Chapter 24: Nice Guys Take Wrong Turns

Adam, later that night, after the show

Mac is sleeping on my chest. I don't know how it can be comfortable for her—she fell asleep right after sex and she's literally straddling me, slumped on top of me, her head heavy against my heart. I can't sleep like this, but I don't want to move her until she's deeply asleep. It's so hard for her to sleep sometimes. The fact that she's drifted off during our post-sex murmurings tells me more than anything, that's she's ok—happy even—about the pregnancy.

Still, my mind is fucking blown. I guess it wasn't real to me before. Not like it was to her. I didn't feel that "soul-knowing" that she's been living with for two weeks. It's probably still not real to me—not like it is to her.

Seeing pregnant on that test...it hit me hard.

Don't get me wrong, I am surprisingly happy. It was definitely not in my plans to be a baby-daddy at twenty-four, but shit happens and you deal. Life gives you the broken condom and you take it like a man, not a boy. You let go of the crazy life and you love the little life you made like crazy. You don't make-up excuses; you make-up lullabies. And if you love the woman you created an accidental miracle with like I love Mac, then you work your ass off to make a second miracle—a beautiful life together, a family.

It feels like my whole world is right here, snuggled on my chest. My mind is on a loop track of prayer—gratitude and constant petition.

Thank you. Thank you for giving Mac the faith to refuse that pill I kept trying to get her to take. God, help me not make the same mistake again. Help me be what they need. Help me keep them safe and healthy and happy.

I don't want to do anything but keep my arms around my Shorty and our Babycakes.

But the problem is...my whole world is not here in my arms. There's Soundcrush. There's my family back home. I have to figure out how to shift everything now. Mac and the babycakes have shot to top of the priority list forever. Mac can't be crowded, not now, not with her PTSD. So all those other priorities, responsibilities, obligations...somehow I have to figure out how to keep them pushed back. I need to protect her space.

And that's going to be a challenge.

Soundcrush is exactly like a family...all up in each other's business. All that shit Trace said about the tour—he's right on. It's going to be a big fucking shitstorm, and I don't think Trace will pull any punches about being unhappy about it. Trace doesn't treat Mac with the kind of deference I do, or that Leed does or even Bodie. Trace and Mac are song-writing partners—creative and business partners—and their friendship is sort of...secondary.

I think probably Trace was attracted to Mac back at the very beginning. Who wouldn't be? She's fucking gorgeous and talented and bad-ass. But because he had his KitKat growing up  at home that he felt so much more for, and because Mac and I got started up so fast, Trace worked really hard to see her as nothing more than one of the guys

He succeeded in spades. They go at it just like us guys. He's maybe been a little more careful with her since she was assaulted, but when the shit hits the fan with Dawes and the label and the promoters, Trace is accustomed to being brutally honest and transparent in his opinions with Mac.

He maybe won't see Mac like I see her right now...as being in a vulnerable position.

Even though I know Mac is completely capable of holding her own in a professional sense, this is different. This is not a dispute about our musical direction, or what songs go on the album, or what brands to endorse, or a video concept.

Her pregnancy will be the issue, and that's a very personal issue. I can't take the chance that anyone will hurt Mac in the process of sorting out how it affects the band. I can't have Dawes or the label or the promoter execs—or even Trace— throwing down with my woman, now that she's pregnant with our child, and battling PTSD.

And if that's not enough, then there's my family back home. It's not that I think they will disapprove of Mac exactly...but more the opposite. Well, my mom's going to have a tough time with Mac, because they are alot a like in some ways—strong, stubborn, and completely unafraid to say exactly what they think. The rest of the family, I think they will hope to win Mac over to our ways. Expect her to...fold into the ranks, become part of the family, and...do how we do. That's what my brothers-in-laws have done...become part of the Heartley clan, and brought their extended families along with.

I think my family will swarm Mac like a conquering army and she will do the only thing that makes sense to her—run like hell.

So yeah, I'm worried. I'm worried that all of the concerns are going to stress Mac, and increase the symptoms of her PTSD. And I'm worried she will take that as a sign that she can't handle motherhood, and that she'll get scared and...want an out. And I'm scared if she takes that "out" in a moment of fear...she'll regret it, and it would just solidify her believe that she's not a good person, and that there won't be anything I can do, to help her come back from that.

