Chapter 14: Bad Girls Run (Drinking) Games

Mac

Not very much time passes before I hear the door to my suite open and Adam's steady footfalls come ever closer. I frantically scrub at my tears with the comforter but abandon it quickly. There is no way to conceal my ugly cry once it starts. So instead I turn away from the bedroom door. Maybe he will think I'm asleep.

Adam pauses in the doorway of the darkened bedroom. Then, without a word he walks around to the side of the bed I'm facing and sits down.

I turn away before he can speak.

He strokes my hair.

"You have every right to cry. I don't know if it's one of the stupid things I've done in the last two days that has made you cry, or if it's because the condom broke and you're scared, or if it's what Leed said, or all of it, but...if it's what I did on the plane...the way I talked about us, about you...I...I'm sorry. I got caught up in our bet, and I forgot...honestly Mac, I didn't think about the way it would make you feel, for me to say those things about you. And that's a shitty thing. I'm still feeling my way, Sweetheart. I don't know what we are now. You've always had this tough girl thing, and I've always been trying to break through that and show you I'm just as tough...and I...that's not the way I want to treat you. Not anymore. But I keep trippin' up and actin' like I acted last tour, and in Portland. And I'm very very sorry. Will you forgive me, and be patient with me?"

Adam's apology makes everything ten times worse. He's so decent and mature beyond his years and it just shows me that Joely and Leed are right. He deserves better than me. I fight to keep the sobs down. I bite the inside of my cheek, because crying can't fix this. It will only make Adam more decent and more sweet. And I can't tell him why I'm crying, because he doesn't see it—that I'm no good for him—and he'll never see it—as long as things are the way they are now.

If I want Adam to see me for what I am, I have to show him.

I sit up and turn to him. He reaches for my face to wipe away tears, but I pull away, shaking my head.

"There's nothing to forgive. You told the truth on the plane, that's all." I shrug. "We fucked and I said those things and I mostly mean them. Deep down, Adam...I think maybe I just really like fucking you. And right now, I'm crying because I want to take the Plan B, and I know you don't want me to. I don't like hurting you, I just can't be what you what me to be. So I'm crying because this is over, again. I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes and bows his head into his hands. "Mac, I don't want to fight, but I have to be honest here. You are fucking with my head so bad, telling me something different every time we talk. I'm not sure you know when you are being honest about your feelings or when you are hiding behind made up bullshit."

"I'm not bullshitting you, Adam. I'm going to take the emergency contraception. I'm going to get it in the morning."

He rakes his hands through his hair. "Okay. It's probably for the best, anyway. We clearly are nowhere near ready to have a kid—we can't even have a conversation. You don't have to go to the pharmacy—I already had it delivered. You can take it now. There's no point in dragging it out anymore, if you've decided." He pulls it from his back pocket.

Oh shit. Now seems like a terrible idea. I can't take it now. I'm not ready. I need...I need the night to say goodbye to this feeling.

He goes to the bathroom and flips on the light. My heart pounds. I don't want to do this. I can't explain why, I just know I don't want to. But I need to. I have to show Adam that I'm not what he thinks I am. I'm what his mother thinks I am—a woman that can't love him the way he deserves. I don't want to break him—or a kid—trying.

He brings the pill and a glass of water. He pops it out of the package and reaches for my hand, dropping it in. He nods, a look of such empathy on his face, "It's okay. Really. It's okay, Sweetheart. I understand."

He means it. I see it in his eyes. Me rejecting the possibility of his child isn't even enough to make Adam stop loving me. If I do this, all it will accomplish is I will be sad and he will be kind and it will only make things worse.

I plant my hand onto the nightstand and leave the pill there as I lay back down and turn away from him. "I'll take it in the morning. Please, Adam, go away."

He makes a choked, confused sound, somewhere between a frustrated growl and a sigh of relief.

He sits there on the bed a long time, silent. Finally, he leaves.

When I wake in the morning, more exhausted than when I finally cried myself to sleep, I take the tiny pill to the bathroom and put it in an old empty pill bottle. I dutifully go to Trace's suite for the informal morning meeting, even though it's the last place I want to be. I meet Adam in the hallway—he looks hungover as hell, with an ill-tempered attitude to match. This is the hurt, defensive Adam—the one I haven't seen in a while—the one that slammed doors and picked fights the last tour.

