by Lisa Suzanne
“Are you okay? What is it?” he asks. His voice is loud and desperate beside me.
“The baby,” I say again. I try to straighten, but the pain slices through me.
“Fuck, fuck,” he says. He moves around in front of me and tries to get a glimpse of my face. He looks me over. “Shit, Mace.”
“It hurts, Ethan,” I say, and I hear the fear in my own voice.
“You’re bleeding,” he says quietly. He’s suddenly calm, like he’s locking the frantic anxiety away so he can handle the situation—so he can be exactly what I need in this terrifying moment. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
I don’t put up an argument because I don’t know what this is and I’m scared as fuck. He lifts me into his arms easily, and I see a spot of blood on the chair I just vacated. The sight of it makes me dizzy again, and another sharp pain slices through me.
He carries me to the front reception room, where both Chuck and Griff are sitting as they work on their tablets.
“What’s going on?” Griff says, pushing up to his feet as soon as he spots us barreling around the corner. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head as the tears start. I can’t lose this baby. I can’t. I won’t be able to handle losing both Ethan and her at the same time.
“She’s bleeding,” Ethan says.
“I’ll get the car,” Chuck says. “The hospital is only a few minutes away.”
I half expect Griff to put up a fight, to tell Chuck he can drive me, that I’m his responsibility, but he doesn’t. Chuck probably knows this city better than Griff anyway.
The four of us pile into the Yukon Chuck’s been toting Ethan around Chicago in and we drive toward the hospital and whatever good or bad might await us there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ETHAN
I hold her hand and rub my thumb over the back of hers in an attempt to keep her calm. I don’t know what else to do. I’m desperate for her to be okay, for that tiny thing inside her to be okay.
I’m desperate for more time with both of them.
I feel the fury physically melt away as I hold her in fear of what comes next—not just what the doctors will tell us, but what comes after this for us.
The anger I’ve harbored over her lies and deceit for the last few weeks dissolves as fear and love take its place.
I don’t care what happened in the past. Where she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is we keep the baby safe and we emerge from whatever this is together. Life’s too short and too precious to waste another minute apart.
When her face turned white and she doubled over in obvious pain, the shudder that ran through me made it clear whatever anger I’ve been holding onto is fucking stupid.
She’s all that matters. What we could have together...it’s everything.
I sing our refrain over and over to her softly in the back of the Yukon as Chuck drives us toward the hospital. I don’t have any other words right now, and I hope she knows I’m talking about us. I’m speaking our truth. I turn to the thing I know we both cling to in our darkest hours: music. “Never thought love would find us, but the invisible thread forever binds us. We’re two unlucky hearts impure with only each other as the cure.”
She weeps softly beside me, and I wish I could take all of her pain, the emotional scars and the physical agony, and suffer it all for her. I’d do it just to give her any measure of comfort.
The drive feels like it takes fucking forever as Chuck weaves through Chicago morning traffic to get us to the hospital. As I repeat the words of our song to her, my mind repeats a mantra. Please let them be okay, please let them be okay.
I don’t know who I’m talking to, don’t know if anyone’s listening, but I do know I need both of them to be okay. I’ve never loved anyone as fiercely as I love them. Both of them.
I never wished for it, but now that it’s within my grasp, I need it more than I need to breathe. I’m just afraid karma is coming to get me back for every bad deed and every wrong turn I’ve made in my life.
Chuck pulls up to the curb of the emergency room, and Griffin runs in ahead of us to check her in. He comes right back out and waves us in, and fuck anyone and everyone who might be taking photos of us or spreading gossip to the media. My mind isn’t even on that shit. Instead, it’s on getting her in to see a doctor. It’s on whether the receptionist will take bribes to get her back there faster. It’s on how to make sure Maci and our baby survive whatever this is.
My focus shifts to being the calm in her storm and the rock on which she can depend when times are tough.
It’s this fearful moment that brings me back exactly to where I belong: with my arms around the woman I love.
We’re checked in and brought back immediately to a room. The nurse, an older woman with grey hair and glasses, asks a variety of questions, and I stand next to the examination table with my fingers threaded through hers.
“We’re going to wheel you down the hall for an ultrasound,” the nurse says to Maci.
She nods, and my hand never leaves hers.
“We have to take you alone. No guests allowed in the ultrasound room.” The nurse looks pointedly at me with a raised brow.
“Why not?” I challenge.
“Standard procedure.”
“Fuck that,” I say, my hand not leaving Maci’s as a tech comes in to start wheeling her to another room.
The nurse clears her throat. “Sir, with all due respect, you’re wasting time.”
I shut my mouth and squeeze Maci’s hand as I back down.
I’ve never backed down from anyone. Ever.
But this is Maci and the baby we’re talking about. I’ll do anything to make sure they’re okay.
The tech starts moving the gurney, and as she’s wheeled out of the room, her eyes catch mine. They’re wide with fear, and I do everything in my power to look upon her with all the love and adoration I hold in my heart.
“It’ll be okay, Mace,” I say softly.
She nods as tears fill her eyes.
