Falling for the rock star you work for is damn foolish and I know it, but it’s not like I can change it. Fuck.
At this point, I’m out of time. I fly out to New York to meet Drew tomorrow and finalize details for the East Coast tour that starts the day after. While I can still manage to mask my growing belly to some extent, the moment he touches me, he’ll know.
I need air so I go out into my old neighborhood, walking my parents’ corgi. It’s still as quaint as I remember, true suburbia with the wood siding and picket fences, looks straight out of some cheesy family comedy. I wonder how Drew would like it here, what he would think of living in a place like this. I can’t imagine raising a kid in the middle of L.A., though really, it’s not like it matters what Drew thinks when I don’t even know that he’ll want anything to do with us. I’m so, so afraid he’ll want nothing to do with us.
My mom calls me into the living room when I get home, and by the way she’s frowning, I can tell she’s concerned. Mom and Dad have been supportive, but I haven’t told them everything, just that I’m pregnant and I don’t think the father will be involved. It hurt to say that, but I couldn’t lie, couldn’t feed them some delusion that the mystery father might care when I don’t believe it myself, when I’ve feared the worst for months. And while they’re happy with the prospect of becoming grandparents, I also know they worry.
After luring me into a false sense of security with a plate of cookies, Mom finally opens the long dormant can of worms. “You still haven’t spoken with the father?” she prods gently from across the couch. Sitting there in worn jeans and a sweater ensconced in the fading floral furniture of my youth, she looks so sympathetic, so much like home, that I can’t bring myself to deflect.
“I—no.” I shake my head with a sigh, then glance ruefully to my belly. “But you know I fly to New York tomorrow, and it’s not like I can keep it from him for long.”
“So you’re meeting him in New York, then?” she keeps pushing. “You work together?”
Another sigh. “Yeaah. He’s sort of my client. And I know, Mom, I know it was stupid, but—”
Mom raises a placating hand and I quiet, eager for wisdom, for answers, for something. “Love is never stupid, sweetie.”
“It’s not—” I sputter. “I mean, I don’t—”
“You don’t?” her raised eyebrows scream skepticism.
I shrug. “I don’t know. But it hardly matters. Drew Avery really isn’t the romantic type.”
“I suppose you’ll never know if you don’t talk to him,” she chides, and I know she’s right. Drew Avery might not be the romantic type, but he also might be. I haven’t even given him a chance to prove me wrong. I’ve been far too frightened for that, too afraid to be proven right.
Well, I suppose he’ll get that chance soon enough, whether I will or not, but I really don’t think it matters. Fondest dreams aside, I really can’t picture a man like Drew settling for one woman, let alone settling into family life.
Taking another cookie from the plate in front of her, Mom chews thoughtfully but backs off, and I’m left with my thoughts, my own fears as I have been for a while now.
The next afternoon, I’m on a plane to New York. The flight is hell, even in First Class, my need to pee every half hour humiliating. But when I think about her, this little girl that is me and Drew, this mystery child I will meet in a few short months, my heart swells.
I find myself wondering if she’ll look like me, or maybe like Drew, wondering what she’ll feel like in my arms. I may not be sure how I feel about Drew, but I love our daughter.
After a few hours of hell, we finally land in Buffalo. I can’t help my relief. Later, I’ll have to face Drew, but as the limo arrives at the hotel, I know I have a few hours to myself. To rest. To recuperate. To figure out what the hell to say. To brace myself for losing my job, for losing Drew.
I’m being led into the hotel lobby when I hear my name and turn around, confused. I don’t recognize the voice, but maybe it’s a hotel employee.
I spot a woman with long, dark hair in a grey pantsuit, cellphone held aloft. There’s a flash, and then she’s gone, moving off into a waiting taxi and away. Well, that was odd. Still, she’d had a cell phone, she can’t be paparazzi, so I really have no clue what that was all about. If the media really were onto the fact Drew Avery’s manager is pregnant with his child, the hotel would be a zoo and my life would become a shitshow of epic proportions.
As I get to my room, exhaustion sets in and I let it, setting my phone alarm for an hour later and letting sleep come.
It isn’t restful, not in the slightest, my nerves eating me alive. I dream of being devoured by cell phone cameras, flash flash flash as they consume me, and want nothing more to do with sleep as my alarm goes off.
