Chapter 63: Bad Girls Make Side Deals

I love this song for this chapter. Mac has had a huge shift at this point, but she's still Mac. She's still independent, strong-willed, a woman writing her own song...

Mac

Back on land, it feels like everything has changed. Adam and I walk into the farmhouse kitchen hand-in-hand, and the first people we see are Leed, Trace and Bodie sitting at the kitchen table. Their conversation stops as they all greet us with smiles, but the air has shifted. Their smiles don't touch me with the casual ease of a day ago. They aren't looking directly at me or directly at Adam.

Seems like all they see is Madam right now.

Adam feels it too; he squeezes my hand slightly. Then he pulls out a chair for me at the table, before settling in beside me. "W'sup? Label hassle already?"

Leed looks at Trace. "We don't have to hash this out now, man. Christ, they just walked in the door. Let Mac have some breakfast first, at least."

I shake my head at Leed. "No, I wanna know. How bad is it?"

Trace's icy gray eyes reveal nothing and his voice is perfectly level. "Angelo called a little while ago," he says mildly.

Angelo Moran is the label VP in charge of legend, rock, and alt acts. He's basically Dawes' boss's boss. He never calls the talent just to say hi. He called us after we won our first Grammy. I heard he called Leed when I was hospitalized after my assault. Usually if he's displeased with something we've done—Leed punching a pap, Trace's Little Sister Scandal earlier this summer—we hear about it through Dawes or Marcy. But I have a feeling, if we weren't scheduled to do a show tomorrow, we would all be on our way to "the principal's office" right now.

"What did he say?" I ask.

"He was friendly, for now." Trace gives Adam the chin tip. "Said he tried to call you first, ask after how you were feeling. He knew about your appendix, of course."

Adam shrugs, "Maybe, my phone is dead. What else did he say?"

"Said he knew we hadn't been feeling Dawes for awhile. Said he's coming to the Knoxville show to talk things out, check out our new opening act. Asked me if the Instagram rumors were true—if you guys got married last night, if Mac was pregnant."

"I don't suppose he thought to call me and ask," I laugh bitterly.

Trace rolls his eyes. "You know how some old dudes in the business are, Macaroni. Thinks every talented female artist is a Diva. Maybe he thinks you have be handled or something, I dunno. Who the hell knows what he thinks, we hardly know him," Trace grumbles.

"You told him the truth, I imagine," Adam says agreeably.

Trace nods slowly, "Yeah, I did. Figured not being honest couldn't help us going forward. I would have put you both on with him, but...you weren't here. I didn't give much detail. Just said you just announced to us over the weekend that you are pregnant, and that you guys got hitched in front of family and friends last night. He asked how far along you were, I told the truth there, too. He immediately yelled at somebody to calculate the due date, then he said that means we have a lot more to talk about than Dawes. He's not wrong," Trace shoots me a look, then Adam. "But before we sit down with Angelo, we all have to be on the same page. Time to put our cards out on the table. Time to hear what everyone is thinking about Europe, and Mac being eight months pregnant when we are supposed to kick off over there. Obviously, Mac's input is first and foremost. It's your baby, your health, your comfort, your stamina. It's time to hear from you on this, girl." He nods at me.

I open my mouth, but before I can speak Adam squeezes my hand under the table and jumps in. "Mac and I need to talk about it first. We need to make sure we are on the same page, before we bring it to you guys. Give us the day, and then we'll all talk tonight on the bus. Sound good?"

Adam's looking at me for agreement, but I'm looking at him with my mouth still open.

Trace raises his eyebrows and looks at Adam with some surprise, then his eyes cut to Leed and Bodie briefly, before returning to Adam. "Dude, really? It's gonna be like that? We've never cut side-deals before. Not Mac and Leed, not me and you. We've always been five voices."

Adam taps his fingers on the table, shaking his head, then opening his hands to Trace in appeal.

"A marriage is not a side-deal. A marriage is the primary relationship in two people's lives. Look the truth is, Mac and I have hardly talked about the future. We've mostly been coping with the whole pregnancy shock, and Mac's morning sickness and fatigue and deciding what kind of prenatal care Mac was going to have and where that was going to take place. One day at a time, you know? Until last night, I guess. Obviously, getting married was...what did you call it?" he smiles at Trace.

"Impulse Matrimony," Trace says a little grimly.

"Right. So we need a minute. To get our heads around being married and decision-making together, okay?"

"Okay, but dude, it's not like we won't all work towards what Mac wants," Trace wheedles. "We need to start a conversation about this, man. All of us. Do not take this like I'm resentful in any way, because I'm happy for you guys, I really fucking am, but a fact is a fact: Mac's pregnancy, coming right now, has the potential to really impact our career as a band, and impact us all financially. We're a family, no question we're all in this. We need a band plan, man.

Adam shakes his head. "Sorry, Trace. I see it different. This is a personal conversation that Mac and I need to have first to get clear on what's best for her and the baby, then we all work together for the good of the band second."

Trace gets a tight, pissed off grin and looks a little past Adam. "Dude, not trying to be an asshole here, but it sounds an awful lot like you are saying Mac can't even express her thoughts and opinions independent of you?"