Okay, that's good. Maybe I'm making some progress, forcing Adam to see that this isn't going to work between us.

Leed is making some stupid speech about Ashlynn being a sunflower when Bodie, Adam and I pile in. Adam quickly makes the meeting all about me and him, however. So I break up with him again—can we even keep calling this a break up when we have never really defined anything? I don't know...I just know I break up with him again and run away to the spa.

Then I do the stupidest, girliest, weakest thing I have ever done in my whole life. I spill my guts to Tamara and Kat. I tell them all about the condom breaking and the Maybe-Baby, and the World's Worst Proposal.

This situation is getting out of control.

Bad girls don't do confessionals.

Even crazier, Adam pretends like I didn't just break up with him last night and again at the morning meeting.

Just minutes after Tam and Kat leave to get Kat ready for her big date with Trace, Adam comes back from golfing with Leed, his spirits restored. (My brother tends to do that to everyone but me.) He breezes into my suite like I gave him a goddamn keycard and saunters out to the hot tub. I ignore him, keeping my eyes closed and my head reclined. I hear him take his shoes off, and then the gentle swooshing of some clothes being removed.

I peak—yep, he's getting totally naked. Thanks Adam's mom, for killing my hot tub fantasy with your son. Now I can't think about hot pre-sex in the hot tub. All I can think about is why he should be having giggly fully bathing suited hot tub courting with some virginal girl that will worship him and never drive him to the insanity that I have—and will.

He climbs into the hot tub. We sit here in silence for a good fifteen minutes.

"What are you doing here, Adam?"

"I came to ask you what time you would like to go to dinner, MacKenna," he says calmly.

"We aren't going to dinner," I reply, just as calmly.

He says nothing for a long moment. "Did you take the emergency birth control?"

I don't reply.

"Mac, you have a right to choose, but I have a right to know."

"Fine. I didn't take it."

"Then we are going to dinner and you are going to explain to me once and for all why you can't bring yourself to take it, but at the same time you keep telling me you don't want to be with me. All I'm asking for is ten minutes of honesty. Be ready at seven."

He climbs out, pulls on his athletic shorts and drips all through my suite. When he gets to the door, he hesitates and walks all the way back to the patio. "Mac...I'm sorry, I tried not to say anything, but...I have to...if you aren't taking that pill because you are actually hoping you are pregnant, you should get out of the hot tub. It's not safe, you know."

No, I didn't know. "What?"

"I only know that because my sisters never get in hot tubs, when they are trying to get pregnant, or during their first trimesters. Something about high body temperature increasing miscarriages and birth defects."

I stand up in the tub. "Goddammit, Adam! Why didn't you say something before now? I can't fucking believe you let me sit there for ages." I'm already climbing out. See, this is exactly what I mean. I've been in and out of the hot tub all afternoon. I'm a terrible mother—even to a maybe-baby. Even Adam has more knowledge and instinct for prenatal care than me.

He shakes his head at me in disbelief. "MacKenna—Sweetheart—I honestly don't get it. You don't want to go to dinner with me but you want to have my baby?"

"Christ Adam! I don't know if I want to have your baby yet—but if I am pregnant—I don't want to have to worry that I've messed it up before it's even born! What the fuck!?!" I stalk into my bedroom and slam the door.

"Seven," he growls again, and he slams the suite door.

I resist the urge to spend the afternoon googling pregnancy information. My reaction to Adam's hot tub warning was just that—a knee-jerk reaction. I refuse to do what Adam is doing...get all excited about the possibility that I am pregnant. I'm probably not. I just can't bring myself to rule it out all the way with the morning after pill, for some reason.

I've decided to demonstrate my unfitness as a romantic partner to Adam in a whole different way than taking that damn pill. He's going to have a real hard time envisioning me with a ring on my finger, after tonight.

Oh, I'm ready at seven, all right. I'm ready in my sluttiest stage costume...a patch of a black bra with a tiny pink sequined shrug, ripped jean shorts with so many holes you can see my ass cheeks and my thong, fishnets and black platform boots with pink stitching and laces. I'm very proud of myself when I see Adam's lips tighten as he takes me in, but he says nothing about my outfit. Instead he brushes my cheek with a kiss and says, "You look more rested. Did you get a nap?"

