The innocuous pale blue envelope sat on the table between Jazz and Harper. A smiley face sticker had been placed in one corner beside the recipient’s name and address, which had been written in bright purple ink.

The sender? Molly McIntire. The little sister Jazz hadn’t seen in a decade.

If it really was Molly at all.

“Interesting that it’s not made out to Jazz,” Harper said, folding her hands on her small baby bump. She was a couple of months farther along than Jazz and had that whole glowing thing going on, as evidenced by the rosiness of her cheeks and sparkle in her eye.

At least her eyes has been sparkling until Jazz asked her to meet for an emergency lunch at the Mexican restaurant near their apartment. Harper was about to move out of the place the members of Jazz’s band, Oblivion—Nick, Simon, Gray and Deacon—shared. Lucky Harper and her sexy manster of a husband Deacon had bought a little place in the Valley and were jumping ship.

They weren’t the only ones. Jazz glanced down at her engagement ring. Gray had mentioned just last week that he thought they should try to find a place of their own before the baby came in the fall.

Their baby, not Harper and Deacon’s baby. And no, contrary to what Nick had speculated, they had not added fertility drugs to the water in the Hollywood Hills. It was just coincidence.

Getting this letter now might be another one. Might.

“Molly didn’t call me Jazz. She was a little girl when I…left.” A nice way to refer to being tossed out on her ear and put into foster care. “She called me ‘Mine’, because she had trouble with Jasmine when she was a baby. I remember her standing in her crib crying for me, just saying ‘Mine’ over and over again. The name stuck.” Jazz smiled and sipped her iced tea. She probably should cut back on the caffeine but she figured her once a day iced tea couldn’t hurt that much. “My mom didn’t understand she meant me.”

“What did the letter say? Does it seem authentic?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”

Harper sighed and pushed cheese off her burrito. “What does Gray think?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.” And she wasn’t bummed about that at all. Surely she could get through a whole day without having a crisis she absolutely had to discuss with her best friend. Her best friend who just happened to now be her fiancé.

“How come?”

“He had a big meeting with a producer today and he was distracted last night, thinking the guy wouldn’t like his stuff.”

Gray being distracted was a usual thing since he’d come back from rehab. At first she’d figured he was still trying to get used to not being at the facility any longer, but then she’d begun to realize that in the eight weeks he’d been gone, he’d developed a new obsession. He stayed up late almost every night, writing and playing his guitar. That wasn’t unusual. But how driven he was to produce new material was.

They had a wedding to plan, a house to buy and a baby on the way. He had debts to pay back. And evidently he needed to take care of all of those things right this very second.

“Are you okay?” Harper leaned forward. “This letter really has you rattled.”

There was no use in pretending otherwise. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you haven’t been able to talk about it with Gray, and that has you twice as messed up.” Harp took her hand. “I get it. I’m the same way with the big guy. It’s gotta be even worse since you’ve been confiding in him so long.”

“He’s just busy. I get it. He’s trying to be the daddy, you know?” She laughed and poked at her rice with her fork, although she wasn’t that hungry. Shocking enough in itself, since her kid had proven to be a marathon eater already.

“He wants to make sure everything is taken care of financially. You know how it is, our money isn’t always consistent and we’re not sure when we’re getting what.” Harp nodded and released her, and Jazz dropped her hand in her lap with a sigh. “Plus, he thinks he needs to pay me and his parents back as fast as humanly possible for the Cricket situation, although I’ve told him fifty times my money is his. He’s just too stubborn to listen.”

“A stubborn man? No way. I’ve never encountered one of those.”

Jazz grinned. Talking to Harper always evened her out. “So I guess I should open the letter, huh? No reason to freak out until I see what it says.” She ran the edge of one of her purple fingernails along the envelope. “Maybe she’s telling me to never bother her and she wants no contact.”

Harp snorted. “Somehow I doubt it. More likely she wants to shake you down for some cash.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Honey, you’re famous now. Gads, you’re even more famous now since that vid of you and Gray setting the bed on fire has been plastered everywhere.”

Jazz ducked her head and hoped like hell she wasn’t actually blushing. She was a grown woman. So they’d made out in a video for a really dirty song about oral sex. A song Gray had written about eating her out. Big deal. People did that every day, right?

