9. Jez
CHAPTER 9
Jez
“I’m okay—really! I feel amazing!”
I feel like stars are shooting from my eyeballs, and like my core is soon to be hotter than the surface of the sun before I drown us all in slick. But I hope Caylee and Ash just take my overwhelm as post-show bliss.
“I mean it, woman. You were a fucking force out there.” Caylee gives me a kiss on the cheek, and Ash hands me a glass of Champagne.
“I don’t have time to drink to your opening night success, but you should. Your band’s watching Fable. That okay?”
“Of course.”
I’d told them to stay and watch since I need a few minutes alone to call Viv. Murray had looked at me with a ducked-chin, under his lashes, You sure you’re okay ? sort of way, but my nod and smile seemed sufficient to satisfy him.
Caylee and Ash duck out of the dressing room and close the door. I’m tempted to lock it but Ash will have access to a key anyhow, and the security guy is standing outside. The only guests scheduled to come backstage for tonight’s show are two Glaswegian bands keen to network and schmooze with Fable for some media pics. No one’s asked to meet me tonight, and I’m grateful. Though my ego wishes someone would’ve hooked those three girls up with backstage passes.
I turn back toward the door. Maybe Ash could find a way to get them back here and I could get photos with them. Not just to look like I’ve got fans in front of the Fable guys, but because those girls really did save my ass tonight, and I’d like to thank them more than picks and handshakes.
Before I reach the door, my watch and phone both vibrate. I lower myself to the sofa, put my feet up, down the Champagne, and answer the video call.
“Viv. Fucking shit. This is a nightmare.”
Her face is ash grey and she has reddish bags under her eyes. She’s practically spilling out of her maternity top which is clearly way too small, even though I helped her pick it out only three weeks ago. Her hair’s in the messiest of buns, and she looks over it.
Then I realize she’s crying.
“Oh my God, Jez, I am so, so sorry. I’m so pissed at myself for missing your calls earlier. Manuel took me to A&E. The other two were at work but he was working from home.”
A&E? My stomach lurches. Maybe alcohol was a terrible idea. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”
She shakes her head and covers her mouth. “I don’t know. I felt worse than ever. I had the worst heartburn of my life, and a migraine. The meds didn’t sort it out and I can’t take anything stronger, at least not without the midwives’ approval. So Manuel took me in. They’re sending me for an ultrasound tomorrow because I’ve also had sharp pains.”
“Oh, Jesus. Viv. Why can’t they just do it now?”
She takes a settling breath, and almost smiles, hand rubbing her belly. “You know what they’re like. Anyhow. I feel better for having seen you. And the heartburn medication’s kicking in. But it was so scary, it wasn’t like anything I’ve felt so far, all at once.”
I nod slowly. “I wish I was there for you. This is the worst timing—this tour?—”
I trail off. I want to tell her everything that’s just happened, but is this the best time? No, it fucking isn’t. I prop the phone against a bowl of fruit on the coffee table and pull a hairband from my handbag and tie up my sweaty hair.
“What time’s the ultrasound?”
“8:30 tomorrow morning.”
“Okay,” I say. ”Call me right after, if you can. As soon as you can. We’re in Edinburgh tomorrow night, and then down to Leeds the next day. Maybe I’ll still see you in London on Friday?”
She bites her pale lip. God, I want to wave a wand and take the nausea and sickness away from her and deal with it myself. She’s been really struggling, and I’m already feeling gross so it seems only fair just one of us has to suffer. “I hope so, Jez,” she says in a small voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“All right, missy. We need to agree right now, no more apologizing to the other about not being there for them. Because this is the hand we’re dealt. We’re getting amazing things out of this time apart—you’re bringing three boys into the world, and I’m bringing—ah?—”
“Your music to a whole new set of fans who are going to love and appreciate your art and your passion and your gorgeousness,” she finishes, her voice of encouragement, even exhausted, is always a sweet song to my ears.
“No, you,” I say, my usual response to her heaping praise on me.
I raise the Champagne glass, realize its empty, and suddenly am hyper aware of my thighs rubbing against each other. But I feel no slick. And no other signs of the heat, really.
Am I in heat? Or was I more likely just imagining it because of the adrenaline and emotions and who knows what other chemicals flinging around the inside of my body? I just had a crazy-ass experience. Opening night of a four-month tour, with Fable on Fire.