I open my mouth, but again Adam beats me to the punch. "Try harder, Trace, because you are being an asshole. Of course Mac is entitled to say whatever she thinks and feels. I'm asking her if she'll talk to me about this privately, sort through the options together before we start going down rabbit holes with you guys." He looks at me, expectantly, like he wants me to jump on and tell Trace not to be an asshole, too.

"Except you didn't ask, Adam," I said quietly. "You just spoke for me and said we were going to talk about it first."

"What?" he looks confused, he turns his hands up in a gesture of futility. "I didn't...I just didn't want you to feel pressured. Didn't I ask you if us talking it out sounded like a good plan? I know I did..."

I shake my head. I don't want to fight with him. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure anymore. We're running in circles. "I don't know, Adam. All I know is Trace asked me a question, and it felt like you answered it for me, then assumed I was going to agree with you."

Leed drops his knuckles on the table. He looks hungover and ill as shit, his eyes red and skin a little gray, and his voice is rough when he says. "Christ, I'm gonna die or puke if you guys don't stop arguing about nothing," he looks at me. "Mac, do you need to talk to Adam first, or you wanna talk about how you see Europe right now?"

I look around the table. They are all—even Bodie—looking at me with expectation. Honestly, I don't know how to feel right now. I've never felt so connected to Adam as I did last night and this morning, after our incredible night of spiritual and physical bonding, but the way he just cut me off at the knees like that in front of the other guys...that would have been enough for pre-pregnant me to send Adam packing for at least six months.

I am totally thrown off. I did not expect to go from feeling like one with Adam to being irritated as shit with him in the space of five minutes.

Goddammit. Did I not just promise last night to seek to understand him, to always have his back? Right now I want to tell him he's being the asshole, not Trace.

I guess the question I should be asking myself is...do I want our first married fight to be private or potentially turn into another band brawl?

"I need to talk to Adam," I say as evenly as possible. Yeah, I do. About a lot of things. Including not speaking for me to the guys.

"Thank you," Adam squeezes my thigh again. He looks around the group, then at me, as he says, "Look, I'm really not trying to be some kind of crazy 1950's husband here. I just think, we need to handle this the right way. Couples having a baby talk about what work-life shit is going to look like before they take it to their work arenas. And I know we are complicated, because Soundcrush is like a family business, and maybe it's our fault for letting conversations we need to have ride a little too long, but that doesn't mean we don't get to make some basic plans as a couple, before we figure out what we need to ask from you guys."

Bodie is nodding. "He's right. You all know he's right. Some day, some of the rest of us might get married. And I know how it will be with all of us egomaniacs. It'll be family first. We won't drag our wives into a band discussion about taking time off. We'll figure out what our families need with our families, and then we'll be claiming the space in the band schedule to make that happen. So Mac and Adam deserve that priority too. We can't be all up in their relationship, just because they are both band members."

I stare at Bodie, a little confused. That might be the most serious and thoughtful thing I've ever heard Bodie say. Suddenly I realize that Bodie is Leed's age...twenty-seven. Maybe he's finally starting to grow up. Oh god...is it possible that this adulting thing is contagious? Are Adam, Leed and I infecting poor Bodie with adulthood?

Trace taps his fingers slowly on the table like he's trying to wrap his head on how to handle all this. "Okay. Mac and Adam want to talk it out, and Bodie...good point, man. Sooo...we make some Married Madam Adjustments. Bound to happen. Not a problem," Trace says a little too carefully, like he's working very hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. "We'll pick it back up on the bus tonight," he continues. "We're rolling out at five."

Chairs scrape as we all rise, then Riley knocks on the open door frame, looking a little unsure, but determined to interrupt.

"Yeah man? You need me? Dawes giving you shit about releasing the expense accounts for the tour travel?" Trace asks.

Riley runs a hand on his spiky hair, and settles his glasses. "No, actually Dawes was more than happy to give me access. He did mention that they will likely be frozen if the promoters file an injunction for breech of contract. But that's a problem for later," Riley waives it away, "The promoters aren't going to give you any excuse not to continue this leg of the tour."

"Cool, thanks for smoothing that over with Dawes, cause he damn sure didn't want to talk to me. I know we ask a lot of you, Riley. Appreciate all you do. I'll start dealing with the hotel bills and bus rentals and stuff. Don't worry about that," Trace assures him.

"I don't mind handling all that, it's simpler that I do it since I coordinate the reservations anyway," Riley says dismissively. "Actually, I wanted to speak to all of you about another subject. I know it's unsolicited, but I wanted...to...I wanted to, perhaps, offer a bit of advice, about the Moran situation."

Trace immediately motions for Riley to sit. "Yeah, sure." He looks around to us. "Riley was there when I got the call, I...expressed my concerns to him." Trace grins, and I take that to mean he probably paced around the room, dropped a dozen f-bombs, and made a couple hundred ranting threats of what he will do to Moran's balls if he tries to screw us over.

Riley's mouth twerks, "Yes," he says dryly. "Anyway, I'm quite familiar with the label executive type. Used to work for one, you know. Executive assistant to Kel Robards."

