Chapter 6 James
James
Istudiously avoid looking at Georgie’s breasts while she nurses her baby under the instruction of the lactation consultant. Because watching Georgie breastfeed shouldn’t be hot… but damn, her tits are amazing, voluptuous and soft and so fucking big.
I close my eyes and try to erase the image from my mind, but the fantasies continue behind my eyelids. How my hands would look cupping them. So lush and full, her flesh would spill out of my grasp. And her rosy nipples…
Fuck, get yourself under control, man.
She had a traumatic day—possibly the most traumatic day of her life—and I’m over here sporting a woody because I saw a pair of tits.
Magnificent tits, but still.
As soon as I can get my dick to deflate, I’ll step outside the NICU to call Josh, my younger brother, and tell him what’s happened. He knows I was expected back in Nashville tonight for Hayes' engagement party, so…
Fuuuck, the engagement party!
Hayes and I are bandmates, but he’s just as much a brother to me as Josh is. Tonight, Hayes is hosting an engagement party with his fiancée, Annabelle, at their new house. While I’m thrilled for them, their party slipped my mind amidst the chaos of today.
Pulling out my phone, I glance at the time. Dammit, the party has already started.
Standing, I hold up my phone to Georgie and motion with my thumb to indicate that I’m stepping away to make a phone call.
I pace the NICU hallway as I contemplate what to say to the guys. Given the time, I don’t have a choice. I can’t hold off contacting the band, or else they’ll be concerned about my absence. I’ve gotta tell them something.
But what? I don’t know how to explain the asinine chain of events that transpired over the past six hours.
Do I lay it all out and risk their judgment? They won’t hold back in telling me what they think of my lie. And now that Georgie has accepted my offer, I can't backtrack and leave her.
Or do I offer them just the barest of facts and hope for the best?
That seems like the better option.
With that thought, I drop a text in our group chat that will go down about as well as a nuclear bomb. Attaching the photo the nurse took of Georgie and me with the baby, I tap out three little words.
It’s a boy.
This will be a funny story we can joke about down the road. The time I missed Hayes’ engagement party because I stayed with a woman who crashed her car into mine after she went into labor. Oh, and the punchline? I told everyone we were married, so they think the baby’s mine. Hilarious, right?
I’m so fucked. This whole situation is fucked.
Like Vin Diesel and Paul Walker, the texts start coming in, fast and furious. Well, Char is the only one who’s furious. But she’s our manager, so when this little social experiment of mine blows up in my face, she and the record label’s PR team will be the ones forced to deal with the fallout.
Charlotte
IT’S A BOY?!!!
What the hell?
Two missed calls from Charlotte Townsend.
Charlotte
Answer the phone, James Harper, or I swear to God, I will kill you with my bare hands, dismember your body, and dissolve it in lye.
Rowdy
That’s eerily specific, Char, but we got bigger fish to fry than worrying about how you might be a psychopath.
Pardon my French, but what the fuck is going on, James?
Josh
I’m gonna need a lot more info, brother.
Seriously, what is happening? This is a joke, right?
If this is a joke, it isn’t fucking funny.
Missed call from Josh Harper.
Okay, so Char isn't the only one who's furious, apparently.
Josh
WTF! You cannot drop that info and then ghost us.
He’s right. I owe them more information. I don’t want to worry them, and I don’t want to ruin Hayes and Annabelle’s party, so I shoot off one more text to the group chat.
It’s been a wild day, but don’t worry, all is well. I’ll fill you in when I can. Love you.
Then, I slide my phone into my pocket and head back into the NICU bay with Georgie. She’s still with the lactation consultant when I pull open the curtain and step inside the little space, which gives me some more time to think.
Hayes, Rowdy, Josh, and I formed Outlaw while we were in high school, and even though almost two decades have passed, we’re still the closest thing to family most of us have.
We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin, and I have no doubt they’ll stand by me through this mess, too.
So, while their attempts to contact me are irritating—mainly because I don’t yet have the answers they want—I know their concern is coming from a place of love.
And when I look at Georgie, whose mother still hasn’t returned my call, I’m especially thankful I was lucky enough to find a family to love me when the family I was born into wasn’t enough.
