Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lexi
Living on the edge
Breaking all the rules
Gonna find some answers
I never went to school.
Baby, you’re my heartbeat
You’re everything I need
But when you turn your back
You’re gonna make me bleed.
Jonny holds up his hand, pausing the music.
“Okay, I want to try something different with that part,” he says. “What if I add a little bass to the word bleed?”
I nod. “Yes. And in my response, we could try something similar…”
We do his verse again, and then mine, and then we stop and do the whole thing again.
Working on this song has been a little tedious, both because I don’t know them as well as I know my own band and also because this is their first time working with a producer.
They’re struggling to find the groove he wants, and I’m struggling to keep up with music that’s harder than I’m used to.
The Sidewinders lost game one of the series the other night, so they have to win tonight, and I’m worried about Zaan.
I know he hasn’t been sleeping well, and I feel bad about it, but I’m also not sure what I can do.
I’m working with Crimson Edge in the mornings and then going to rehearsals with Nobody’s Fool in the afternoons, and I’m not sleeping great either.
I still feel fine, but I do seem to be sleeping more.
Normally, I’m up without an alarm, but now I have to set one or I sleep until nine or ten because it takes me so long to fall asleep.
We record half a dozen more versions of our duet, a power ballad called “Edge of Love,” and the guys finally seem happy with it.
“I think that’s a wrap.” Their producer, Maurice Clifton, nods enthusiastically.
Thank fuck.
I sink into a chair and down a bottle of water.
“Hey, can I ask your opinion on something?” Sam asks, sitting next to me.
“Sure.”
“Which of these wrist corsages is better?” He pulls something up on his phone and shows me two pictures.
“It depends on her dress,” I reply. “What color is it?”
He grimaces. “I didn’t think to ask.”
“You need to know, or the corsage could wind up the wrong color.”
“What if I just go with white?”
“That can work.” I pause. “Are you taking Kirsten to prom?”
He nods.
“Are things getting serious?”
He blows out a breath. “They’re not supposed to. She’s going off to college in New York and I’m going on tour. But this thing between us… I don’t know, man. She was so bummed about not having a date for prom and the words popped out before I could stop them. I didn’t even go to my own prom.”
“I think it’s sweet,” I say.
“She’s young,” he says. “And I don’t want to hold her back.”
“Her or you?” I ask gently.
“Her. I’ve done a lot of sleeping around, groupies, all of it. I could be with her if she was ready. But she’s not. The timing sucks all around.”
“If that’s truly how you feel, then you need to let her fly free. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back to you. Zaan and I did that.”
“You did?”
“Almost exactly the same situation, where I was going off to Julliard and he was playing pro hockey. Then Special Kay came calling, and I went out on tour. We both needed the time and space to grow up. You and Kirsten—if the timing isn’t right, it’s not going to work anyway.”
I say the words and they hit me in the chest.
If the timing isn’t right, it’s not going to work anyway.
Is that how I feel about my pregnancy? My career? My marriage?
Fuck-fuck-fuck.
I feel another panic attack coming on.
“Lex?” Sam puts a gentle hand on my arm. “What’s wrong? You’re really pale…”
“I…” I’m suddenly clammy and uncomfortable.
“Do you need me to call someone?”
“No, I…” I pull in a shaky breath. “Please don’t say anything—I’m pregnant and have been getting panic attacks. I feel one coming on and I don’t know why.”
“What can I do?”
Tears sting my eyelids.
I just want Zaan.
But he’s at the arena.
“I don’t know.” I swipe at my eyes.
Out of nowhere, Sam reaches out and takes my hand.
“Focus on my hand,” he says in his deep baritone. “The strength and the warmth. I’d wrap my arms around you but I’m not sure it’s appropriate.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I could really use a hug.”
So he does.
And it’s not creepy or inappropriate or anything else.
He’s my friend.
And I really need it right now.
