One Song: book two in the one series

by Best, Victoria J.

  That was why I was punishing myself. Because if I had just stayed on the awful date with the music executive whose name I can’t even remember now, I would have never been with Rhys and I would have never begun wishing for all of the things I was wishing for now. There would be no happily ever after for Rhys and me. It wasn’t possible, not with his life on tour and living on the West Coast, and my life here in New York, running this company. A company I was slowly starting to resent as the days wore on.

  Today, I was taking my foul mood out on my staff every chance I could get. It didn’t help that my week was slowly getting worse, which only soured my mood further. Tomorrow, I had to leave for France for an event for a client but while I was there, I was meeting with my estranged husband to sign divorce papers. At least that was what I was told we were meeting for when his lawyer contacted me. In my current situation, feeling bitter, alone, and large with child, I wasn’t planning on signing those papers. I had to convince him, and the world, for just a little longer that this baby was his. My dad was the only one who I told the lie to besides Rhys, about Jackson being the father, but soon everyone would know.

  When I was hurting or in despair, I was cruel, and this was no exception. Though I knew it was the wrong way to do this, I was going to tell Jackson this baby was his and nothing could change my mind.

  Sighing, because it felt like the more I became mired in my lies and deception, the more exhausted I became, I stood up. My hands went to my belly automatically, and I let them sit there for a spell as I stared out the window. The baby kicked under my hand, swiftly, and despite everything, love bloomed in my chest. I felt utterly alone most days, on the cusp of losing everything, but when I felt him move inside of me, some of that loneliness dissipated. This baby, this defenseless baby boy who would soon be mine, was all that I had in this world, and I was doing this all for him.

  I told myself that over and over, to make me feel better about manipulating and deceiving everyone.

  It’s for the baby.

  Even though I knew it was all a lie.

  * * *

  It was done.

  The lie was out there in the universe and I felt like an ogre for doing it. But it was done, and I had to do it.

  For the baby.

  The hollow words echoed in my head over and over, as the plane taxied on the runway at JFK airport. I was home after three grueling and miserable days in France. First, the client meeting didn’t go the way I had expected. They were demanding more of me than the contract stated. The client’s agent wanted me to do free press, free events, and foot the bill.

  That wasn’t how this worked and I told them that, giving them the option to dissolve our business relationship. It was a multi-million dollar contract—the endorsement deals alone for the model would keep our company in the black for years—but I wasn’t in the head space to negotiate further. My father was going to be furious but I had bigger fish to fry.

  I had to lie to Jackson Radcliffe about my baby.

  When I walked into the conference room and saw the woman sitting next to him, a pretty, curvy redhead, with love in her eyes directed at Jackson, everything spun out of control. My initial plan was to tell him the baby was his, ask for extra money to sign the papers, and let him go with the stipulation he wouldn’t question the paternity of the child.

  But when I saw them together, heads close as they talked, looking intimate in a way that Jackson and I never were, my resolve snapped. It wasn’t that I was jealous she was with Jackson—I didn’t love him and probably never had—but I was jealous of them. I was enraged they had the relationship I never could, or never would, with Rhys because I didn’t have the luxury of it. I had too much to lose. So, I turned into a raging bitch and refused to give Jackson a divorce on the grounds we could make our farce of a marriage work for this baby.

  I was losing my mind.

  But when it was all said and done, I was still married to Jackson and he was demanding a paternity test. I fucked it all up because I wanted something I couldn’t have. Everything was a disaster.

  Sighing, I got into the waiting car as the driver stowed my luggage into the trunk. On top of everything, the exhaustion, the humiliation, and the disaster I caused, I was having contractions. Being five and a half months pregnant, they were worrying me, but I called the doctor when the plane landed, and she told me it was likely stress and dehydration. She gave me orders to rest and hydrate for the next two days. No work, no exercise, nothing, and if they got worse at any point, I should go to the hospital.

  Another sharp jab in my side had me doubling over in the back seat of the car as I pulled my phone from the carry-on bag. I didn’t have time for this and if I was being honest, I was terrified something was wrong with the baby. Breathing deeply through my nose and expelling the air through my mouth in a puff, the contraction subsided and I sat back up, looking for the email I needed to send.

  The first thing I had to do was tell my father what I did in France. Everything, from the PR deal that went south to the stuff with Jackson. I was sure he would find out from our lawyer about my stupid declaration, but I had to be the one to tell him.

  A fifth contraction in less than an hour gripped me, and I dropped my phone on the floor. This one was sharper than the last, to the point I could barely breathe, and fear bloomed in my chest. Maybe I should go to the hospital after all?

  “Davis.” I grunted the word out through the pain that felt like period cramps on steroids. “Can you bring me to the hospital, Lenox Hill.”

  Davis looked in his rearview, concern lining his usually stoic face. “Is everything all right, Miss Livingston?”

  “No, Davis. I don’t think so.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew this wasn’t just from stress or dehydration. Something was terribly wrong.

