“I know, but I still feel bad.” I swing my legs off the bed and sit up. “I’ll call you tomorrow, before we head to the arena.”
“Alright.” He’s silent for a second. “Hey, Jen?”
“Yeah?”
“I …” He stops. “I want you to know if you were pregnant, we’d make it work. I would respect any decision you made. I wasn’t angry about a baby; I was angry about being the last to know.”
My heart skips a beat. He wouldn’t be upset if I got knocked up? “I understand. But, just to be on the safe side, I think we should still be careful.” A small laugh escapes me. “I don’t think I’m ready to be a mom.”
His voice is quiet. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be great.”
He sounds disappointed, but before I can ask why, he says goodbye. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he says. “Sleep tight.”
~~~~
A week later, we’re wrapping up our set in New Orleans.
“Thank you Louisiana!” Dean shouts into the mic.
The fans cheer, putting a grin on my face. The three of us join Dean for our usual wave goodbye, and, out of habit, my eyes dart to the groupie section near the front of the stage. The usual girls are there minus one. True to Latson and Dean’s word, Heidi was kicked off the tour the day after she pulled her little prank.
I didn’t see it go down, but I was told security escorted her out with Roxanne’s help. Apparently Rox freaked when Dean told her Heidi was sneaking around our hotel room. She said if I see Heidi again I’m supposed to report it. So now, every time we play, I look for her. I don’t expect her to show up, but you never know. She could actually pay to attend a concert for once.
As we head off the stage, Dean falls behind Drew and Paul to walk next to me. His eyes dart around before he asks, “Has she said anything?”
He doesn’t have to tell me who “she” is. He’s referring to Ariel. He knows she’s pregnant because Latson told him the night of the text message. She hasn’t made a formal announcement yet, and Dean’s worried about the tour. I don’t blame him. He’s got a lot riding on it.
“Nothing specific,” I say as I stop to get stripped of my gear. “I know she’s made a doctor’s appointment. That’s all.”
Okay, that’s not really all, but Dean could care less about her relationship with Zach. Since our trip to Dallas, Ariel has permanently moved to our bus. She travels with The Union and confides in me. She told me Zach supports her, but they’re not in love. What happened was a one night stand, a drunken mistake, and Ariel still isn’t sure what she’s going to do. All she has decided on is an appointment when we get to Tampa. She grew up in Florida and has a local doctor there.
“You’d tell me, right?” Dean hands his guitar to a crew member and pulls out his ear piece. “If it’s bad news, I need to know. I hate being blindsided.”
“You and me both,” I say, and it’s the truth.
When I’m free of equipment, I follow the guys out of the backstage area. I don’t know what their plans are, but I want to grab my stuff and head to the hotel. I’m hungry, and a hot shower and room service sounds like perfection. We’re headed down the hallway to our dressing room when a small crowd gathered outside Ariel’s door catches our attention.
“Interesting,” Dean says as we get closer. He cocks a questioning eyebrow, and I shrug. It appears some dancers, along with some arena staff, are anticipating something. We pass the group and I try to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, everyone goes silent as we walk by.
“That was weird,” Drew says when we enter our room.
“Think Ariel’s having a diva moment?” Paul jokes, opening the mini fridge.
I doubt she is. I’ve haven’t seen her be rude or demanding toward anyone. Then again, I’m not around her when she performs.
Grabbing my bag, I open it to find my phone. There’s a message from Latson: How’d it go tonight?
I type back Super fantastic as always and hit send. Then, I hear an unfamiliar voice. “Jen? Jen Elliott? Where’s Jen?”
I look up. Ariel’s manager, Mason, looks stressed as he pokes his head into our dressing room. “That’s me,” I say, doubtful. I’ve never talked to him before.
“I need you,” he says and rapidly gestures for me to follow him. “Bring your guitar.”
“My acoustic?”
“Whatever you have. Just move!”
“Go,” Dean says as he picks up my instrument and shoves it into my hands. “This doesn’t sound good.”
Confused, I do as I’m told, pulling the strap over my head as I follow Mason’s tall, lanky frame down the hallway. We speed walk to Ariel’s dressing room.
“I’m here. We’re here. Let me through,” he says as he parts the bodies standing in front of the door. He opens it and ushers me in ahead of him. When I step over the threshold, I look around Ariel’s posh set-up and feel a pang of jealousy. Comfy couches, an adjacent room filled with racks of costumes, a counter filled with catered finger foods, and bottles of champagne complete the area. We’re lucky if we get a bowl of pretzels and an extra folding chair.
“Ariel! I found her,” Mason calls out.
A partially open door to my left opens further. It’s a bathroom, and Ariel is sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. “Hey.” She gives me a weak smile. “Did you know morning sickness doesn’t only hit in the morning?”
My eyes consume my face, and I glance at Mason. “Yeah, I just found out,” he says, crossing his arms and setting his jaw. “She’s been puking for the last hour.”
I look at my guitar and then Ariel. Does she want me to play her a song? I walk toward her and kneel down. “What can I do?”
“I need you to stall,” she says. “I can’t go on yet. I’m feeling better, but not one hundred percent. I still need to get dressed and fix my face.”
“Stall how?” My brow furrows. “Do you want me to get the guys and go back on?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, you can, but you already played your set. Does the band have anything else?”
“Not that we’ve rehearsed.”
“Then you go,” she says. “Sing “Fairytale.” Sing “I Choose You.” Sing –” Suddenly, she leans forward and dry heaves. “Sing whatever the hell you want,” she says into the toilet.
She’s lost her mind. “Are you insane? The people out there don’t want to see me.” I can hear the booing and catcalls now. My music isn’t what they paid for.
“I’m asking a favor,” she groans. She looks over her shoulder at Mason. “Where are my Saltines?”
He looks like he’s losing his patience. Either that or he’s so far out of his comfort zone he doesn’t know what to do. He holds up his hands. “I put in a call.”
My eyes bounce between the two of them. Couldn’t my favor be to deliver the crackers?
“Please,” Ariel pleads. “I just need some extra time.”
My mind races. Going out on stage alone violates my cardinal rule. The idea doesn’t make me happy. In fact, it scares the shit out of me. I’m not prepared.
“Jen. Think of it as a career opportunity,” Mason says.
“You’re on board with this?”
“I’m on board with anything that prevents a hostile audience.” He looks at his watch. “And we’re supposed to start the show in a few minutes.”
I take a deep breath. Nothing like a little pressure to force you into a decision. “Okay.” I stand up and look at Ariel. She wears a grateful expression.
“Thank you,” she says before pushing her body off the floor and turning on the sink.
Don’t thank me just yet, I think. She may still wind up with angry fans.
“Let’s go,” Mason says and opens the door. As soon as he does, he’s bombarded with questions.
“Is the show canceled?”
“Is Ariel sick?”
“What does she have?”
“The show is not canceled,” he says, raising his voice and his hands to push back the people. “Ariel had a migraine, but she’s feeling better. We’re running about twenty minutes behind. Go get ready.” He grabs one of the arena personnel. “I need a mic at the front of the stage. Tell the crew there’s been a slight change, we have an extra act.”
The guy nods and starts talking into his headset.
“C’mon,” Mason says and starts to lead me through the fray.
“Jen!”
I hear Dean and look behind me. He catches up to my side as we walk. “What’s going on?”