Chapter 74: Bad Girls Get Fierce When They Have To Be

Anybody besides me dying for this chapter? Part of me was super glad to return from vacation so I could take care of my book babies....

Mac

The words Adam makes are meant to be loving and reassuring, but they are nothing more than a back rhythm. I am deep inside, too deep to hear him, too deep to feel his arms around me, almost down to the center of fear where it ceases to be fear and instead feels only like awareness. I am deep down, searching, focused only on my quest.

There is only one thing I need right now. One thing that I can focus on.

I can't find what I'm looking for. I breathe and search. Search and breathe. That's all I can do.

I can't think, I can't cry, I can't hope or plan. All I can do is breathe and search.

There!

My hands go automatically to my stomach as I feel the flutter of my baby moving inside me. I go deeper still, willing all my power, all my love, all my protection to that sweet whisp of life I can feel inside me.

Please, baby. Please hear me. I'm your mommy and I love you and I will fight for you. I will do whatever it takes, just please keep your little heart beating and your little body moving, okay? Please, baby. Please know you are loved and I will never, never give up on you.

I swear I think the movements I feel get a little stronger as I talk inside my head, inside my body, soul-to-soul with my baby, so I keep talking.

At some point, I realize the back beat is getting more urgent. Adam is trying to get my attention.

"MacKenna, baby? You gotta talk to me. I've got Sidney on the phone. She has questions..."

My eyes snap open, and I cup Adam's cheek. His face is calm, but his ocean eyes are a storm of fear. "I can still feel the baby moving," I tell him. "The baby is..." I can't say the words, because to say our baby is alive, right now, fills me with the horror that whatever is happening to my body could cause that not to be true.

He immediately repeats my statement to Sidney. "That's good," he assures me, "Really good, Shortcake. We need to talk to Sidney right now, okay?" He puts her on speaker phone, and I answer her questions.

No, to all. No cramps, no backpain, no clots. Just light red blood, like the start of a period.

Sidney assures me that bleeding is not uncommon, that the outcome for the baby could still be very good, but that I need to get to an obstetrician in Boston as soon as I land. She doesn't have any contacts or colleagues there but she promises to make a few quick calls and call us back with a recommendation.

When we hang up, Adam kisses me—my forehead, my nose, my lips lightly, and then he draws back, my face in his hands. The he looks down, and I watch his face drain to ash. It takes me a moment to realize he's staring at his blood-stained jeans, from where I have shifted in his lap.

"I'm so sorry, MacKenna. So sorry I left you with Dawes. So sorry I didn't fight harder for what I knew was best for you."

"This is not your fault, Adam," I tell him, but he shakes his head and says darkly, "Like fuck it isn't."

He pulls me to him, placing his hand on my belly, his head on my shoulder as he murmurs, "I'm so sorry, baby," over and over. I don't know if he's talking to me or Babycakes, but I know, he thinks we are losing our baby, and he thinks if we do, I will fall apart, lost in another trauma. Worst of all, he thinks this is his fault.

I don't know what's happening right now to my body, or to my baby, but I know one thing for sure—it is not Adam's fault. It's maybe Dawes' for giving me drugs, or maybe mine for pushing my body too hard when I should have only been concerned about growing my baby, or maybe no one's because something is wrong beyond anyone's control, but Adam is not to blame.

Something in the way Adam's voice is shaking calls the Killer in me. All the fierceness I am capable of rises us inside me. I will not fall apart. I will not freak out and put more stress on my body, my baby, my husband. I am a mother. Even though my baby is not born, I am a mother. I can't afford to lose heart, to fall into despair, to fall apart. I am terrified, but as long as I can still feel my baby moving every few minutes, I am a mother and I'm going to act like one.

The most important thing I can do for my baby right now, is to make sure Adam is with me.

"Adam," I say calmly, "I need you. There are...things we have to do now...and I can't...I need you."

The storm in Adam's eyes still rages, but his jaw sets in determination, and he gives a fierce nod.

Adam pulls me back onto the seat beside him, suddenly aware that we are not alone on this plane. John, Kelsey, my new PA, and the flight attendants are huddled back in the crew area, watching us—aware of the seriousness of what's going on, reluctant to interrupt what seems like a very personal thing, but anxious to be called upon to help. Adam calls Kelsey forward, instructing her to get our carry-ons and find us new clothes, and asks the flight attendants to bring me some water. My throat feels so tight with anxiety, i can hardly swallow, but I know that the very least I can do for my baby is stay hydrated, and it has been a very long day with a lot of physical exertion. With a look of deep sympathy, one of the flight attendants brings me a small sack with some feminine pads in it. Adam picks me up and carries me back to the bedroom compartment in Matt's private plane.

