by Cari Quinn
Dammit, she had to be okay.
“N-nick.”
“I’m here. Okay? Not going anywhere.”
He stroked her hot, damp brow. Could she have the flu or something? Maybe pneumonia? But she hadn’t been coughing.
“Just relax, sweetheart. We’re almost to the hospital. You need to stay still until we find out what happened.”
“Baby.”
He frowned. “I don’t get what—are you uncomfortable? I know the ride’s bumpy, but it won’t be much longer, I promise.” He slid his hand down her side, trying to soothe her, and stretched his fingers across her waist. Then higher, higher over the slight slope.
And he got it. He finally got it.
Like a movie reel, fragments of conversations spun through his mind. The baby she’d lost before. How it had wrecked her.
That her ex-husband hadn’t wanted the baby, and then she’d lost it.
He cupped her belly and shut his eyes. God, it was so clear. She felt so different. The sweatshirts, the distance. The other night when she’d said she had something to tell him, but he’d been so afraid it was something he couldn’t live with. Maybe something to do with her ex-husband. Maybe anything. He had so many boxes, so many rules for how the people he loved had to be. If they failed, if they stepped outside his imaginary boundary, he cut them off.
But he wasn’t capable of cutting her off, so he’d silenced her instead. And all she’d been trying to tell him was that she…
God, he couldn’t even think it. Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did, so much. If he’d made her think for even one moment that he could be like her bastard ex-husband, he would never forgive himself. Never.
Because you live under the same laws you force on everyone else. You’re ready to condemn yourself just as you condemn them.
Like you condemned your mother. And Ricki.
And Simon.
He turned his cheek against hers and gripping her hand, brought it to her belly. “I love you. So much. And I love the baby.” Her fingers trembled in his, so he held on tighter. Tight enough that she would never doubt. “Ours. It’s ours.”
The wetness under his cheek made him lift his head. Her cheeks were wet, his were wet. He had no idea if she was crying too, or if it was sweat, or if he’d cried so much that now his tears had become hers.
All he knew was that he would guard her—guard them both—with his fucking life.
When the doors opened, he glimpsed the lights of the hospital behind Deacon’s hulking shoulders. And took a deep breath.
“I don’t know what happened for sure, but she’s pregnant. So be careful.” At Deacon’s shocked expression, Nick shifted to look at Lila in the shaft of light from the open doors. “Let’s get her inside.”
38
Lila
Fragments of conversations wafted over her, low and unintelligible. Restless, she twisted in the sheets, pushing at the wire that held her in place. Why was she tied down?
Oh, Nick. Nick had wanted to tie her down. She smiled. Funny, she’d thought he’d changed his mind. They were fighting. Kind of. Not really, but she was keeping things from him.
Baby.
Shifting her legs, she kicked at the sheets.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy there. Do you want me to call the nurse?”
That gruff voice she loved so much. She smiled again, reaching for him.
“They have her on some kind of baby-safe happy juice. She never smiles at him that much.”
Simon. Laughter.
“There’s my baby.” Her mother’s voice. And better, her mother’s hand, stroking her brow. Lila turned into the touch, comforted. “My baby and her baby.”
Then she was drifting away again, and she didn’t fight it. She was still so tired. It felt like she could sleep for a lifetime.
So she did.
The next time she woke, the voices were different. Some of them anyway. She heard phrases like “high blood pressure”, “anemia”, and “dehydration and extreme exhaustion.”
Nothing fun.
She tugged at the sheets, found she was still wired. IV?
“I recommend light duty at work, then bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy. With twins, better safe than sorry.”
Lila sat straight up in bed. It wasn’t a smooth transition to a seated position, but she made it. Sorta. “Twins?” She looked down at her belly, hidden by her thin hospital gown. “Oh no, there’s no room in there for two. I’m positive.”
“There she is.” Nick pulled his chair closer to the bed, and she stared at him, sure her vision must still be messed up.
There was no way he could look like that. Beard growing in, shadowed eyes, hair a frigging mess. He looked like absolute death.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered. “Haven’t you slept?”
“Here and there.” He jerked a shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
She wasn’t ready to take stock yet, because far as she could tell, she wasn’t particularly awesome. Better than she’d been by far, but still not capable of running a marathon.
Or even doing a yoga class with her soon-to-be giant belly.
She glanced at the other person in the room, the female doctor wearing a surgical coat. “I really don’t think there’s twins.”
“The Doppler says otherwise. We heard two heartbeats. Two very clear heartbeats. Of course, we’ll need to do an ultrasound for sure, and to be certain both babies are viable.”
“Viable.” She’d heard that term before, and she hated it. “You—you think there’s a chance something’s wrong with them? Is that why I—” She broke off, glanced at Nick. Lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh. Nothing to be sorry about. One thing at a time.”
“I should have told you. I wanted to. I was just—” She took a breath and glanced back at the doctor. “I’ve lost a baby before. I did everything I knew to do so the baby would be safe.”