So I pray for a little while longer. Help me be what they need. Help me keep them safe and healthy and happy.

Somewhere in that prayer, I decide to be a little more proactive and text Marley.

To be honest, I forgot about Marley for a minute. But then, the morning after I learned Mac had PTSD and we rode to the ocean and she tossed out Plan B, I started wading through the Internet trying to learn about Mac's condition, and Marley the cocktail waitress/mental health counselor came to mind.

She's been extremely helpful to me the last ten days, sending me concrete and useful information to read, and helping me formulate some general guidelines for how to approach Mac and check in with how she's feeling and stuff. We've had...five phone "sessions" I think? She Venmo's me, which I really appreciate since I don't have a PA to deal with my bills.

But now I have a whole new level to deal with.

I gently roll Mac off me. Her damn clingy sloth paws automatically try to latch onto me in her sleep, and I smile as a quickly avoid them and slide out of bed. Shortcake can think marriage is archaic and toxic to love all she wants, but the way she latches onto me in her sleep, it tells me the truth that maybe she doesn't even know yet:

That girl never wants to let go of this, of us. She's holding on tight.

So I'll let the ring-thing ride, for now. I don't need to make her my wife to know she's mine.

My mom and dad though...that's going to be a different damn story...

I watch her sleep for a minute to make sure I haven't woken her, then I pull on some pants and step out to the balcony. I check the time. Marley should be getting off shift  at the Lunar Lounge. She has a forty-five minute drive home, so despite what she said about not keeping rock star hours, the middle of the night has become our standard time for phone sessions.

Me to Marley: Hey. It's me. Can you talk?

Marley texts back: Not right now.

But then she calls me . I answer. "Hey, have a minute after all?"

It takes me a minute to realize it was a pocket dial. I hear her fumbling with the phone and then a "Fuck!" and then an "Awwww...shit!"

I laugh, "Marley, you there?"

She puts the phone to her ear. She sound very, precise—the way someone does when they are trying to cover the fact that they are drunk. "Hi Adam. I'm sorry, I accidentally pocket dialed you back, but..." she sighs, "since we're on the line, I have a few minutes, and I know today was the big maybe-baby day. How did it go?"

I smile. "Mac's pregnant."

"Wow." I have no idea why Marley thought the maybe-baby wasn't going to make, but she really does sound surprised. "Adam...wow. I know we've talked a lot about your expectations. But now that you know Mac is pregnant, how do you feel about that?"

"Really good. Happy. Worried."

"And how did it go with Mac after you two found out?"

"She's surprisingly calm. It didn't come as a surprise to her—she's been saying all along she had a feeling. She said it feels right. She said she loves me. But we haven't talked that much yet. We just found out before the show, and..." I brought her straight back to the room and loved her up RIGHT because the idea that she's pregnant with my baby, for some strange reason, is way hotter than I want to admit... "And when we got back to the hotel, Mac mostly said..." Oh god Adam, I feel so filled up...with your cock...your baby...your love. Fuck yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! "You know, that she was tired, but happy. And she fell asleep."  On my cock.

"Hey...so..." Marley's voice sounds a little different, "Maybe I want to take my counselor hat off for just a second and say...Congratulations, Adam.  As a person, a fan, whatever...I'm really happy for you and I wish you all the best. That's super exciting news."

I blink. That's kind of...not like Marley, to suspend her counselor thing. But it's nice. "Thanks, Marley. You're the first person to know...that means a lot, actually. "

"You're welcome." Marley sounds...a little off.

"Hey, Marley, are you ok?"

She sighs. "To be honest Adam, I had the night off, and I've had a few drinks. It's not really appropriate that we do this—have a session right now, I mean. But it's totally...my fault. I shouldn't have opened the door."

I laugh. "Oh. Shit. No, it's my bad. I forgot it's the weekend. It runs together for me, you know..."

"I can imagine, Rock Star."

I snort. "Nobody really calls me that. That's more Trace's thing."

"Hmmmm." She says and her voice sounds really strange. "Adam, I'm sorry...I really...I'm in no shape to do this. It's really inappropriate. But I know the first thing you said was you are worried. So maybe you should find a friend or a family member you can talk to if you really need to talk tonight...and you can call me tomorrow..."