I cry a little bit then, confronted with the bleeding again, but Adam silently balls up my bloody underwear inside my other spoiled clothes and tenderly helps me get dressed. "You're okay," he murmurs. "The baby is still moving, right?"

I nod, wiping away my tears. He hugs me tightly, and we both decide I should lie down on Matt's bed, and he sits beside me, holding my hand while he takes care of business.

Sidney calls back with a couple of recommendations, and Kelsey sets to work on getting through to their emergency services because it's well after hours now. Adam calls Marcy, but he doesn't want to call Riley or the guys. He doesn't have to tell me why. They are all going to freak out so bad that even Riley will have a hard time keeping them from doing something rash. Adam talks to John about transportation. We were planning to take an Uber from the airport to the ferry for Martha's Vineyard and have one of the guys pick us up, but that plan is out now. We need privacy and speed, so Adam and John decide to get a medical transport.

Through most of this, I stay curled on my side, my eyes closed, my focus on our baby's movements. They are still regular and strong.

Hang in there, sweet baby. Please stick with me.

I return from one of my deep communions to hear Adam in low conversation on the phone. I can't make out who he's talking to, but when he hangs up, he tells me that was Dr. Call-Me-Kade, from Nashville, who just happened to text him to let him know that he had landed in Boston for the Call-Out, and really appreciated the free tickets, travel and hotel accommodations.

Adam called him right back to get another doctor's opinion of what is going on, Dr. Kade went into full ER doc mode, calling in his resources, telling us he would meet us at the airport with the medical transport and take us to the best women's hospital in the city, where his best friend and med school roommate is now an obstetrician, doing specialty training in high-risk obstetrics. Adam readily agreed when he realized Kade's colleague is in the same group of doctors that Sidney recommended.

Adam is both relieved and worried about me going to the hospital, but I assure him the hospital is exactly where we need to go. As we land and are met by Dr. Kade's warm and steady smile, I keep telling myself that I am a mother, not an assault victim right now. I cannot afford to freak out. I refuse to let that asshole that choked me affect my baby's health. My baby needs me to stay calm and we both need to go to the hospital, so that's where we are going.

To my surprise, there's a dark-headed girl with Dr. Kade. I don't know her, but as Dr Kade helps me up into the back of an ambulance, Adam has a short exchange with her. I don't get a chance to ask Adam about her, because Dr. Kade is busy checking my vitals, and telling me he's going to start an IV to give me some fluids, just in case dehydration is causing the bleeding.

I hate IV's but then again, who doesn't? If Dr. Kade thinks I need an IV, I'm getting it without complaint.

Adam winces in sympathy as Dr. Kade starts the IV, but I hardly feel it. I'm trying to feel my baby move. Since we got off the plane, I haven't felt the flutter once. I tell this to Dr. Kade, and he reminds me that babies sleep, even in the womb. He's right, I often go hours without feeling the baby move, but my anxiety starts to ramp. I can't help it.

Dr. Kade asks me all the same questions Sidney asked and more. Adam mostly answers because now I am frantically searching for fluttering movements.

Silent tears are sliding down my face by the time we make it to the hospital campus. They take me to a private suite of doctors' offices. It's after hours; there is no one here but a young doctor whose name I immediately forget. Dr. Kade gives my history to him as they both easily transfer me from the stretcher to the exam table.

"First things first," the doctor says soothingly, "Let's get some eyes on the situation." He squirts the jelly on my stomach and I reach for Adam's hand. Oh god, I'm not sure if I can handle it—if the baby isn't moving. If there's no—

Flub-dub. Flub-dub. Flub-dub. Flub-dub.

My baby's heartbeat. Fast and strong, coming through the sonogram machine, even before the picture resolves. Adam squeezes my hand and as I sob—in relief, fear, anxiety.

"There we are," the doctor says. "Perfectly normal heartbeat...that's very good, so far." His face is expressionless as he moves the sonogram to get a better picture. "See...there's your baby, the placenta is still attached to the uterine wall, every thing looks like a healthy pregnancy so far..."