  12

  Natalie

  Once Davis dropped me at the hospital, everything seemed to ramp up to warp speed, moving so quickly I couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t keep up. I was in agonizing pain, the contractions coming one right after the other as they wheeled me into a room and hooked me to a monitor. They stuck me and poked me, checking to see if I was dilated, giving me an IV, pushing medication I couldn’t remember the name of. The whole time, I was weeping, begging them to help my traitorous body to keep the baby inside just a little longer.

  It was too soon.

  “Miss Livingston, is there someone we can call for you?” One of the nurses asked me for the fifteenth time as I writhed on the bed, unable to focus on a word she said.

  “No, no one.” I croaked the words out again, tears running down my face. “Please, help him,” I begged between contractions.

  “We are doing what we can. The medicine should kick in soon, to slow or stop your contractions. The doctor will be back in soon to discuss everything with you.” The nurse looked at me with concern, her eyes flitting back to the hall where I knew Davis was lurking around somewhere.

  I silently hoped he’d call my father, but at the same time, I knew he either wouldn’t come or would be put out by this. He loved me but he wasn’t built for this kind of thing. When my mother was dying, he was at the office. I wished for a mother I no longer had and a partner that didn’t exist as the contractions slowed to a dull ache and tightness over the next thirty minutes. The meds were finally working.

  “Miss Livingston.” Dr. Davidson entered the room, her face grim.

  My stomach dropped and I rested a hand on my still too small bump.

  “What’s going on with my baby, doctor?” I asked her, point blank. I didn’t need coddling; I needed the truth.

  “You’ve started to dilate, about three centimeters, but at twenty-five weeks, it’s still too soon for the baby to come. I’ve given you terbutaline, which should stop your contractions. I’m hoping that if we keep you here on the meds and in bed for a few days, that you won’t dilate any further. After we seem to have the contractions under control, you can return home
but you would be on full bed rest, so as not to aggravate it further.”

  Terror wound its fist around my heart, a lump forming in my throat as I tried to speak. “What happens if they come back?” I said, so quietly it took a minute for Dr. Davidson to comprehend my words.

  “Well, we will deliver the baby early and do our best to help him survive.”

  A sob escaped my chest and I put my face in my hands. This was my fault, it had to be. I was zooming off to other parts of the world, ruining people’s lives, and now I was getting mine. My baby was in danger and I deserved it.

  “I did this, didn’t I?” I choked the words out through tears.

  Dr. Davidson’s face flashed with pity as she approached the bed. “Sometimes there is no explanation as to why a woman goes into labor early, Natalie. It wasn’t anything you did.” She patted the back of my hand as she sat on the bed next to me, making me cry harder.

  I was a mess and I could tell by the look the doctor exchanged with the nurse that they thought so too. It was likely they were wondering where the baby’s father was, or where my family was, or even a friend, but I was such an awful person I had none of those. I was alone, doing this by myself, enduring the pain and suffering I ought to have, for pushing everyone away and being horrible to everyone I knew.

  The doctor finally stood and exited the room, talking quietly to the nurse before she left.

  “Miss Livingston, I think you should try to get some rest, and we will check on you in an hour or so.”

  I nodded, unable to answer her. Slipping under the rough hospital blanket, I pulled it to my chin, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. How had I done this to myself? How had I ended up here? I wallowed in my self-pity as the destructive and self-deprecating thoughts plagued me until I fell into a fitful sleep, rife with nightmares.

  * * *

  I was running, fast and far. Something or someone was chasing me, but I couldn’t see what or who it was. Terror, stark and jarring, enveloped me like a shroud though I had no idea what was going on. I fell, hard, a tree branch slicing through my abdomen. When I looked down, I was bleeding, the reddish-brown liquid running down my legs and puddling on the ground. It was coming, getting closer, and I was bleeding out in the dim forest as I let it approach. There was nothing else I could do, so I gripped my stomach and braced myself for impact.

  I startled awake, a wail stuck in the back of my throat. It was a nightmare, but the pain was real. The wetness, blood or something else, was also real and I looked down at my stomach to see if I had really been impaled. No, that was silly, I was still in the hospital. The contractions were back, slicing through me and threatening to rip me in two. This was worse somehow than the nightmare because I wasn’t the only one in danger anymore. A nurse rushed into the room at the incessant beeping of one of my monitors. She looked harried, but her face gave away nothing.

  “Why am I wet,” I grunted through a contraction because I feared I really was bleeding.

  “Let me check,” she said, her mask of calm dissolving as she lifted my blankets and looked between my legs. “Your water broke. I have to get the doctor right away.”

  The nurse shouted more orders to another nurse as she fled the room in a hurry, and the nurse checked my vitals, adjusting the monitor on my steadily cramping abdomen. Panic seized me again because this wasn’t happening the way the doctor said. If my water broke, that meant I was in active labor and I couldn’t be in active labor because it was too soon.

  Too soon.

  My mind scrambled as I tried to form a coherent thought through the pain and terror of what was happening.

  “What’s going on?” I managed to ask the nurse, who was buzzing around me.

