Jazz rolled over and glared at the alarm clock. Ten a.m. already? How could that be possible?

She shifted her legs and smiled at the delicious soreness between them. Oh yeah. So that was why.

The first time the night before had been quick and unexpected, like heat lightning. Then Gray had shifted into his usual mode, which typically meant a long session between her legs with his mouth before he finished her off with his cock. Was it possible to sprain your tongue? If so, he better be careful, because holy shit.

Her smile grew as she soundlessly swung her legs over the side of the bed and glanced over her shoulder to where he was sprawled on his belly, his face smushed into the pillow. She nearly leaned forward to kiss the smattering of freckles just below his shoulder blade before she caught herself. He needed to sleep too.

Whoa, did he ever after the night they’d put in.

Feeling more than a little smug and a lot happy, she padded into the bathroom to take care of her morning business. The smudges of light bruises around her wrists from his hands were like badges of honor. The reddened areas on her throat from his evening scruff were even better. She knew she’d find more of the same between her thighs.

Makeup hid the worst of the marks and helped with the dark shadows under her eyes. Perhaps she could sneak in a nap later. If she really was done at the studio, she might actually get a whole day off.

Despite what Gray had said, she wouldn’t plan on spending it with him. He had important stuff to do. He was making time for their appointment, and that was plenty. Anything else was just gravy.

She headed to their closet and bypassed the couple of maternity tops she’d bought several times before she decided why not? So she technically didn’t need to wear them yet. She wanted to. She pulled on a pair of denim shorts and the flowing white top with flowers embroidered around the collar and hem. It was super girly, not really her usual style, but maybe that was part of the whole new attitude she had going on.

Some changes were good. If she just managed to tone down the Pregzilla part a bit, she’d be happy.

A quick glance at the bed informed her than Gray was still dead to the world. She beelined downstairs for the kitchen, unsurprised to find it empty. The other boys in the house rarely dragged themselves out before noon. Fine by her. She’d happily enjoy her wheat toast and raspberry jam in peace.

The doorbell chimed before she’d even made it to the table with her plate of food. She frowned down at it as her belly rumbled. “Sorry, baby. No eats yet. Coming,” she called, noticing her bottle of prenatal vitamins on the counter again. What the hell. Simon was going to grow a third boob if he didn’t stop chowing down on those like they were candy. It was probably her fault for getting the gummy version, but jeez.

She set down her breakfast and grabbed her vitamins so she didn’t forget to hide them from Simon and aimed for the front door. She reached it just as it chimed again. “Who is it?” she asked, pulling the door open anyway because she was a little too used to living with a bunch of big strapping boys who could defend or destroy if need be.

Who waited on the doorstep posed no physical threat to her well-being, but her mental and emotional health was anyone’s guess.

“Mrs. Duffy.” Jazz swallowed hard, her gaze drifting over the other woman from the top of coiffed dark hair to the tips of her polished pumps. She wore her typical country club chic, right down to the pastels and pearls. “This is…unexpected.”

Mrs. Duffy’s stilted smile lasted until her focus dropped below the neck. “Jasmine. You look—” Her gaze shot back up to her face and held. “Pregnant. Oh my, it’s true.”

“You knew? How did you know?” Almost as soon as she asked the question, Jazz answered the question for herself.

The frigging tabloids.

They’d yet to make an official announcement yet, though the rumors were running rampant and it was pretty much the worse kept secret in the rock world. Well, probably not. Lots of other way more important people than them tried and failed to keep big stuff under wraps. And they weren’t even trying that hard. Gray had obviously told that guy in The Grunge yesterday, and—

And Gray’s mother was staring at her with tears in her eyes. Oh God.

“You’re wearing a maternity top.” Mrs. Duffy grabbed her hand. “These are prenatal vitamins. That only means one thing.”

“Not necessarily.” As gently as possible, she detangled herself from Gray’s mother’s death grip. “Simon keeps taking them and he’s not with child. We all hope.”

“I saw an article yesterday at the store. I didn’t believe it at first. Surely Gray would call if—” She pinched her lips together and shook her head. “I’m sorry. My emotions are just getting the better of me. May I come in?”