I see our baby, curled, facing upward, one hand swaying slightly, little face and little throat moving as it sucks a thumb. "Sleeping, I think," the doc says, "which explains why the flutters have stopped..." he records the pictures and spends agonizing moments with the computer, taking measurements. While he's doing this, he murmurs to Dr. Kade. "Dr. Thomas, would you mind drawing the labs? There's a phone just outside...you can call for a transporter to put a rush on them..."

"I'll walk down there with the transporter and bring the results back in half an hour," Dr Kade assures Adam, who mumbles. "Thanks, man."

Dr. Kade expertly pokes me again with a butterfly needle and puts my blood into several tubes. Before he's even finished, the other doctor is assuring us that all the measurements indicate that the baby is developing normally. He tells us that it's unlikely that a short-term exposure to questionable "supplements" or even a few doses of diazapam would affect the baby's development at this stage, although women seriously abusing that kind of drug during the latter half of a pregnancy sometimes have babies born with respiratory and feeding difficulties—basically, babies hooked on the drug.

"There are no guarantees, but I want to assure you that from the baby's development at fifteen weeks, and observing a healthy placenta as well, this looks to be a viable fetus. Right now, a miscarriage has not occurred, nor do I believe that one is necessarily eminent. But bleeding at fifteen weeks is a serious concern—one we need to investigate more. I need to do a physical exam to check your cervix, okay, MacKenna?"

I nod, smiling through tears.

"That will tell us why she's bleeding?" Adam asks frustration.

"Maybe. It's possible she just has some cervical irritation. Or perhaps hormone fluctuations, which is why we are doing labs. There are a few other reasons reasons why women bleed during a pregnancy that can be identified...let's just collect all the information we can before we speculate, all right?"

The exam reveals nothing except that the doctor notes that the bleeding seems to be minimal now. By the time he finishes, I can feel flutters again, and he proposes to take a second look with the ultrasound. "With the baby moving, maybe I can get a more comprehensive look at your uterus," he says with a smile.

He spends a long time moving the ultrasound detector around, and Adam and I hold hands and watch our baby. It's bittersweet, because the awe and wonder we are feeling is wrapped up in anxiety over what is happening.

Finally, Kade comes back and hands the labs to the other doctor—now I know his name is Dr. Michaelson. "Your blood work looks normal. That's good."

"So why is she bleeding? That's not normal," Adam insists.

"It's not precisely abnormal, either" the doctor corrects. "About a quarter of women bleed during the first trimester during pregnancy, although admittedly, at fifteen weeks, with what appears to be a viable, healthy fetus, bleeding like this is not as common. But I think I know what's causing it..." he points to a strip of shadow on the sonogram image. "See this shadow, between the uterine wall and the placenta?" He outlines those structures and returns to the shadow. "This is what we call a subchorionic hematoma. Basically, the placental attachment shifted early in the pregnancy, and caused a little pocket of bleeding that was trapped between the uterine wall and the placenta."

"Why would that happen?" Adam asks.

"The causes of a subchorionic hematoma aren't really understood. It doesn't even mean that there is a problem with the placenta, it just means that it detached a little at one spot. You can see here," he circles another part, "that the placenta is attached as it should be. But now what's happening, as the baby has grown, some of that trapped blood has worked its way loose...what we call a subchorionic hemorrhage. This is not an uncommom thing to happen, we just usually see the bleeding from it a little bit earlier than fifteen weeks. The hematoma appears to be small, probably a past event, but we are only just seeing the bleeding now. It's likely the bleeding will stop within a day or so."

"So are you saying...the baby's ok? That I'm not going to have a miscarriage?" I ask.

Dr. Michaelson and Dr. Kade exchange a long look, and I start to panic. "Just tell me."

