Chapter 34: Nice Guys Take It To The House

Adam

Callie is leading us down a long corridor to a birthing suite. The suites may be swank, but the corridor, the nurses station, the stale, sterile smell all are pretty standard hospital stuff so far.

"We have six premium birthing suites comprised of three rooms each—the mother-child room, the lounge, and the spa room," Callie is saying as she leans against my left shoulder, gesturing to a layout in the leather binder. "The mother-child room is a state of the art birthing room, with all necessary medical equipment and laboring aids. The lounge accommodates a party of eight easily, has a full kitchenette/bar area, two flatscreens, internet access, a treadmill and some light weights."

"What?" I laugh. "A mini-gym? You're joking."

"Not at all. It's great for burning off dad's nervous energy. Some of the more... intense fathers-to-be find they need a break from the birth experience," Callie pats me on the arm, with a smile, taking in my sandwashed jeans, my tight plain black T, my bracelets. "You seem like you might be...the right type."

See this is what I'm talking about—that kind of mentality you see out here in Hollywood. In a place where artists have been celebrated as "sensitive," somewhere we lost the line between sensitivity and self-absorption. Who the fuck would do that...abandon their wife in labor to settle their own nerves? She won't get to take a break. I can't imagine saying, Hey Mac, your labor is really stressful. Imma jump on the treadmill over here in the next room and bust out a 10k, for a little relief. Good luck with those contractions...I'll hit you back in an hour...when I'm chill...

I sneak a peak at Mac, hoping she's not about to go wild-cat on Callie. Either about what Callie said or the way our VIP Liason is obviously checking me out. It happens all the time—attractive, confident women openly flirting with me in situations where I'm obviously just trying to go about my business—the bank, the lawyers office, in the label office and the Apple Store—and I mostly always ignored it. But this? This actually pisses me off that this chic would flirt with me in front of my pregnant wife...

I hesitate in my step, retracing my thought. Did I just label Mac in my head as my wife?

Rethink that, Heartley. That shit comes accidentally flying out of your mouth, and Mac will cut your tongue out.

I should have said...it pisses me off that this chick would flirt with me in front of my pregnant girlfriend. I mean...we're having a baby together and this woman knows it. It kinda says commitment, right?

"You've got the wrong Soundcrush guy, Callie," I say rather coldly. "Trace is the intense one. I'm the patient and steady one. Took me five years to get where I wanted to be, but I never gave up, and I'll never need a break."

I reach for Mac's hand, stepping close to her, but Mac's got her killer face on. Actually, I don't even think she's listening to Callie. Her focus is straight ahead, as she returns my hand grasp tightly. She's really anxious about this tour.

Callie doesn't even have the good grace to be ashamed of herself. She just smirks, shrugs and continues her explanations.

"The lounge converts to overnight sleeping, for the father or other family members. In addition to the mother-child room and the lounge, there is a luxury bathroom with a professional vanity to accommodate a stylist's needs, as well as a soak tub for water-labor. Additional private sleeping quarters can be booked for any staff that will be overnighting—nannies, PA's, that sort of thing. Each premium package comes with 24 hour access to the VIP concierge for external needs, a personal chef and butler, and in-suite spa services. Plus a round-the clock VIP liason like me to coordinate between your medical care and your entourage," Callie is saying with a perfect smile.

Ok, I get it now. Callie is a handler to manage difficult celebrity entourages, because apparently the doctors don't necessarily doctor to the celebrity perspective. Maybe her flirtation is just part of the way she flatters and smooths things out. I guess I could put up with a Callie for the world class doctors here. I want Mac to have a doctor that acts in her best medical interests, not caters to LA standards.

"Personal chef sounds nice, right Mac?" I'm betting once she gets over her morning sickness, she's going to be back on her healthy diet...

She pulls away from me, and stops in the middle of the hall. Her breathing is shallow, her eyes darting quickly from side to side. Her hands are fisted.

"I can't...do...hospitals...Adam, please," she pants and she starts to back away from me. She makes that panicky, throat clearing sound like before.

Oh shit! Why didn't I realize this might happen?

A hospital. Something here...the scene, the sounds, the smell...it's a trigger for her.

I take a very slow step towards her. "Mac, it's okay. You're safe. Can you hear me?"

Mac clutches her throat, tears spilling over again. She makes the slightest shaking movement with her head, almost like she can't move her neck easily, but she backs away.

When her back hits the wall, she lets out a gasp.

