Rock, Rattle & Roll

by Taryn Elliott

  Eleven

  Mr. & Mrs. McCoy

  Harper rolled away from him. “Oh, God.” She grabbed the t-shirt that had landed on the corner of the bed and crossed the room, holding onto her middle.

  “Harper, wait.”

  She shook her head and reached blindly for the small island in the kitchen. Who could ever leave behind someone like Deacon? It explained so much. Why he was such a caretaker to all of them. Why he loved so big and so very hard.

  But to think about that with them. With this little nebulous piece inside of her. They were so twisted up about it. There was no way she wanted him to take this on. That level of guilt.

  He came up behind her, his arms folding around her gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe.”

  Would it have been better to just take care of it on her own? To have never told him? She wasn’t sure she’d ever get that look out of her mind. The soul deep sadness in his eyes at the thought of her—them—not wanting this baby.

  The unfairness of it rolled over her.

  She couldn’t do this to him.

  She turned in his arms, her cheek pressed into his chest as she held on tight. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Numb feet and the soft sway of them together gave her a clue that it was probably far longer than the minute it felt like.

  “Part of me wishes I hadn’t told you.”

  She heard the broken glass tone of her own voice. She stared out the window to the swaying hammock and the ocean forever rolling up the beach.

  “Harper.”

  She could hear—feel the disappointment in his voice. But this was the time for honesty. “It’s early into the pregnancy. There’s things that can be done.”

  She heard him swallow, felt the race of his heart.

  “You researched it already? Without talking to me?”

  “No. It was DJ. She’s done it.” She held him tighter. “God, she made it sound so easy. And all I could think was...Deacon is just about to explode on the scene. A new album. I’m going to ruin everything.”

  His arms came around her tighter. “Babe.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “How could you think that way?”

  “It’s not all selfless. I’m just starting my business, too. But if there was a crappier time, then I don’t know when it could be. And then...just.” She curled into him tighter. “God, I’m scared,” she whispered into his skin. The reassuring warmth of him right there and she couldn’t hold on tight enough.

  “Tell me.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Does the idea of a child—our child—seem so out of the realm of possibility?”

  “No.” She swallowed down the rocks that were currently residing in her throat. “No, Deacon. But nothing with us has ever been allowed to be planned. I met you and my entire world went into warp speed. I feel like I’m constantly running to catch up.”

  “I—” He cleared his throat. “Do you feel like I’m forcing you to move faster than you want to?”

  “Sometimes.” He stiffened in her arms. She held on when she felt him trying to retreat. “It’s just because you’re so sure all the time. You look at me with this complete calmness. I wish I knew how to find that as easily as you do.”

  He drew back so he could look down at her. “Because you are my peace. It’s how it’s always been. And it’s something I’ve never had before in my life.” He tipped his head down until their foreheads touched. “Maybe that’s why I pushed so hard to get this ring on your finger.” He pulled up her left hand and set it against his chest, covering it with his left. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you not in my life forever.”

  “You might have pushed for a quick wedding, but I wouldn’t have let you if I hadn’t wanted it too.” It was everything else on fast forward that made her uneasy. Sweet & Savory, her catering business, was doing well. Even with the advanced timetable, she and Annie were making something together. So much so, that she was honestly thinking about making Annie an offer to be a full partner instead of just her employee.

  She was barely holding on to take care of herself and Deacon.

  “What if I fuck it all up?”

  “It’s not just you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

  If there were pictures in Wikipedia of strong, sure, capable men, Deacon would be top ten, easily. Hell, top five. But with Oblivion going on the road again within the next year, how would she be able to make it all work?

  God, were the walls closing in?

  She pulled away from him and rounded the island to the fridge. She pulled out the pitcher of water and opened doors. Glasses. Cups. Fucking juice glasses. Something.

  Deacon came up behind her and covered her hand on the knob of the cupboard. He opened it again and pulled down two tall glasses. He gently eased the pitcher away from her and poured.

  The rocks in her throat surely had to be suffocating her. Filling up her lungs. She took a deep breath, then another and swallowed more than half the glass. Rushing gulps that came out with a choke.

  “I need to walk. I gotta get out of here. Outside.”

  Deacon pulled open the storm shutters. Clouds had come in as they were talking. The sky was steel gray and ominous. Perfect. She didn’t want sun. She wanted the slap of the wind on her face. Without a word, she went for their duffel bag and unearthed her bulky fisherman’s sweater and shorts.

  She paused, then pulled out one of Deacon’s sweatshirts. “Come with me?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. There had been too many words, hurtful and too truthful between them. As usual, Deacon seemed to know that now wasn’t the time to talk.

  When she was dressed, he took her hand and led her out the back to the water. The roiling waves were churning with a storm to come. She didn’t bother with shoes. Needing the sand and the water on her skin, if only her toes.

  With linked fingers, they walked. They passed houses and hotels, one of the many piers that reached out into the ocean and groaned under the force of the gales coming in. Some of them were stone, some weather-worn wood in all different shades. Seagulls squawked and cried out as they coasted on the updrafts.