“I’m sure you did. But twins are a unique situation. Basically everything you would do for a regular pregnancy becomes magnified. Add in your high blood pressure and anemia—”
“Wait a second. I never had high blood pressure. Ever.”
“Just relax.” Nick’s hand closed around hers, and the faintest smile twitched on his lips. “So hard to imagine you having high blood pressure. Since you’re so calm and all.”
“I am calm. I’m like a cucumber.” She breathed out, nice and slow. “Okay, maybe not so much.”
“Your husband tells me you have a very high stress job. Rockstars, is it?”
“Jeez, just how long have I been out?” She glanced at Nick, who had his innocent face on. Which meant bad things were happening. Or had already happened. “We’re not yet—”
“Shh, honey. It’s so new. She tends to forget still.” He tapped the band she’d given him and lifted his brows.
So they were lying to the hospital staff. Okay then.
“Yes, I work with a number of artists.”
“And you’re used to dealing with a lot of stress on a continual basis?”
There was no way to sugarcoat it. She hadn’t had an ulcer a few years ago for no reason. “Yes.” Then she remembered what she’d heard while she’d been half awake. “Light duty and bedrest?”
“It’s what I recommend. Your blood pressure can likely be controlled with diet and meds, depending on how you respond. I don’t want to scare you, but sometimes with twins, high blood pressure can lead to pre-eclampsia, which is a life-threatening condition for them and you. It happens with singular pregnancies as well, but the risk grows with two. Every risk grows with two.”
“She’s going to be on bedrest. Don’t worry.”
Lila pursed her lips and gave him a hard stare. She’d been about to say the same thing, but did he have to swoop in and take over?
Wait a second, he was swooping in and taking over. He was sitting at her side and holding her hand, and talking like it was the most natural thing in the world for
them to be having not one, but two babies.
Two babies.
“You did this to me.”
He blinked. “Um…”
“Not that, I mean, I know you did that. We did that. I mean the twin thing. Because you’re a twin. You gave me twins.”
Nick slid another glance at the nurse, who was trying valiantly not to smile. “I don’t think there’s a Hallmark card for this situation, is there?”
“Probably not.”
She had to focus on the pertinent things right now. Like the health of her babies.
Holy God, she was going to have two babies. Out of that tiny place.
“I’m going to need drugs. Like serious drugs.”
“You’ll most likely have a C-section, if that helps ease your fears.”
No, her fears were not being eased. She had too many to mention at the moment, stacking like dominoes until they toppled her.
Paramount was their safety. She had two to protect now, not just one.
“The ultrasound.” Lila swallowed hard. “When can we do it?”
“Probably tomorrow, if you feel up to it. The sooner the better. With your help, we’ll be able to pinpoint a date of conception and when you might be due. Again, with twins, there’s a window we hope to target. They very rarely come to what’s considered full term for a single child, and in fact, we consider them close to full at 37 weeks.” The nurse smiled. “It gets a bit tight in there.”
Lila tried to smile and instead slumped back to the pillows. When they both moved forward, she held up a hand. “I’m fine. Just trying to come to terms with the sudden overcrowding issue.”
“If you can give us a couple minutes, I think my wife needs some soothing.” He lifted his brows again and she either had to smile or scream.
It would be mostly a happy scream, but there was definitely some panic in there too. Good panic. Hopefully good panic, if everything turned out okay with the ultrasound.
God. Twins.
Once the doctor left and he tugged his chair even closer, she held up a finger. “We’re not at the portion of your sex book where I ‘need it’ five times a day, so keep your distance.”
His deep, husky laughter almost made her reconsider. Almost. Until she remembered they were at maximum capacity in her holding station.
“You could’ve reminded me about the twin thing when we went sans condoms,” she muttered.
“Would you have changed your mind?”
“Probably not. No, I wouldn’t have. But I would’ve been more prepared.” She exhaled. “I never missed a single pill. I wasn’t so much as ten minutes late taking them. So that’s on you too.”
“Really?” He sounded inordinately pleased. “So, like, I broke through a super barrier to your womb?”
“Just because we’re in the hospital, don’t think I won’t beat you with a pillow. It’ll just make it easier for them to scoop you up off the floor.”
“Hmm. Gray mentioned he wanted an implantation present. Does this mean I get two?”
“This means since you bought me a toy, if you keep it up, I’ll happily turn to PVC plastic.”
“Shutting up now.”
“Good plan.” But she couldn’t help smiling as she turned on her side. Almost onto her side. She was trussed up pretty good between the sheets and her IV. “You’re really not freaking out?”
“Oh, I freaked. I freaked so hard that I think I might’ve sprained something. But I was too busy freaking over you to even get that wigged out over the baby. Babies. That part was a little…a lot wild, gotta say.” He exhaled and leaned forward to press his forehead to their clasped hands. “I thought you were going to die.”
“What?” She started to laugh until she realized he was serious. “You—no way.”
“We didn’t know what was wrong with you. It could’ve been anything. A heart attack, a stroke. We’d been fighting, but that’s going to change.”
“You’re always fighting.”
“Not anymore.” He lifted his head. “I promise you, when we go back into the studio, it’s going to be different.”