Their child would probably be horrified in a decade or so, but by then maybe no one would even remember the vid anymore. Except Gray, who claimed it was the best not-a-porno he’d ever seen.

“I wouldn’t say famous exactly,” Jazz began.

“I would,” Harper replied flatly. “Your name is everywhere right now. You guys just had an interview in Rolling Stone, for God’s sake.”

“It wasn’t an interview,” Jazz protested. “Just an itty bitty column about the video and the producers who want to work with Gray.”

Everyone seemed to all of a sudden. Once Lila had put the word out on the street that Gray been instrumental in writing Oblivion’s first big hit, “The Becoming,” and that he’d penned the bulk of their extremely buzzed about new single, “Sugar Kiss,” he’d become LA’s new It guy. And he was taking full advantage, working his ass off.

Working too much, if she was honest. He’d just finished up his part of recording on their upcoming album “Rise” that he’d missed while he was in rehab, and that time in the studio had meant lots of late nights. She’d hung out with him a lot of the time despite her sections being mostly finished, but sometimes the kid hadn’t been in the mood to chill while daddy did his thing. Not that the baby was moving or anything yet—though it probably wouldn’t be much longer—but he or she certainly contributed to Jazz’s inability to stay up past ten p.m. most of the time.

Some rock star she was lately.

“Whatever. You’re in the spotlight enough for people to want to get a piece of you.” Harp forked up spicy chicken and veggies. Evidently her appetite hadn’t deserted her like Jazz’s had.

“I haven’t been in contact with my sister in a decade. Molly was just a little thing back then. I just can’t believe—”

“How old was she when you last saw her?”

“Six. That was more than ten years ago. She’ll be...God, she’ll be seventeen in a few days.” Jazz fumbled for her guitar pick necklace, her link with Gray even when he wasn’t around. Years ago he’d swapped the cheap chain the pick had originally been strung on for a sturdy silver one, which came in handy with how often she wrapped it around her fingers. “Maybe that’s why she contacted me. It’s a big birthday. You know, people get sentimental and stuff.”

Harper didn’t say anything. Jazz knew Harp was thinking that she was an idiot for giving Molly the benefit of the doubt. Harper was much more street-wise in some ways than Jazz was, in spite of the hell that was Jazz’s teenage years. But God, was it so wrong to think that maybe someone had pure intentions? Not everyone was looking for a payday.

Your mama always was. And you know what they say about trees and branches…

“Look, I could’ve turned out money-hungry too, and I didn’t,” Jazz said, both to her friend and the voice in her head. It was a toss-up over which one was louder at the moment.

“Honey, you’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. I didn’t even know people like you existed.” Harp shook her head and broke a tortilla chip in half. “You befriend everyone and want to take care of the world. Considering your situation, it’s amazing that you didn’t become bitter. Instead you became the opposite.”

“Oh, I’ve been bitter, believe me. But if I pushed people away, I knew I’d only end up even more alone.”

“Did I mention self-aware too?” Harp grinned and dipped a chip in the bowl of freshly made salsa. “A lot of people twice your age haven’t figured that one out yet. And as awesome as it is for you personality-wise, that trusting nature makes you a target. You can’t afford to wear blinders about this situation, no matter who Molly is. I’m sorry that’s the way things are, sweetie. I truly am.”

“I’m not wearing blinders, and I’m not that trusting.”

Yeah, okay, so she’d taken forever and a day to catch on to Gray being on coke. Actually, she hadn’t caught on—Snake had told them all. But Gray was different. She’d always put him on a pedestal, and discovering that he wasn’t perfect had taken her by surprise. It had also made her love him even more.

In her typical Harp way, her friend only dipped another chip rather than respond.

“How can you eat that?”

“Why? It’s delish. Have some.” Harp held out a chip dripping with salsa.

“No way.” Jazz edged back in her chair and grabbed her belly. “I hurl the second tomatoes touch my lips.” She waved a hand. “The smell’s not much better.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Harp bit in with gusto, making Jazz laugh.

“Bitch. Better watch it or I’ll break out that chocolate bar in my purse.”

Harp grimaced. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to have a good old-fashioned whine fest when our food choices are broken into two categories—puke and not-puke friendly.”