“Is Manuel still with you?”
“Of course,” she says, a cheerful grin now returning to her colorless face. “He said he won’t go to sleep until the others get home. He’s been amazing.”
Viv met her pack less than a year ago, and they’ve never gone wrong so far in my book. I’m grateful my best friend has such a loyal bunch of Alphas around her. But sometimes the jealousy of the time they’ll have with her that I now lose is real. I don’t crave a pack, but sometimes, late at night, I get lonely.
But I don’t tell her that.
I clear my throat. “I have some news.”
“Oh, shit! How did tonight go? Your set’s over now, isn’t it?” I hold up the Champagne glass for her to see until it fills the screen. She claps and gasps. “It went well?”
I pull it away and set it on the coffee table. “I think so. I mean, better than I expected. There were three fans in the front holding signs for me. I gave them picks afterwards. They were really sweet. Apart from them and the guy shouting for Fable, I didn’t really hone in on anyone else, you know? I tried to just play like it was a one-off show, and like everyone in the crowd was there for me. That’s all I could focus on.”
“And it worked, it sounds like! WOOHOOO!” she shouts, her voice screeching through the phone. I hear Manuel in the background.
“Oi, thought you were resting?” but he sounds amused.
“It’s Viv, Manny!” she calls over her shoulder.
“Oh shit, tell her congratulations and we’ll see her in London!”
I smile at this. They’re my first backstage guests, and getting to see them soon has been keeping me motivated.
“Did it feel like any other show? I mean, once you got that mindset going?” Viv picks up a bowl of grapes from off-camera and sets it on her belly, proceeding to chomp on one.
“It did—until something occurred to me.” I pause, afraid of her reaction. I’d rather do anything but tell her this right now in the midst of her own crisis because I know exactly how she’s going to react. “I, um, ran out of suppressants. Three days ago. And I completely forgot to refill before I left Bristol.”
For a moment, her face is blank. Then her eyes go wide and she clamps a hand holding a grape to her mouth.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “Don’t worry. I can’t?—”
“It IS my fault! That was on my to-do list for the last week before I cut out. Oh my God, Viv! Are you in heat?”
Aware that the others could barge in the dressing room at any time, I turn the volume down on my phone. “I don’t think so,” I say quietly. “I’ve felt nauseous since yesterday and threw up right before going on stage but?—”
“Dammit, that’s one of the main signs! Fuck. This is all my fault.”
“It’s okay, I just need to call in the refill and pick it up tonight or tomorrow, whenever I can get to a chemist’s.”
“No!” She throws a hand up in the air, then smashes it on her head and closes her eyes. “That’s just the thing. I had it on my to-do list instead of just doing it because you’re due for the big checkup before they’ll refill the prescription. You’ve been on it for a full ten years last month!”
Oh.
Oh.
Panic rises in me. “So, can I just see a doctor up here? Maybe someone in Edinburgh tomorrow? Or even Glasgow, early?”
She shakes her head sadly. “You have to see an Artists Guild-approved physician, so it has to be in England. The Scottish branch of guilds won’t see you if you’re registered down here. And, oh fuck, I’m pretty sure the network we’re registered in is centered across the South and South West. So you could go to a GP in Bristol, Bath, Reading, London, anywhere down here. But not Leeds when you’re there in two days.” She cringes and squeezes her eyes shut.
“That is complete fucking bureaucratic bollocks!” I shout, just as Ash opens the door, enters, and closes it behind him. He turns and raises a brow at my shout.
“I’m so sorry,” Viv says meekly.
I feel a heat rising in me, but not a heat -heat. Just an anger. Or maybe sadness. Jealousy. Fear. Frustration. Anxiety. All wrapped up, and it’s not her fault. I KNOW it’s not her job to sort all my shit out. It was for so long. But I am ultimately responsible for my own life.
Two-and-a-half days til we’re in London. I have to survive that long.
I should never have left her to deal with it all, especially once she was pregnant. Maybe not even when she first joined her pack, because that alone required more of her time. But I did. Because she was so good at it, and wanted to keep me from distractions, and desperately clung to her job. Her biggest fear when she fell pregnant was losing herself and her identity outside motherhood. So I gave in and made sure she knew how helpful she was to me.
Besides she’s never dropped the ball before. But what a ball to drop.