Zariah stepped forward. “She’s nine months pregnant and in labor, dude. Let her through or I swear to God I’ll make a scene you won’t forget.”
The guard hesitated, then radioed someone.
Holland appeared a minute later, face pale, avoiding Zariah's eyes. “Hadley, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I need to see him.”
“He’s… not in a good place.” Holland glanced behind him. “Maybe tomorrow...”
“No.” I pushed past him, ignoring the twinge in my back. “Now.”
Zariah stayed close, hand on my elbow.
We navigated the chaos, crew breaking down gear, roadies shouting, the lingering smell of sweat and fog juice. I followed the hallway toward the dressing rooms on instinct.
And then I saw them.
Through the half-open door of the green room: Cal on the couch.
Sydney straddling his lap.
Her skirt hiked up. His hands on her hips. Her head thrown back, laughing low and throaty while she rolled against him. His face, blissed-out, eyes half-closed, mouth slack with pleasure, was the single most devastating thing I’d ever seen.
Time slowed.
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
Everything, the fight, the apologies, the hope, collapsed into ash.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
Sydney noticed me first. Her eyes flicked over, lips curving into a slow, victorious smile.
Cal’s head turned lazily.
Our eyes met.
For one endless second, he just stared, like he didn’t recognize me. Like I was a ghost.
Then horror flashed across his face.
“Hadley...”
But the word never finished.
Because that was the moment my water broke.
A warm gush down my legs, soaking my leggings, pooling on the concrete floor.
I gasped, hands flying to my belly.
Another contraction, hard, vise-like, stealing my breath.
Zariah grabbed me as my knees buckled.
“Hadley!”
Cal shoved Sydney off him so fast she stumbled.
