by Quinn, Cari
Where was the box with the terrified woman like her? The one who had rage and disappointment in her eyes because she’d been stupid? Where were the boxes with the shaking hands and women curled up in a fetal position?
Jesus. Did she have to think of fetal?
She cupped her hand over her middle and closed her eyes.
“We’re here.”
Harper blinked her eyes open, realizing that they’d stopped. She clambered out of the car and followed DJ up a set of cement and iron stairs. It was a typical apartment complex. Exactly like one she’d lived in with three girls while in culinary school.
DJ opened the door on the second level and held open the door. “Do you need to drink something so you can actually pee?”
Harper knotted the bag around her finger and nodded. “Yeah, maybe.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I’m being a freak over here. Thank you so much for helping me out.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there.” DJ turned and handed her a glass. “I’m just surprised you don’t have a girlfriend to call.”
Harper gulped down half the glass, setting it down on the counter of the small kitchen. She had Annie, but she was vacationing with her parents. How the heck was she supposed to call with this kind of freakout? “I work with mostly men, to be honest.”
“Not a hardship.” DJ crossed her arms. “I recognized your husband on the first day.”
Harper stopped twisting the bag around her fingers. God, she hadn’t even thought about that. Since they’d gotten to Texas, no one seemed to notice Deacon under his beard.
What if she took the test and DJ called the tabloids to tell everyone? Would that be juicy information?
Deacon’s band was gaining notoriety, but they were off tour and out of the public eye lately. Would anyone even care?
DJ stepped in front of her. “You need to breathe and stop worrying about shit. Just because I know your hubster is famous doesn’t mean I’m going to freak out or anything.”
Harper bowed her head. “We just started dealing with the fame thing. It’s not like I’m with Simon. He can’t even walk down the street.”
“But Deacon is a big guy. People notice.”
Harper’s head lifted. “Exactly. Even if they don’t recognize him they stare because he’s so damn tall. Then the more people look, the more they think…wow—he’s gotta be someone famous. And then it spirals from there, usually.”
DJ leaned against her counter. “You’d think being with a famous guy would be cool.”
Harper snorted. “It is, until someone literally climbs over you to get to your husband.”
“I’d start swinging.”
“It’s easier to just get out of the way.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Well, I do. Because, wow, that man is fine.” DJ fanned her face. “No offense, but your husband is sexy as sin.”
Harper lifted her bag. “Obviously, you don’t need to tell me.”
DJ snickered and took the bag. She set it on the kitchen table, unpacking the boxes. “Let’s figure this out, all right?”
Harper nodded and picked up a blue and white box. A few minutes later, they had all of them open and the little wands lined up. Other than the length of time it took for the results to show in the window, there wasn’t much difference.
All she had to do was pee on them.
Sweet lord have mercy.
Before she could nerve up any more, she swiped all three up and followed DJ down the hallway to the bathroom.
“You good?”
She was so far from good, but she nodded anyway. She closed the door and took care of business. A few seconds later, she had them all lined up on a hand towel.
She washed her hands and dug out her phone.
Where are you?
She flicked away Deacon’s text and set the timer for five minutes then left the room. She couldn’t stare at them.
DJ poked her head around the corner. “Well?”
She held up her phone. “We’ll know in a few minutes.” She popped her knuckles and paced the length of DJ’s hallway. Six steps, spin, then five.
Six then five.
Her phone buzzed in her palm. She lifted it and another text bubble filled her screen.
I’m lonely. Come play with me.
She curled her hand around her phone and pressed the top edge to her lips. He had no clue.
He should be here, Harper Lee.
Nerves and guilt swirled in her belly. She just needed to know then she could deal with it. She could make a game plan and sit him down to figure things out. It was better this way.
Her phone chimed and buzzed under her hand.
Time’s up.
She swiped a hand down her face, lifted her chin, and pushed the door open to the bathroom.
Plus sign.
Blue line.
Positive.
Something inside her knew. As much as she wanted to deny it as stress or a late period. She’d known.
She crouched down and pressed her forehead to the front of the counter.
A baby.
Inside of her.
Deacon’s baby. How was she going to tell him? Everything in their life was so in flux. They barely had their own bedroom in the house they were renting with the band. They’d barely had a moment alone, with him in the studio and her business.
They were just starting out.
Fast.
Mach speed fast. She’d fallen in love, gotten married, and started her company years ahead of schedule. How were they supposed to do this too? She had freaking whiplash, for God’s sake.
“Well, shit.”
Harper turned her head at DJ’s voice. “Yeah. Can’t get much more positive than that line up, huh?”
“I have to say, I was hoping to crack open a bottle of wine, not a ginger ale.”
“You and me both.” Harper sighed and stood. She gathered up the applicators. She had a feeling she would need them. Proof to stare at or to defend when she told Deacon.
Would he be happy?
His entire life was just starting. The timing on this was so beyond awful.
“All right. Let’s go with plan B discussions. Are you hungry?”