Jazz blinked. What was happening here? The last time she’d talked to Mrs. Duffy, she hadn’t exactly been apologizing and fluttering. She’d been angry and blaming Jazz for everything that had gone wrong with her relationship with her sons, not to mention their relationship with each other. It had even seemed like Mrs. Duffy held Jazz at least partially responsible for Gray’s older brother Brent’s suicide, though Jazz hadn’t had contact with him in years. Now she was politely asking to come inside?

Harper’s voice sounded in her head, as if she was standing right behind Jazz. Dummy, she wants access to her grandchild. You are the keeper of the baby. Hello, power position.

Could it be that simple? Not that she had any intention of keeping her child from his or her grandparents. She and Gray had already had that discussion, but she’d left the ball in his court as far as reaching out again to his parents and telling them the news.

Now the ball had pinged firmly back onto Jazz’s side, and she had no clue whether to serve, volley or duck.

“Um, sure. Please do.” She stepped back to allow Mrs. Duffy room to enter. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

She shut the door and frowned. Fuck, they didn’t have any coffee or tea. None of them would touch tea, in spite of the doctor suggesting a herbal one for Jazz to try to help her sleep, and Nick was the coffee drinker, but he needed to make a grocery run. She should’ve grabbed some for him last night. Now she had nothing to serve for guests.

For her soon-to-be mother-in-law. Lord help her.

“No, thank you. Do you have orange juice?” Mrs. Duffy pivoted on her heels, her gaze lowering to Jazz’s belly once again. “I imagine you do. It’s a good thing to give the baby. All that vitamin C.”

“We’re out of juice now. I do have some orange Kool-Aid—” She stopped at the horror that flashed across Mrs. Duffy’s face.

She could almost hear Mrs. Duffy’s internal dialogue now. You’re poisoning my grandchild with additives and sugar!

“It’s sugar-free,” she added weakly, feeling utterly stupid and small.

She waited for the sonic boom to come. Any moment now, Mrs. Duffy would flash her forked tongue and demand to know why the heck she thought she had any business getting pregnant when it was obvious she was barely capable of taking care of herself.

Right then, Jazz was tempted to agree with her.

Gray’s mother swallowed deeply and plastered an utterly insincere smile on her flawlessly made-up face. “Orange was always my favorite flavor.”

Yet again Jazz was reduced to blinking and gaping. Oh my word.

“Um, okay. The kitchen is this way,” Jazz said, hurrying past her and down the hall.

Then she came to a halt, looking around as if she’d never seen the place before. What was she supposed to do now?

Duh, give the woman a drink and act hospitable. Play hostess. You can do that. You’ve been playing different roles all your life.

Spying her forgotten breakfast, Jazz tried to smile. “Would you like some toast and jam? Or fresh fruit? I do have that. I have watermelon and red grapes and a slightly overripe cantaloupe. There might even be grapefruit left.”

Mrs. Duffy smiled thinly. “Just the…Kool-Aid, please.”

Jazz nodded and hurried to the fridge. This sure felt like that old adage about drinking the Kool-Aid. They were both pretending to be civil when there was all this crap seething under the surface, just waiting to explode all over the—oh shit—really dusty kitchen floor.

Ignoring the dust for the time being, she poured the orange drink into the only clean glass she could find and handed it to Gray’s mom. Then she frowned at the full sink of dishes. Damn dirty boys.

“The maid’s on vacation,” she said as cheerfully as possible when Mrs. Duffy’s gaze drifted toward the sink. “It’s so hard finding good help these days.”

Mr. and Mrs. Duffy actually did have a maid. Gray had grown up with one in the house. The Duffys had money with a capital M, but they didn’t like to be flashy about it. Instead they used it to do good things like bring poor little foster children into their home so they could get attached to the Duffys before they were cast back onto the street like the pathetic urchins they were.

Or had been once, in her case. She wasn’t an urchin or a foster child any longer. She was a drummer in a band, and a mother-to-be, and soon she would be a wife.

It looked like she might get a chance to be a sister too.