Though truthfully, Jazz didn’t mind at all. She loved being pregnant. Sure, she could’ve done without the nausea, exhaustion and swollen ankles, and the idea of squeezing out a small watermelon in front of a swarm of people in lab coats didn’t turn her crank, but all the rest was awesome.

Including the fact that her boobs were now edging into D-cups, a fact Gray had no problem with whatsoever.

“The pregnancy thing does require some changing of our routines, yes. But at least we have someone to share it with.”

“This is true. And our kids will be a couple months apart. We’ll be able to put them in matching outfits and—”

“Even if you have a boy?” Harper grinned. “That should be interesting.”

“Don’t rub it in that your girl child success is assured.” Jazz stuck out her tongue and went back to toying with her rice. “Gray’s sure it’s a girl.”

“The big man was too. Me, I wasn’t so sure. What do you think?”

“As long as it’s healthy, I don’t care.” She really didn’t. The fantasy of dressing a little girl up in pretty dresses and hair bows was just that. She’d be just as happy with a boy that looked like his handsome daddy.

“Yeah, because you’ll keep having more until you get your girl.”

“Shh. Don’t give me ideas.” Jazz grinned and pulled out her phone as it chimed with an incoming text. “Oh yay. Back to the studio. Just me today. I guess I didn’t nail the intro of ‘Torn to Pieces’ or most of ‘Monster.’ And that’s after about a hundred takes.”

Harp loaded up another chip with salsa. “I don’t know how you have the energy to keep whaling on those drums. Even heavy whisking taxes me some days.”

“It’s my job.”

“Yeah, and you’re incredible at it. If I ever decide to go for mushroom on my pizza instead of sausage, I’m totally demanding that you deliver.”

Jazz choked on her bite of rice and grabbed her iced tea to wash it down while she sputtered out a laugh. This was what best friends were for. Making you grin no matter how lousy you felt. Even when you technically had no reason to feel lousy, because you were happier than you’d ever been in your life.

“There, that’s better. I need my Jazz smiling or else I’ll go back to work all bitchy. And I already have budget overruns on the costs for that Jamison job and…”

Jazz tuned Harper out while she went back to picking at her lunch. She didn’t mean to, but she desperately needed a nap. Gray hadn’t come home until super late last night thanks to some new alt rockers he was working with, and as usual, Jazz hadn’t been able to sleep without him beside her. Her inability to sleep alone was stupid, considering she’d gone to bed by herself until recently without any ill effects. She and Gray had only been together a short time, not counting the almost decade of extended mental foreplay beforehand. But that didn’t change the sigh of relief she breathed every time he slipped under the covers with her and slid his arm around her to tug her close.

“Oh crap. Annie’s got the flu and she’s gotta go home early.” Harper was already rising and shoving her cell phone into her purse. “I hate to eat and run but we have all those stupid canapés to finish.”

Jazz smothered a sigh. “Sure, of course.” She’d lost the thread of the conversation and now she was going to have to finish her lunch alone. She pushed her plate away. Not that she was hungry anyway. “I’m sorry Annie’s sick. Can I help? I could fill in—”

“We’re also making meatballs this afternoon, which means big vats of spicy red sauce.”

Jazz shuddered. “Never mind. Good luck.”

Harper laughed and patted Jazz’s shoulder. “Keep me posted on the Molly situation, okay? And talk to Gray. You know you won’t get straightened out until you do.”

Jazz lifted her chin. “I’m an independent career woman. I don’t need to check in with my significant other every five minutes.”

Harper nodded soberly. “Of course not. Do it anyway. For me. And finish your lunch. You’re already the size of a string bean.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Pot, kettle,” Harper said in a singsong voice, backing up with a wave.

“Uh-huh. Send Annie my love. I’ll talk to you later.”

Jazz’s smile lasted until the door swung closed behind her friend. Then she huffed out a breath and viewed her mostly full plate like a climber standing at the bottom of Mount Everest. This lack of an appetite thing sucked.

As did being too unnerved to open a damn envelope.

She picked it up again, flipping it over a few times. She could do this. Whatever it said didn’t really matter. She had her own budding family now, both with Gray and with the band of misfits she loved so much. As much as she still missed her baby sister, this couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t let it.

Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” began playing in her purse, Gray’s ringtone, and she flushed as she always did. God, that song. Gray had once modified it to fit her blue eyes and it never failed to make her smile.

She dropped the envelope like her fingers had been singed in favor of digging out her cell. “Hello,” she said, her voice coming out breathier than she intended.

“Well, hello to you too.”

She grinned at his deep, honeyed tone. Gray’s rasp did crazy things to her belly when he wasn’t trying. When he put any effort into it, he slayed her dead. “Wow, only one o’clock and I get the sex voice? To what do I owe this honor?”

“You answered the phone sounding sexy, so I felt like I should respond in kind. And to carry on the theme, what’re you wearing?”

“Right now?” She glanced down at her bright pink V-necked top—and the clump of pork sitting on her left boob. “I’m wearing part of Fiesta Cantina’s number six special. The rest is still on my plate.”

His rich laughter didn’t last long. “Why aren’t you packing it away?”

Her fingers started to creep across the scarred tabletop to the envelope again before she mentally slapped them back. “I’m not that hungry.”

Wrong answer.

“Why not? Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure. You know, I don’t have to eat twenty-four/seven. I’m allowed to take breaks.”

“If you’re not eating, something’s wrong. Are you sure you’re not sick? Is it the morning sickness again? I thought you were better. What about those pills? They’re supposed to help. Or crackers. Deak said that—”

“Take a breath,” she advised. “And sweetie, as much as I appreciate the barrage of advice, once you bring another non-child-bearing, penis-toting individual into the conversation, the pregnancy help is over.”

“He’s going to be a father,” he said, clearly affronted, which only made her grin.

“Yes, he is. And he still has a penis. From what I’ve heard, it’s really freaking hu—”

“Stop this train, I’m getting off.”

She couldn’t help giggling. “Sorry. Girl talk. You know how it is. I promise, I told Harper you’re built like a cross between a stallion and a gorilla, with some throwback tendencies to a T-Rex.”

“You seriously talk to Harper about my dick? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I only say flattering things.”

“Great. Now I’m the one who wants to throw up.”

She giggled again, knowing he was just kidding and not the least bit bothered. Gray didn’t have anything to worry about in the meat-packing department, and he damn well knew it. “So what’s up? I don’t suppose you can join me for a late lunch? Harp had to leave.”

“Aww, babe, I can’t. I wish I could.”

“That’s okay.” Her smile drooped under the weight of her newly squashed hopes. “I’ll see you later.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to be late tonight. That band I’m working with, The Grunge? They want me to head over to their practice space in Ventura. Something about getting their vibe. No fucking clue what that means, but I’m going because I think these guys are on the way up. Do you know what that could mean for us if their album breaks in a major way?”

She bit her lip and tucked the offending envelope under her napkin, out of sight. “If our album breaks in a major way, why do we need to worry about theirs?”

His sigh wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt just the same. “Babe, we’ve been over this. We can’t just count on Oblivion when we have a kid on the way. We have to be responsible enough to—”

“Wait, hold up. I’m not being responsible? I’m about to head back into the studio to do another half dozen takes on my parts of the songs you’ve already finished when I have an unending need to pee and can’t decide if I’m full, I’m hungry or if I’m going to puke.”

“Why do you have to go back into the studio? You’re always flawless.”

That had been sticking in her craw too, though she hadn’t fully acknowledged it since the Molly situation had taken top billing. She wasn’t used to not getting it right the first time. The rest of her life, hell yes. She was usually a moving fail from one day to the next. But her music normally came through for her.

“Apparently not now, I’m not.” She rubbed her eyes and tried to dial back the bitchy in her tone. He didn’t deserve it. He was just trying to take care of them. “I’m just cranky and hot and want to curl up somewhere to sleep. Don’t mind me.”

“Call the studio and tell them to book you later in the week instead if you aren’t feeling well.”

“Does that mean you’ll come to bed with me and keep me company?”

His silence ate away at the hint of amusement that tried creeping back. She knew he couldn’t come home. He’d just said as much, and what was keeping him away would benefit both of them. So why did she keep pushing him?

Because you need to talk to him about Molly, and you can’t say the damn words.

“I wish I could. If you need me, just call.”