Goddamn him. Yes, I did, but how the hell can he even tell that, under all this makeup?

We get in the elevator with Trace and Kat, but I am barely aware of them because there is a pregnant girl in there with them. She's about my age, and her husband looks younger than Adam but he's probably not. The girl is all cute and glowy and her baby bump is adorable but that's not even what mesmerized me about her. It's how calm she seems—and how sure. And I feel nothing like that. I feel scared and unsure.

I turn to Adam. To my surprise, he looks a little shaken himself. I don't like seeing him looked as freaked out as I feel. I feel a sudden impulse to reassure him, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is, "I don't know."

"I know you don't," he says softy, and his hand moves to touch me, but he doesn't.

I'm in a daze when we leave the elevator. I don't even think we speak in the car, but Adam silently takes my hand. I don't pull away. I'm going to have to pull away very soon, and it's nice—him holding my hand. Like a little goodbye.

I couldn't even tell you the name of the restaurant. Somewhere dark and romantic. Adam whisks me in there and we are seated on a private terrace with a personal waiter. It's a pity the food is delicious, because I have no appetite. When he sees that I can't eat, Adam asks me if I want some champagne. "One glass? Settle your nerves?" he asks with a sweet, sympathetic smile.

I shake my head and sip the water. I jump right in, best to get it over with.

"So here it is, Adam. I can't take the damn pill because you are the best person I know. You are kind and patient and wise and generally wonderful. Every time I try to take that damn pill, I...I can't. I just can't bring myself to shut down a potential part of you." My voice is barely a rough whisper.

Adam's face is expressionless, but his eyes are vivid. He reaches for my hand but I slide it into my lap.

"But at the same time, if I am pregnant...I don't know if I can go through with it. You need to understand that. Right now, it's not even...real to me, and I'm already freaked out. If I really am...I don't know, Adam. I can't promise you I'm going to be happy about it. I can't promise you I'm going to keep it. I can't promise you anything. So I think...we should not be together right now. Because if we are together and I find out I'm pregnant—then you are going to have expectations. And I don't do expectations. Especially not yours. You are too good—I can't live up to that."

Adam's eyes go dark. His mouth spreads in a tight, angry grin and he shakes his head. "That is the most fucked up shit I have ever heard. You are way overthinking this. None of this has to be as complicated as you are making it out to be. We could just...be good to each other. I'm not saying it would always be easy, but it doesn't have to be some diabolical emotional catch-22."

"It's not fucked up," I counter, full well knowing it is. "You asked me to be honest, that's honest. I don't know if it's what I want, and you hanging around being all sweet and wonderful just confuses the issue."

"Me loving you confuses the issue of whether or not we could make a go of this?"

"Not we, Adam. Me. I'm talking about me. I'm sure you would make a wonderful...partner, father."

His expression softens. "You think you wouldn't be a good mother. Because of your own mother."

I snort. "Duh."

He nods. "You know, my dad has this theory. He says people are always affected by the way they were raised, but it's not like most people think. Most people think, you always follow the path you were taught. You live your life because of the way you were taught, for good or bad. But my dad says that's not always the case. He says there are the "because-of's" and then there are the "in-spite-of's". The in-spite-of's turn around and deliberately live differently than they way they are taught. My dad says, in some ways, I'm an in-spite-of," Adam grins, "but in my case, I'm not sure he always means it in a good way. But there are other in-spite-of's that are dealt a raw hand, a rough childhood, whatever, and they determine that they won't repeat that cycle. A kid of an alcoholic who never drinks—that sort of thing. Being a because-of is a path of least resistance thing. But everybody has a choice. You could be an in-spite-of, you know. Just like me."

He smiles kindly and makes my insides ache. Heart and womb.

What if he's right? What if I could love him—love us— in spite of myself?

But what if he's wrong? I steel myself.

"And what does your mother say?" I ask. "I bet she wouldn't want you to take a chance on an in-spite-of girl. She wouldn't want you to throw away your love on someone who doesn't deserve it, would she?"

The smile drains away from his face. "So you heard that? You were in my suite, listening last night?"

I nod stiffly. "She's right. Leed's right."

