The hallway on the other side of the door was quiet, but I could feel Warren out there. Pacing. Waiting. Gripping his neck in frustration. I exhaled a deep breath in the silent bathroom.
Eight months had passed since Warren’s grand concert gesture on top of a derelict apartment building. Unbeknownst to him, the record company had recorded said concert. The album had reached platinum and double platinum in under two months.
Wanks and Janks had finished their farewell tour the same night Daisy went into labor. She’d almost delivered my half-brother on stage in front of thirty thousand fans. I was there in the delivery room, coaching Daisy through much grunting and pushing. Billy fainted when the baby was delivered, not very rock’n’roll, so I cut the cord. Dylan, my brother, had tufts of blondish hair and a set of lungs you wouldn’t believe. The first time I held him, he screamed and farted simultaneously. I loved him instantly and with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed.
War kept his word and we moved in with Billy. Saying things were tense at first was a bit of an understatement. The Arctic seemed like a summer retreat, given the way Billy and Warren acted around each other. They didn’t fight. They just didn’t talk. Daisy and I endured icy, brooding silence for five weeks. A day into the sixth week, I wandered the house, making my way to the basement studio. Daisy stood in the sound technician booth, watching through the window, a mix of amazement and apprehension in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” I whisper-yelled.
Daisy put a finger to her lips. “Sh.”
I followed her gaze. Warren sat on a stool, a guitar in his lap and Billy just above his shoulder. Billy’s arms were crossed, his face serious. “That’s it,” he told Warren. “You see, when you change that chord up a bit, it lifts the whole song.”
“You’re right, man. Thanks,” Warren said, scratching something out on a piece of paper.
“Oh, my God,” I said in a low voice. “Are they getting along?”
“They’ve been doing this for twenty minutes. I came down to ask Billy if he wanted lunch and I found them like this. I’m too afraid to move. I don’t want to spook them.”
I grinned. It was a lot like observing animals in the wild, two alphas that had stumbled into one another’s territory. We watched for another ten minutes, until a cry from the baby monitor in Daisy’s hand startled them.
“Shoot.” Daisy struggled to dim the volume. Too late. Billy and Warren had spied us through the glass.
“Have they been staring at us the whole time?” Warren asked.
Billy smirked. “Probably. Daisy can’t get enough of me.” My father puffed out his chest. Gross.
I flicked a switch on the sound board and spoke into a microphone. “I’m glad you two are getting along.” I gave a watery smile.
“Christ,” Warren complained. “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
And that was it. Fast-forward a few more months, and Billy surprised us with a late wedding gift. He’d bought us the house across the street from him. “I’ll let you take my daughter,” Billy said the day he presented us with the keys. “But not too far away.” Manipulative bastard.
The day of the move time stopped, ceased to exist. I’d just started unpacking our first box in the kitchen when I realized I’d missed something important. Something I hadn’t missed in three years. My ass hit the floor. Warren saw my dazed face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did those fucking movers—”
“Sh, I’m counting,” I hissed at Warren. I ticked the days off on my fingers. Twenty-nine. One day late. It could mean nothing. It could mean something. Something big.
“What’s going on?” Warren crouched beside me. Concerned lines appeared between his brows.
“I’m late?” I wondered if my face was as white as it felt.
“Late?” Warren parroted. Three seconds, that was how long it took for Warren to get it. He sprang into action and immediately stubbed his toe on a box. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chanted, hopping around on one foot.
Ugh. I rolled my eyes. “I told you to wear shoes. Who goes barefoot while unpacking boxes?”
“I do.” Warren jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Because I’m a fucking man.”
“Got it.” I nodded. “Real men go barefoot and scream like little girls when they stub their toes.” I rose to stand. Hands were on my shoulders, pressing me back down to the floor.
“Shit, sit down, baby. Rest. You’re pregnant,” Warren demanded.
Another eye roll. “I don’t know if I’m pregnant, War. I’m late. I need to take a pregnancy test. Let’s go to the store.”
Warren shook his head. “You stay here. I’ll go. Don’t unpack anymore. A box could fall on you. Don’t use the oven either. I thought I smelled gas earlier. Actually, don’t move at all.” The door was swinging shut behind him before I could disagree.
Now banging on the bathroom door jolted me from my thoughts. “Fuck’s sake, Addy. What’s taking so long?”
War had returned thirty minutes ago with a bag of pregnancy tests. I didn’t have to wee, so I drank some water. Warren had watched the whole time, intense eyes darting back and forth between the water bottle and my stomach. War had tried to follow me in the bathroom, but I’d stuck up a hand and forced him to stay. I had to draw the line somewhere.
I’d peed on one test then another and another. Five tests. Five positive signs glared back at me. I was pregnant. Again. I waited for the fear to take root, but it didn’t. Blinding happiness spread through my legs and arms.
Since the ectopic pregnancy had nearly ruptured my left Fallopian tube, it had been removed. The chances of me becoming pregnant again were slim, the doctor had explained. I’d relayed this to Warren. We’d decided not to use protection for the time being and if a baby came, a baby came. A very adult decision. It would be a miracle. We’d be thankful. But I hadn’t thought it would happen. At least not this soon. Warren, on the other hand, had been confidant, going on and on about his “super-sperm.”
“I’m going to beat down this door if you don’t answer me,” Warren warned.
Gathering the tests in my fist, I opened the door. Hands shoved in his pockets, Warren examined me, the tears glistening in my eyes, my happy glow.
“We’re going to have a baby,” he said.
Even though he didn’t pose it as a question, I nodded, holding the pee sticks close to my chest.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured. Then his lips were on mine, his arms crushing me to him.
“I can’t believe it,” I sort of cried and snorted.
“I can,” he said, kissing my head. “Super-sperm, remember?” Warren froze against me.
“What?” I peered up at him.
“Sh, I’m counting,” he repeated my words from an hour ago. It was amazing how your life could change in such a short span of time. I watched the ball in his throat work. “Shit, you’re due right in the middle of the tour.” The record company had booked a world tour to capitalize on Wild Minds’ newest bestselling album. “We’ll just have to cancel. You can’t be on the road and pregnant. And I’m not going without you.”
I shrugged. “Daisy did it.”
He considered this. “I’d want a doctor on call.” He sucked in his cheeks, thinking. “Maybe we can find someone to tour with us.”
My mouth curved in a smile, as I had a brilliant idea. The image of a six-foot-plus Highlander-esque Scotsman, half nurse, half bodyguard, danced in my vision. “I know the perfect guy.”
Warren groaned, then proceeded to kiss me silly.
And that was the end.
Really.