“When you’re stuck in Ventura? Fat lot of good that’ll do me.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to snatch them back, but she couldn’t.

God, she needed to stuff a handful of tortilla chips in her mouth unless she wanted to end up divorced before they’d even gotten married.

“Jesus, Jazz, this is for our future. And our child’s future. You get that, right? I’m trying to make certain we have a solid base.”

“I understand all of that. That base is part of why I’m about to go do my job. Have a good day.” She clicked off and set down the phone, cursing herself under her breath. She hadn’t said I love you, and the last time she’d done that, he’d gotten beaten up and nearly killed. It was bad juju, and she was being a bitch to him for absolutely no reason.

Well, other than the fact that she hated having to share him with anyone after all the years they’d spent in denial about their feelings. That wasn’t fair to him. Besides, they were going to have a lifetime together.

She should call him back and apologize.

Grabbing her phone, she pressed the number one speed dial, already anticipating hearing his husky, deep voice. She was so in love with him that it made her stupid. Surely that erased some of her bitch points, right? She’d even take the hormonal pregnancy discount if it eased some of this damn guilt.

Guilt that only compounded when the call went straight to voicemail.

She hung up without saying anything, feeling utterly miserable. He never avoided her calls. And she never wimped out on apologizing when it was due.

Swallowing hard, she tossed her phone in her purse and dug out her wallet. The waiter had dropped off the bill when she was on the phone with Gray, and the total was more than the bills she had in her wallet. Harper had forgotten to chip in her share in her hurry to leave.

Jazz sighed and dug out the ATM card she saved for emergencies. Growing up as a foster kid had made her pretty frugal, and being in a semi-famous band hadn’t changed that. Yet another reason why Gray’s lectures about responsibility rubbed her raw. She’d always been responsible about money. She’d even bailed him out when—

No. She blew out a breath. Not going there. She’d spent enough time on Snarky Street for one afternoon.

She paid the bill and checked her silent phone one more fruitless time before heading down to Ripper Records’ in-house studio. Six hours plus later, her sections were finished—again—and she was free to leave.

Good thing because she was falling asleep on her feet.

Oblivion’s manager Lila walked her out to her car, her sharp heels clicking on the pavement. “So are you okay to drive home?”

Jazz cut her a glance. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re so pale I could see my reflection in your cheek.” Lila gripped Jazz’s arm and tapped her wrist. “Pulse is strong. Are you feeling faint?”

Jazz had to laugh. She’d never been mothered so much in her life as she had been since becoming pregnant. As soon as she had the thought, the laughter died.

She’d never been really mothered, not the right way. Even as a child, she hadn’t been her mother’s first priority. Or even fifth. So no wonder it felt so strange—and wonderful—to have people she cared about fussing over her at every turn.

Gray would fuss over her when he got home, she just knew it. He hadn’t called all day because he was working, not because he thought she was an obnoxious, ungrateful wench.

Or something even worse.

“I’m fine, I promise. I’m just a little tired. It was a long day.”

“It was, but you nailed your parts. I think this album is finally almost in the can, minus a bit more finessing. Did I mention we’re bringing Margo back in too? Her section needed some work as well.” Lila shook her head. “So odd. You two are the biggest perfectionists yet you both needed more studio time.” Almost as an afterthought, she glanced at Jazz’s belly with an expression akin to trepidation. “Though I suppose in your case the implant had something to do with that.”

“The implant?” Jazz snorted out a laugh as she pried her car keys out of her purse. Surreptitiously, she checked her silent phone one more time. Maybe it wasn’t working. Perhaps she should borrow Lila’s. She glanced up to see her friend peering down at her with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

So much for surreptitious.

“Missing your man, hmm?”

“No,” Jazz said, a little too quickly. “Just keeping an eye on…things.”

“Mmm-hmm. Things like where he is and where he’s sticking it.”

Surely she’d misheard her. “Say what?”

Lila slid a hand over her hair, smoothing the pin-straight strands into place. Not that they’d been out of place to begin with. “Nothing. That’s just my own insecurities talking. Gray would never do that to you while you were pregnant.”

“But he would some other time?” Jazz couldn’t keep the sharpness from her tone. “Li, what are you getting at?”

