We decided to wait to have a baby. And by wait, I mean nearly a decade. I thought it best to hold off until Addy graduated high school and went to college. Getting pregnant turned out to be its own challenge. We tried for a while, then turned to fertility treatments. Billy crowned himself, “Champion of Jerking Off into Cups.” And I guess he was, because we ended up with a baby that way. I was nearly eight and half months along. My abdomen stretched round as if I’d devoured a basketball. Backstage, I swayed along to the music. The baby in my belly kicked and I bent over, grunting in pain.
“What’s the matter? Is it time?” Trent was beside me in an instant. Since my due date had drawn closer, Billy had Trent trailing me. The big man was stuck to me like glue and every time I winced he was all over me.
“No,” I shooed him away. “The little guy is just kicking. He hates this song.” On stage Billy sang a song from an earlier album. Something about doing women and leaving them in the morning. So romantic. Another swift kick to the ribs and I sucked in a breath. Across the way, I saw Wild Minds, the co-headlining band, getting ready to go on stage. Addy propped up on her tiptoes and kissed the lead singer, a man she once called “King of the Assholes.” They’d gotten married in secret. Billy and Addy had hit a rough patch after that. My cranky rocker hated the idea of his little girl married to another musician. And by hate I mean detested, loathed, couldn’t abide. But all seemed well now. Water under the bridge and all that.
“Maybe you should go sit down. Billy said you should be resting.”
My mouth screwed up. “Billy said,” I mocked. Oh also, pregnancy had made me into a hormonal bitch. I even faked being sick just to spend a few extra days in the hospital and get a break from the tour, a move I thought might send Billy over the edge. Poor man, when he fell, he fell hard. Yeah, I’d definitely put him through the ringer over the last few months. But I couldn’t really muster feeling bad about it. Not when the kid inside me was using my organs as punching bags.
A vicious cramp ran through my side. I gritted my teeth. It was Billy’s last concert on his final farewell tour. I would not miss it. My rocker had decided to retire. For a guy who never wanted to build white picket fences he sure talked a lot about settling down in a permanent home. The song ended.
“Daisy,” Trent sighed, a sign of his weariness. I was such a handful.
“You know Trent, I’m trying really hard to be nice to you right now.” Sweat broke out on my forehead. Okay, if I was being honest, I might have been having contractions all day.
The wail of an electric guitar pierced the air. The crowd screamed. I did too. But for an entirely different reason. Pain rippled down my side. Wetness gushed between my legs. Trent went white as a sheet. Billy had made the entire crew read, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, so they could “support” me. Everyone on tour now had intimate knowledge of labor and birth, which meant they all felt like fucking experts. I’d endured unwanted advice from roadies, Trent, even Turner. Today the baby is the size of a prune, Daisy. Did you know your cervix acts as a sort of plug keeping the baby in? Don’t worry about spotting unless it’s bright red or heavy. You might shit when you’re in labor, nothing to be embarrassed about, all a natural part of giving birth. How’s your folic acid intake?
“Daisy?” Trent said very, very carefully. “I think your water just broke.”
I looked at the puddle at my feet. “No shit Sherlock.” Another contraction and I grabbed Trent’s forearm, digging my fingernails into his flesh. The big man didn’t even flinch. Around Trent’s neck was an earpiece. He spoke into the microphone. “The eagle is landing. Repeat, the eagle is landing, this is not a drill.” When I was six months along Trent began running “labor drills.”
“Okay, Daisy,” said Trent. “Just breathe. The nearest hospital is fifteen minutes away. An ambulance should be here in five.”
I moaned, clutching my baby. “I want Billy.”
“Perry’s about to go on stage and get him.” The assistant had been with Billy about as long as me. I loved the skinny nerd, but he wasn’t moving fast enough. I wanted Billy. Now.
“I need to sit down.”
Trent gazed at the grimy, sticky floor. “I don’t think—”
Too late, my ass hit the ground. Another contraction arrived with the force of a typhoon.
“Daisy, I don’t think Billy would want you sitting on the floor,” said Addy behind me. Obviously, she hadn’t seen my sweat-drenched face yet. The girl still had trouble calling her father “dad,” although sometimes I think she did it to annoy him. They had a good relationship, but it wasn’t without its complications. Families were like that.
“Fuck Billy. He did this to me.” Oh, I’d read about this stage of labor. It was the “I’m in pain, time to blame everyone especially the love of my life,” part.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Addy chanted. “You’re in labor.”
“The next person who tells me I’m labor is getting a monkey bite.” I started to cry.
Trent crouched next to me. “Your contractions are too close together. I don’t think you’re going to make it to the hospital.”