  Not a soul around them.

  December was off season at the best of times in Galveston, but on a day like today there was no reason to visit the beach. She was glad for it. She didn’t want to exchange pleasant smiles with strangers. She didn’t want Deacon to have to fend off fans today.

  “We should turn back,” Deacon said quietly.

  She peered up at him, his hair wet ropes around his angular face. Even under the beard that tried to soften his face, there was no mistaking those cheekbones. She bumped into his solid warmth, letting him wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her back the way they came.

  By the time they reached the house, she couldn’t feel her toes and Deacon, who never had a cold moment in his life, had a tinge of blue to his lips. They both stripped on the way in and headed right for the shower. She turned the glass enclosure into a ball of steam, and they both washed the sea film off of their skin. There were looks between them, but neither of them seemed inclined to touch.

  When the suds from shampoo and conditioner, her body wash, and the ever perfect scent of Deacon’s woodsy scent circled the drain, they both surrendered to the pull that was always between them. Deacon enveloped her with his arms and a bath sheet, bundling her close before sweeping her up and out into the living space. He dropped into one of the over-sized chairs with her in his lap. He tucked his chin on her shoulder. “We need to eat something.”

  Food had always been a staple in her life. She enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed sharing her recipes. Now, she gave half a damn about eating at all. She pressed her cheek against his. “So far, cheese has been the only thing that doesn’t taste like all of the wrongs in the world.”

  “We might be in luck. When I went to the store yesterday, I got the fixings for pizza.”

  “Your idea of fixings, or mine?”

  He huffed out a half-l
augh. “Top shelf olive oil, fresh dough, and good mozzarella. Oh, and mushrooms.”

  “You’re learning, Mr. McCoy.”

  “I have a good teacher, Mrs. McCoy.”

  The sound of that still startled her. But it was more that it sounded so right. So natural. Harper McCoy. For twenty-three years she’d been Pruitt, and she’d thought she’d be one of those women that held onto her name. But she’d wanted his name. Nothing had felt as right as writing his name after her own.

  She tried to lever herself off of him, but Deacon held her there. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  She closed her eyes and let him hug her before she stood and headed into the kitchen.

  This was her domain. The cool granite top on the island cupboard steadied her like a tumbler lock being reset inside of her. She gathered the ingredients from the fridge and found a few dried spices over the stove as well as flour in a canister. Five minutes later, she had the oven pre-heating and dough stretching on the flour-sprinkled granite top. Deacon had wandered out onto the porch as she worked, the dim light from his phone lighting his face in the growing dark.

  A pizza stone was too much to hope for, but she made do with a cookie sheet. When the scents of oregano and the sauce she’d doctored didn’t roil her stomach, she had hope that she’d actually be able to eat something.

  She washed her hands and went for her own phone. Answered a few texts from Annie and her mom. The urge to talk to her mom hit her low and hard.

  But the idea of disappointing her if she decided not to go through with the pregnancy held her back. She and her mom weren’t exactly the closest of people, but her mom was as traditional as apple pie when it came to having children.

  It was in direct opposition to their lifestyle, but then again...what wasn’t odd in her life? She’d snuck into a costume steamer trunk at twelve just to run away with her dad. That wasn’t the action of a well-adjusted child.

  Adventure had been her middle name for so long. When had that changed? When she’d gotten her heart broken by Jesse at seventeen? When she’d gotten tired of climbing lighting rigs?

  She set her phone down and put the pizza in the oven. When a twitter notification popped up, she flicked her phone alive again.

  Come see me and Simon at the Triage Room in downtown LA Sat night. We’re guest jamming with The Purge. xoxo Jazz

  Guess Jazz was getting antsy waiting at home for them to figure out studio time. She tapped her phone, staring at Jazz’s name on her screen.

  No.

  She shouldn’t burden Jazz with this kind of news.

  She wouldn’t be able to tell the rest of the band. It was unfair to ask her to keep a secret. Especially when secrets had done such a royal fuck-job on the band this past summer.

  Harper turned off the phone and tucked it back into her bag. She put the thought out of her mind and started cleaning up the kitchen.

  Twelve

  Opening Up

  “Babe. Come eat.”

  Deacon turned in his chair on the back patio. “Smells great. My gut’s been rumbling since you put the sauce on.” He stuffed his phone into his shorts pocket and stood.

  She leaned on the doorjamb, her hair half down in one of her messy braids that she was forever bundling her hair into while she cooked. The cornsilk strands never stayed that way long. He moved to her, coasted his palm down her hair, sliding his fingers in at the nape of her neck.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  He bent down to her, kissing her gently. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m going to break.”

  “You’re the strongest woman I know, Lawless.”

  She curled her lip up in the cute little sneer that he loved and he kissed her again.

  “Think you’re going to be able to eat?”

  “So far so good.” She turned to go inside, looking back at him with an almost grin. “Evidently, tomatoes and cheese are on my good list so far.”