“Be strong. You’ve got this.”
She disappears out the door, and I collapse into a chair and hold my head in my hands as I pray to a god who has never listened to me before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
MACI
“Subchor—subchor-what?” I ask. My hand tightens in Ethan’s, and he squeezes back. He’s been right by my side through the entire exam, holding my hand and whispering soothing words into my ear. The sharp pains subsided as he sang our song to me, the one we worked on all last night and the one we were supposed to be recording in a studio rather than at a hospital awaiting our test results.
Our test results—because we’re in this together.
“Subchorionic hemorrhage,” the ER doctor repeats about an hour after we left the studio. “It’s basically blood gathering between the placenta and the uterine wall. In most cases, they resolve on their own and it’s nothing to worry about, but with that said, you need to restrict your activity. Keep your heart rate level and avoid strenuous physical activities or anything that might raise your pulse.” He glances at Ethan pointedly, and the sweet innocent girl that still resides inside me forces a red blush right into my cheeks. “We’ll call it pelvic rest, so no riding horses and no sex until you’re cleared by your OB.”
Ethan lets out a pained sound at the no sex, and I can’t help my nervous giggle.
I don’t know what this means for Ethan and me, but his little grunt just then must mean something good. It at least means he wants to have sex with me.
“Dammit,” I say, fully relieved that he just said it’s nothing to worry about. “No horses?”
Ethan chuckles beside me.
“Does that also mean bedrest?” I ask. “Because I’m on tour right now.”
“On tour?” the doctor asks.
“She’s Maci Dane,” Ethan clarifies, and the doctor still looks confused. “She’s a rock star.”
I roll my eyes. “So’s he,” I say
, jabbing my thumb in Ethan’s direction.
The doctor chuckles. “So that gives your baby a pretty good chance of getting the music gene.”
“The baby’s okay, then?” Ethan asks.
“Just fine.” The doctor smiles and looks at me. “As long as this SCH doesn’t grow and you take care of yourself, you’re likely to carry to term. For now, just eat lots of fiber and drink plenty of water to avoid straining during bowel movements.” I sort of want the ground to swallow me whole as the doctor mentions my bowel movements in front of Ethan Fucking Fuller.
I avoid eye contact with Ethan.
“And just to be completely transparent, I don’t recommend continuing on your tour,” the doctor says, and my heart drops. “I’d venture to guess performing in front of a crowd doesn’t keep your heart rate stable, and while I’m not exactly prescribing bedrest, it’s close enough. Take it easy for now. Rest and relax, and your OB will check you out at your next appointment to ensure the baby is safe and the SCH isn’t growing.”
Ethan’s eyes meet mine. He still looks worried, but now I think it’s because we have to figure out how to pull me out of the remaining shows. There are only three left—Chicago on Friday then two shows in California next week, but they’re the final three and three I certainly don’t want to miss. Tears fill my eyes.
“Any other questions?” the doctor asks.
I shake my head. I don’t have any, but even if I did, I’d have a hard time talking around the lump in my throat as I try to ward off crying while the doctor is in the room. The baby is okay, and that’s all that matters. Of course I want to perform and of course I want to finish what I started when I signed onto this tour, but I want this baby to be safe more than any of that.
“Thanks, Doc,” Ethan says, and then the doctor nods and tells us he’ll send the nurse in with paperwork and care instructions.
“It’ll be okay, Mace,” Ethan says before the door even latches shut behind the doctor.
I nod as the first tear slips down my cheek.
His arms come around me and I rest my head on his chest. “That was really fucking scary. Don’t do that to me again.”
“It was terrifying,” I murmur into his sweatshirt. I lean back to look up at him. “Thank you for being here.”
His eyes are so full of remorse that it tears at my heart. “I wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for—” he starts, but I cut him off when I hold up a hand.
“Let’s not get into all that here, okay?” I ask. “You were here when we needed you. That’s all that matters.”
We’re still holding hands, me in a paper gown and him in jeans and his black sweatshirt. He brushes his thumb over the back of my hand. “I’m sorry I questioned whether it was mine. I’m sorry I accused you of getting pregnant on purpose.”
“It’s behind us. We both made mistakes.”
“I think this is a sign,” he says. His clear blue eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but think how much I missed them.
“A sign of what?”
“The baby wants us together, Mace. When I looked at you in that room and you were hunched over in so much pain, I forgot everything except how much I love you and how much I needed our baby to be okay. I’ve been holding onto this anger and I might’ve held onto it forever. I hate that it took an emergency for me to see that, but if you’ve got one end of the thread and I’ve got the other, that little guy in there is holding on somewhere in the middle.”
I swipe at more tears as they track down my cheeks. His words are everything I need to hear. I sniffle and he brushes away another tear. “I need to get dressed,” I say. “But my clothes are all bloody.”
He pulls off his sweatshirt. “Here, wear this.” He’s just wearing a white short-sleeve shirt underneath.
“You’ll freeze.”
