Eric smiled hopefully at Brian. “So we’re going to give Rebekah a chance then?”
Brian could feel his resolve crumbling. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Rebekah was capable of running the soundboard for their live show. But maybe not. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“I have a bad feeling about your face,” Eric said, “but we still let you hang around.”
Brian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and instead crossed his arms over his chest as his nice side warred with his practical side. What was the worst that could happen? They could suck like a black hole, lose the respect of the entire music industry, and be sued by thousands of disgruntled fans for mental distress. But in reality, they’d probably just sound a little flat.
After a long moment, he nodded. “Fine. We’ll give her a chance. I just hope I won’t be saying ‘I told you so’ in three days.”
Eric beamed. “Great. I’ll go tell her.”
“Nope. I’m going to tell her,” Trey said, and the pair dashed off the bus.
“Am I missing something?” Brian asked Sed and Jace.
“Eric likes Rebekah,” Jace said with a grin, “and Trey just likes fucking with him about it.”
“So let me guess,” Brian said. “It was all Eric’s idea that we hire her.”
“We all decided,” Sed said. “But it was in front of Dave, so we couldn’t very well turn her down.” Sed clamped a hand over Brian’s shoulder. “It will be fine,” he said. “And if it’s not, we’ll have a good reason to fire her without looking like a bunch of ungrateful assholes.”
“So how was your honeymoon?” Jace asked.
“It was great for the most part,” he said and brushed past them to put his overnight bag in his new bunk.
“Which part wasn’t great?” Sed asked.
“The part where a fan followed us around, took pictures of us, and sold them to Myrna’s ex-husband.”
“What?” Sed asked. “Is Myrna okay?”
Brian nodded, trying to ignore a ridiculous twinge of jealousy that snuck up on him. He knew Sed was just concerned for Myrna’s safety, but the history between him and Sed always made Brian wonder if someday Sed would try to take Myrna away from him. Most of him knew that Sed would never try anything that reprehensible, but part of him still worried that they’d fall into the old pattern of Sed sleeping with Brian’s girlfriends. Girlfriends but not wife, Brian reminded himself. Marriage was sacred to Sed. He wasn’t a guy who took such things lightly.
“I’m surprised you left her in Kansas City by herself,” Sed remarked.
“They locked up her ex again,” Brian said. “Hopefully, this time it’s permanent.”
“She’s a smart woman,” Jace said. “She can take care of herself.”
Brian nodded. He knew Jace was right, but the knowledge didn’t stop him from worrying.
“So did you get her pregnant yet?” Sed asked.
And that was yet another thing for him to worry about.
Chapter Eleven
Myrna dropped her purchases in the foyer before locking the door behind her and activating her new and elaborate alarm system. She did this not because she was afraid to be in her apartment by herself, but because she had promised her unduly concerned husband that she would always, always engage all the locks and set the alarm as soon as she arrived home.
According to her calendar, she should have started her period the day before. But she hadn’t! So considering herself officially late, she’d stopped by the pharmacy on her way home from work and picked up an early detection pregnancy kit.
She pulled the box from her sack, which also contained her usual monthly supply of tampons and sanitary napkins—she hadn’t wanted to be too optimistic—and sat on the sofa to read the instructions. Seemed easy enough. Pee on the tip, see how many lines show up after several minutes, and be consumed with joy or utter devastation, depending on your particular situation. She could do this. No problem.
In the bathroom she was careful to follow the instructions to the letter. She set the completed test on the edge of the sink and stared down at it, her heart trying to strangle her, her eyes strangely achy, and her stomach doing backflips in anticipation.
One blue line appeared, indicating that the test had worked properly.
“Come on line number two,” she said, her hands curling into fists on the cold edge of the porcelain sink as she stared down at the white stick. “Come on line number two. Come on. Come on.”
Her vision blurred with tears when no amount of coaxing made the second line appear.
She wasn’t pregnant.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub taking slow calming breaths. It will happen, she told herself. Just be patient. There’s always next month.
Or the month after that.
Or the month after that.
She wrapped her arms around her clenching stomach and leaned forward. She had to tell Brian. He would want to know, even though the news wasn’t what they’d been hoping for. She wished he was with her so she could tell him face to face. No, that wasn’t why. She wished he was with her so he could hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But he was on the road with his band. And she was here. Alone.
She scraped the failed pregnancy test into the wastebasket next to the toilet and retrieved her phone from her purse. She checked the time to make sure he wasn’t onstage and then called his number.
Trey—of all people—answered on the third ring. “Hi, Myrna. Watcha doin’?” he said in a teasing tone.
“Hi, Trey. Can I speak to Brian please?” There. She sounded perfectly normal. Not like she was dying inside.
“Oh, he’s much too busy to talk right now,” Trey told her.
“Give me the phone,” she heard Brian say in the background.
“Are you knocked up yet?” Trey asked.
Myrna’s heart shattered into a million pieces and she tried to speak, but the only sound that escaped her was a strangled sob. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, and she sniffed loudly, gulping for air.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Brian said into her ear.
“My period was late . . . and I thought maybe . . . so I took a pregnancy test.” She took a steadying breath that was anything but steadying. “It was negative.”
“We have plenty of time,” he said gently. “We’ll keep trying.”
“How am I supposed to get pregnant with you gone all the time?” She hated herself for saying it the moment the words left her lips. It wasn’t his fault that she was thirty-five and all of her eggs were dried-up, faulty husks incapable of producing the son he wanted.