I blink. Kel Robards is a legend in the industry. I had no idea Riley worked for him. Robards is president of a different label than ours, but he makes Moran like look...well, like a little bitch.

"No, we didn't know. That must have been a job with mad responsibility," Adam says.

"Mmmm...well, keeping Ashlynn alive during her struggles was no small responsibility either," he smirks, and Trace groans in agreement while Leed glares at him a little. "But I came on board with Trace, because I was a bit burned out from working the label side of the industry, and I needed a break. I wanted to see what the talent needs are like. Honestly without Ashlynn to worry about, I don't have much to do for Trace now, so I was thinking about your upcoming meeting with Moran. The thing is...all these power brokers, they have a style, and none of them are particularly transparent. Not all of them are bad guys, but all of them are jaded. Some of them play the asshole as a negotiating tactic, some gravitate to the wolf-in-sheep's clothing persona, some are like Dawes, manipulating the team members against each other, making himself useful to each of you in different ways. Except for Adam, of course," Riley nods at my husband, "You are not easily manipulated by anyone but Mac, so Dawes didn't even try."

"Hey," I warn Riley.

"He's not wrong," Adam says mildly, "But let's use the term influence, when it comes to my wife's sway over me, okay man? It's not nice to call her a manipulator."

Hmmmmphh. Okay, maybe my irritation with Adam has fallen a notch.

Riley inclines his head in agreement. "Yes, of course. Poor choice of words. I apologize, dearest."

I wink at him. "S'algood."

"Can we get back to the point?" Leed asks wearily.

"Yes," Riley says crisply. "The point is, Moran is an unknown. I suggest you find out what kind of player he is. You need the 411. The way to acquire it is obvious," he shrugs.

We wait, because it's not obvious to any of us.

Our blank faces register with Riley. "Blimey, you should really take an interest in industry history. Particularly history that hits close to home. Long before he was a VP, Angelo Moran was in A&R. He was talent development, just like Dawes. He brought Skid Marcs along through their first couple of albums."

"No shit," Trace says.

"No shit," Riley smirks back.

Trace rubs a hand over his face. "I'd really rather not get Matt involved, man. I hate asking him for favors."

"You wouldn't be asking him for a favor," Riley objects. "Just advice. What father wouldn't want to give advice in his area of expertise, and what son would be foolish enough not use his father's wisdom as a resource?"

"Man makes a point," Bodie raps his index fingers on the table along with each word.

"Alright, I'll talk to Matt about Angelo."

"That's a smart move," Riley winks. "Ahm...now that you guys have broken away from the label managing your affairs, would you guys like for me to put a list together? Of potential independent managers? I do still have a few contacts. There are a couple I know that might have their efficiency and ruthlessness a little more balanced. You need both, of course, but perhaps Dawes was a little old and jaded for such a young band..."

"Ruthlessness is not a qualification we would be looking for in a new manager," Adam tells him.

"That's not realistic, Adam," Riley says with measure. "Someone has to move and think strategically for your interests. Whether you like it or not, Dawes was trying to do that for you. The main problem you had with Dawes is that he treated you like children...not telling you the truth, handling you through deception, dividing his loyalty between you and the label. In actuality...you need a Dawes, just one that hasn't entirely abandoned a moral code. A manager that realizes you are not some pop teen act that needs to be handled, but a long-haul band. A manager that's loyal to you, and becomes part of SCIC."

"He's right," I say.

"Agreed," Trace says.

"Three'd," Leed lifts his hand from where he's holding his head.

"So, you'll have that list, then?" Riley raises his eyebrows.

"Trace, I don't think we need a list," Adam says again, "I think we probably all have a candidate in mind, right?" I know exactly what Adam is thinking just from the casual glance he shoots me. "Great idea," I smile at my quick-thinking husband.

"Yeah, man," Bodie catches the vibe and his dreads swing his agreement.

"Glad you all are thinking what I've been thinking," Trace has the Rock Star face, "Leed, what do you say man?"

"Riley for Manager? Obviously. Jesus, Riley, before you take the promotion can you get me one of your special hangover cures? I'm dying here."

Riley blinks. "Uhhhh, sure Leed. I've got the Vitamin B powder and bitters in my room. Want the egg or no-egg version?"

"Egg. And tobasco, if MJ's got some," Leed groans.

"Right," Riley rises. "Okay, so next order of business, you guys need a new lawyer. It would be a conflict of interest for me to recommend one, since the first thing he or she will need to do is negotiate my new managerial contract." He smiles slightly.

"Yay! We have a new manager," I clap.

"Not officially, not until we get a new lawyer," Trace says. "I suppose you think I should ask my dad about that, too?" he grins at Riley.

"Matt and probably Marcy. She'll have preferences, and she works with your legal team closely."

Trace nods.

"See man," Adam laughs. "Ethical. Decent. That's what I'm talking about. Dawes had us all wrapped up in his industry engine, before we even knew any better. How about you get us a list of names to replace you? A Band PA, since that's what you've become since Ashlynn went to rehab."

"Hold up," Leed croaks, "Maybe we should upgrade Sawyer. He's pretty sharp. He could do more than water my plants, return my fan mail and pay my bills."