Lila surprised Jazz by leaning against the side of the used car Gray had bought earlier that month. Now that they were building their family, he’d wanted her to have something reliable and not to have to rely on the kindness of friends or the band truck for transportation.

Still though, it was a beat-up vehicle with its share of LA dirt smudged on the paint, which wouldn’t go well with Lila’s pristine pale pink suit.

“I’m not getting at anything except I’m more than a little bitter and a lot jealous.”

“Of what? Of who?”

Lila smiled. “You, silly. Look at you. You’re glowing.”

“A minute ago you said I was Casper’s twin.”

“Okay, so today the light’s weaker than some days, but still.” Lila grabbed Jazz’s hands and held them out to the sides. “You’re absolutely gorgeous. Soon you’re going to be walking around with a big belly, and he loves you just that way. That’s rather incredible.”

Jazz frowned. If today had taught her anything, it was to not read more into what was said than the actual words. She would employ that same newfound wisdom when and if she womaned up enough to read Molly’s letter sometime this century.

Right now she would use her new skills to respond more proactively to Lila’s statement.

“Did someone tell you they didn’t like the way a woman looked when she was pregnant?” she asked softly.

That was one thing she would never have to worry about with Gray. If anything, he found her even more desirable now. He had his hands all over her constantly and told her all the time that he couldn’t wait to see her body change.

Lila lowered her gaze to the ground. “Is it that obvious?”

“No. Eight hours ago, I would’ve assumed you were trying to say I looked fat and it was a miracle that Gray still thought I was attractive. This morning, I ate Bitchy Bran Flakes for breakfast and was ready to bite people’s heads off. I’ve had an attitude shift since then.”

Lila smiled. “Let me guess. It involved a lunchtime quickie before you got here.”

“I wish.” Jazz sagged against the car. Screw the dust. “We haven’t had sex in three days.”

“Oh, the horrors.” Lila examined her manicure, hesitating before she continued speaking. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex?”

Lila never talked about her personal life. Ever. Even the word sex falling out of her pale pink lips seemed impossibly crude. “Uh—”

“More than six years.”

“Oh. Wow. Um. Wow.”

Lila surprised her by laughing. “Yes, wow. Yet I manage to function just the same.”

“So I shouldn’t whine about three days, I guess. Sorry. I didn’t realize. Are you just…really particular or—”

“More that I don’t feel it’s proper to compromise my vows. Marriage vows,” she added when Jazz stared.

“You’re married? Why the hell aren’t you having sex then?” Jazz clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Uncalled for. Not my business. But seriously, why? That’s like having Nutella in the cupboard and only eating plain crackers.”

Lila laughed, shaking her head. “My husband has not ever been and will never be considered Nutella. He’s more of a dry fruit spread with too many seeds.”

“Okay,” Jazz said slowly. It really wasn’t her business. She had no reason to ask. “But don’t you, you know, get horny?”

“Of course. But I don’t need a man for that.” Lila eased off the car and stood bow-straight as she cast a critical look at Jazz. “Go home and get some rest. I want you to have some pink in your cheeks the next time I see you.” Lila leaned in and shocked the hell out of her by giving her a brief, semi-awkward hug then stepped back. “Eat too. Something light that won’t upset the baby this late. Good work today,” she called, starting back toward the studio at a blistering clip.

She was gone before Jazz found her voice.

Shaking her head, Jazz unlocked the car and slipped inside. Her stomach rumbled. It was now creeping toward eight o’clock. A greasy meal would hit the spot. Maybe a double cheeseburger with an extra side of pickles or—

Eat too. Something light that won’t upset the baby this late.

Jazz turned the key in the ignition. For someone who wasn’t a mom, Lila sure had a mom-like way about her. And she was right. The baby probably wouldn’t mind—or even know—if she shoved a pile of fast food down her throat, but she would. She had to think responsibly.

Fuck that word.

She ended up taking a detour to the grocery store. She loaded up her cart with some staples, since Simon had taken to popping her candy-like vitamins and drinking her whole milk. When she started breastfeeding, she was tempted to dump some in the carton and not tell him. It would only serve him right.

He’d probably happily drink it anyway, the freak.

