Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Lexi
Crimson Edge is recording their first album since getting signed to Hart Records, which is also our record label.
Sasha asked me if I would do a song with them, and I readily agreed, and it’s a lot of fun working with them.
Their style of rock is a little harder than ours, a bit more metal than I’m used to, so it’s great to push myself vocally.
They’re a little younger than us too, reminding me of how green I was once upon a time.
My career started singing pop songs with an all-girl singing group, but that turned into a disaster.
Once I made the decision to leave, Nobody’s Fool basically fell into my lap, and I’ve never looked back.
The guys are like family, and that’s partly what makes the touring situation and my pregnancy so difficult.
It’s not that I’m worried that they’ll be upset so much as I’m worried about letting them down.
It took us three albums to get our footing, and now that we have it, I’m about to bow out for an indeterminate amount of time.
“Lex? Yoo-hoo.” Jonny Gold is Crimson Edge’s lead singer, and he’s watching me curiously.
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t paying attention—what did I miss?”
“Do you want to work on the chorus?” he asks. “I think we can make it smoother.”
“You want smooth metal?” I tease, chuckling.
He laughs too. “You know what I mean. Gritty music, but smooth vocals.”
“Sure, let’s do it again.”
I’m a little tired today, but I don’t think it has anything to do with being pregnant. I tossed and turned all night worrying about everything.
The pregnancy.
The upcoming tour.
Zaan.
I know he’s stressed but trying to be supportive, which is sweet. Except it makes me feel guilty. Deep down, I’m sure he wants me to skip the tour or stop before I get too far into my pregnancy, and I don’t know how to navigate that.
There’s a part of me that wants to do that too.
Unfortunately, a bigger part of me craves performing. I love to sing, especially in front of a big crowd. And now we’re headlining, something I’ve missed since I left my last band.
“Lex, you need a break?”
I realize with a start that I missed my cue because I’ve been daydreaming.
Again.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, guys. Can we take five? I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m a little distracted.”
Everyone agrees, and I grab a bottle of water.
“Everything okay, Lex?” Sam Fielding, the band’s lead guitarist follows me into the hallway.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot going on with the Sidewinders in the playoffs, the band rehearsing to go on tour…”
“I’m sorry if this project adds stress to your life.”
“Oh, no!” I shake my head, forcing a smile. “Not at all. I’m excited to do the song with you. I’m just tired.”
“Well, we really appreciate you.”
“Hey, everyone starts somewhere, and you guys are so talented. I can’t wait to see how this album does.”
“Thanks. I’m pretty stoked about it too.” He smiles and pushes his somewhat unruly long hair out of his face.
I find it entertaining that I’m constantly surrounded by good-looking, talented, successful men, but I never give any of them a second glance. I’m just completely in love with my husband.
“Hey, Lex, your hubby’s here!” Jonny calls out.
I turn to see Zaan heading toward me with a bag that smells really good.
He brought me lunch even though it’s a bit early.
“I’ve got to leave for the arena soon,” he says, leaning over to give me a kiss. “So I thought we could have an early lunch together. And I brought enough for everyone.”
“Free food!” Jonny yells, rubbing his hands together. “I like your husband, Lex!”
“I like him too,” I say, laughing. “And hi.” I reach out to wrap my arms around Zaan.
“I brought Chinese,” he says, since he knows that’s my favorite.
“It smells great.” We walk toward the lounge, and the guys start opening all the containers.
“General Tso’s Chicken!” Tate Jeffries, the band’s rhythm guitarist, looks happy.
“And shrimp fried rice,” Mick Lips, the bass player, says as he scoops some on a plate.
The guys dig in, and I nestle close to Zaan on the sofa.
“What are you really doing here?” I ask softly.
“Just want to spend time with you,” he says. “I feel like we’ve barely seen each other all week.”
“It’s the playoffs,” I remind him gently. “You need to focus on hockey. You don’t have to worry about me right now.”
“I always worry about you.”