"Or not," I say immediately. "His real gig is acting, he wouldn't be invested. Besides, he's up for a series."

"He didn't get it," Leed responds. "He's thinking about packing in the whole acting gig. He could use a real job, and he's good with people. I'm serious. We all get along with him fine, he knows our whole circle. I say we move Sawyer into the Band PA role. Sorry Mac, I want to put it to a vote."

"I vote no. He's just not the right choice." I reiterate.

Adam raps on the table twice, our standard vote for no. Trace snorts. "Do y'all even need two votes anymore?"

"Fuck you, Brother," Adam says with no heat.

"I like Sawyer," Bodie raps once for yes. "He swaggers, but that's just the LA way. He's alright. And god knows watering Leed's plants must be boring as shit. I say give him more to do."

Trace cocks his head. "I like Sawyer, and I like loyalty, I'm inclined to give him a try unless Adam or Mac want more discussion?"

Adam looks to me, and shrugs slightly as if to say, It's your call, Shortcake.

"I've slept with him," I say simply.

Trace blinks, winces slightly in sympathy at Adam, raps twice, "That's a no, then. We'll need that list, Riley. We can add any names you guys want."

Leed's head hits the table. "For the love of god, Riley, I am begging you, man..."

"Right, hang tight and breathe, Big Guy," Riley smiles and pounds up the stairs for his hangover cure ingredients.

Trace rises, "Alright, I'm out. Going to find my woman for a nice long sweet afternoon goodbye. Borrow the boat?" He asks with his hands bowed in plea.

"It's uhmmm...pretty Spunky," I tease him.

"I can imagine, but it's still better than the hayloft. I'm fucking allergic to hay," Trace looks truly pitiful and he bends forward to plead from Adam. "Please, I'll beg your mom for some spare blankets or something. I'll send a cleaning service after. Sounds like you need it anyway."

"Knock yourself out," Adam tells him with a grin. "Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

Only Leed remains seating, putting his head down on the table, reaching his hand out to me in a plea. "Help me, Macaroni," he whines.

Adam grabs Leed a bottle of water from the fridge, as I soothe Leed's somewhat sweaty head. He hasn't even showered from last night yet. I wonder if he's even been to bed. "Only water, sleep—and maybe Riley—can help you now," I joke with him.

"Fuck, did I really drink a whole fifth of tequila?" he croaks. "Why am I not dead?"

"Cause apparently you are a god," Adam tells him, slapping him really hard on the back, jostling him.

Leed lets out an actual sob of pain and clutches his head. "Goddammit, Adam. I give you my sister and you give me brain trauma. Not cool, man."

"So you do remember marrying us?" I ask.

"Course. How could I ever forget that? Wait, was it real though? Pretty much anybody can marry anybody these days, right?" he asks. That's so Leed. He can recite the Tantra texts, but he's so counterculture he doesn't understand basic shit. Stuff like marriage licenses and paying car taxes.

"It was real. Between you and my dad, it was real," Adam assures him. "Don't let anybody tell you different, man."

He rolls his head to the side and squints up a me. "Yay. I was worried it was all a joke. I can't do it again. Not sober, anyway. Too hard," he rubs his heart.

I curl myself over his back, trying to comfort my miserable brother, trying to take comfort myself. I'm so confused right now. I'm upset with Adam, but at the same time, I don't want to fight with him. That old urge to escape this situation is back. I want nothing more than to insist I put Leed to bed, and then lock the door and curl up with him, ignoring the hard shit I know is coming.

But I can't. I promised Adam things, last night. Universal promises. And now karma is turning around immediately to bite me in the ass, make me prove I meant it.

Riley's back, quietly pouring a canned V-8 into a glass and mixing a whole bunch of shit into it. Adam is helping him find the tobasco sauce, watching me with calm but solemn eyes from across the room.

"Baby Girl, you gotta get off me," Leed says, and I step back just as he leaps up from the chair and bolts to the back deck, vomiting over the side. I watch him with pity. He's been under so much stress lately...it's not surprising he needed a blow-out night like the old days. But the consequences seem rougher than they used to be.

"Right, you two, go learn to be grown-ups. I'll put our Lion in his Den," Riley says crisply, turning me away from the ugly scene on the deck and walking me toward Adam.

He takes the drink out to Leed, leaving us alone. I'm finding it hard to meet Adam's eyes.

"You're upset with me," he says softly.

"I don't want to be, but yeah. I don't want to do this, Adam."

"You don't want to fight, or you don't want to be married and have to make decisions together?"

I look up at him quickly. "I don't want to fight. I don't want to be on opposites sides."

He nods slowly, then he holds out his hand. "For the record, I still think we are on the same side. Doesn't mean we will always see things the same way. But we gotta to hash it out." He holds out his hand. "Wanna take a walk?"

I take his hand, and we leave by the kitchen door. Adam leads me down a path, and I don't ask where we are going. Doesn't matter. Walking in the bright blue day feels better than pacing in a room.

"You first," he tells me.

"You pissed me off, cutting me off when Trace asked me about the tour." My voice is low, but the anger is still there. "You promised to hear me, respect me. Then you took my voice."

