Chapter 78: Nice Guys Get Blindsided

Okay...let's see how this Marley fight goes down....

I feel like I Hate  You I Love You is a good song for the way Adam has been feeling since Mac left for LA...I think he finally gets a little honest with Mac about how much that hurt him...

Adam

My beautiful wife is coming down the front steps of the mansion dressed in the sweetest little cream colored baby doll dress I have ever seen. And a cowboy hat. See, Mac can front black leather all she wants, but at heart, she's country, just like me. My sweet Georgia Peach, with a streak of Emo Girl in her soul. God, I love her.

Trace is talking some bullshit about claiming our trailer to have a quickie with Kat, but he knows that's not gonna work...that trailer is Mac's domain to rest before the show.

"I'm calling dibs on that trailer, remember?" I tell him, as Mac reaches us.

"Who do you think you are going to be fucking, Preacher? A fangirl?" Mac says coolly, and I'm surprised at her tone. But I think she must be joking around because when I left her upstairs earlier, it was a good-bye of happy giggles as I knelt, parted the front of her robe, and said silly things to our baby in her naked belly.

Yeah, she must just be joking around, acting tough for Trace's benefit, so I pretend to growl back.

"That's a fucktastic attitude. What are you pissed about now, woman? We were good, just a goddamn hour ago..." I take her elbow to help her into the car, but she jerks it away, and squints at me.

To my complete surprise, her eyes are filled with tears. "Don't you fucking talk to me like that, dilhole!"

Whoa. Okay, I know what's happening here. This is pregnancy hormones. I've seen my sisters act like they have multiple personalities while pregnant. All the stress of her condition must finally be hitting her. Okay, tread lightly, Heartley. I can do this. I ease into the SUV, on the seat opposite her, while she ignores me, looking out the window.

Trace is about to climb in behind me, but I give him the wave off, hoping he reads my vibe to give us some privacy. He grins, mouths, "Poor bastard," and slams the door.

We sit in silence as the caravan moves out of the drive. When the tears actually spill over and Mac lets out a sob, suddenly everything spins for me. Oh fuck. She's not just irritated. Something more is going on. I drop to my knees in the space between us, and put my hands on her belly. "Shortcake? Everything okay? Talk to me? Tell me what's happening."

She pushes. "Get off your knees, Adam. The baby is fine. I feel fine. That's really all you care about, isn't it? The baby? You don't even love me, do you? We wouldn't even be together, if it weren't for the baby, would we?"

Ahhh. Okay. Back to my original theory. Pregnancy-induced insanity. I don't move from my spot in front of her, but I take my hands off her belly and put them on her knees.

"Mac, come on now. You know that's not true. I have loved you since the day I met you."

"Gooooodddd!!!!" She shoves me back against the other seat. "I hate you! How could you, Adam!?!?!! You couldn't just cut her loose, could you?!?! You have to wrap her all up in SCIC. Just admit it!!! You have feelings for her, don't you?!?! Just.Fucking.Tell.The.Truth!!!!" she yells, hitting me furiously, but harmlessly on the shoulder with each emphatic word.

I don't grab her hands, I just let her hit me as my brain struggles to make the connections in her seemingly senseless rant. It's not that hard for me to decipher angry Mac-Speak at this point.

Fuck. She's talking about Marley.

I hold up a placating hand. "Baby, are you talking about Marley? 'Cause if you are..."

"Of course I'm talking about her! I just met her in the goddamn kitchen, drinking coffee and leafing through a magazine as ballsy as fuck. Like she belongs here. I thought she was Kade's girlfriend. I made a fool of myself because you didn't even clue me that you were bringing your goddamn side-piece to the Vineyard to party."

I sigh. "Side-piece? Come on, baby. You know...that's not even remotely close to true..."