Our eyes meet and I see the concern in his eyes.
The worry that he doesn’t want to vocalize.
I love that he cares about me, but I also don’t want him to start hovering. That’s never been our dynamic, and I don’t want it to start now.
“I’m fine.” I reach for a spring roll and take a bite.
“You ready for tonight?” Jonny asks Zaan.
“As ready as I can be,” he says. “You comin’ to the game?”
“Hell yeah. We all are.”
“Great.”
They start talking hockey, and I focus on eating since I’m suddenly starving.
“I won’t be there,” Sam says. “I’ve got a date.”
“Kirsten?” I ask.
He nods.
“Isn’t she underage?” Tate asks him.
Sam rolls his eyes. “No, dipshit. She’s eighteen.”
“You didn’t waste any time, did you, bro?” Jonny cackles, and Sam flips him the bird.
They go off on a tangent about something else, and I get the strangest feeling in my chest.
This is my life.
Not my band, but this is the life I’m supposed to be leading, minus groupies.
And now it’s all going to come to a screeching halt.
Because I’m pregnant.
I’m suddenly hot.
I put my eggroll down and get to my feet.
“I need air,” I whisper to Zaan, and then practically run out of the room.
It’s hot outside, but it’s quiet, and I find a spot in the shade where I can lean against the wall and…breathe.
Holy shit.
I nearly had a panic attack in there.
What the hell is wrong with me?
You’re pregnant, dummy, an inner voice whispers.
Fuck.
I don’t like how this feels.
I’m anxious and insecure and completely out of sorts.
I close my eyes and try to talk myself off the ledge.
“Babe?” Zaan’s voice penetrates my chaotic thoughts, but I’m rooted in place. “What’s wrong?”
Warm hands cupping my face.
“Baby? Open your eyes. Please? Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m having a panic attack,” I whisper.
I don’t have to say anything else.
My strong, empathetic husband pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly. “I’m right here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. Nice and slow. I’m not going anywhere.”
Thank fuck I believe him.
I burrow against his chest and hang on tight.
“It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared.” He rubs a hand slowly up and down my back. “I’m a little scared too, but we’re going to figure it out together.”
I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling.
Fear, anxiety, excitement, depression, and a bunch of other things all wrapped up in one overwhelming wave of emotions. I want to cry and laugh and scream. I also want to curl into a ball and hide under the covers for the next seven months.
“Hey, Lex, do you—” Jonny comes out and pulls up short. “Uh, never mind.” He turns and hurries back inside.
“Shit,” I mumble. I don’t want the band to think this has anything to do with them.
“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Zaan says patiently.
“I don’t like being scared,” I admit after a moment.
“I know, baby. Me either. But we’re going to figure out whatever’s bothering you.”
“I know what’s bothering me,” I say. “I just don’t like the fact that I’m helpless to do anything about it.”
“Can you tell me?”
“Well, I mean, you know.” I slowly look up at him. “Everything about my life is about to change. My career, my body, my time, even our relationship—and I don’t have control over any of it.”
“You have some control,” he counters. “You and I can work through anything that impacts our relationship. I know the changes to your body might be hard, but the guys in the band are going to wait for you. You’ll see.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
I sigh.
I didn’t want to have this conversation just yet.
I wanted to wait until I wrapped my head around it.
“Everything is going to change. Don’t you see?”
He frowns slightly. “Of course. But it’s a good change. How many times have we talked about having kids?”
“Yes, but not now. Not when I’m at the pinnacle of my career.”
“The timing is a little off, but we’ve got seven months to get used to it and prepare. We’ll come up with a plan, and you know I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”
I want to say something snarky about how he’s not the one who has to make any sacrifices, but that’s not fair.
“What?” he asks.
Either my face gives me away or he knows me too well.
Probably a combination of the two.
“Nothing in your life is going to change,” I say carefully. “Not your body, your career, or how much sleep you get—it’s all going to stay the same. At least until the off-season. I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”