"No, they are not," he says sharply. "Goddammit, Mac. This...way you see yourself—it's getting really fucking tiresome. Being capable of love is not some genetic trait passed along from your parents. You are not fated to be a bad person, girlfriend, wife, mother, whatever. It's a choice you make. You get to choose."

I throw my napkin down. "That's right. I get to choose. Right now, I choose to end this conversation. The ten minutes you won is up. I want to leave now."

I stalk out of the restaurant, get in the car and wait. Adam follows. To my surprise, when he gets in the car, he tells the driver to take us to some club.

"Marcy wants Madam in VIP," he mutters. "OK?"

I sigh and nod. Marcy said high profile. If nothing else good comes from Madam, maybe we can help ease Trace's Little Sister troubles.

When we pull up at the club, Adam puts his sunglasses on and cracks his neck. I can't help but smile.

"How do you want it?" he asks mildly. "Lips leaves no room for doubt."

I shrug. "Which is why we aren't doing that. A handsy photo-op we can walk back."

He takes his sunglasses down and glares at me, but he nods.

The driver opens the door and the line of club-goers shout as Adam gets out. Adam holds out his hand for me and I exit. Then he wraps an arm around my bare waist and we stop to talk to fans. The whole time we talk to them, Adam touches me—long fingers squeezing my side or playing on my spine. When a fan comments on a necklace, he fingers it intimately and says tells her he likes it too.

I fight back the urge to slap his hand away. He's taking this way too far. A subtle hand at my back could have given Marcy enough to run with. He's leaving no room for doubt—his hands are very familiar with my body.

We ignore the shouts from the paps, "Can we get an official confirmation? Are you dating? Madam! Madam! Madam!"

I can barely make words to the fans, with Adam's hands on me in public like that. Thank god for the thick makeup, because my face is burning. I honestly can't even determine my own feelings. Am I angry? Or just turned on?

Once he even leans in to whisper in my ear, "You look so fucking sexy," as he splays a hand across my jaw. Then he pulls back and kisses my temple. The paps go crazy for that shot.

"Enough," I hiss at him, my word buried against his ear. Then I lean back and smile at him as the camera's flash some more. "You aren't leaving room for deniability."

"I don't ever want to deny you." he responds immediately, he offers me his arm.

"A little late to treat me like a lady, when you just groped me like a whore," I fake smile as I take his arm and we move to the velvet rope.

"I didn't grope you like a whore, I just...pretended. Like you were mine. Like you were proud to be," he mutters as we enter the door.

"What's your momma gonna think?"

"I don't really give a damn," he shoots back. "You must not have eavesdropped to the end of our conversation when I told her so."

The VIP sucks. Leed's ex is there, along with her crazy friend Molly. I don't even trust the bottled waters sitting at the table with Molly around—that bitch stealth spikes everything with ecstasy. Adam brings me a drink. "Just grapefruit juice and selzter," he smiles. "I got it downstairs, well away from Molly."

I wave it away. "Sucks without the vodka," I tell him. He sighs and puts his hands up in surrender, giving me space.

Trace and Kat arrive. Trace tries to talk to me, but I mostly ignore him. I'm...I don't know...I'm in a funk now.

I can't figure out what I want. Part of me wants to believe Adam—that loving each other wouldn't be that hard. Part of me just wants to stop fighting him and...try. Another part of me is terrified to yield. Terrified to hurt him. Terrified to disappoint him, like my mom disappointed my dad. Terrified to be hurt when he's had enough and loses his affection for me, like my dad did for my mom.

I feel...jittery, nervous. I need to move, walk around. Slipping away from Adam also means slipping security, too, but I'm just going for a walk around the club downstairs—there are plenty of club security if I need them. I feel better as I skirt the dance floor, letting the pounding music loosen my muscles. I don't want to dance and get recognized but I just want to keep moving.

When I near the bar, I can't squeeze by the press of thirsty patrons, and I'm about to abandon my path forward and retreat when two guys block my path.

"MacKenna Lawson!" the first one—a tall guy with a bought looks yells down into my ear. I know him.

"Hey..." I struggle to remember his name. He's interviewed us before...early days...more of a gossip blogger than legitimate press.

"Zeke Rollins," he supplies. "OK! Magazine."

