Sixteen-month-old Flora nods and gurgles, immediately grabbing a fistful of my hair.
“Ouch,” I pretend to complain. She immediately releases my hair and we both laugh.
“You’re a natural,” Tyler says under his breath. “We’ll come up with a plan and everything is going to be okay.”
“Hey, hey!” Ford Malone, our rhythm guitarist, comes in holding a bag from McDonald’s with our drummer, Declan “Bash” James, right behind him.
“We got the fries!” Bash says, looking at me.
I meet his gaze and the weirdest feeling rolls through my stomach.
I thrust the baby at Tyler and then I’m running for the nearest trash can, where I puke up my breakfast.
What the fuck.
I hear the guys murmuring amongst themselves and then there’s a hand behind me. Someone is holding my hair and putting a cool cloth on the back of my neck.
“I’m back! What’s—” As if from a great distance, I hear Stu’s voice as he cuts himself off. “Lex, you okay?”
I pull in a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just need a minute.”
Fuck.
I hadn’t planned for them to find out this way.
“Give me a minute,” I say, hurrying toward the nearest bathroom.
Dammit.
I’ve been fine until now.
Am I subconsciously nervous about telling the band?
I rinse my mouth and dig a mint out of my purse.
Then I stare in the mirror.
I look the same.
My face, my stomach, everything looks exactly the same as it did before I found out I was pregnant.
I splay my fingers on my still-flat stomach and try to imagine what this little person is going to look like. Zaan and I are both blond, and we’re both tall, especially him.
We made a baby that’s growing inside me, something I honestly had started to believe would never happen.
And of course, now that it has, it’s at the worst possible time.
Shit.
Well, time to face the music.
I walk back into the hallway to find all four of my bandmates pacing restlessly.
“You okay?” Tyler asks.
“Do you need anything?” Bash asks. “I can run to the store.”
“Do you need us to call Zaan?” Stu asks.