Harper shook her head.
“Mind if I eat?”
She shook her head again.
DJ herded her out of the bathroom and into the living room. “Sit.”
She sat because it was easier to follow directions at this point. Her brain had completely seized and a symphony of white noise had taken over her hearing. The three sticks were fanned out in her fist.
Funny how she couldn’t quite put them down.
DJ sat down next to her with one of the test boxes, a bowl of grapes, and three Babybels. She unwrapped the cheese and split the wax encasing before handing her one. “Your gut has to be a mess.”
“Food doesn’t taste right.”
“Try it.”
Harper nibbled on the edge. It tasted like cheese. Thank God. She took a larger bite and collapsed against the couch.
Her newfound friend held out the box for the testing wands. “Time to come back from crazy town.”
She sighed and slid the applicators into the box. “You’re right.” She bit off a small piece of the cheese. “What did you do?” She nodded at the box. “When this happened to you.”
“I was only a few weeks pregnant when I figured it out. I’ve been right where you are. Right on this couch, actually,” she said with a humorless laugh. “The difference? I didn’t have anyone to talk to. So, I went to Planned Parenthood. After I bawled like a baby and thought it over, I knew there was no way I could have a kid. At least not then. The guy had been king of the losers and was already long gone.”
The piece of cheese Harper had managed to get down stuck in her throat.
The idea of a sterile room and nurses telling her all about her options was so…cold. Remote. Isolating.
“They’ve come a long way with their…technology, I gues
s is the best way to put it. As long as you’re still in the first trimester you don’t even have to have a procedure. All I had to do was take a pill.”
Harper blinked and finally looked DJ in the eyes. “Like the morning after pill?”
“Kind of. Much stronger obviously, but along the same lines.” DJ touched her hand. “You don’t even have to tell Deacon if you don’t want to.”
Eight
Distance
Deacon flipped his hair back out of his face. The water was bracing, but it helped to clear his head. He wasn’t the type to sleep into the middle of the day. Waking to find Harper gone had also thrown him off. Her note had been cryptic as hell.
Had he done something wrong?
They’d been a little off since the beginning of the trip, but he’d chalked it up to them being tired. The studio and her schedule was doing a number on their alone time, but they were making it work.
At least he thought they were.
He waded inland, relieved to see a familiar shape on the beach.
Harper’s sun streaked hair was blowing around her face. She had a sweatshirt on with her little white shorts. The breeze was misty with the leftover rain showers, but not exactly sweatshirt weather. He slogged through the waves that beat against his thighs, trying to push him back into the ocean.
The flex of muscles had been just what he needed. He’d certainly been using a goodly amount of muscles with his more than active wife, but he’d missed exercising. The burn of a hard swim out in the current had wiped the last of the cobwebs from his brain.
He smiled, cupping his hand over his eyes to get a good look at her. She held up a blue beach towel, meeting him at the ankle deep waves. “There you are. I missed you.”
She smiled up at him, but the crinkles at the corners of her eyes were missing.
Her polite smile.
He knew that face. Knew every curve and freckle.
He took the towel from her, swiped it over his face and chest, then his hands before tossing it over his shoulder. “What’s up?”
She put her hands on his sides and tipped her face up to him. “I love you.”
He cupped her face, his thumbs skimming over her slightly sunburned cheeks. “What’s going on?”
Her fingers tightened on his ribs, but she didn’t move closer to curl around his back like she usually did. “What? I can’t say I love you, now?”
“No, of course not.” He lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was about as reciprocal as kissing a doll. He brushed her nose with his and tried again. Finally, she sighed into his mouth, her lips softening for his, her arms sliding around to his back. She rose on to her toes, opening for him. Drawing him tight to her. Suddenly, she broke the kiss and pressed her cheek to his chest, burrowing into him.
“Hey, hey. Baby,” he crooned into her hair. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head.
He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew upset Harper signals. Sharing wasn’t always her default reaction. Sometimes she needed to be held before she gave up the goods on whatever was bothering her. The tide rippled around their ankles and the sun was cresting into the horizon.
Content to wait her out, he simply held on. When she was like this, questions only made her clam up more. When a few minutes turned into more than ten, he started to worry.
Had he done something stupid? Had she gotten a call from Annie?
Had something happened to her parents?
Questions rolled around his head until he couldn’t bite them back any longer. He pressed his cheek to her temple, brushed his lips over the crest of her cheek. “Baby, you gotta give me something. I can guarantee the stuff I’m making up in my head is worse.”
She turned her face into his and he tasted the salt of her tears.
“Harper.” He pulled back and cupped her face, bringing her eyes up to meet his gaze. Red rimmed blue eyes filled up with tears, starring her eyelashes. He brushed each one away as it rolled down her cheek. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “I’m just tired and I feel like crap. I don’t know why I’m so out of sorts.”