What a terrible thing to say to a woman in labor. I fisted Trent’s shirt in my hand and pulled him close. Apparently, giving birth gave you superhuman strength; usually I wouldn’t be able to budge the big man. “I am not having this baby backstage at a concert. You find an ambulance, Trent. And you get me to the hospital. I want drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. And where the fuck is Billy?” I wailed.
“I’m here, flower.” Billy took Trent’s place, clutching my sweaty palm. His shirt was sweat soaked. An earpiece hung around his neck. The crowd booed, demanding Wanks and Janks return, and I hissed back at them. Not that they could hear, but it made me feel better.
“Nice of you to show up.” More crying.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it to the hospital,” Trent spoke to Billy.
I clamped my legs together, resisting like hell the urge to push.
Billy’s mouth formed a thin line. He nodded. “Okay. Do what you have to do.”
Oh, I didn’t like the sound of that. Trent slipped on a pair of gloves from a medical kit. His hand settled on my knee. “Daisy, I’m going to have to check you.”
I slapped his hands away. “Nobody’s going near my vagina unless they have an M.D. at the end of their name.”
“We’ve got a doctor coming but I need to take a look. C’mon, sweetheart, I’m a trained medical professional, ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” His gold tooth flashed with a gentle smile. It was in no way reassuring.
“I knew I should’ve hired a fucking doctor,” Billy bit out. He’d lined up some top medical professionals to be at my beck and call but I’d denied the OBGYN. “That’s a little far, isn’t it?” I’d gently chided back when I was in my first trimester. Ah, the good old days.
“We got one coming from Mercy Hospital,” Trent assured. A wave of contractions hit, one right after the other. The need to push and get this baby out became so overwhelming I didn’t care about Trent spreading my legs, or slipping my panties over my knees. The big, bald man got right up in there. I would never live down the humiliation. I was putting a “do not disturb” sign permanently on my vagina. “I can feel the baby’s head,” Trent said.
“Oh man, I want to see.” I recognized Turner’s voice. My lashes fluttered up. The band stood over me. What the fuck. My hand skirted the floor, looking for something to throw at them.
“My vagina is not a museum,” I gritted out.
“She’s right, mates. If you want to stay you got stand at the head only.” Turner grumped and did as he was told, the rest of the band, too. Blessedly I couldn’t see them. Security had formed a tight circle around us, insuring privacy. They’d even turned their backs.
“Go ahead and push, Daisy.” I did as Trent commanded and bore down. I squeezed Billy’s hand. Addy was on my other side, gripping my forearm. On stage, Wild Minds started to play.
“I don’t want my baby to be born at a rock concert,” I ground out.
“Kind of too late for that,” Billy mumbled against a smile.
“Not funny,” I yelled.
“She’s crowning. The head’s coming out,” said Trent.
I so didn’t need his narration, because I could feel. My poor, poor vagina. It’d never be the same. No more babies after this. Fertility issues or not, Billy was double bagging it from now on.
Push, push, push was all I could think; pain was all I could feel. Then the pressure eased. My baby slipped out into the waiting arms of Trent. The tattooed, gold-toothed thug grinned down at the squirming mess. An unholy cry wrenched the air. Not from me, from the little guy I’d just delivered.
I slumped back, relieved and ever so tired. Trent wrapped my baby up in a blanket and placed him against my chest. My baby. Here at last.
“Look what we made,” I said to Billy.
Tears clouded my rocker’s eyes. It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry. “What should we name him?”
I kissed my baby’s wrinkly forehead. “I think he looks like a Dylan.” We’d discussed names and had narrowed it down to two: Billy Jr. and Dylan. I think we both knew I’d been humoring Billy with the former name.
“Sounds good, flower.” Billy said, touching the place where I’d just kissed. Then he nuzzled my neck. “I love you,” he said. Everything felt hazy and perfect.
The ambulance showed up, fifteen minutes too late. Billy rode with me. Everyone else followed behind. I cuddled Dylan against me.
Billy kissed the tip of my nose. “What do you think, flower, now that we got a baby, you going to make an honest man of me?” He’d been joking like this for a few weeks now. Putting a hard press on the marriage issue. Pouting when I refused. The shit he’d said years ago had set in deep. So I was reluctant to say yes. I’d meant what I’d said when he proposed the first time at the school. I didn’t need a piece of paper. “C’mon, flower,” Billy cajoled. “Don’t want our boy growing up in a broken home. Marry me, I can have a priest meet us at the hospital.”
I sighed, long and overdrawn. “I guess.”
Billy’s eyes blazed. “Is that a yes?”
I nodded and smiled, all sorts of happy and content. “I’ll marry you, Billy Wanks.”