Dr. Michaelson sits on the stool and looks me directly in the eye. "Subchorionic hemorrhages increase the risk of miscarriage. Again, the reasons are not well understood. Studies indicate that about one third of women with a detectable subchorionic hemorrhage will miscarry before twenty weeks. Two-thirds go on to have normal pregnancies and deliveries. There is some evidence to suggest that the size of the hematoma correlates to the outcome as well, and yours is small so that may be a good sign that the hemorrhage was isolated and is correcting itself. After twenty weeks most hemorrhages are usually resolved, either because the event was isolated and all the trapped blood has been reabsorbed or released, or because the patient has miscarried. After twenty weeks, there is much less of a correlation in this kind of early pregnancy event and a poor outcome. Let me assure you, MacKenna, there is nothing that you did to cause this. The hematoma likely occurred in the early weeks of your pregnancy—long before this unfortunate and unwilling ingestion of questionable supplements or unprescribed pharmaceuticals. There is nothing that we can do medically at this point, except monitor the hematoma weekly to observe whether it is resolving or worsening. In my medical opinion, given the similar cases I have seen, I think it's likely you will have a good outcome, but I can't give you a guarantee. No one can."

I nod numbly. I have a one in three chance of losing my baby in the next five weeks. I can't even process it.

"There has to be something we can do," Adam says. "Some treatment, some medication...something. You realize, she can go anywhere in the world, have any treatment available..."

The doctor smiles kindly. "Of course. And you are welcome to a second opinion. But really, if there was anywhere, anything, I would refer you. This truly is a wait-hopefully-and-see-situation."

I nod again, numbly.

"What about MacKenna?" Adam asks. "Is she at risk? Could she...hemorrhage from this?"

"In my opinion, no. A poor maternal outcome from an event like this would be...extremely rare. Even if she were to miscarry, with medical supervision she would recover fully, and she would likely go on to have successful pregnancies in the future, if she chose."

"Ok. That's good," he murmurs. I can't think of a single thing to say. One in three sounds more like fifty-fifty to me. My healthy, perfectly developed baby could live, or my baby could die, because of something wrong inside my body. Waiting five weeks for someone to tell me those odds have changed—I don't know how I'm going to be able to do that. I know I have to, but I don't know how. I feel so...helpless.

Adam is feeling the same way, because he says..."There has to be something we can do. I mean...what about MacKenna? How should she care for herself? Should she be on bedrest?"

"Bedrest is not going to change the outcome of a subchorionic hemorrhage, but self-care at this point depends on the mother's fitness, stamina, and her normal activities," he says. He asks me a lot of questions about my nutrition,exercise, and work habits, which admittedly, have changed a couple of times during this pregnancy. Dr. Michaelson is very calm and kind, and he's listens without reaction when I tell him that I have been dancing three to four hours a day in the last few weeks, and working in the studio or on video sets for another five to six hours on top of that.

Adam is not quite so calm. "Mac, we've hardly had time to go out for a jog more than a couple of times a week since we've been on tour, and you spent half your time in your first trimester sleeping. I had no idea you were working your body that hard since you went back to LA."

"I know," I admit, tears falling freely. "But I've felt fine. More energy in my second trimester, and the trainers said I was extremely fit and that it wouldn't put stress on the baby by learning the choreography."

"Again, subchorionic hemorrhages are caused from changes in the placenta, not from exercise. But sometimes physical stress on the mother's body can cause pre-term contractions. You aren't having those, so likely you were listening to your body's needs, but we definitely don't want you to start experiencing pre-term labor due to a too-active lifestyle. Given your own medical history, the questionable substances you were given, and the current finding, we don't want to add any more layers of complication to your pregnancy, make sense?" He looks from me to Adam.

"Yes," we both say.

"So here is what I would suggest—" the doctor takes out a pad and starts to make a list. "First, I understand that you had planned to have a low-tech home birth, but the unintentional drug exposure and this event has moved your pregnancy into the high-risk category. I suspect your current care provider is going to tell you the same thing, and will want to turn you over to an obstetrician specializing in high-risk pregnancies. One that works at a hospital with a neonatal intensive care unit."

"She already did," Adam says grimly. I look at him, surprised. Sidney didn't say that to me. She must have told Adam when she called with recommendations.

Dr. Michaelson nods. "I know that sounds scary but it doesn't mean you still don't have a very good chance of delivering a perfectly healthy baby, without a lot of intervention. But in my opinion, there are some definite things you need in place to support the outcome you want." He starts to write the list as he talks. "So a new ob who specializes in high-risk pregnancy is the first thing on the to-do list. Doesn't have to be me, obviously. I'd recommend you find a highly experienced doctor in LA or wherever home base is..."

"Nashville," I say at once. Dr. Michaelson smiles at Dr.Call-Me-Kade. "Great, that's our hometown, too. probably Dr. Thomas and I can put our heads and contacts lists together and help you out."