The unmistakable gasp of fear. She closes her eyes and tiny, panicked sounds escape her as she claws at her throat.

She's not here. Her back is not against this wall.

She's up against that wall in the green room with that psychopath.

"Mac, baby, look at me," I say softly, more than once, but she just continues gasping and squeaking and writhing.

"Oh god, does she have asthma?" Callie blurts. "Help over here, she's having an asthma attack!" she calls to the nurses station. "Quick! Does she have an inhaler? Should I look in her purse?" Callie is stepping forward, trying to reach for Mac's Chanel bag.

"No," I stay quickly, putting an arm out to stop Callie from coming closer. People crowding her is the last thing Mac needs right now. "Just a panic attack," I say simply. "She's fine."

She's not fine, but she will be, as soon as we get the hell out of here.

"MacKenna, open your eyes," I say sternly, imitating the way Leed spoke to her the last time. I try to sound as much like him as I can, and it works. Her eyes snap open.

"You are safe. You are with me. No one can hurt you. No one will touch you," I say, warding off the three nurses that have hurried over. "You are not hurt. You can breathe. Breathe, baby. In through the nose. All the way to your belly. Just like voice lessons. Breathe. Slow...one, two three...that's it." I lead her through several deep breaths, and I see her hands relax. Her vision wanders to the crowd behind us. "No, look at me," I tell her. "Let it go. Slow—one, two, three. Good. So good, baby. Again. Breathe." She does.

After a couple of minutes, her green ocean eyes start to calm. She keeps her focus on my mouth, following the instructions I'm giving her. Now that I know I have her attention, I say, "Hey, wanna get out of here?"

"Yes," she croaks a little hoarsely.

"Can I touch you?"  She nods and releases her hands from her throat, holding them out to me. I take them slowly. She doesn't tense. I slide my hands up her arms, incrementally pulling her to me, enfolding her in an embrace. When she doesn't resist, but just goes limp against me, I bend slowly and pick her up, bridal style.

"Callie, thanks for your time, but this place is not a good fit for us. Can you show us to that VIP exit now, and call the concierge to have our driver bring our ride around?"

By the time we are on the elevator, Mac is returning to a calm state. She reaches up around my neck and hoists herself so that she can bury her face in my neck. "I'm so embarrassed," she whispers. "Put me down."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," I say softy. "And no. You say you don't ever want to be a bride, so I have to take my opportunities to carry you like one elsewhere," I tease her.

I know the joke was the right thing when her breath bursts softly against my neck in a soft laugh. I carry her all the way to the car, grateful for this paparazzi free entrance.

Quarter of an hour later, it's like her flashback never happened.  She is sipping water calmly, as I make a few quick adjustments to our day with texts to Soundcrush staff.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. She won't look at me, just at the water bottle. "I should have told you I was worried about going there. I used to have...nightmares about the hospital. For months after."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I mean it. I'm the one that is sorry. I feel like such a shit, pushing the hospital tour on her, when she told me she didn't want to have a hospital birth. Mac's PTSD is so well-managed most of the time, I didn't think about it being a potential trigger. Even after all that reading, all that research, everything Marley taught me, all the daily routine stuff we do to keep Mac on track...I didn't think.

"Thank you," she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. I wrap my fingers in hers and kiss the top of her pretty reddish-blonde head.

"Could you eat? Wanna get some lunch?" I ask lightly.

"Don't we have the interview to get to? And then the other tour at the birthing center?"

"Fuck the interview. We aren't doing that today. I already texted Marcy to cancel. About the birthing center..." I twist in the seat, bringing us face to face. Reluctantly, she meets my gaze. "I think we should scrap it, too. It's basically just the same kind of hospital setting, except with midwives instead of doctors, right?"

Mac's face pales. "Yeah, but Adam, are you sure, because..."

"I'm sure we're not having this baby anywhere that's going to cause you stress," I tell her. "So we'll have a home birth, if that's what you really want."

Her lips twitch twice wanting to smile, not quite sure. "I know you don't feel comfortable with that."

I shrug. "It's just not what I'm used to. I see now, I'll feel a whole lot more comfortable with whatever is best for you, Mac. Not what I thought in my mind is best...but what is actually best for you. As long as we are close to a hospital in case of an emergency, I...I'll get comfortable with it. I'm one hundred percent on board with you feeling confident and in control of having our baby.You are  the fiercest chick I know, and I know you have seen natural childbirth because of helping your mid-wiving mother, so if you're good with it, then I have absolutely no reason to worry about that part. If you know you can handle it, then I know you can handle it."

