“I understand why you did it, Casen,” she says, leaning on the counter, her expression giving nothing away as to my fate. “I don’t know if I ever would have had the courage to follow through if you hadn’t set up the meeting. So in a way, I’m thankful you did what you did.”
I must be hallucinating. Never did I think she would be thankful. Pissed, livid, irate…yes, but never thankful. “So where does this leave us then? Are we okay?” I ask, hopeful as to where this conversation is headed.
Instead of answering Jen turns toward the fridge and opens it, hiding her face behind the door. She’s avoiding my question. “Do you want something to drink? I’m going to grab a water.”
I hop off the barstool and move around the counter to stand behind her. “I don’t want a drink, Jen. I want to know if I still have you.”
Her shoulders slump in defeat, and I know it’s not avoidance. She’s hiding something. “You need to focus on the record deal. It’s such a great opportunity, I can’t let you throw that away for me.” Her back is still to me as she stares at the inside of the fridge, which only contains drinks.
Placing my hand on her back, I attempt to soothe her. “I’m not throwing anything way. There’s no reason I can’t have both.” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her away from the fridge, closing the door once there’s room.
That’s when I see it. The picture, which steals every bit of air from my lungs. My arm around Jen falls away and my focus on her dissipates. Everything falls away except the little bean of a baby in the photo. My world shifts on its axis and I can hardly catch my breath.
“Please tell me it’s mine,” I croak out, strangling on each word.
She turns to face me and nods, tears gathering in her eyes. “Casen,” she whispers.
“Were you going to tell me? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask, letting the pieces fall into place. I turn and leave the kitchen to give myself some needed space. Jen follows behind me.
“Casen, please. I didn’t want you to feel trapped. You love music, I couldn’t put you a position where you thought you had to choose one or the other,” she pleads as I pace the living room, wearing a hole in the carpet.
“Then don’t make me choose,” I roar. “Besides, family always comes first. If I needed to choose, it would always be you, whether there were kids involved or not. As much as I love music, I love you more.”
“But you’re a musician. What would you be if the music wasn’t there?” she argues, still not understanding what I’m trying to tell her. I offer my hand and she takes it, allowing my fingers to weave between hers. I lead her to the couch and pull her down to my lap.
“I get to be something way more important than some guy who plays guitar in a band, sparky,” I tell her, pushing her hair away from her face and slowly planting soft kisses on both of her cheeks. When she closes her eyes to absorb the feeling of my touch, I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I get to be a dad.”
Hoping to find the conviction behind my words, her head pulls back to dive into my eyes, searching them for sincerity. When she finds the love I’m trying to convey, she places her lips to mine in pursuit of reassurance. Her arms tangle around me and peace surrounds us. We are going to be okay. We are going to be a family.
Jen
“I can be there in fifteen minutes,” I say before ending the call and throwing my phone into my purse. I knew once the guys found out about the baby, they would want to address the issue somehow. I just figured they would work it out with Casen. So, John’s call has me a little flustered.
Slipping on sandals and grabbing my keys, I rush out the door to the pizza place he is supposed to be meeting me at. I haven’t ventured into many restaurants in the last few weeks. Whoever gave morning sickness its name is full of shit because it can hit you anytime of the day and I refuse to throw up in public. I’m hoping that pizza is a safe choice.
I make awesome time, for once, and find a front-row parking spot at Beau Jo’s Pizza. The smell of sausage and homemade bread filter out of the establishment and attack my senses, but thankfully doesn’t spark any waves of queasiness. Swinging open the door, I send up a little prayer that my luck continues and the Hawaiian pizza that I’m about to inhale stays down.
John is standing in the foyer and immediately smiles when he sees me. “Come here, prego,” he says as he picks me up and swings me around. “I’m shocked you’re on time; I thought we’d be waiting for at least another twenty minutes.”
I roll my eyes, at his backwards compliment. He’s like a big teddy bear that you can’t help but love. I only wish he would get a better handle on the idea of personal space. He constantly invades my bubble and doesn’t think twice about it.
“We?” I ask hesitantly when he finally puts me down. “I thought it was just you and I.”
John looks at me apologetically but doesn’t get the opportunity to answer. The men’s room door opens and out walks Royce. “Well, shit. There goes my dinner; the nausea has returned,” I say sarcastically.
“Hey, Yoko, glad you could make it,” he says with a shit eating grin while he adjusts himself.
I narrow my eyes at John, who instantly looks away from me and walks to our table. So I turn my attention to my nemesis.
“Hello Royce. I noticed you’re having a below the belt situation,” I say, pointing to his crotch area. “Did Stacy finally give you the clap or is your dick so small, you pissed on your balls?”
I turn on my heel to catch up to John, but Royce moves quickly placing his arm around my shoulder. “Since you’re curious, I was shifting things around because my anaconda keeps hitting my knee and I need to move the man snake to the other side before it leaves a mark. I bruise like a peach.”
He chuckles at my look of disgust. “You’re so gross,” I insist as I push him away from me and rush to the table. John pulls my chair out for me, and I sit down as I grab a menu to help avoid any more conversation with Royce.
My plan fails when Royce steals my menu and sits across from me. John looks completely embarrassed but says nothing, so I take the initiative. “What do I owe the pleasure, since we apparently, are not having pizza tonight?”
“We come in peace, Jen,” John explains. “Really. We don’t mean to piss you off. Right, Royce?” His lips are tight and his eyes narrow, willing Royce to go with the flow. The ostentatious lead singer I know though is not going to give a shit about the request of his friend.
“You bet.” Royce affirms as he waves over a waitress. “I don’t want to be in the war path of those hormones; a man like me wouldn’t survive.” John shakes his head and rubs his hands across his face like this discussion is torture for him.
The waitress makes her way to our table, but when she begins to address us, Royce speaks over her. “We don’t need to hear the specials, sweetpea. My friend and I will just take whatever you have on tap, but she’s knocked up so just bring her a water.” He points to me and gives me a little wink which earns him the best crusty look I can throw at him. The waitress looks to me for confirmation, and I just give her a nod that the water is fine. I’m thankful when she leaves without asking anything else.
“So. We wanted to invite you here to find out what your intentions are with are boy?” John probes sheepishly.
“Are you fucking kidding me, guys?” I spit out, annoyed with this dinner outing and Royce’s mouth. “This isn’t the 1800’s and Casen and I aren’t in some G-rated courtship. Just ask me what you want to know,” I demand impatiently.
“Simmer it down, Madre,” Royce interjects. “We know that Casen is in love with you, but we also know he loves his music. We just want to make sure that you have his best interest at heart. That you aren’t going to be one of those groupie bitches that snags a man on his way up by getting pregnant, comes between him and his band, and then leaves him when he doesn’t have a penny to his name.”