“Babe, I’ve been hot for weeks around you, and if I gotta wait until you’re off this pelvic rest bullshit, I’ll continue to be hot. Take the sweatshirt. I’ll be fine.”
I giggle. “Just because I can’t have pelvic activity or increased blood pressure doesn’t mean we can’t get creative with you.”
He helps me off the exam table and to my feet then pulls me into his arms. He slips his hands beneath my paper gown which sits open in the back and trails his hands down to my ass. He gives it a good squeeze, and I yelp as he grins and rests his forehead against mine. “God, I love you.”
I squeeze my arms around his middle and breathe him in as relief settles over me. “I love you, too. And I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I was wrong for all those years, and I regret living my life the way I did.”
“You know something?” he asks, backing away from me. “I’m not sorry it happened the way it did. It’s part of our story now.”
“Our story?”
He shrugs. “We have a lot to work out and a lot to get past. It won’t be easy, but the road to finding the person holding your thread never is. I think this is merely the first chapter of our story, Mace.”
“The first chapter,” I repeat. “Sounds like a song title.”
“Sounds like a good one to add to our record.”
“Our record?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Why stop at one song?” He grins. “Be right back.” He kisses me hard on the mouth then disappears.
I pull on my bra and his sweatshirt as I stare down at the blood-soaked panties I arrived in. I can’t bear to put them back on. It was too terrifying. I don’t ever want to look at them again, but I can’t exactly leave this office with nothing on the bottom. I think about tying my big, gray sweater around my waist when there’s a knock at the door. I pull the paper gown around my bottom half. “Come in.”
Ethan walks in with sweatpants for me. I look at him gratefully, toss the paper gown to the floor, and pull them on. “Where’d these come from?” I ask.
“Your manager. He’s a good guy, Mace.”
I nod and give Ethan a small smile. “Yeah. I know he is.”
* * *
“We have some news,” Ethan says later that night.
We’re sitting in Mark’s condo. It’s dark out the expansive windows, but a look down toward the ground tells me it’s snowing. A fire crackles in the fireplace, warming all of us. I snuggle in closer to Ethan’s side, somewhere that despite everything is now the most comforting place in the world, and Reese grins at me.
“What sort of news?” she asks.
I can’t force my smile back. I’m nervous about this conversation, but it just matches my general nervousness about this baby. Will I be able to relax at all during the next seven and a half months? Or will a constant, nagging anxiety plague me that something can go wrong at any second? Reese’s smile fades.
Ethan presses a kiss to my temple as he tightens his arm around me. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Always start with the bad,” Mark says. “Follow up with the good to make us feel better about it.”
“Maci can’t do the last three shows,” Ethan blurts.
“What?” Mark asks at the same time Reese says, “Oh my God. Why?”
They glance at each other.
“She’s on sort of a modified bedrest.”
“Is the baby okay?” Mark asks.
Ethan nods. “We had a scare today, but the baby’s fine. And that’s the good news. She just needs to keep physical activity to a minimum for a while.”
“What happened?” Reese asks me.
Mark shoots her a look.
“What?” She shoots him a look right back. “Too personal? Maci has become one of my closest friends in the past couple weeks.”
“I had really bad pain this morning and then I started bleeding. The doctor called it a sub...subchro...ah, fuck. What was it, Ethan?”
“Subchorionic hemorrhage. SCH,” Ethan says.
Mark and Reese just look at us like we’re speaking a different language.
“Kind of like a blood clot,” I say. “I jus
t need to rest and let it resolve on its own.”
“So no touring,” Mark says flatly.
I shake my head. “The doctor advised against it."
Mark runs a hand down his jaw as he thinks it through. He looks at Ethan. “Sebastian owes me one.”
Reese rolls her eyes with a derisive snort.
Ethan closes his eyes and shakes his head just slightly. “Bad idea, dude.”
Mark lifts a shoulder. “They’ll be at the LA shows anyway. I don’t know if we can get them here for Friday’s show on short notice, though. Maybe just Sebastian and not the rest of the guys.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Reese asks.
“You know you get a say in everything I do,” Mark says to his wife, “but what other choice do we have?”
“Anyone, and I mean an-y-one, would be thrilled to open for Vail,” she says.
“Yeah, but fans are expecting Maci Dane. They’re expecting someone big. We can’t just throw up a local and say, ‘there you go, here’s our replacement.’” Mark shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“My band would probably love to stay and finish the tour,” I interject. “Who’s Sebastian? Can he sing if they play?”
Mark raises his brows and twists his lips in thought. “That might work.”
“Sebastian Cresswell from Noteworthy,” Ethan says, answering my question.
“Why is that a bad idea?” I ask.
Reese lets out another snort then answers for the boys. “He’s a bad influence. He and Mark have a history of crashing each other’s shows, of nights filled with booze and drugs and women.”
“Not since I met you,” Mark protests.
“Technically, that’s not true,” she says, raising a brow at him.
He rolls his eyes. “We have to do something.”
“Fair enough, but for the record, I hate this idea,” she says. She glares at Mark, and he seems to back down a little.
“Why are you against it?” I ask Ethan.