"Really?" She's full on smiling now, and it blows me away. I say a prayer of thanks that her flashbacks don't seem to linger in her psyche. Once she comes back to herself, she recovers her balance quickly.

"Yeah. Yay...home birth." I raise two thumbs up and she laughs at my lame joke. But then her laughter stops abruptly and a look of real concern comes over her face.

"Adam...where's home?" she asks, her light eyebrows crunched up adorably.

That's a damn good question.

Right now, the closest thing we have to a home together is the sleeping compartment of the tour bus where we have built a Madam nest, with Mac's favorite blankets, pillows, an air-diffuser, and my favorite blue-tooth speakers, my laptop, and an assortment of our favorite snacks squirreled away in the corners.

It used to be more a multi-use space where anybody in the SCIC went for a little needed privacy, but in the last few weeks we've taken it over. Mac naps there during the bus rides, and if I'm not riding my bike, I always join her. The guys give us the typical shit about having sex back there. They are calling it Madam's Spunkbunk and no one else even wants to use it now, just from the ick factor.

"I don't think the SpunkBunk would be good for labor—it's not even that comfortable for fucking." I tease her and she swats me. Actually we have had a couple of hot quickies back there...just not while in transit, not with SCIC lounging four feet away.

"I guess..." she bites her lip. I think she's going to be the one to say it—that we should move in together. But she doesn't. Instead, she says, "I guess we are still on Operation One Day At A Time. I think before we worry about where we are having the baby, we have to worry about where we are not having the baby—on tour, I mean. Matt's right, we have to tell the guys, soon."

I nod, trying not to be disappointed. She's right, we need to sort out the tour stuff before we can figure out where we'll be residing, next year. Besides, she just had a flashback. There's no way I'm going to press her about moving in with me now. It was part of my romantic LA plan, but that's busted.

I'm okay with that, but I'm not okay with her getting worked up about Matt's advice either. He was direct and his advice was probably spot on, but I don't want Mac focusing on his predictions—lawsuits and high expectations from the label for our redemption album. "But we are not thinking about that announcement today, Sweetheart. I just cleared our schedule, and we are on home turf here in LA, with the whole rest of the day off--it's not even noon yet. Let's just relax and recover, okay?"

"But," she frowns. "No matter where we going to have the baby, I have to start prenatal care. Like now. It's what's best for Babycakes," she says softly and she cups her lower belly protectively.

I shiver. That's the first time I've seen Mac make that instinctual maternal gesture. I've seen my sisters cradle their baby bellies hundreds of times, but its completely different with Mac.  Such a simple thing, but it runs all the way through me. This woman I love is growing our child. She feels it inside her, she says. She's protecting our baby, with her body, with her care, and love. I'm moved and strangely attracted by that.

"Hey," she says softly, and I glance up at her, realizing that my gaze was boring into her, almost like I was trying to put eyes on Babycakes. She shyly reaches for my hand, and places it on her stomach. "I know it's silly, I know you can't feel the baby yet, but...I like it when you put your hand here on us," her words are light and fast, like she's embarrassed to say them.

My beautiful angel, still so at odds when it comes to being protected, being shielded, being loved.

"It's not silly. Not at all," I assure her, and to prove it I shimmy into the corner of the seat and pull her back to my front, so that she's resting between my legs. Then I lightly place both my hands on her, practically covering her entire tiny abdomen, and she puts both of hers on top of mine, and sinks back against my chest with a sigh of contentment.

"So let's think about this," I say slowly. "You're nine weeks pregnant, but you are taking prenatal vitamins, you're taking care of yourself—getting rest, getting exercise, eating enough. You're doing everything you're supposed to do," I assure her. "I don't think a midwife is going to have you change one thing that you are doing. One of my sister's didn't even find out about one of her pregnancies until her first trimester was almost over—don't ask me how she missed that, I don't know-probably because she had three little kids running around and was too exhausted to notice. But the point is...she and the baby were totally healthy, because my sister was healthy...just like you.There's no pressure to find a midwife while we are here in LA for the next twenty-four hours. It can wait a week or so."

Mac laughs. "That's not what you said three weeks ago when you insisted we make these appointments."

"Yeah, well, that was uptight Preacher talking. I'm having a hippie growth moment here," I joke.

