Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection
Page 122
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.”
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.”
&n
bsp; 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.