“Let’s get you back to the cottage. There’s a huge clawfoot tub that is calling your name. I’ll wash your hair and we’ll re-hydrate with that kickass flavored water you make with frozen raspberries. Because I am an awesome husband and went to pick up groceries while you were gone.”
She gave him a watery laugh.
His chest loosened a little. That was more like it. “We can watch a crap movie and be bums.”
Harper feathered her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Or, we could go home, get cleaned up, and go out to that little club you wanted to go to.”
“Lawless, if you’re feeling like crap, that’s not going to be any fun for you.”
“It’ll get me out of my funk. Music always does.”
“Are you sure?” He really did want to hear some music. Get out of his own head, hear someone else play. But not at the expense of Harper. She liked music, but it wasn’t the heart of her like it was for him.
She hooked her arm through his. “We’ve been holed up here for days now. Time to go on a date, huh?”
He let her drag him up the beach to their cottage. Her smiles were still strained. Maybe they could find an intimate table, share some food, and listen to some music. It had been a long time since they’d caught a show together.
Johnny Cage’s show was the last one he could think of. That night had gone remarkably well, especially when Johnny’s candor about the music industry and its pitfalls had been the catalyst for so much change in his—in their life.
She tangled her fingers with his for a minute at the door then slipped away. “I’m going to shower off this sand.”
“Want company?”
“Is it okay if I say no?”
Hurt bloomed in his chest, but he made himself smile. “Sure. Go use up the hot water. You know I like it cooler anyway.”
“Thanks.” She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.
He dropped into one of the club chairs and tipped his head back. Everyone was entitled to an off day. Even on a honeymoon. But they’d had such an amazing evening. What had happened between then and now? He just wasn’t sure if he was the cause or if she was just in a funk.
There was no reason for it as far as he could tell. They’d been laughing and then things had gone a bit downhill at the bar. Well, except for the whole booth thing. Christ, Harper had nearly put him in the ground with the dirty talk. She wasn’t normally like that. He shifted in his seat, hardening at the memory. If he didn’t know better, he was pretty sure she would have gone under the damn table. Then they’d seemed to go back to normal, a bit of much needed romance.
When the door to the bathroom opened, Deacon stood. Wide blue eyes that seemed bruised stared back at him for a moment before she broke contact and tucked her towel tighter around her. He crossed to her, coming up behind her in front of the wide mirror over the entertainment console along the side wall. Again, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead of saying anything more, he kissed her shoulder and went into the bathroom.
By the time he washed the sea off of him, she had dressed and pinned her hair up. This was the rare date night Harper. Gold jewelry flashed from her wrists and ears, and she had an extra layer of makeup on she only wore when they had to entertain. Tonight, she’d done something with her eyes, making them look smoky and sophisticated. Her lips were slick with clear gloss that made him want to wipe it away and leave them wet from his mouth instead.
Thin straps teased her sun-kissed shoulders, leaving her arms bare then covering the rest of her to ankles. The black and white dress looked like it was created for the beach. Loose and forgiving for skin that had seen too much skin and sand.
“You look amazing.”
She smiled softly at him as she pushed one of the bangle bracelets high onto her forearm. “I’m glad I got the excuse to wear this. Jazz and I found it last month w
hen she dragged me downtown.” She turned to her cell when it chimed and Deacon swallowed his tongue. The dress was completely backless, coming to a deep U-shape at the base of her spine.
She was bound and determined to kill him today. They were social people so whether it was a meeting or a dinner to schmooze, he was used to going out with her. He wasn’t used to feeling so overbearing and protective. Like he wanted to tell everyone to go to hell and keep her to himself.
He snapped out a pair of jeans from their bag and unrolled a black linen shirt. He dressed and took the extra five minutes to blow dry his hair. He didn’t want to embarrass her by looking like a beach bum next to her tonight. He put down the hair dryer and smoothed his hair back. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight?”
“I’ve got my party dress on, don’t I?”
“I can have it off you in five seconds.”
“We’re going out.” Her voice was steady and her eyes were nearly unreadable.
Why was she trying to convince him she wanted to go out so much when it was so obvious that wasn’t the case? Unwilling to push and cause a fight, he grabbed the car keys off the console. “Let’s go then.”
Fifteen minutes later, they navigated the small parking lot of The Muse. Murals overlapped each other on the front of the building like gang tags. Slashes of paint in bright colors over muted, dark oils mixed with spray paint making an interesting mess of pure art.
The sign over the door were letters made out of gear parts and found metals. All of it looked old and modern at the same time.
Deacon laced his fingers with Harper’s and walked through the front door. No bouncer. It seemed that they were a little early. He was hoping to catch a bit of the early practice. The band was local, but very tight.
Inside, the mural motif was still going strong. The walls were much more structured. Caricatures bumped up against realistic paintings, which then manipulated dark corners with moody silhouettes depicting musicians in various moments. A trumpet player with bruised lips, but a deep and abiding love for the brass. A vocalist with a busted microphone and heart ripping out of his chest, a drummer with a kit that rivaled Neil Peart’s.