The older woman gave no indication of getting Jazz’s sarcasm. “Do you truly have a maid? If so, good for you. I imagine a nanny is next? I have some recommendations that could help. Several of my friends have children who—”

“A nanny? Why?”

“Because you won’t be able to take care of the child on your own. You simply can’t.” Mrs. Duffy lifted the glass, gave it a dark look and drained it in nearly one gulp. “You can’t,” she added for good measure.

Jazz dropped into the nearest chair. “Why not?”

“You’re in a band. You keep horrible hours. You go on tour. How could you possibly care for a child while you’re traveling around the world?”

“We haven’t done a world tour yet,” Jazz muttered. “We have a bus. We can bring the baby. We’ve already talked about it. It won’t even be just us. Harper and Deacon are having a baby too, so our kids will be able to play together.”

God, she wished Deak or Harp were there to talk to Mrs. Duffy. They were both so much better at projecting a stable image than she was. But Harp had an early job today and Deak had gone with her to help. That meant Jazz was on her own with the rest of the misfits.

And today she felt like she was leading the misfit brigade.

Mrs. Duffy clutched her pearls. Literally. “One baby on a smelly, dirty bus isn’t enough? You’re shoehorning in two?” She shook her head and set down her glass with a firm clink. “And Grayson is onboard with this plan?”

“Grayson,” Gray said smoothly, entering the room, “not only is onboard with it, he was the first one to suggest how it could work. Hello, Mother.” He walked past the woman in question and headed right for Jazz, brushing a kiss over her head before sliding his arm possessively around her shoulders. “What brings you here?”

Mrs. Duffy’s face lit up as she drank down the sight of the son she hadn’t seen in years with all of the zeal she hadn’t shown while consuming the Kool-Aid. “Grayson,” she whispered, the gray eyes so like her youngest son’s filling anew. “You look good.”

“Did you expect me not to?”

“Of course not. It’s just…the last time I saw you, you were in the hospital.”

Gray’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly around Jazz’s shoulders. “Yes, I was. But that was months ago and I’m fine now. All healed, clean and sober.” He paused. “Did the check I send you not clear?”

In spite of the issues she’d had with Gray’s parents in the past, it was hard for Jazz to watch Mrs. Duffy’s face crumple in on itself at the question. “Do you honestly think we care? You’re our son. We want to provide for you. We missed out on so much.” Her gaze shot to Jazz for one thrumming moment before returning to Gray. “The money doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. I appreciate your help at a difficult time for me. For us,” he added, rubbing the top of Jazz’s arm under her ruffled sleeve. “But we’re doing fine now. We’ll be okay.”

“This is your idea of okay?” Mrs. Duffy set her purse on her lap and removed a folded paper. As she smoothed it out on the table, Jazz saw it was a tabloid.

Oh God.

“If that video wasn’t enough, now they’re talking about some love triangle within the band.” She arched an eyebrow in a way that made Jazz unintentionally retreat into the chair, which only made Gray’s arm tighten that much more around her shoulders. “Between the racy videos and long tours on cramped buses, never mind the…questionable other members, what kind of environment is this to raise a baby?”

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear,” Nick said from the doorway.

“Here we go,” Gray muttered as Nick strolled into the room, looking rumpled in his wrinkled Ninja Turtles pajama bottoms and a worn thin T-shirt.

Ninja Turtles? Obviously he hadn’t had a girl over the night before, since they hadn’t heard any uproarious laughter at his attire. Then again, she couldn’t have heard much beyond her own screams.

“I’d like to alleviate your concerns on one level, Mrs. Duffy.” Nick gestured with his coffee mug. What he had in it, Jazz had no idea since she highly doubted he’d gone shopping on his own. “There is no love triangle. Never was.”

Jazz tipped back her head and caught Gray’s eye. He jerked a shoulder, as perplexed as she was.

One never knew what Nick would say from one minute to the next. He could be your biggest enemy or your best friend, depending on his mood.

“Oh, is that so? And you would know that how?”

