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A few seconds later, I heard telltale retching sounds, and my whole body tensed. I only waited half a second before following her and finding her doubled over in front of the toilet.
“Easy,” I said, rubbing her back as she vomited into the toilet again. A lock of her hair slipped from my grip as each heave wracked her body. Sliding my fingers into her hair, I dragged it away from her face, holding it at the nape of her neck. She shivered under my touch, and I spotted the whiteness in her fingers, indicating how tightly she clung to the porcelain throne.
I wanted to believe this was a bout of badly-timed “morning” sickness, but I’d heard the shitty things Roman said to her, and he was lucky I hadn’t killed him.
After a few minutes, she finished heaving. I sat behind her, sliding my hands down her back before cupping her waist and pulling her against my chest. I half-expected her to resist, but she slumped comfortably against me, her body molding to mine like we were made to fit together.
“I’m going to help you,” I said after a few minutes of snuggling. “I’ll find a toothbrush or hairbrush backstage one night and meet you with it. Then, we’ll take him for all he’s worth.”
She was silent, thinking about what I’d said. After a moment, she whispered, “Why?”
“Because I’ve never liked him. My agent connected me with his manager because they were looking for a guitarist, and I fit the vibe they wanted for the new band. At the time, all I was thinking was, ‘hey, it’s Roman Knolls. This is my golden ticket.’ It turns out the candy factory isn’t as grand as I thought it would be, and the candy man is an asshole. So, I would love nothing more than to see him come down a peg or three.”
“It could ruin your career,” she said as if I hadn’t already considered that.
I shrugged, and the movement jiggled her body. “So be it. I love music, but I don’t love the game. If I have to spend the rest of my life working a real job and playing gigs at night to pursue my passion, that’s what I’ll do.”
Roman could be an asshole, but “denying my kid” kind of asshole? That was a whole new one on me. He deserved what was coming.
Skye stayed silent and in my arms, which I was grateful for. I curled them around her tightly, silently promising to protect and help her. If Roman didn’t want this baby, I would be happy to step up to the plate. I pictured kids in my future, maybe not this near in the future, but future enough. And if it was with Skye, that was even better.
FOUR
SKYE
March
Me: I’m nervous.
Cash: Why?
Me: Because what if something’s wrong? I was living for seven months like I wasn’t pregnant.
Cash: Everything is fine. It’s not like you’re a party animal.
Me: Okay, but what if something is wrong?
He didn’t answer me, which didn’t help my already spiraling thoughts. I had no idea what it would mean if something was wrong, but my life would be turned upside down again.
I couldn’t handle that alone, and even though Cash and I had become super close in the last two weeks, texting nonstop into the late hours of the morning after his shows, he was stilljust a friend.
And friends didn’t stick around to help raise a baby.
It even felt like Logan and I were drifting apart. She was busy with college, whereas I’d sent in my withdrawal request. I was stuck taking more shifts at work to try and save up what I’d already spent paying my tuition. I wasn’t going to make it all back, but I had to try. I needed to start buying things for the baby before it got here. But I didn’t have time to worry about any of that. I had an ultrasound appointment, bloodwork, and a diabetes test to get to, whether I liked it or not.
“Take a seat. We’ll call your name when it’s time.” The receptionist smiled at me nicely as I looked around the waiting room and found the nearest empty seat. Dropping myself onto it, I slid the bag strap off my shoulder, and it banged onto the ground.
A couple of people stared at me for a minute before returning to their three-year-old magazines. I bent over, widening my legs so my belly could fit between them, digging through my bag to find my phone again.
I pulled it out, obsessively checking my message string with Cash. Swallowing my disappointment, I sighed. Still no reply. It was the middle of the day, so it wasn’t like he was at a show. Rehearsal, maybe, but he had set this expectation with me that when I texted, he would answer almost immediately—except between 9 and 11 PM—show time.
I opened a social media app, found Renaissance Revival’s page, and hit their story. Nothing exciting. The last story was posted seventeen hours ago, which told me it was from last night. Since then, it had been radio silent, which meant Cash should be able to text me back. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t busy.
“Skye Fowler?” A nurse smiled at me. “My name’s Georgia. I’m going to take your blood today.
I nodded and grabbed my bag, stuffing my phone into it as I followed Georgia through the waiting area and into a separate room. There was an ultrasound machine, but it was a cart full of vials and needles that Georgia turned her attention to.
My heart raced at the sight of the needles, and my stomach turned slightly. Don’t get me wrong; I had tattoos. But the difference between getting a tattoo and having my blood drawn was the tattoo gun was in your skin for milliseconds. This, she would push into my arm and hold it there while she drew blood. All the while, I would see it. Okay, maybe the blood part turned my stomach instead of the needles.
