  “Yeah,” I blurt before anyone else can, my feet already moving. “Me.” I refuse to let her out of my sight after what happened. Not even for a ten-minute ambulance ride.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Triple Nipple

  Quinn

  Thanks to whatever bullshit my traitorous body has decided to pull, the night I should have spent performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, before watching one of my all-time favorite bands take the stage shortly after was shot to hell. Instead of all that awesome, I’m lying in a hospital bed, on the OB floor of a Nashville hospital, wearing a backless white gown and ugly green slip proof socks.

  And I thought maternity fashion was lacking...

  Since being rushed in here by the crew in the ambulance, I now have an I.V. pumping me with fluids, have had five tubes of blood drawn, and been asked about three hundred wicked personal and cringe worthy questions. All in front of Tanner, who refused to even let me pee in a fracking cup without following me to the damn bathroom.

  Just because he’s seen it all, doesn’t mean he gets to see it all. Some things should stay private, regardless of relationship status. I’m no expert or anything, but peeing has to be at the top of that list.

  Now, he’s stretched out in the chair beside my bed, eyes drifting between me and the television, concern etched across his face. He’s lucky he’s cute. If I didn’t love him and those gorgeous dimples, I’d put him in his very own bed.

  In intensive care.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit there and stare at me all night?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as I study him.

  “I like staring at you,” he winks, flashing me a sexy smile. Propping his feet up on the arm rail of my bed, he folds his arms behind his head. “You also won’t bully me into leavin’, babe. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  “Fine.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I settle back against the pillows. “But you’re ordering me pizza.”

  “Fine by me.” Pulling out his phone, he starts tapping and scrolling. “Marco Polo’s delivers late and has four stars.”

  “Beef, bacon, and peppers,” I sigh, my mouth watering already.

  He nods. “Beef, bacon, and peppers.”

  The door opens, Bristol, Tage, Greer, and E walking into the room. “Hey,” I breathe, forcing a smile. “Great show, huh?”

  “No doubt,” B mutters, rolling her eyes. “The highlight was your pregnant ass going limp and your eyes rolling back in your head. Is there going to be a matinee tomorrow?”

  “Very funny,” I grumble, already irritated enough with myself over this entire mess.

  “You scared the hell out of us, Quinnie.” My brother’s tone is harsh, though his blue eyes are soft. “I’ve been on the phone with our parents for the last hour, trying to explain this shit to them over the sounds of Mom screaming her fuckin’ head off about you not telling her you were pregnant. A heads up would’ve been fuckin’ awesome.”

  “Damn,” I snort sarcastically. “Guess that email went to their spam folder.” His brow shoots up skeptically, silently calling me out on being such a chicken shit. Not that my parents won’t be excited about having a grandchild to spoil. They’ll eat that shit up with a soup spoon. I just knew they would use it as an excuse to fly out to Michigan and take over.

  I’m in no way ready for that.

  “You didn’t tell them?” B asks, failing miserably to sound shocked.

  “Let’s just say I was patiently waiting for the perfect moment.” Smiling, I wink at Tage, remembering his awkwardly sweet as hell proposal this morning in the hotel lobby. “You know, like during delivery?”

  “That hasn’t worked any time you’ve tried it,” Bristol snorts, walking around the side of the bed. Knocking down Tanner’s feet, she plops her ass down onto the arm of his chair. Her gaze drops to my I.V., she groans. “Oh God.” Bringing up her hands, she covers her eyes. “No one said there were needles. Or blood.”

  “The needle is in my body,” I deadpan. “With the blood that didn’t end up in tubes for the lab.”

  “Actually, it’s not even a needle in your body at this point,” Tage interrupts, trying to be the voice of reason. “They take it out and leave a piece of plastic tubing in the vein.”

  “Whose side are you on, pal?” she growls, turning her covered face in his direction. “Your fiancé that lets you touch her boobs? Or, medical science and accurate technical procedure?”

  “The side that doesn’t end with me sleeping alone tonight,” he answers sweetly.

  “Smart man.” Turning her face toward me again, eyes still covered, she pouts. “Cover it up, Quinn. Please? For the love of Greer’s third nipple. Please? Cover it up.”

  “Good ol’ Triple Nipple,” Tanner chuckles, no doubt thinking back to their senior year of high school.

  “Those photos were altered,” Greer hisses defensively, the tops of his ears turning a bright shade of red. “I do not have a third nipple. Caroline Marshall made that shit up because I took Kaycee Chambers to prom. I have the normal amount of nipples and none of them are in my arm pit.”

  “Would you drop your hands already?” I ask B, ignoring my brother and his nipple tirade. “You can’t even see anything other than the damn plastic tubing and tape.”

  “I’m serious,” she says, breathing hard.

  “So am I. How the hell are you planning to be in the delivery room if you can’t handle an I.V. drip? I sure as hell won’t be skippin’ the epidural because my best friend has an irrational phobia of needles and blood.”