  Surprised that she actually owned up to something regarding her pregnancy, he followed her inside. So far she’d been very careful not to even discuss it as something actually happening to her. More like it was something to deal with.

  It made his chest ache every time.

  After spending the last half hour reading articles on the first trimester, his head was spinning with information and symptoms that now made so much more sense. Her sensitivity during sex was something a lot of women experienced. Either they were about as excited to have sex as getting waxed, or they were pretty much insatiable, with a few different levels in between.

  Harper was definitely on the hypersensitive side.

  Holy shit, was she ever. The first few days of their honeymoon had been a lust filled haze. Not such a bad side effect. He’d quickly sidelined into research about sex and pregnancy because...well, he’d never had sex with a pregnant woman before. They hadn’t exactly been careful either.

  Christ, they’d practically killed each other on a few of the rounds that first night.

  But it was normal and they didn’t have to worry about that until much later in the pregnancy.

  If they got there.

  Deacon rubbed the heel of his hand over his breast bone, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. They were still figuring things out.

  He scratched his neck, his beard just on the edge of unruly. Images from all the websites and videos were playing on a loop in his head. There were videos on positions to make it good for her for fuck’s sake. He didn’t even want to think about the pregnancy porn out there. But beyond that, there were do’s and don’ts by the truckload.

  Harper got plates and put two slices on one, four on the other. When she put the two slices in front of him, he laughed.

  “What?”

  “Hungry?”

  “God, yes.” She folded her foot under herself as she curled into her chair. She took a bite of her slice and chewed. “Food has tasted like crap for days now. I could house this pizza by myself.”

  “Well, from what I’ve read, the food thing is pretty common. It’s usually followed by morning sickness though.” He lifted a shoulder. “Which you don’t seem to have.”

  Harper’s gaze lowered to her plate and she started ripping at her crust, dunking it in the extra sauce that oozed from the cheese. “What else did you read?”

  He took a bite from his pizza, moaning a little before chewing and swallowing. The woman could probably make cardboard taste like heaven. “Some smells might make you nuts. Could trigger a getting sick deal.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah. Not great, but the good part is your super nose is evidently to make sure you’re not around toxins that could hurt the baby. So you kinda become the great baby protector instinctively.”

  Harper stood, transferring one of her pieces to his plate before returning to the kitchen.

  Shit.

  Fuck. Would he do anything other than bungle this stuff? He crossed the room, finding her gripping the edges of the island.

  He came up behind her and caged her in, covering her white-knuckled grip. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve done nothing to protect this baby. What if I hurt her or him? I wasn’t doing anything right for the last few weeks. No sleep...” She took a shuddering breath. “Drinking,” she said on a hoarse whisper.

  Deacon whirled her around into his arms, holding onto her tight. His chest constricted. They’d hit the tequila hard the other day. And they both had been enjoying her wine lessons that she’d been taking.

  He’d never thought he’d be a wine drinker, but between the both of them, they were becoming quite the enthusiasts.

  “Well, from what I’ve read...the wine deal has actually been added to a lot of doctor’s okay-to-drink lists.”

  She sniffed. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He drew her over to the bed and pushed pillows up to the headboard. He sat down, scooting back until his shoulders were resting against it. He drew his phone out of his pocket and opened his l
egs.

  She was gnawing on her bottom lip, frowning at him.

  “C’mere.”

  She crawled onto the bed, situating herself between his legs. They’d spent many a night on the bus like this and always ended up sliding down on either the couch or his bunk and falling asleep eventually.

  He was hoping to do the same thing now.

  He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. Flicking his phone to life, he went to the last website he’d been reading. “This would be easier on our iPad, but I didn’t bring it.”

  “More like Jazz confiscated it.”

  Deacon kissed her temple. “Because Simon busted three of them now. Idiot.”

  Harper scooted down, curving herself into the line of his body. “What am I looking at?”

  “Evidently whatever I Google, I end up back here at this Parenthood site. And I read something about Fetal Alcohol something—”

  “Syndrome.”

  He nodded. “But only from prolonged alcoholism. Does that sound like us?”

  “I can think of someone, but it ain’t us.”

  Deacon sighed. He had to agree with her. In their circle there was a lot of drinking, but it had never really been their thing.

  He rested his chin on top of her head and started reading aloud. He felt her slowly relax. She asked a few questions, but for the most part she just listened.

  Eventually her head slid down to rest along his forearm and she grew heavier in his arms as sleep took her. He read until his battery died, loathe to move and wake her.

  And finally his eyes grew heavy as well and he curved around the back of her. He pressed his hand to her belly, cradling them both in his arms.

  * * ♦ * *

  Harper woke to a furnace behind her and way too many freaking lights on. She winced as her bladder made it known that rolling over wasn’t in her future.

  She slipped out from under Deacon’s heavy arm and reached for the lamp beside the bed and quickly extinguished the light.

  “Harper?”

  “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

  “Where are you going?” His voice was barely a rumbling whisper, coated in sleep.

  “Bathroom.” She leaned down, coasting her fingers through his hair.