I snap my fingers at him. "Shit, I know your name Zeke! What are you doing in New Orleans?" Not that I am at all interested. Just shootin' the LA shit. It's never a good idea to piss off a celebrity blogger.

"In town for a bachelor party," he says. "Here's the groom..."

"Maxwell," his more genuinely attractive blonde and ripped friend butts in. "Maxwell Hayes." He offers his hand, and he stumbles. The groom is wasted. "Buy you a drink?"

"No, sorry, I don't take drinks from strangers."

"Bullshit," Zeke laughs. "You are the Inventor of Lucky Shot!" Goddammn this dirt dealer. He probably remembers more of my drinking game outcomes than I do. To be fair, I play them when I am...well...drunk. "Let's play!" He grabs me by the elbow and shoves me toward the bar. He slaps a hundred down, orders two shots for the game: a red-headed slut and a blow job.

Subtle, asshole.

I try to slip away but his friend Max boosts me up on the bar. "MacKenna Lawson from Soundcrush in the house!" he shouts. "Taking offers! Buy her a shot and you might get lucky!"

There's a laugh and a press of very drunk bachelor party participants surround me. Jesus, they are all ripped and hot. Not a single one of them are the kind I could blow off with the "not-in-my-league-honey" look.

"What do you guys do for a living?" I ask, curious.

"Buy and sell, mostly" a sexy Christian Gray type says coolly.

Silicon Vally types. Figures. Lots of free time to work out. They've got the looks, the body, the confidence.

They are all missing the soul. None of these posers have Trace's swagger, Leed's hipness, Bodie's butterscotch charm.

And none of them come anywhere close to Adam's Grade-A All American Country Boy Turned Rock God Goodness.

I'm not worried about handling these guys, I'm just irritated that I have to finesse Zeke—who is the only one that is potentially dangerous to me. I am kicking myself for not bringing John with me, I could give him the super-secret signal and let him act like the overprotective asshole with standing orders while I blow kisses to Zeke and tell him to call me for lunch back in LA.

Instead, I have to play it straight up.

"Sorry fella's, not tonight." I try to hop down but Zeke steps in front of me.

"MacKenna Lawson turning down drinks? I've seen you drink all those Soundcrush dudes under the table."

"Not tonight. On a cleanse." I lie.

He eyes me suspiciously. "Bullshit. I just got a tip from a waiter that you and Heartley were sharing gumbo and looking secretive not an hour ago. Then that Madam photo-op you made outside? Hmmmm...I smell a story. You wanna give me an exclusive or should I dig?"

Fuuuuck! Just like I feared. Zeke's already got a line. I have to take control of this situation before Zeke starts sniffing around. I have this sudden paranoia that Adam went to the pharmacy himself and got that second box of Plan B. Or just as bad, sent Riley. Everybody in LA knows he works for Trace, and by extension for the band. I cast around for something to distract Zeke with.

I sneak a peak at the balcony. Adam is glaring at me. I try to send him an SOS with eye blinks. But honestly, Adam is so used to me doing impulsive shit, he probably thinks I'm just trying to piss him off and start a fight.

Oh! That's it! A fight! Perfect red herring!

"Alright, Zeke you got me," I confess, leaning down. "I took Adam for a test-drive. He didn't handle too well. I'm not buyin'."

The guys around me all laugh. "Hey Zeke, wanna do me a favor? How about we send Adam the message...publically... with a little Lucky Shot." First to report on a public fight between me and Adam will surely put Zeke's hits through the roof. Maybe he won't dig any deeper.

"Shit, I love you." Zeke pulls out his camera phone. "In five...four...three...two...one..."

I cross my legs, toss my hair, and hold up seven fingers, panning the crowd, giving Adam one more imploring look, then smiling at my admirers. "Okay boys, listen up for your chance to be my Lucky Shot..."

I'm grinning now for real,  one hundred percent confident.

Adam won't let me do this. The shots, the lucky guy—he won't stand for it. Not with the way things are between us right now.

He's not built like that. He'll come for me.

Ha! Things are NEVER what they seem in the Soundcrush world. Was Mac running a DIFFERENT game than you expected with her  round  of Lucky Shot ?

If you want to re-read how Trace and Adam were seeing Mac's Lucky Shot scene from the balcony above...that was Chapter 35 of EPIC: Rock Stars Party Like Rock Stars!