  “It’s not irrational!” Dropping her hands, she shoots me a glare. “You’re irrational. Maybe the baby doesn’t want you shooting up with pain meds. Do you want the kid to be high the first time it sees you? Think this through, Quinn. I’m pro natural birth.”

  “Knock her up fast,” I say, looking to Tage. “Knock her up good. I’ll record every single doctor’s visit and live stream the birth for everyone to see. We’ll have weekly live feeds on the band page called Bristol’s Snatch Chat.”

  “Have the doctors checked for brain damage?” she asks, shoving the bedrail with her foot. "I still say we should page Neur
o and order some tests.”

  Holding up my arm with the IV, I wave it around in front of her. “My brain is fully functional and running on all cylinders. Thank you very much.”

  “Ugh,” she groans, looking at the floor and shielding her eyes with one hand. “I’m buying a margarita maker as soon as we get back to Michigan.”

  “You mean a blender?” E laughs.

  “You mean a meh meh meh,” she mocks him. “No, cunt knocker, not like a blender. Like an alcohol filled slushie machine.”

  “One step closer to livin’ that drunken carnival life,” he says, giving her a thumbs up. “Look at you. Chasin’ dreams and chasin’ that buzz.”

  “Miss Baker.” A short older man in black scrubs and a white lab coat walks into the room, navigating himself around everyone while managing to scan the top page in my chart. “I’m Doctor Oliver. How are you feeling?”

  “Yes. I’m fine now. The dizziness seems to come and go.”

  He nods. “That’s not uncommon in pregnancy.” Sitting the chart down on the foot of the bed, he pats my leg. “You’re sharing your body with another human being for an average of forty weeks. Blood included. Mothers put themselves before their children. Their needs are always more important. That’s no less true in utero. The body will sacrifice itself in order to provide the best for the fetus. In doing this, sometimes the body gets overwhelmed and can’t catch up as quickly as we’d like it to.” His face softens. “Which means you’ll need to accept that your body has limitations. According to your blood work, one of those limitations is a low iron level. You’ll need to start taking iron tablets and increase your intake of iron-rich foods. From what I gather, the lack of iron in your blood, the obvious stress of the day I overheard you explaining to the nurses, and that you were considerably dehydrated, were all contributing factors in your little scare this evening.”

  “And the baby’s okay?” I ask, my IV-less hand going to my abdomen.

  “I haven’t seen anything to make me believe otherwise.” Walking over to the sink, he begins washing his hands. Switching off the faucet, he dries his hands with a wad of paper towels before grabbing something from the cabinet. “Let’s check on baby, shall we?”

  Dr. Oliver walks my way, carrying a white tube of gel and a few white hand towels. Pulling a machine out of the corner, he settles himself on the side of the room not currently occupied with the craziness that is the people I live with. “I feel like a first-year intern,” Bristol says excitedly. “Show me the baby!”

  Dr. Oliver chuckles. “If I’d known you were sellin’ tickets to this show, I would’ve arranged some snacks.”

  “We’ve got pizza comin’,” Tanner says, winking at me.

  “Good. Good.” Dr. Oliver lowers the arm on my bed. “The food here is shit.” Folding my gown up to just below my chest, he adjusts the blanket to keep me covered. His eyes shoot to mine. “Everybody stayin’?” he asks, squirting the gel onto my belly.

  “Yes!” I yelp at the same time the cold goop lands on my skin. Not that anyone made a peep, or even attempted to move. I’m sure not one of them so much as thought about it. “They’re family.”

  “Okie dokie.” Grabbing the wand from the holder on the side of the machine, he covers it with a protective sleeve and switches on the monitor. “Short staffed in radiology tonight. Lucky for you, I’m a one stop shop.”

  Placing the wand to my belly, he begins moving it around, smoothing the gel as he goes. I look to the screen, fascinated by how much has changed since the first ultrasound I had weeks ago. “Look at its little hand,” Bristol coos, stepping closer to the bed. “And it’s oh so very normal sized head.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Oliver agrees. “There seem to be no cranial abnormalities. Has that been a concern?”

  “No,” I answer, staring down a giggling Bristol. “I’m sure everything is completely normal and not abnormally large enough to leave a gaping hole in my vagina like a wrecking ball.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he chuckles, clicking some buttons on the machine. “First time I’ve heard it described that way though. Kudos to you. I’ve been deliverin’ babies thirty-two years. Safe to say I’m pretty hard to shock.” Stopping the wand just below my belly button, he reaches over with his other hand and turns a knob. The whooshing sound of the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, the sound soothing every frazzled nerve in my body. “Steady heartbeat. Strong one-hundred-fifty beats a minute. Have you begun to feel it move?”

  “Move?” I ask. “I think I’d know a kick or something if I felt it, right?”

  He chuckles. “You won’t feel strong kicks at first. Initially, they’ll only be small flutters. The very first movements are usually only shared between mother and child.”

  “Like butterflies in your stomach?” I ask, thinking back to all those moments I have had lately and dismissed them.

  “You could say that.” Looking my way, he grins. “Would you like to know the sex?”