She gave in to a pack of chocolate chip cookies and to checking her phone twice, though she compensated by adding extra vegetables to her cart. Vegetables were a suitable penance for everything. And for good measure, she’d go for her recommended daily thirty minute walk when she arrived home. Unless Gray was there, of course. Then she’d apologize profusely, ask him about his day like a good little almost-wifey then jump the holy hell out of him.

She shuddered, thinking of Lila as she loaded her groceries into the trunk. Six years with no sex seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. She’d had some serious dry spells of her own, often lasting a year or more, but she’d balanced that scale by boinking like bunnies with Gray since they’d gotten together. Then there was that one threesome she’d had in days of yore…

Yeah, not going there. Thank God that particular bone had been tucked into its proper closet, never to be unearthed again. She hoped.

In under an hour, she arrived home and put away her groceries, kicked Simon’s feet off the coffee table just to piss in his Cheerios, exchanged some snark with Nick and enjoyed a big bear hug from Deacon. Harper was out doing her catering thing, and though Jazz missed her, it was probably just as well. Harper and Deak would be moving out as soon as their new house was ready and she had to get used to not having her best friend under the same roof.

Her best friend that wasn’t Gray, that is. He would always come first in everything with her, as he had since the day she’d moved into his parents’ house at the age of fourteen. She still remembered the way he’d swaggered into the living room that first day, wearing a vintage Dokken T-shirt and a face full of attitude. Then he’d noticed the guitar in her lap and the most beautiful friendship of her life had been born.

Glancing down, she rubbed her belly and tried to stem the tide of emotions that seemed way too close to the surface lately. She wanted to blame her hormones. Hell, she’d blame the phases of the moon if she could. Anything was better than realizing that with every passing day of her pregnancy, her family was creeping back into her thoughts. Her family, not Gray’s, though she missed them too in spite of everything that had happened between them. Her mama.

And Molly.

Bringing a new life into the world was something to share with those you were close to. She hadn’t been close to her birth family in too many years to count but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss them. It didn’t mean she didn’t hope way down deep that maybe someday they could be reunited.

“Stupid, foolish romantic heart,” she said under her breath. She hurried into the bathroom and shed her clothes before she could be tempted to dig out Molly’s letter again. She would open it when she was ready.

She would be soon. Maybe. Possibly.

She carried her bath stuff to the tub, then added a bunch of bubbles before slipping into the water. The surprisingly cool spring day had make her fantasize about a hot soak all evening. Naturally she’d wished Gray would be home to join her, but as that wasn’t in the cards, she was going to have a fine time on her own.

After sighing her way through the first few steamy minutes, she fumbled for the expensive pair of waterproof headphones she’d bought for this very purpose. She turned on her waterproof radio, setting it to the classical channel before shifting around so her belly poked through the bubbles.

“You ready for the nightly concert, kiddo? Sorry about the noise earlier. Mommy screwed up her part so she had to keep doing it over and over. I bet you probably hate ‘Monster’ now. Me too, but it’ll be kickass live. Uh, I mean kickbutt.” She cast a glance skyward and sent up a quick apology. Lord, this parenting thing wasn’t easy, and she hadn’t even gone through childbirth yet. “Anyway, this music is much more suitable for bedtime. If it doesn’t put you to sleep, I don’t know what will.”

Carefully, she placed the padded headphones on either side of her slightly rounded belly and turned up the volume until she could just barely hear the strains of Chopin. Supposedly babies who were exposed to classical music in the womb were much more likely to be prodigies. She didn’t care if her child was a prodigy. All she wanted was for him or her to be smart and happy and know how much he or she was loved. So very loved.

If the kid happened to be born loving music, that would be a plus.

She tipped her head backward against her little inflatable bath pillow and closed her eyes. God, she was so tired. Exhausted. Worrying all day about the Molly thing and then the stupid not-quite-an-argument with Gray and his subsequent radio silence had worn her down. She knew he was probably just working. He’d told her he was, and she believed him.

She’d believed him before too.

Goose bumps flared over her pinkening skin and she rubbed them away, unwilling to go down that path. He’d kicked the drugs. He’d gotten treatment and he was committed to his sobriety. Borrowing trouble never did anyone any favors.

Maybe if she slept for a bit, when she woke up, Gray would be there.

But what if he wasn’t?