URGENT (Book 2 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 23: Bad Girls Take Tests

Mac

For the first time ever, I do not give a fuck about this sound check.

Don't get me wrong. I'm so incredibly glad Trace is back. Yay, the gangs all here! Fucking finally!

But Trace is playing perfect, and energetic, and shit-cool today. And with Trace on point, we are all rising to his challenge, and we sound amazing. It's like he's brought the blessing of the Almighty Father del Marco down upon us. Every song we practice thrums with righteousness.

There is no need to run this whole set, like Trace is insisting.

And I got bigger issues.

Maybe-baby issues.

I'm going crazy here.

Last night, after our show in Durham, I was shocked to see the first signs of my period.

I couldn't believe it. I mean, me and the maybe-baby have been having some serious bonding. Good talks and stuff. About how loved he is, and what an amazing daddy he has, and how he's definitely going to learn some piano before I let his daddy put a guitar or a bass in his hands.

I felt like the maybe-baby was listening. That I wasn't talking to myself.

But then last night...there it was—proof that I wasn't pregnant.

I was so shocked to be wrong...I couldn't even feel sad. I was just mad. Mad as hell that my instincts could be so off.

I threw some shit around in the bathroom. Just little stuff—towels and bars of soap.

Adam noticed. Of course he did. He's like a fucking eagle-eye, when it comes to my moods, now. I don't mean it in a bad way. He's so concerned about me. He's trying to be mild and gentle and steady. And he's constantly on his phone. I think he's reading about PTSD, yet he never pushes me to talk much about it.

Mostly every thing has been great, since I threw the Plan B in the ocean.

We haven't even talked about the maybe baby much. We just fell into a wonderful routine of sharing our Soundcrush life. We even stopped booking two hotel suites. That was a big deal. It might sound dumb to someone on the outside, but for us on tour—that's basically moving in together. It was a huge step, and we took it easily.

Like I said, everything was great, until last night, when Adam caught me throwing shit into the shower.

He leaned against the bathroom door and said mildly, "Shorty, you ok?"

I dropped the toilet paper roll.

"No, not really. I...I was wrong."

I walked straight into his arms. I didn't have to tell him. He understood.

" You're sure?"

I nodded wordlessly against his chest.

"You took a test?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"No...I...I wouldn't do that, without you. It's...I...my period," I whispered. "I'm sorry I...made such a big deal, and it came to nothing."

He made a growly, dismissive noise. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweetheart. I thought so, too."

We went to bed. We watched tv. We never watch tv. We always have sex or conversation. But last night we watched an early round of The Voice and tried to guess which of the judges would turn around for which of the artists. And then I fell asleep across Adam's chest.