Only it’s not my alarm. My phone is ringing, and the number isn’t one I recognize. The number is local. Someone from the venue, then.
“Hello, this is Lucy Westmore,” I answer, and a warm laugh greets me. I don’t recognize the voice, not really, though it tickles faintly at my memory.
“Perfect,” the woman on the other line breathes. “Exactly who I was hoping to reach. I’m Veronica Ashton-Evans.”
“It’s—nice to speak with you, Veronica,” I say cautiously. I have no idea who this is or what this is about, but the fact she hasn’t identified her purpose is odd. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, no no, I’m calling to help you.” Her laugh is high and false and puts me immediately on edge.
“Go on,” I manage, not sure how else to respond.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Her false mirth has faded, leaving only incredulity.
“I—no?”
“I figured Drew would have told his little whore about me since I was his first love. Maybe you mean less to him than I thought.” The dismissiveness in her voice sours my stomach. “Well, it hardly matters. I’m just calling to give you a heads up, anyway.”
“About?” My voice is cautious.
“You might want to check out the news tomorrow. A story is about to break and you’re the star.”
My heart drops into my feet. "What do you mean?"
“Surely you didn’t think you could hide the fact that you’re carrying Drew Avery’s baby forever, did you?” This time, her laugh isn’t false but cruel, and I feel sticky with dread.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask in a panic. Everything around me is crumbling; I'm not prepared.
“Because I can?” she says airily. “Anyway,” she continues, “I really have to go, but it’s been lovely. Enjoy the show.”
She hangs up before I can say more, I'm so stunned. The woman with the cell phone. She’d only said my name before, but the tone is right. It has to be her. She’d introduced herself as Veronica Ashton-Evans, but I know I haven’t heard the name. Clearly, she's someone from Drew’s past.
And now, she’s trying to hurt him again, trying to hurt us both.
Shit. Shit. I have to tell Drew before it’s everywhere, have to.
The text from him two hours later hits hard. There’s some freakish weather out in Seattle and all flights are delayed. He won’t be in until tomorrow morning. I try to calm myself, calm my ragged breathing. Tomorrow morning means he’ll be here in time for the concert,
he has to be, which means I’ll get my chance to tell him. It’ll be okay. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
The next day, I can’t breathe. I’m at the concert hall, pacing in his dressing room. Drew is still not here and he’s set to go on in mere minutes. His texts have indicated further delay, have leaked frustration that he won’t have time to see me before the concert, that there’s no time for sound checks or any checks.
I’ve made sure Ezra and the boys go through everything, made sure it’s all in order, but Drew should already be on stage and he’s still not here.
Unable to take just waiting anymore, I open the door, moving towards the stage. I need to do something, anything. The anxiety is killing me.
The last thing I expect is to run into Drew, coming from the cross hall as I reach the corner. We nearly collide, and then he’s there before me for the first time in months, a bare few feet away, standing in ratty jeans and a band t-shirt, looking much like the day we first met. I can already hear the impatient murmuring of the crowd and I know I have seconds. The way he breathes my name before he scoops me into his arms sends a shiver down my spine. He breathes my name again into my ear as he holds me, and I melt.
“Drew,” I breathe back, and his proximity is so overwhelming, thoughts scatter, words scatter as I bask in his embrace. But there are words that must be spoken, and there’s no time to speak them, not really, so I pull away to meet his eyes. “There’s something—there’s something I have to tell you.”
He pulls me closer to stroke my hair. It feels nice. “That you’re pregnant? Yeah, I saw. Was all over the news on the ride here. Probably gonna be a zoo outside later. It’s mine, right?”
“I—” He knows. That’s not how I wanted him to find out. He must hate me for keeping this from him. I silently curse Veronica Ashton-Evans as I murmur against his chest, “Yeah, it’s yours.”
“That’s what they’re saying, and I figured it has to be, but I wanted to hear it from you.” Drew lets go, steps back. “I need to go, I’m late as fuck, but we can talk later, okay? Just—stay.” Backing away, he puts up his hands placatingly, like he’s dealing with a skittish animal. “Stay,” he repeats, and then turns to walk onto the stage.