"Really, you are," she agrees. "This is the first time you haven't tried to buckle me into a seatbelt since we found out for sure I was pregnant."

"That's only because we are back in LA and I know this particular limo build—it's the fleet the label uses all the time. It doesn't have any seatbelts."

She laughs. We ride quietly a little while.

"What does it feel like?" I ask softly, patting her lower abdomen. "I mean earlier...you said you can feel the baby growing. I didn't realize that. I mean...that you could already feel it."

"Well, I just started to notice it this week. It's maybe not exactly the baby—not like moving or anything. But I can feel my body changing inside. I feel a...fullness, a heaviness down there. I'm constantly aware of the feeling now. I read that a non-pregnant uterus is about the same size and shape as an upside down pear. But right now my uterus has grown to about the size of a grapefruit."

"Is it...uncomfortable?" I ask a little hesitantly. Mac is so tiny, like a little sprite. I've seen my sisters—how big a baby gets. We're not talking grapefruit; we're talking bowling ball. I can't imagine what kind of burden that's going to be for Mac's small frame.

"No, not at all." Her voice is breathy, happy. She splays her fingers on top of mine and presses my hands down a little harder against her, arching her back and poking her belly out slightly. "Like that, just a little pressure, except from the inside. It feels...good. It feels like you touching me from the inside."

Fuck. I'm going to stop asking why it's hot, when she says shit like that.

It.Just.Is.

She twists to the side and slides her own hands to my chest, rubbing my abdomen firmly up and down. "Does it feel good, when I have my hands on you?"

"Mmmmmm, so fucking good. I've missed you this week," I assure her.

Her hands move lower, confirming that yes—I'm hard. I groan as she rubs me through my jeans, and before I can stop myself, my hand is sliding beneath her flouncy skirt, palming her bare ass, my fingers, crawling down her thong into her sex from the back side. She makes an excited little laugh and pulls my hand away.

"Slow your roll, cowboy," she says, "I'm not planning a dirty fuck in the limo."

"Liar," I say, "you know you want it," as my other hand slides down her tank top and inside the built in bra, and I feel her nipple harden instantly against my palm.

She moans sweetly as I roll the little peak between my fingers. "I do want it—want you. But I want you to make love to me," she whispers. "Make me forget about the way I felt at the hospital, okay? That's what I need."

I slide my hands slowly away from her body and push them very gently into her hair, lifting her face so that we can see each other. "You are saying no to the dirty fuck and asking me to make love to you? Who are you and what have you done with my Shortcake?"

"I'm having a hippie growth moment here," she grins, and she kisses me lightly on the lips as she slides away, scooting to the other end of the long seat.

"Hey, where you going?" I try to follow her, but she puts her heel on my chest, stopping me from getting up next to her. I look down at her foot, her pearly pink toenails peeping out the end of her strappy, glittery sandal, the arch of her foot in the shoe, the feel of that square heel pressing into the center of my chest as she tenses her calf...and I'm nearly fucking gone already. My dick swells to the point of physical pain.

"Wait," she says. "We'll never make it out to Calabasas if we keep touching each other like that."

"Fuck waiting," I growl. "I can make love to you here. I made love to you in the limo in New Orleans."

"No," she says softly.

"No?" I'm really having a hard time believing she means this. We are both horny as hell—we haven't had sex in a week.

"I want you to take me to bed, Adam. Your bed. I want you and me in your bed with our baby between us."

Fuuuckk.

MacKenna Lawson is going to be the death of me. I'm going to be the first man to bleed out from his junk spontaneously exploding. But at the same time she's torturing me, nothing has ever sounded better than waiting to get home. So that I can take her to bed and hopefully she'll feel it too—that we are home.

I slowly settle back against my end of the seat and let out a shaky breath. I look out the window and see that the driver has taken Ventura Boulevard. I know from the familiar landmarks were are twenty minutes out. I've waited more than two years for this—since I bought the damn place, with the dream that she would love it, and want to make it her home. I can wait twenty more minutes.

"Okay. You got it, Shortcake. Let's take it to the house."

She doesn't smile, and neither do I. We just stare at each other and burn.

Wow, so Adam did okay, helping Mac to manage her flashback, right? And looks like progress--at least they've made some decisons about how the baby will be born!  And...you know what comes next, right? An explicit cut/ radio edit scene.  Thought about how that's going to go down? Mac says make love...Adam is maybe more primed than we've seen him yet...how's it going to turn out?!?!??!