He nods. "I get that now. I guess I did, but in the moment I didn't see it like that, because I also promised to put you first and protect you. That's what I was trying to do—protect your space. So you could to work through your thoughts and feelings about the tour without the guys all weighing in as you are thinking outloud. I'm sorry if you felt...disrespected. Can you forgive me?"

I stop in the path, pulling away from him, a little exasperated. "Forgiveness? With apologies and words? I don't know how to do that, Adam. How am I supposed to just turn off my anger without screaming and yelling and venting and one of us walking away and me getting scared and then running back and us having hot make-up sex? Because that's our normal path to forgiveness. The full range. I don't know how to do...this..." I gesture between the two of us. "this skinny anger thing."

He cocks his head. "Skinny anger?"

"Yeah...Where we just say sorry, and by-gones and then move on."

Adam rubs a hand over his face and then nods tersely. "Okay. If that's what you need—the big dramatic process, then let's do it. Go ahead...yell. Say what you need to say. You'll probably piss me off, and I'll yell back. You can shove me a little and walk away. I'll chase you and grab you and kiss you crazy. Until you let me drop you down and fuck you into forgiveness right there," he points to a place down the path. "Let's go. Let's do it." He taps his chest a little aggressively, his eyes fire, preparing for the fight.

I take a step toward him, putting my face right to his,clenching my fists and stomping a booted foot dangerously close to his.

"Misogynist asshole," I growl.

"Spoiled brat," he hisses back, crossing his arms and glaring down at me with an impressive dissatisfaction, each breath growing deeper and more labored, like a friendly dragon trying to pump himself up to spew fire.

Puff. My magic dragon.

That's all it takes. Thinking of Adam as my own friendly, lovable dragon.

My anger is undone.

I squeeze my eyes tight, open my mouth to spew more hate, but a giggle erupts instead at the image of Adam's features overlayed on a dragon's face. His eyes flare in surprise at my sound, but their deep blue softens and swirls as he watches me slap a hand over my mouth to contain more laughter and refocus my hate face.

"Hold up, I need a minute," I say, between my giggles.

He turns a palm up to me, bowing slightly. "Take all the time you need."

I turn away from him, staring off into the lake, trying to stoke the anger again, but, I can't. It's just...gone. He looked so cute, screwing up his anger like that. And the fact that Adam was so willing to give me the fight I thought I needed...all my anger just dissolved in the soft awe I have for how well he loves.

I turn back to him, slap him casually on the arm. "Okay, maybe skinny anger is not so hard after all. For some reason I'm not mad at you anymore, and I don't want to be mad at you anymore, so I guess...I accept your apology, and I forgive you."

He reaches for me, drawing me closer by the belt loops of my cut-offs. His sexy stubbled jaw eases, and his adorable grin curls. "Really?"

I nod. "Yeah, I think so."

He tucks my hair behind my ears, strokes my temples, and steps into me, pressing his body against mine, encircling me in his strong arms. "Thank you, Shortcake. Christ, being married is so amazing."

"So far, so good," I agree and he squeezes my ass.

I draw his face down to mine. "Please don't take my voice again. If the guys blindside us with something that feels like a couple thing to you, look at me, say to me— 'I feel like this is a couple thing. Can we talk about it first together?' Don't play the white-knight card at the Soundcrush table. If you make me look like a damsel in distress, make me feel like a damsel in distress, that's what I become to the guys. I don't want that...it's my band too."

He takes my hand, kisses, it. "I'll remember, Priestess." I turn away as I smile and the subtle symbol of respect he's giving me.

It's not just the title of Priestess that's arising in the band. The song itself—it's evolving into something special. Trace and I have worked out all the parts now at sound checks—intro, verse, chorus, bridge, melody, harmony, key shift. Leed has really gotten behind the mythology of the whole Priestess idea, and has been tweeking the lyrics with Trace. Bodie and Adam have been tooling the rhythm to give it a dark, sultry tribal beat that I don't think either Trace or I envisioned, but it's great. It's turning into a true whole band collaboration, instead of Trace and I setting all the bones in place. They are all calling me Priestess now, in moments of praise or affection. The song will almost assuredly be one of the singles on our next album.

It's a little unsettling to me, to realize I'm about to be the subject of our next big hit. I think I'm going to finally understand how Kat feels about Little Sister—the love-hate relationships she has with the song. But I like it best when Adam calls me Priestess in private, just like now.

We walk in silence a little way, enjoying the ease we feel now, before we begin the long, laborious debate about my maternity plans. As I feared, we see it totally opposite.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I think my reaction was, "How in the hell am I supposed to tour Europe pregnant?" because the idea of being pregnant was so overwhelming to me. Now that I've gotten used to being pregnant, the idea of canceling the European tour seems far more daunting to me.

I tell Adam I could see me touring right up until Babycakes is born, then taking a few weeks off, a month at most. Soundcrush could either replace my keys—we have plenty of time to find the right musician— or adjust the sound without, either way they could still deliver a quality show. I know Adam will need to take a week or so at home with us, so we might have to cancel a few dates, but then he could fly back to Europe, and rejoin them on tour. I could follow them back a few weeks later, bringing Babycakes along. The real accommodations Soundcrush would need to make would be accepting a baby entourage in tow—a private tour bus for me, Adam, Babycakes, and a couple of nannies.