“Because I’m supposed to be in it. But nope. No triangles. Just a circle with those two.” He swiveled his fingers in Jazz and Gray’s direction. “Anyone with a pair of eyes can see no one else has a chance with either of them.”

Mrs. Duffy’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of love triangle was this?”

Jazz snorted, triggering Gray to cough into his hand. Nick didn’t look so amused. He’d tried to help and somehow made it seem more salacious.

“There is no love triangle,” Jazz said when she was sure she wouldn’t burst into inappropriate giggles. “We’re engaged. Nick is…Nick.”

“That about sums it up.” He saluted with his mug as Simon sauntered into the room rocking some serious bedhead.

Simon went straight to the counter, fumbled around and frowned. “Hey, where’s my candy?”

“It’s not your candy, those are my vitamins.” Spying them on the table where she’d put them down, she grabbed them and shoved them in her shorts pocket. “Unless you have something to tell us, you should not be taking them.”

“But look at my hair. It’s so shiny.” He fluffed it with one hand before swiveling on his bare feet and apparently realizing they had a guest. “Well, hello. Mrs. Duffy, is it? I remember you from that unfortunate time in the hospital.” Before Mrs. Duffy had a chance to respond, Simon moved forward to lift her hand to his lips. “You look absolutely lovely. Pink is your color.”

Mrs. Duffy actually blushed. “Why, thank you.”

“She’s married, Simon,” Gray said drily.

“So? Looking is free, and I can’t help admiring beautiful scenery.” He smiled and stepped back.

“You’re too kind, Simon,” Mrs. Duffy said, still blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I only speak the truth.”

“To her and every other female within earshot.” Jazz shook her head and glanced at her watch. “Oh crap. We’re running late. We need to get ready to go.” She glanced back at Gray and noticed he’d just pulled on sweatpants. “Go get dressed,” she said, elbowing him.

Nick pulled out a chair and grabbed Mrs. Duffy’s tabloid, paging through it despite her stare. “Late for what?”

“We’re going to the doctor’s to find out—ouch, what?” Jazz broke off when Gray pinched her upper arm, her gaze following his to his mother.

Whoops.

Mrs. Duffy leaned forward on her chair like a sprinter about to hit the ground running. “You’re going to the doctor? Is the baby okay?”

“The baby is fine.”

“All of the babies are fine.” Nick turned the tabloid around to view something from another angle, probably a pair of boobs. “We’re going to be overrun with them. It’s like a damn VH-1 show gone wrong.”

“They don’t belong on a bus.”

Nick held up his hands, palms out. “No arguments here. Babies don’t belong in a band, period, but no one checked with me before reproducing. So yanno, you deal.”

“Babies also don’t belong around drugs and alcohol—”

“Stop right there,” Gray said quietly. “The only one who’s had a problem with drugs in this band is me, and I’ve been to rehab. I’m trying every day not to get sucked back into where I was, and they’re doing their part to help. More than they should be asked to do, truthfully. There’s not a joint or a single bottle of alcohol in this house. Go check.” He crossed his arms. “I dare you.”

His mother set her jaw. “If that’s so, I commend them.”

“Yeah, like you commend me for being a user in the first place.”

“We all make mistakes,” she said, glancing away.

Simon cleared his throat. “Speaking of mistakes, I may have a flask hidden in my room. You know, maybe.” He leaned a hip on the table and made a show of stealing the magazine from Nick. “Oh hey, is that another love triangle story? Damn, you guys get all the good press.”

Mrs. Duffy aimed another pointed look at Jazz and Gray and said nothing.

As the silence extended, and Gray made no move to get dressed, Jazz gave in and offered an olive branch. If she didn’t, they’d never get to the doctor’s. “You can come with us if you want. We’re supposed to find out the baby’s sex. Well, if the kid stops jumping around. Last time they tried to check he or she wasn’t in the right position—”

“I’m sure she’s too busy,” Gray said, tugging Jazz to her feet. “Let’s go get dressed.”

“Hello, I am dressed.” Jazz glanced down at her clothes. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

“Female pity party commences now,” Nick said in an undertone.

