This is the first time something to do with the pregnancy has given me pause, and though it was an accident, it’s a huge reminder of what’s to come. What my limitations are going to be. Hell, and this is just the beginning.
Intellectually, I know I’m pregnant.
I know I’ll gain weight and probably have a plethora of other symptoms to deal with, but this is the first time it’s felt real. If I lose the baby, I can’t blame anyone but myself, but what’s the alternative? There’s no way I can stay home for the next however long because this is what I do. It’s part of who I am. What the hell am I going to do if I can’t perform? I’m aware that it’s temporary and that lots of musicians and other performers take time off to have babies.
Except I’m not them and Nobody’s Fool is on the verge of greatness.
Our new album is selling well.
Really well.
So well that tickets for this upcoming tour are selling out in minutes.
This is everything we’ve worked for.
And I’m going to fuck it up for all of us.
“We should call it,” Bash says firmly. “Let’s go out there and explain?—”
“No!” I’m firm this time, shaking my head. “I’m okay. Really. We’re going to finish the show.”
I see the guys looking at each other, and I get to my feet even though I probably should have sat a while longer.
“I’m fine,” I reiterate. “Seriously. Let’s go out there and finish. There’s only two more songs.”
“And then two for the encore,” Tyler says.
“I know. And I shouldn’t have dived—it was stupid, and I agree we need to take it out of the show. But for tonight, everything is okay. Really.”
I can see that they don’t believe me, but Stu finally nods. “All right, lass. We’ll go back out there—but you’re bringing a stool. Just in case.” His tone is serious, and his Scottish accent makes it that much more intense.
“All right,” I concede as graciously as I can.
I’m a little sore and it’s going to be hard to finish the show, but I just can’t show weakness. I don’t know why I feel this way, but the thought of not finishing the show makes me want to cry.
These hormones are completely out of control because I want to cry all the fucking time lately.
I have to call Dr. Diaz tomorrow.
Zaan is going to be pissed I did something so reckless.
Mack is probably going to have a lot to say about it too.
And if something happens to this baby… I’ll never forgive myself.
I can’t even entertain thoughts like that right now.
Four more songs.
I have to get through four songs.
Maybe half an hour talking to the press.
Then a ride to the hotel and a long soak in the tub.
And then, I’m going to have to call Zaan and tell him what happened because there’s no doubt in my mind the incident was recorded. Everyone has phones these days, so it’s going to be on the internet before we leave here. Hell, it probably already is.
That makes me want to cry too.