  “Janet went to get the doctor. She’ll be here soon.” I could tell by the look on her face this wasn’t good.

  “Please, tell me what’s happening. Am I in labor? Is the baby coming?”

  “I’m going to check right now to see if you’re dilating further, while we wait for Dr. Davidson.” The nurse tried to keep me calm but everything was spinning out of control again.

  I was never out of control of my situations and yet, for the last six months, I was nothing but.

  The nurse hoisted my legs into stirrups and told me to slide down. I obeyed as pain seared my insides. This couldn’t be happening. It was like the worst nightmare I ever had and I couldn’t wake up from it. When the nurse was finished, she came to stand by my head, her face giving me the answer before her words did.

  “You’re seven centimeters. I’m going to see what’s keeping the nurse. We have to get you to delivery.”

  She rushed from the room just as I reached for her to get more of an explanation on what was happening. I was alone again, terrified and blubbering, as I tried to make sense of what was going on. My baby was coming early and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.

  “Natalie,” I heard from the doorway, and all the air left my lungs at the sound of my father’s voice.

  “Daddy,” I sobbed as he rushed to my bedside. “The baby is coming and it’s too soon.” I felt like the lost little girl whose mother had just died, and not the twenty-five-year-old woman I was.

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner? Davis finally reached me in my meeting and I rushed away. Traffic was horrific. What do you mean, the baby is coming?” I had never seen my father look so disheveled. It was a mistake to tell them not to call him.

  “I don’t know how this happened. When I was leaving the airport, the contractions got worse and”—I paused, another contraction taking my breath away for a minute before I could speak again—“I asked Davis to bring me here. They tried to stop it, but my water broke.”

  “Where is the damn doctor?” my father roared as he stroked my head.

  Finally, Dr. Davidson breezed in, a team of nurses behind her, all wearing scrubs and masks.

  “It’s about damn time!” my father growled at them but they ignored him.

  “Natalie, Natalie, look at me.” The doctor tried to grab my attention as I doubled over with pain. “We’re going to wheel you to a delivery room that is equipped for the delivery of your baby. We need to get there quickly because we will need to rush him to the neonatal intensive care unit as soon as you deliver. Do you understand?”

  I nodded through tears at her words. The baby was coming now.

  Too soon.

  * * *

  “You have to push, Nat,” my dad urged as he stood up by my head, averting his eyes the best he could as the nurse held my leg back and the doctor stood between them.

  I had been pushing for thirty minutes, in labor for over two hours, and I was utterly exhausted.

  “One more big push, Natalie,” the doctor ordered from the end of the bed.

  “Okay,” I grunted, gritting my teeth before bearing down hard. “Ahhhhh!”

  The scream that came out of my mouth was lost in a flurry of pain and commotion. The baby didn’t cry when he emerged, and the nurses and doctor whisked him away quickly to an awaiting incubator. I struggled to sit up to see him but another nurse practically held me down.

  “You can’t get up until you’ve delivered the placenta,” she barked at me, pushing me back down by the chest onto the bed.

  Though I was worn out and in pain, I couldn’t focus on anything but the state of my baby.

  “When can I see him?” My voice sounded hollow and raw.

  “As soon as you are all taken care of here and he’s all taken care of up in the NICU.”

  Tears leaked from my eyes as the nurse tended to me. I had to see my baby, watch him breathe and move to know that he would be all right.

  “Dad, can you go with him?” I called to my father where he stood, observing the nurses and doctor near the incubator.

  “That was the plan, Natty.” I grossly misjudged my father’s reaction to this whole thing, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

  Rhys flitted through my mind briefly for the fifth time since I came to t
he hospital. But that didn’t matter now either because he was never going to know the baby was his. The thought gripped my chest in a way that made me want to sob, but it had to be that way. For everyone.

  13

  Natalie

  He was so small. Christopher. That was what I named him, after my father, but with a different middle name so he wouldn’t be saddled with being the fourth his whole life. If he made it through the night.

  Christopher Bryce Livingston, my tiny baby boy. One pound, three ounces. I didn’t even know a baby could be that tiny, had never seen one so small. Now I couldn’t look away from him as his little chest was forced up and down by the ventilator, small tubes snaking around his body, which was clothed in nothing but a diaper. The wheelchair I sat in wasn’t high enough for me to see all the way into the incubator, but they wouldn’t let me stand up yet. As soon as they were done with me, I made them wheel me down here and I had no plans to leave.

  “Miss Livingston, you should go back to bed and rest. We will keep you updated on Christopher’s care and health. I promise.” The nurse’s voice, the one who wheeled me into the NICU, was filled with pity and sorrow. I didn’t care what she said or did, I wasn’t leaving his side.

  “Nat, maybe you should listen to the nurse.” My father stood on the other side of the incubator, his suit rumpled, the jacket removed and his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. I had never seen my father in such a state, or didn’t remember the last time I had. He refused to leave me just the same way I refused to leave Christopher, though I told him to go home and rest, change, and get something to eat. “I’ll stay.”