“You look just fine, Peach Parfait. In fact, you’re overdressed in my book. Feel free to lose the shorts. Or the top. Both?”

Everyone ignored Simon, as usual.

Mrs. Duffy stood. “I’d like to come along to the doctor, if that’s okay with you.”

Gray’s hand tensed around Jazz’s forearm. “What purpose would that serve?”

“Gray,” Jazz admonished, casting him a narrow-eyed look. But his attention remained strictly focused on his mother while he flexed his jaw.

“I’m your mother. This is still my grandchild, no matter what you think of me.”

“I think the bigger problem is how you feel about us.”

“I love you, you know that.” Mrs. Duffy’s voice broke. “What did I ever do to make you doubt that?”

“Want a list?” He pulled Jazz against his chest and caged her in with his arms as he turned them both to face Mrs. Duffy. “Top of it was when you made me choose her over you. I may be a former drug addict and a current asshole, but I’ll tell you this much—my kid will never have to choose between me and someone they love. Someone whose only crime was loving him back.”

Jazz shut her eyes against the prickle that heralded an oncoming onslaught. “Let her come with us,” she whispered, not sure he could hear her over the wild beat of her heart.

He braced, tension leaking from the arms holding her safe. “You can’t honestly want that.”

“I do.” She opened her eyes and met Mrs. Duffy’s gaze. The gratitude she saw reflected on her face strengthened her voice. “She’s lost a lot too.”

Gray released her and stepped back. He pushed a hand through his shaggy dark hair and turned away. “As you wish.”

Jazz watched him leave, a lump in her throat.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Duffy said quietly. “You don’t know how much this means.”

Jazz said nothing, just picked up her plate of cold food and took it into the living room to eat in the quiet. She’d probably made a mistake by trying to smooth things over.

Another mistake. The list was growing by the hour.

Gray stared at the ultrasound monitor while the doctor prattled on about statistics and vital signs and more information than he could ever possibly have a hope of retaining. The most salient point was on the tiny screen in front of him.

Jazz had an actual baby inside her. Not in theory, not someday far in the future. Now. She was carrying his baby, and that baby had its leg up just high enough for them to see the very obvious equipment between his legs.

His. They were having a boy.

His mother was asking a million questions, as usual. Did everything seem okay? Was the pregnancy proceeding according to schedule? And Jazz kept pulling at her paper gown and swallowing loudly, a sure sign she was about to cry. She’d always hated crying, and before the last few months, he could’ve counted on one hand how many times he’d seen her with tears in her eyes. Lately it seemed to be a near-constant thing.

Right then, he understood. They were having a fucking baby.

By the time he led her out a short time later, she’d given into full-scale sniffling and his mother had lapsed into silence. Since he hadn’t come out of his own fog yet, he couldn’t even summon any annoyance that his mother was there—or that Jazz had overruled his thoughts on the subject. None of that mattered.

Only one thing did. He glanced at Jazz as she dried her cheeks and swallowed hard. Two things.

His kid, and his wife.

He waited until his mom slipped into the backseat of the car and shut the door. Then he turned Jazz toward him and gripped her elbows until she lifted her face to his. The sunshine illuminated the faint tracks on her cheeks, making them glisten. He wanted to kiss them away. To make sure she never had another reason to cry anything but happy tears for the rest of her life.

“You’re done in the studio.” It wasn’t a question. It was a low statement deliberately said beneath the hearing range of his mother closed inside the car.

Sensing the urgency of his mood, Jazz nodded. “Yes.”

“Does Harper have a catering job tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“Call her and find out.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t help but smile at the suspicion in her voice. “Because we’re going to meet your sister and she should be there.”

Jazz frowned. “We’re going now to meet Molly?”

He nodded. “No time better than the present, right? You heard me tell Luc that I’d be unavailable for a few days.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said slowly, “but why does Harper need to be there?”

“Moral support.”

“But I have you.”

Her simple response caused the tightness to return to his throat. He smiled through it, his thumbs circling on the insides of her elbows. “Yeah, you do. I just think Harper should be there too.”

“We’re just driving up for the day, right?”