“Oh really.”
“Yes, really. You’ll see. And we’re going to do that concert Donovan asked you to tell us about.”
It took her a second to bring it all into focus. The conversation with Jazz, with Donovan, everything hurting. God, her head.
“High blood pressure,” she mused. “That’s what the headaches were. Probably the lightheadedness too.”
“You were having headaches?” He narrowed his eyes. “Woman, you are in so much trouble.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” But she sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I feel like a colossal idiot. I knew for so long, but I was afraid to find out for sure. Because then everything would change.”
“You don’t want the baby? Babies,” he corrected, frowning. “I thought that was what you wanted most.”
“Of course I do.” Right on cue, her eyes filled. She waved her other hand at her face. “Hormones. Ignore me.”
“Not on your life. Tell me what you mean.”
“I like my schedules. My timetables. Maybe somewhere along the way, I got too used to controlling my environment. Babies were for someday. And separate exits too, by the way. No two-fers.”
“I think they do come out separately. No way they could come out at the same time. That’s like—science defying. Ricki and I were three minutes apart.”
She wiped her cheeks. “Who’s older?”
“She is, and she never lets me forget it.”
His smile made her shoulders relax. “I’m stressing again, aren’t I?”
“You are. And that’s why you’re going on bedrest in the swankiest, most tricked out bedroom ever.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a few screens. “Check it out.”
She took the phone from him and gasped at their bedroom, now redone into some palatial palace. Not that their bedroom had started out as sparse, but this went far beyond.
“The pillows. Oh my God. How many pillows are on the bed?”
“Enough for you to relax like a queen. Look at the bookcase. Right next to the bed too, with all your favorite books. The ones you’ve mentioned to me, and I had a bunch delivered. All the latest ones. Thrillers, romances. One of them has that butter dude on the cover, I think.”
“Butter dude?” She frowned. “Why would a butter dude be on the cover of a novel?”
“I don’t know. He’s like in a loincloth. I swear he was on TV once. Anyway. There’s magazines too, in that basket there. All the latest ones. Plus newspapers. I got you subs to the Financial Times, and Rolling Stone, and of course, some for your iPad, because I know you read on there too.” He glanced up and his brows knitted. “You hate it. I bought the wrong books. The pillows are arranged wrong. Blame Jazz and Margo. They said how it should look.”
She let the phone drop to the bed and shifted closer to wrap her arm around his neck. “You know that five times a day thing?”
His golden eyes flickered suspiciously. “Yeah?”
She grinned. He was ridiculously cute when he thought she was up to something. “Gotta say your chances are looking better every second.”
39
Nick
“From the top.”
Nick strummed his way into a Gray, Deacon and Margo compilation that had become the band’s. “Heartbreak” was the kind of angry, angsty song he used to love writing. Mad at himself, mad at the world, he’d once prided himself on creating the kind of music that gave the silent masses a voice.
Be pissed off. Demand redemption. Because I’m right at your side demanding too.
Now he was writing lullabies instead of anthems. He was waiting to debut his inaugural one, “Night, Baby” at their Vegas show this summer. Well, possible Vegas show, with Warning Sign opening.
It all depended on how the rooftop concert went. No biggie.
For now, “Heartbreak” was taking all his focus. The guitar licks he and Gray ha
d come up with signified the raw emotion in every note. This was a jilted lover’s testament to misery, complete with crashing drums, slashing violin, and an insidious bass line. And over all of it, there was Simon.
Simon, clutching the studio microphone, poured himself into the lyrics about lost love and bitter memories. He sliced open an artery and let it bleed. His voice climbing, climbing, until finally, it broke at the end from raw, pure emotion.
And the studio fell silent.
They all looked at each other. Deacon to Margo to Jazz to Gray to Nick. He smiled and glanced at Simon, drawing the moment out as he set down his guitar. He knew his best friend was holding his breath, waiting for the verdict that would exalt or condemn him.
So Nick took his time standing up and rubbing his sore hands on his jeans. They’d been at it for hours, and it was getting late.
He would be heading home soon, to watch TV with Lila and maybe rub her feet. Because she really loved that, and hell, he was a fucking domestic bastard now.
He was even good at it.
But first, he had to finish things here. With all of them.
Especially with Simon.
“Well?” Simon demanded, yanking on the cord from the microphone. “Don’t you have anything to say, Nicky boy?”
“Yep.” He tilted his head, judged distance and angles. And sprinted into a running leap, without even the slightest idea whether Simon would catch him.
“What the—” Simon stumbled backward, nearly crashing into the wall. But he caught him, mostly. Minus the dangling leg, and the jutting arms, and whatever, the symbolism was there.
Nick gripped the sides of Simon’s face. “You were fucking fabulous. The best I’ve ever heard you. The fucking absolute best.”
And then he kissed him, dead on the mouth.
The studio erupted into laughter and whistles and foot stomping. “Hell yeah!” Jazz called. “Now that’s how you celebrate.”
Simon stared at him in shock for thirty seconds, then he tipped back his head and laughed.