"Thank you," Adam says.

Dr. Michaelson nods. "Secondly, you need a nutritionist handling your diet, not your trainer. And you can tell your trainer to take a vacation, because I'm sure your permanent doctor will provide you with his own guidelines, but until then, your work-out instructions are no more 45 minutes of light daily exercise—walking, yoga, cycling- no-impact, ok?"

"Got it," Adam says.

"What about performing?" I ask.

"Do you dance when you perform?" he frowns.

"Well, I'm behind keyboards. Usually I dance a little as I play, but I can easily sit," I say. "It would be nothing like a work-out, then."

"Performing is strenuous," Adam disagrees. "Just the emotion and the energy with put into the performance, it's exhausting. Much more so than a work-out."

"Fine, sit,and count a performance as your daily exercise that day, and limit performances to a forty-five minute set every third day," the doctor suggests and I nod, but I see Adam's lips tighten. Our shows are more than a forty-five minute set and we both know it.

"I could trade off during shows with Arabella," I suggest to him softly.

"Can we talk about that later?" he asks and I nod, eager to get off the subject. I don't want to do anything that will put my baby at any more risk, that's for sure, but if the doctor is giving me guidelines, I feel like it's reasonable to follow them. I can't just sit like a statue and do nothing except worry about the baby. That will put my mental health at risk.

"Beyond that, general guidelines," he continues to write rapidly down the piece of paper, making a bullet list. " Stay hydrated, especially during a performance or exercise. Don't stand for more than two hours at a time before taking a nice long sit break. No sex—at least until you see your new specialist. Probably your new specialist will tell you to keep that guideline and all the others in place until at least twenty weeks, and may give you further guidelines."

We nod and then the two doctors confer and scroll their phones. Dr. Kade makes a quick call and we have an appointment with the best obstetrician in Nashville three mornings from now. The doctors are handing Adam the to-do list and lowering the exam table and wiping the jelly off my stomach and everything is happening so fast. Suddenly I'm terrified to leave this room. I feel like in this room, I can know my baby is safe, but no where else.

I grab Adam's arm. "Wait. Wait!" I say urgently. He tenses beneath me.

"What it is? Are you having cramps now?" he says with alarm.

"No. Nothing like that." I put a hand to my chest trying to control my breathing. I look at the doctor. "Can we please...can we just see the baby one more time?"

He smiles. "Of course." He raises the table and in seconds we are again listening to the beautiful whoosh of our baby's heart. Dr Michaelson doesn't talk anymore about hematomas, instead he points out features that might reassure us—giving us a long look at the strong heart, counting the fingers and toes for us, showing us the baby's perfect spine and tiny blood vessels pumping with life force, and how the cranium looks a little strange because the skull bones aren't fused yet, but assuring us that's perfect development at this stage. We see our baby suck and kick and curl and stretch and laugh through our tears.

Finally, Dr. Michaelson asks, "Would you like to know the sex?"

Adam smooths my hair and chuckles. "Probably not. She hates to be wrong."

"I do not hate to be wrong, it's just a rare occurrence," I tease him. Then I bite my lip and look at him hopefully. "What do you think? I kind of want to know...it seems important, especially now, to bond with our baby as much as we can..."

He nods and kisses my hand, cutting me off because he doesn't want me to say, in case we don't get much more time. "Okay, but don't punch me when you hear what you aren't expecting to hear."

We are both trying to lighten the mood, both with voices tight, straining against saying good-bye to the images of our growing baby, because there's a one-third chance it could be the last pictures we see like this.

"I should blame you, the gender is your contribution, you know..."

"Okay, only punch me a little. Right here," he points to his arm.

"Okay, just so I know who's about to be right and who's about to be wrong..." the doctor jokes.

"I think it's a girl," Adam says, gesturing to the ultrasound.

I look at my baby thoughtfully. I'm no expert at reading ultrasounds, but I have seen quite a few, because of the midwife clinic, and I have to say...there's no obvious evidence for my hope of a mini-man. "I thought it was a boy, but now I think..." I look at Adam, then at the doctor. "Well, you tell him. He'll gloat too much if I do it."

The doctor smiles. "Your baby is a girl," he confirms.

I tap Adam lightly on the arm with my fist, watching his face. He doesn't smile as big as I thought, he just nods like he was expecting it and stares at the screen, his eyes still a storm of uncertainty. Then he blinks and wraps an arm around me, swallowing heavily as he presses a kiss to my temple.