I'm not thrilled with that plan. It seems like it will be hard and stressful, but it's the best I can come up with. I'm having a hard time with the idea of asking the guys to cancel Europe because I'm having a baby. The European tour is show after show of sold-out soccer stadiums across the continent, and the schedule is crazy, but the bank is already record-breaking. We're set to bring in revenue like Ed Sheeran did with his Divide Tour. If we cancel and the promoters and label sue us for lost revenue damages...I'm not sure what would happen.

We don't have that kind of money yet- to easily cover the kind of lawsuit that might ensue. We could be talking hundreds of millions in damages.

I can't imagine bankrupting my husband and my friends because I alone, chose to have a baby.

Adam sees it differently.

He sees it like, there's no way we can keep the tour scheduled like it is. The tour is slated to begin in Southern Europe in February and move Northward as the spring progresses, not finishing until mid-June. In his mind, the whole tour is blown to shit—because there is no question we will both be on "parental leave" from February until Babycakes is at least three months old—somewhere around the end of May.

I tell him many women work right up until they give birth.I remind him that most women who work only get six weeks of maternity leave here in the US, and lots of professional women who are highly needed in their roles go back earlier.

He points out to me that pregnant women aren't supposed to fly after 36 weeks pregnant—which is how pregnant I'll be at the kick-off date in Europe. He rebuffs my argument that we fly private and the 36 weeks thing is an airline rule that I can simply choose to ignore. He tells me it's a medically established rule and the idea of me going into labor over the Atlantic Ocean and something going wrong fills him with more fear than he can even speak about.

He points out that going back to work a few weeks after delivering a baby is a dubious choice that many women have to make or think they have to make for their careers, but it's not a choice I should think I have to make, with our resources. He says our culture has shitty parental leave standards, that practically every industry in the US, including the entertainment industry, ignores a motherhood culture, and that most of the world recognizes that parents need time and space to bond with their babies.

Ok, wow. I didn't know Adam was so socially minded about mothers' rights. But he has three sisters with lots of kids, so I guess it makes sense.

Still, I don't feel like I have the freedom to ask the guys to accomadate this, for me.

We go round and round.

Finally he asks me. "If there was no tour at all, would you want to go back to work that soon? Would you choose to start recording a new album, shooting a series of videos, going back to public appearances three weeks post-partum?"

"Well, no. Obviously not, but—"

"Hold off on the but. Just tell me...what's your perfect vision? How would you want to spend the first year of our child's life?"

"Well," I cast around. We've walked all the way to the point where our house is going to be built, now. "I would want to spend maybe three or four months here, probably just being with you and Babycakes and family," I say. "I'd want to find a good groove, get confident at parenting. Then maybe try out traveling a little with Babycakes, back and forth to LA, figuring out how that works, building a routine and baby-network in both places. Maybe do a little songwriting, start laying down some tracks toward the end of the summer, and gradually pick appearance back up in the fall, after I've had time to get back in shape."

"So in your perfect vision, you would want to scrap the tour altogether, takes six months off work, and then ease back in?"

"It's not a perfect world," I say. "Adam think of the lawsuit..."

He takes me by the head, his fingers sliding gently into my hair as her forces me to look up into his eyes. "There is no lawsuit. Not yet, anyway. You are assuming the worst-case scenario, and trying to act to prevent that, and sacrificing what's best for you and Babycakes without a fight, MacKenna. And I promised you I will always put you first, always fight for you. I can't see my way clear to let you roll-over like this, without even asking for what you really want. Right now, you have no idea how you are going to feel at nine months pregnant, or as a new mother. You can say you'll be able to cowgirl up and push through, but...but," he hesitates, but then he barely brushes his fingers down my jaw, touching my throat so lightly it feels like my own hair brushing it. "Sweetheart, we need to protect your space, as a new mother. Give you plenty of room to breathe."

I know Adam so well I can see in his eyes what he's not saying. Silent words are there, swirling with compassion and concern. He's thinking about my PTSD.

I let out a long, slow breathe. "I guess Marley has told you that some studies say a stressful pregnancy in PTSD patients increases the risk of preterm labor and post-partum mood disorders." My own psychiatrist has told me this several times, and suggested that touring was not the best daily routine for a pregnant PTSD patient.

Adam's hands skate down my arms, tracing the inside of my forearms, his fingers curling into mine.

"She mentioned it, awhile ago, yes. I did some reading on it, because I don't talk to Marley about you anymore, like we agreed. But I think...it's a valid concern. I won't lie, Mac. Part of the reason I feel so strongly that you need to give yourself time before and after Babycakes is born is because of your PTSD. I'm sure if we presented it to the guys like that—"

Tears spill against my will, and I nearly growl at their existence, pulling away and almost slapping at the little salty traitors. "That's what you want to tell the guys? That we have to scrap the tour because I let some guy choke-fuck me and now I'm too fucked up to handle pregnancy like a normal woman? Goddammit, Adam—that's right back to you making me look weak...making me feel weak!"