  Tanner leans up, his hand slipping into mine. “Yes,” he blurts, not giving me a chance to answer. He looks to me, waiting for me to agree. “We do, don’t we?” Tanner asks, sounding less sure now that I’ve hesitated. I look to my brother and Bristol, then to Evan, before moving back to Tanner when I feel his thumb begin circling slowly over my skin.

  “Whatever you wanna do, Foxy,” E says, Tanner’s jaw going rigid when he speaks, the irritation clear on his face. He doesn’t want Evan here. God. It hurts to know that, no matter who the father of this baby is, two of the people I care about most are always going to have this rift between them. Something that, whether they admit it to me or not, is largely because of me. It makes me sad. All I want is for everything to stop being so goddamn hard for a minute.

  “Quinn?” Bristol asks anxiously. “Please let the man tell us already. I refuse to wait until the kid is covered in your vagina slobber before knowing if it’s a boy or girl.”

  “We want to know,” I agree, giving Tanner’s hand a squeeze. “Of course, we want to know.” Turning back to Dr. Oliver and the screen, I nod my head. “If you can see.”

  “Plain as day. You’ve got yourself a little show off,” he smiles, pointing to a spot on the screen. “That there is what I like to call the stem on the apple. You’ve got yourselves a bouncing baby boy.”

  “A boy?” I choke out, feeling Tanner’s hold on my hand get tighter.

  “A boy.” Emotion fills Tanner’s voice. Leaning up, he kisses my hair. “Baby.” The one word means more than anything he has ever said to me. Those four letters, laced with the overwhelming moment, has tears streaming down my face.

  “That’s right.” Dr. Oliver removes the wand, cleaning it off before placing it back in the holder. “Around the length of the average banana. Perfectly healthy from the looks of it.” He gives my knee another squeeze, then sets about cleaning off my stomach with one of the towels, while I use the other for my face. “Congratulations.”

  “A little boy!” B screeches. Standing to her feet, she points her phone at me. “Say something into the camera for everyone in the wild world of interwebs.”

  “Turn it off, sweet cheeks.” Pulling down my hospital gown, I sit up, narrowing my eyes on her. “Or you’ll walk down the aisle missing an eyebrow.” Turning my attention back to Dr. Oliver, I right myself. “When can I blow this place?”

  “I’d like to keep you a little while longer,” he says, scribbling in my chart. “Gives us the chance to pump you with some more fluids.” He looks up, flashing me a knowing grin. “Along with making sure you’ve eaten well and gotten some rest. I’ll be back to check on you before I leave. We can talk more about discharging you then.”

  “Thank you,” Tanner says, rising from his seat to shake the doctor’s hand before he leaves the room with my chart.

  “Hey, Doc!” The unmistakable voice of Hunter Chesterfield echoes in from out in the hall. “Good to see ya, man. It’s been a long time.”

  “Hunter.” Dr. Oliver nods, his b
ack to us as he stands partially in the doorway. “Almost didn’t recognize you with all your clothes on.”

  “I lost a bet.” Hunter replies, and I don’t miss the sound of a female groaning. “That’s the only reason I’d be caught dead dressed as Tarzan.”

  Shaking his head, Dr. Oliver chuckles and walks away. Hunter, Jazz, and Cam file into the room. “Are we late for the after party?” Hunter asks, shaking his hips from side to side as he crosses the room.

  “This,” Jazz says, waving a hand in his direction. “Is the reason why we don’t let him out in public.”

  “That and because he’s been known to pace the halls of labor and delivery in a loin cloth,” Cam snorts, earning her laughs from everyone in the room. Except an offended Hunter and a groaning Jazz. Cam’s eyes cut to me. “How are you feeling? We’ve all been so worried.”

  “We’re fine,” I assure her, pressing a hand to my stomach. “I feel really bad about messing up our set. I hope it doesn’t cause any bad press for you. We’ve had enough problems with it lately and I can only imagine the shitstorm this will cause.” Scanning the room, I look to Greer and Bristol. “Speaking of shitstorm. Where’s Vicki?” I ask, finding it weird that she hasn’t stormed in here and chewed my ass over causing a scene with my loss of consciousness.

  “We snagged her before she could come in here and raise your blood pressure,” Hunter says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “She’s down the hall, in the waiting room with Aiden and Chase,” Cam says. Letting the straps of her beautiful red Marc Jacobs bag slip down her arm, she retrieves a large envelope. “They’re discussing some things with our attorney.”

  “Your attorney?” I look to Bristol and Greer, then shift my eyes to Tanner, seeing them as concerned as I am about the fact that Vicki is currently meeting with an attorney from Evil Wiener Productions. Does this have something to do with me messing up the set? Vicki will blow the roof off for sure if she’s currently in legal hell because I caused a scene and left us in some breach of the contracts Mr. Boyer signed when he agreed for us to play the event. I mean what kind of attorney drops by the hospital for a chat in the middle of the night? This shit sounds serious. Leaving me pretty fucking worried about what it all means for us.