Someone from outside my inner circle who doesn’t have a stake in anything I do. Someone who just wants to be my friend with no opinion on babies, touring, or timing.
“Whoa…hey, you okay, Lex?” Jonny comes in and skids to a stop.
“Anxiety attack,” Sam says quietly. “Give her some space.”
He rubs his hand up and down my back.
“Oh, shit. What can we do?” Jonny sinks into a chair on the other side of the lounge.
I’m too shaken up—and embarrassed—to respond.
“Guys, are we—” Mick comes in and pulls up short. “What’s going on?”
“Anxiety attack. Sit down and shut up.”
If my heart wasn’t racing and my stomach roiling, I would have laughed at Jonny’s ferocity.
“Oh, no. Did we do something?” It’s unlike Mick to be so self-aware—he’s by far the biggest playboy and party animal in the group—it makes me want to smile.
Except I feel like puking.
“You’re safe here,” Sam says quietly. “We’re your friends, and if you need us to call someone, we will. Or you can just hug me until you feel better.”
Slowly, the nausea fades and my heart rate goes back to normal.
Why the fuck does this keep happening?
I haven’t had a panic attack in years, not since I was with Special Kay, which had been a disaster.
And we simply sit here.
Sam, Jonny, Mick, and me.
Until I feel better.
I eventually pull away and feel a twinge of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Hormones?” Sam suggests.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Are you pregnant?” Mick asks.
Jonny kicks his foot. “Dude.”
“Sorry. But my cousin…” He makes a face. “Ignore me. None of my business.”
Well, after what they just watched, they probably deserve the truth.
“Please don’t tell anyone. I’m nine weeks pregnant, but I don’t want the media to find out right before we go on tour.”
“You’re still going?” Sam asks, surprise etched into his handsome features.
I nod. “At least in the beginning. It’s all going to depend on how I feel, I guess. So far, I feel fine. Except for these panic attacks. This is the second one.”
“Stress is a bitch,” Mick says, nodding.
“And you’ve got a lot on your plate. I’m guessing this wasn’t planned—and it’s okay if you don’t want to answer—so it probably caught you off-guard.
And look, you can call me a misogynist all you want, but your looks are just as important as your voice.
Guys want to jerk off fantasizing about you, and that’s not as sexy when you’re pregnant. ”
“Dude.” Jonny gives him a look.
“No, it’s okay. It’s nothing I haven’t already thought about.” I’ve thought the same thing.
“I’m just explaining some of the reasons she might be freaking out. On the inside. And Zaan’s busy with the playoffs, right?”
I nod.
“Well, you’ve got us,” Sam says. “Seriously. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” I’m suddenly a little overwhelmed with gratitude.
“It’s hard to talk to the guys in my band about it because there’s so much money on the line.
You know? If I bail, they have to bail, and the financial ramifications could be devastating.
Not to mention the momentum we’d lose since the album just went platinum. ”
“Have you talked to Sasha about it?” Jonny asks.
“Yeah. We’re having another meeting on Friday because she needed time to come up with a back-up plan.”
“Until then, you should just chill,” Sam says. “You know, go get a massage or facial or whatever you do to relax. And talk to Zaan.”
“I can’t,” I admit. “He needs to focus on hockey.”
“He needs to focus on you,” Jonny says firmly. “And from what I’ve seen, I don’t think that’s a problem. Dude loves you.”
I smile.
Because it’s true.
Despite everything going on, I know my husband loves me.
“He does,” I say. “And we’re going to talk. But tonight, we have to root for the team.”
“We’ll be watching.”
Mick scratches his head. “I’m originally from Seattle so…”
Jonny throws a napkin at him and Sam flips him the bird. “Dude.”
“What?” he asks. “Can I help where I was born and raised?”
Sam throws a pillow at him and Mick puts up his hands in an exaggerated protective motion. Jonny and Sam continue to give him shit, and I lean back, watching with a smile.
They’re doing it on purpose, finding a way to distract me.
And it’s working.