I groan a little, "Believe me, Marley, my friends and family ARE the worries. But it will keep. You have a good night, okay? I'm sorry I bothered you...go be with your man..."

Marley lets out a sob. And then another. I can hear she's trying to cover the phone with her hand, but I can still plainly hear that she's crying in the background.

"Marley? Hey? You ok?"

Silence. Shit.

"Marley. You still there?"

More silence, but she's clearly still on the line.

Shit. She's drunk and me saying something about her man has pushed her to tears. Which can only mean one of a few things. All bad.

Goddamn. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I know what my dad would do. I'm not exactly him, but I got that fucking nickname for a reason, I guess. I'm good with people. And problems.

"Marley," I say more softly, "I get that you want to keep things professional, and you're drunk and upset, and you regret calling me. But I'm not the kind of person that just says "sorry" and walks away from an uncomfortable situation. You've been really super helpful to me since the minute I met you. So you gotta help me out one more time, and at least let me know you are okay, here. You can just answer my questions with a yes or no, okay?"

More silence.

"Are you somewhere safe?" I ask.

"Yes." She can barely get the word out.

"Not planning on driving anywhere?"

"No."

I hesitate. It sounds like she's safe for the moment, and I should probably leave it at that, but then I think of the motherfucker that choked Mac. I think about the fact that I have three sisters. "Nobody has...Marley, did someone hurt you?"

She starts sobbing again. Shit. I should have clarified the question. Cause now, I really have to know.

"Marley did someone hurt you physically? Do you need help right now?"

"No," she says quickly. "No...I—I'm okay." But she's still sobbing.

I groan and look through the patio door. Mac is sleeping like an angel. And Marley has been really helpful to me. She's saved me a ton of time, sorting through my own internet research. I can take a minute to be a decent human being, here.

"Marley? Listen...you wanna talk about it?"

"No...I...I have to go. God, Adam. I'm so...I'm so sorry. This...is...so...wrong."

"Don't worry about work right now. Doesn't matter. If you need somebody to talk to..."

"I really can't...I'm your counselor...not the other way around..."

"Fine. You're fired. You're not my counselor anymore. We're just friends now. Now tell me what the bastard did."

She cries harder. "What do you think he did? What do men always do?"

Damn, Preacher, you had to ask, didn't you?

"We don't all cheat, Marley, and that guy is a bastard for doin' you dirty like that."

I walk across the balcony and enter the sliding glass doors into the living area of the suite. I pull a beer from the bar return to the patio, hoping Marley doesn't hear my cracking the top as I plop down into the chair. I need a drink for this. This is going to be a long one-sided conversation, probably. Cause I got no advice for this. She's better off without the son of a bitch, if he does her like that.

An hour and six beers later, I stumble back to bed, so fucking grateful to wrap myself around the warmth of my woman. And our baby. Christ. I still can't believe it. We made a baby. Created life. It's amazing.

As I'm falling asleep, I have the thought that I wish I knew somebody to set Marley up with. I didn't tell her this but what she needs is a casual rebound with some incredible fucking to make her realize she's seeking out the wrong type of guy. I briefly consider Leed...strictly as a confidence boosting lay. Leed is a man-whore, but truly does have the special sauce.

He makes every woman feel like she's the best he's every been with. I've seen it over and over...those fangirls never walk in shame from his room. They walk out like Queens, with more confidence and inner beauty than when they walked in.

Leed Lawson, Sex Guru. Changing women's lives, one good lay at a time.

But Leed's a bad idea for Marley. He's practically my brother, and if I have anything to do with it, he will be official family one day. Marley is sort of my friend now--she said we could still talk about Mac's PTSD on a friendly, non-professional level-- and Marley  might fall Leed. He's absolutely not what she's looking for...a nice guy to settle down with. Maybe one of the security guys? Too bad Ben's out in LA with Kat right now; I could have brought Marley up to a show to meet him.

Nah, fuck it...match-making is bad business. Better just be a friendly shoulder if she needs one...

Adam, Adam, Adam.  Preacher doesn't see he's borrowing trouble, does he? What kind of trouble do you see this causing.

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