"She's beautiful, just like her mama," he says softly.

We leave quietly in the knowledge that we have made a sweet baby girl, desperate in the hope that we get to meet her as a healthy pink newborn five months from now.

It's an exhausting hour and half later that we arrive at the mansion on Martha's Vineyard, long after dark. The place is huge, every room alight, spotlights shining. I half expect to see a red-carpet in a place this grand, but there's only a cobble drive and a polished stone porch with an expensive welcome mat.

As we pull to a stop in the drive, Adam grips my arm. "Please Shortcake, let me put you straight to bed, and I'll come back down and tell the guys everything. I will lose my fucking mind if Bodie grabs you too tight or Leed shakes you for scaring him or even if Trace growls about Dawes and gets you upset. I can't...I need...I can't..." he waves a weary hand in lieu of explaining, but I know he means.

He's exhausted too, and warring with his own emotions, and he needs to protect his girls, and he can't be sure of his patience with the guys right now, who are bound to be keyed up. I get it. I nod.

He hustles me up the stairs, before anyone but Riley is even aware we are here. Fortunately, my PA has arrived and all of our things are in our room. I'm in bed in a matter of minutes and she's already thrust a water in my hands and offered to make tea, or get me a bedtime snack. I know I won't be able to eat, but I ask her to bring me some almond butter and crackers because I know it will set Adam's mind to ease.

He sits on the bed beside me, fiddling with the covers, like he's afraid the smallest irritant of rumpled sheets could cause me to lose our baby. Although I feel like I can hardly form words, I sense that Adam is more wrecked than I am. Maybe I'm just too exhausted to be as emotional as he is right now. Or maybe because I can feel our daughter inside, I am more comforted than he is.

"Adam, I'm okay. I mean, I'm worried and I'm tired, and I would give anything not to have a subchori-whatever, but right now ...it could be so much worse. Our baby is alive, and the odds are in our favor that everything will be okay, and all we can do is what the doctor has recommended. And pray—"

"I know," he says tersely. "I know. I just...praying has never seemed so...inadequate to me."

I rub his arm. "Maybe you should call your dad."

He doesn't answer. Instead he says. "I'm sure the guys know we are here. I gotta go downstairs and give them an update, ok? Do you think you would get more rest if I slept in another room?"

I blink. "Are you kidding? We've been sleeping apart for weeks. I miss you."

His eyes calm a little. He rubs my lips with his thumb as he cups my cheek. "I've missed you, too. I'll be back in a little while. Don't wait up, ok? Sleep if you can." I think he's going to kiss me—really kiss me—but he doesn't. He just rises and departs.

I can't sleep for what seems like ages. Adam doesn't return. Even when sleep finds me, I toss and turn, and Adam doesn't come to steady my rocky slumber.

When I wake up in the early dawn and he's still not in bed with me, I am caught between irritation and worry.

That changes when I go to the bathroom and find that the bleeding has all but stopped.

Relief floods me. I know that doesn't change anything that the doctor told us, but at least it seems positive.  All I want is to report this to Adam. I guess he's too worried about me getting rest to really get how much I needed him in bed with me last night. He must have crashed in another room because he didn't want to wake me.

I check every bedroom for him. I find Riley, Trace and Leed all in various states of slumber. Riley sleeping on his back as soundly as he does everything else. Trace curled up tight like he might have to defend himself. Leed is passed out in yesterday's clothes, sideways across his bed, and I fight the urge to wake him. I want to tell him I'm ok, but I really need Adam before I get into an emotional imbroglio with Leed.

When I get downstairs, the eagerness I'm feeling to connect with Adam goes as sour as a truckload of lemons.

My husband, the father of my baby, the man that should have been holding me and comforting me through what seemed like one of the longest nights of my life, is shit-faced drunk on the deck, swaying in the middle of all the Strut girls, having a goddamn sing-along and playing beer pong.

Oh wow. Mac is on a rollercoaster in this chapter.  Thoughts on her tumultuous plane ride and hospital visit?

Also, I know you are all thinking  WTH, ADAM!?!?!?! We'll back track a few hours and see what possible defense Preacher could have for this, cause right now I'm pretty mad at him!!!!! This is probably the WORST thing Adam has done in the course of URGENT!