“Honey, we both know a day won’t be enough.”

Jazz glanced at the ground then lifted her head, a smile playing around her mouth. “You know me too well.”

“Just ask Harper if she can come up overnight with us. If need be, I’ll drive her back the next day and you can stay with your sister until I get back.”

“My sister.” The tears were back in her eyes, and this time, they weren’t merely happy. “God, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. It’s not just about seeing her. If my mom’s there too…”

“We’ll cross that bridge together. Call Harper,” he said, rounding the car to slip into the driver’s side.

Just as he expected, Jazz leaned against the door and placed her call. He’d banked on her not wanting to make it in front of his mother, which played right into his hands.

“You really claim to love me?” he asked in an undertone, facing straight ahead.

“How can you ask that?” His mother huffed out a breath. “Of course I do. Your father does too. You’re all we have left. You and the baby—”

“And Jazz,” he interrupted. “You don’t get me or that kid without her. She’s the only reason you’re here right now. Remember that.”

His mother fell silent.

He flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, speaking quickly as Jazz laughed loudly outside the car. Her distraction was perfect timing. “I need your help.”

“Whatever you need,” his mother said quickly enough to stir the guilt he hadn’t realized he had left in her direction. He’d buried it under anger and hurt and resolve so many years ago that he’d figured it had ebbed away entirely.

“We’re driving to San Jose to meet Jazz’s sister today. Tomorrow I need you to get the band to San Francisco. I’ll tell you the exact location in a couple hours after I make some calls.” He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Can you do that for me?”

Her lips trembled before they firmed. “You’re going to marry her.”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to tell him he was making a mistake. That he needed to take time to think, to allow the emotion that had arisen from the doctor’s visit to fade before he made rash decisions he couldn’t take back.

Instead she nodded and gave him a small smile. “I can do that.”

He sucked in a breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re my son.”

He didn’t give the words a chance to take root inside him where they could weaken the walls he’d constructed so carefully. “And Lila,” he said, increasing his grip on the wheel. “She should be there too. Harper will probably ride up with us.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” She didn’t offer any appeals for herself or his father, and that was what broke him.

“You and Dad can come too,” he said finally, forcing himself to open his eyes. Hers were damp and riveted to the reflection of his in the rearview mirror. “If you want,” he added when she didn’t speak.

“If we want?” She laughed brokenly. “Oh Gray. Being part of your life is all we want.”

Jazz pulled open the door and cast a wary glance at the backseat before slipping into the passenger seat.

“Well?” he demanded.

“She has a job tonight. She’s really sorry.”

“What about tomorrow? Is she busy then?”

“I’m not sure.” She peered at him closely. Too closely. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Never mind. We’ll figure it out.” He snapped on his belt and reversed too swiftly, belatedly realizing she was still staring at him and hadn’t belted herself in yet. “Put on your seatbelt.”

“I would have, if you hadn’t dislocated my neck from my spinal column back there.” Shaking her head, she snapped her belt into place. “What is your deal? You’re acting seriously weird. Is it the baby thing?” She sighed. “I know you wanted a girl. Are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gray,” his mother said. “Language, please.”

“Yes. Little ears,” Jazz reminded him, cupping her stomach as if he’d forgotten who she was referring to.

“No, I’m not disappointed.” He struggled to keep his voice even as he finished backing out of the spot and drove out of the lot. “I told you I’d be happy with either one.”

“I know.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you disappointed?”

“Oh God, no. I’m thrilled beyond belief for a boy. They’re so much fun. I bet he’ll look just like you. He’s already very—athletic,” she said, wiggling her brows in a way that indicated she wasn’t talking about sports.

“Hmm. That is true. But you’ve got some flexibility going yourself.”

Her mouth twitched as she tried not to grin. “Besides, Harper was right. I’ll just keep trying until I get my girl.”

His mother made a choked sound in the back, and for once, he didn’t get annoyed. He just laughed. “Is that so? Do I have a say in the matter?”

“Sure. You can say yes.”

He laughed again and reached across the console for her hand, cupping it against her belly. “When it comes to you, I don’t know any other word.”