I turn away from him, away from the shining lake, pacing back up the point, toward the shelters of the tree line. He follows me at a distance. When I get to the trees, I grab onto one, to make myself stop. I promised I wouldn't run, anymore. I wait. Adam comes to me slowly.

He doesn't touch me. Instead, he pulls out a pocket knife and carves a heart into the tree. Above it, he works on his initials. It takes awhile. The tears and frustration tightening my throat ease, while I watch him work. When he's done with the A.H., he deepens the heart shape again, and offers me the knife.

"I've never been much of a tree-maimer," I joke with him.

He looks up at the branches of the water oak...the first ones easily twenty feet off the ground, extending out over the cut-in cove. "This tree can take it. It's a tough old tree. Love this tree. Lotta good times, because of this tree. When I was twelve or so, I hauled a ladder over, a put up a long-ass rope, for Tarzan action over the lake. All my sisters used it, too. You might not believe it, but Janie would go crazy on this thing—she was in college then," he grins at me. "When I was in high school, I used to bring my friends over here, and we'd raise a little hell and get reckless, especially if somebody had some beer or some Jack. My dad would come over here, confiscate the beer, make me take the swing down, give me a bunch of extra chores or shit, sometimes take my car away. Eventually, I'd put the swing back up and do it all over again."

"Stubborn rock star," I say softly.

He raises his eyebrows and flattens his smile in grim agreement. "Finally, the summer before I went off to college, my dad gave up on busting up the party, but he'd come down here and take everybody's keys, so no one could drive after drinking. My mom wouldn't let us in the house,though, so I started keeping a few tents in a tote up in the woods," he points to some high ground, "And we'd camp up there."

"Mmmm...if those tents could talk." I joke.

He grins a little embarrassed. "Not so much. Mostly the girls' parents would come pick them up, and it would just be us guys. We'd get up late on a Saturday morning and do the whole rope swing thing again." He looks up at the tree. "That rope was still there until a couple of years ago. Bay snuck over here to use it. He was only six or so then. Luke doesn't usually spank, but that kid got his butt whipped good for sneaking off to the lake by himself. Didn't matter. He kept doing it. So Luke took it down."

"Probably a good idea."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Might put it back one day, when all the kids are older. For now, I was thinking, I'd put a really nice sit-down swing right here. Big porch swing," He looks out at the point, where our house will be. "All the porches out there will be exposed...mostly windy or sunny. This will be a short walk from the house, but a nice, sheltered, shady destination for a fussy baby, maybe."

"You are too good to be true, Preacher. So...decent.Always talking me down when I need it. Always thinking of everything good before we need it," I shake my head at him and take the pocket knife, beginning my initials. If my husband wants to record our love on his favorite tree, I guess I'm a tree-maimer now.

What can I say, old oak tree? Love hurts.

He puts his hand over mine, helping me deepen the cuts of my "ML." He softly kisses my shoulder. "MacKenna,do you remember what Matt del Marco told us?" Together, we are tracing over the heart again, methodically deepening the proof our love.

"Yes, he's said it's a decent man's job to take care of his woman and his children," I smile wryly. "But Matt is a different generation. He's old school. Adam, I know you love me and I know you are this amazingly strong, wonderful and traditional guy, but it doesn't seem...right, the idea that I'm supposed to be taken care of, that I can't take care of myself." I flick his knife closed and pocket it in my shorts instead of giving it back to him and he grins at me as he gently backs me against the tree.

"I'm not saying you can't take care of yourself. I'm saying, sometimes, we need to take turns taking care of each other," Adam reasons, his voice soft.

"I suppose that seems more fair, " I agree, stroking his beard, mesmerized by his hands that are softly pressing my sides.

He scratches his beard. "Well then, it seems like as you get farther along, it will be my turn to take care of you. After all, you just took care of me while and nursed me back to health from emergency surgery."

I sigh. "It's not the same."

He leans his forehead to mine. "It's not all that different, either. There is no shame in your PTSD, Mac. It doesn't make you weak. It just means we need to be a little careful with you and with Babycakes. This your health, and our baby we are talking about. The same way you were worried about me not taking care of my appendicitis—trying to delay dealing with it...that's the way I am worried about you and Babycakes not getting the care you need. I get that you don't want to ask for time off for yourself. But it's not just for you. It's for Babycakes, too."

When he says it like that, I finally get it. I remember how worried I was for him, just a few days ago, and how unbelievable it seemed that he would put the comfort and feelings of his family above his real and urgent needs. It made no sense to me. What could have possibly have been more important than Adam's health? I was furious with him, for risking himself. And now, I am proposing that I do the same thing—but not just with me, but our baby. He's right...I can't play loose and fast with my pregnancy or my health. My baby has to come first, and my baby is going to need me when it's born.

The decision I was having such a hard time making slides into alignment. My hands come up to the sides of his neck. "Wow. Okay, this talking things out really does work, because I see it now. You're right, Adam. I need to think about it differently. I don't need to worry about people thinking I'm weak. I need to put our baby first. We need to explain it to the guys in a way that they understand...we have to cancel the tour."