After the lactation consultant leaves, I pull out my phone and ask, keeping my voice low, “Georgie, do you want to try calling your mom again?”
Georgie looks up from her chair, where all her attention has been focused on her son. “Nah, that’s okay. Thanks though.”
I cock a brow. “You sure? Maybe she didn’t get the message I left earlier.”
Georgie exhales a deep breath. “Look, James, I know you’re trying to help, but my mom and I… we aren’t close.”
I know a thing or two about dysfunctional families, but ignoring a stranger’s message telling you your daughter has gone into premature labor following a car wreck? That’s pretty damn cold.
Georgie’s phone only had two personal numbers listed, and the one I called never even responded. I can’t help but shake my head and wonder what happened in Georgie’s life that led her to this point. How did she end up without any friends or family to support her?
My offer to have her come stay with me was impulsive and a little crazy.
As a celebrity, I’m not one to trust easily, especially women, but Georgie’s vulnerability speaks to some primal part of my brain, overriding my rational thought.
For the hour that Georgie was in surgery, I paced the hospital corridor and realized that I cared.
I cared about what happened to her and her baby.
So, I’m not going to leave them to fend for themselves without knowing she has a real support system in place.
And if she doesn’t, I’m willing to become her support system.
After all, where would I be if my high school guidance counselor hadn’t pushed me into taking drum lessons?
With her support, I went from picking fights and beating people up to taking out my frustration on the drums. Sometimes all it takes is one person in your corner to change the trajectory of your life.
Perhaps I’m meant to be that person for Georgie.
Maybe I was wrong earlier. Maybe it wasn’t bad luck that brought us together on that highway. Maybe it really was fate.
“You know, I was supposed to see your band for a meet-and-greet put on by the morning show of a Nashville radio station last year,” Georgie says, changing the subject away from her relationship with her mother.
I let it drop. There was something in her manner, her cautious wariness, that I recognize. She’s been hurt before. One day, she’ll trust me enough to tell me her story, and I’m willing to wait until she’s ready.
“Probably as part of our publicity blitz for our last album release, Alcohol and Orgasms.”
“Yeah, that was it.” Blushing slightly, she asks, “How’d y’all come up with that name for your album?”
A wry smile pulls at my lips. “The lead singer of our band writes most of our music. He had a particularly memorable one-night stand with a woman, and according to the songs he wrote after their night together, it was full of alcohol and orgasms. From there, the album title was born.”
I leave out a very important piece of the puzzle, the part that the public doesn’t know.
The muse behind our last album is Annabelle, Hayes’ fiancée.
Understandably, they don’t want the public—or Annabelle’s two young daughters—knowing their relationship started because they got drunk at a motel bar and had a casual sexual encounter.
My brain trips on the wording of Georgie’s earlier comment. “Wait, you said you were supposed to. Did you end up not going to our meet-and-greet?”
With a half-hearted shrug, Georgie replies, “I won the tickets in a contest and invited my boyfriend to go with me. He didn’t want to pay for a hotel room in Nashville, so we planned to get up super early and drive in from Alabama.
But the night before, he went out partying with friends and… didn’t come home.”
Sounds like a dick move. “You dumped him, right?”
Georgie grimaces. It’s a cute facial expression on her; her blue eyes squint and her nose crinkles. “Sort of?” The way her voice trails up makes it sound more like a question than a statement.
“Did you invite someone else to go with you?”
“No, I told my ex that I was going without him, though. I didn’t want him to know he’d ruined the experience for me.”
“This the same ex who left after the positive pregnancy test?”
“Sure is. Good riddance, right?” She smiles, but it’s forced. “Hey, I have a question. Earlier, when I asked why you offered to help me, you said your reasons were twofold. But you only gave me one reason, so what’s the second one?”
This one is a selfish reason. “To protect my reputation,” I admit with a sigh.
When Georgie and I first reached the hospital, it would’ve been simple to correct the mistaken belief that we were married. To tell the staff, the EMT made an erroneous assumption—that I wasn’t Georgie’s husband, that I didn’t even know her.
But I didn’t because I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. Not after her heartfelt admission in the back of the ambulance. “You stayed. No one ever stays.” Fuck, I didn’t want to be yet another person in her life who abandoned her.