Adam puts his hands over mine, holding our heads together close. "MacKenna, I know this is hard for you to ask the band to do this, but it's the right thing. Everything will work out, I promise you. You are so strong and intuitive and I am so fucking proud to be with you. I promise you, I will make this work for us."

I nod into his kiss, and smile, but I know, everything is not going to work out as Adam hopes. Yes, we will do what's best for Babycakes but in the real world we live in, compromises will have to be offered, assets will have to be leveraged, deals will have to be made.

Suddenly, a thing I try not to think about, a thing I always shove to the back of my concerns, surges to the forefront.

Fuck. I didn't see it before, but I see it now. The way to make this all work. Maybe. The guys won't like it, but maybe there's a better way forward than drawing a line in the sand with the labels and promoters. Maybe I can still make this work for all of us.

I let Adam lead me back to the house, and we pack quickly, while I think and strategize, and play out options in my head. Good-byes with his family take much longer, but eventually they are accomplished, too. I am distracted, ready to get the unpleasant task I am dreading over with, but I manage to make good good-byes with all the Heartly's as the busses wait for us to board.

"We'll see you soon," Adam promises them, and it's true, because we will be back next month for my next prenatal visit and to meet with Tyler for the next round of construction decisions.

Everyone is quiet as we collapse into our typical areas on the bus. We are all waiting for Trace, who's having a hard time letting go of Kat. He's still cupping her face, and saying tender or maybe crazy things that are making her laugh as she's trying to edge into her waiting car and he's refusing to remove his body from the vicinity of hers. Finally she gives up trying to let go, and jumps into his arms. He turns to the tour bus, yells, "I need five!" and dives into the car with her as she squeals an embarrassed protest.

Bodie and Adam laugh. Leed snorts and mumbles something about Ballard Sister Hoo-Doo and self-control.

While Bodie and Riley make crude jokes about Trace's limo session, and Adam enjoys not being the butt of the sex jokes for once, I use the opportunity to do that unpleasant task I'm dreading. Starting the compromising, leveraging, deal-making by getting right back in bed with the devil.

I pull out my phone and text Dawes:

Need you to talk to Moran for me. We all know Europe isn't going to happen. I can't help that, but I'm ready to be a team player. I'll feature wherever I'm needed to make the label money.

His reply is immediate:

Too little, too late, MacKenna. You aren't offering anything you aren't contractually bound to do.

Me: I am. I'll surrender my creative control. And I'll fulfill the contract before I'm mom-zoned.

Dawes: I'm surprised. What's your husband going to think about this? That you have a side contract you didn't tell the band about? What is Trace going to think?

Me: You let me worry about Adam and Trace.

Dawes: Always knew you were a bad girl.

Me: Just make the damn deal, Dawes.

Adam is moving down the aisle toward me. I slide my phone in my pocket and he slides onto the bus couch beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and planting our left hands beside one another displaying our rings. I smile at the image...my expensive, flashy ring, and his hand-made bass-string. I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Who was that?" he asks, distractedly, making conversation as he pulls out his own phone.

Instead of answering, I take his phone, "I was thinking about your ring..." I begin as I rapidly type a search.

"You are not replacing it," he shakes his head vehemently. "This ring has meaning."

"I don't want to replace it, not entirely, but it can't be comfortable," I protest. I show him a website for custom jewelry, and an example of a titanium ring that is inlayed with guitar string bands. "We could have it reworked," I suggest.

He grins. "So you wanna take the symbol of your undying love, unwind it, clip it, and band it in some unnecessary, showy, expensive material."

I wave my half million dollar counterpart in his face, "Unnecessary, showy and expensive like this, you mean?"

"That is necessary. I want every man on earth to know you're off the market," he growls, nibbling at my ear as he tickles me and I screech. "The ones in space, too. Necessary," he repeats, still tickling me, and I attack he lips. We kiss and cuddle a little and the guys snicker but mostly ignore us.

We chill as Trace finally gets on the bus. His mood is foul, because he's now without his favorite candy—his KitKat. He looks around at us. "Shit, let's do this meeting after we stop for dinner, okay? I need a minute to regroup," he flops down and flips on his sunglasses.

Adam offers me one of his Airpods and I take it, knowing full well that I should take this opportunity to do the right thing. I should drag Adam back to the spunkbunk and come clean with him. About my side-contract with the label, about how it might be the thing we have to leverage against canceling the tour, and about how I've re-opened the door to Dawes by asking him to bring it to Moran.

But I don't. We've done so well today, working together like a team. I don't want to tell him that I've been keeping something from him and the guys for years. I don't want him to be disappointed, or angry with me, for going to Dawes.

I'll wait until I hear something back. I'll wait to find out how bad it might be, before I tell him.I know Adam and I are going to be on opposite sides of another issue, but I'm not Adam and I'm not Matt del Marco. I have to fight for myself and my band, too. I have to write my own song; I always have.

Uh-oh. I guess the honeymoon's over! What do you think of Mac's idea to leverage secret side-deal contract in exchange for canceling the tour? How do you think this is all going to play out? How do you think Adam will respond to finding out that Mac is dealing with Dawes behind his back?

Hit me back with thoughts! I'd love to hear from you guys! We are on the final stretch of this story now!

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