She shoves me hard. "I don't! In fact, I didn't even know that you were still talking to her on a regular basis, but obviously you are, because she knows everything about me, about our baby, that we might..." she sobs puts a hand over her mouth for a second, then reaches out and shoves me with it again, "that we might lose it. She knows about everything that happened in LA, with Dev and Dawes...goddammit, Adam! That is such a fucking betrayal that you would tell her about the most personal stuff going on in our lives! And you don't even bother to tell me she's here, or that she knows all that stuff!!! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? It makes me feel like you are lying to me about her! What else don't I know, Adam? Huh?"

I ease back up onto the seat across from her, partly to get away from her slaps and shoves, but also, to get away from her accusations, that sting sharper than her hands. Shit. I didn't think of it like that. Not at all. But I guess I can see why Mac is angry.

"There's nothing between Marley and I but cordial friendship, I swear. I've hardly talked to her in months, but I did fill her in on everything that was going on with you at the airport, when we landed. I asked her to come out here and break the news to the guys, because I figured she would be good at it, and keep them talking instead reacting. That's all. I'm sorry I didn't tell you she was here, I realize now that was not cool. At all. But I swear, it wasn't intentional. I just sort of...forgot about her. Because my priority is you. Honestly."

"You are a fucking liar! That is not all and you know it. You're lying to me right now! I know your plan, Adam!"

I hold my hands up. "I swear I'm not lying!" She knows, she says. Knows what? I rack my brain trying to think what she might mean, what she might have misunderstood...oh, shit. The match-making thing?

"Okay, there is one more thing, so small, it's not even a thing...I had in mind to set her up with Dr. Kade, but it looked like they were getting along on their own..."

I literally jump as Mac screams, "Liar! I know you told Bodie to fangirl her! Why would you do that except to keep her around? Or maybe hear about how it was to fuck her, first-hand? That's fucking sick, Adam! What is wrong with you?"

"Okay that would be sick, if I had done that, but no. Fuck, no. I didn't tell Bodie to fangirl her," I protest. "That's...crazy. They don't even like each other."

"Adam stop lying!" Mac says through gritted teeth.

Okay, now I'm starting to get a little pissed. It's one thing for Mac to be upset that I didn't tell her Marley was at the house, but I don't think I deserve this abuse. I am not a liar. I don't lie to Mac. I can't ever think of a time I have deliberately lied to her.

"Listen to me, MacKenna," I say a little sternly. "I am not lying. Number one, I don't lie to you. Ever. Number two, I think Bodie hooking up with Marley is a terrible idea, so I would never have told him that."

Mac stares at me, blinking through her tears. She laughs, bitterly. She keeps laughing. "Goddamn, you're not a liar, you're just a drunk. You don't remember telling him to do exactly that, do you?"

A hazy warning pings in my memory from the night before last. I remember watching Bodie walk Marley to the door. I remember asking him about how they had become so chummy. We were talking about what he thought about Marley, weren't we? Shit, did I say something like that? Did we joke around about her or something? I was so wasted, I don't remember half of what happened after Riley threw the bong against the fireplace.

"Okay, I'll admit, my memory's a little hazy, and Bodie did see Marley out the other night, and we may talked about her for thirty seconds or something. But maybe he misunderstood what I said. So whatever he said to you..."

"Don't you get it, Adam? It's not what he said. It's what he did. He fucked her last night—or just about. That's why she was here this morning. And they just had a big awkward morning after and I told her off and she flipped out and now she's gone and good riddance!! I don't ever want you to bring her around again!!"

The words coming out of Mac's mouth don't even make sense. "What?"

"You heard me!"

"Marley slept with Bodie?" I repeat. "No. No way. She wouldn't...Owwww!"

Mac has just slung her large, heavy leather bag right up side my head. "Oh my fucking god! You think your fangirl is that loyal? That she's holding out for you? We'll I've got news, Adam, apparently Marley will use any rock star to scratch her itch! From what Bodie said, it sounded like she got hers and then cut out on him without returning the favor!"

She pulls her purse back by the strap to sling it at me again but I snatch it from her. "Fucking stop with the hitting! Look, you need to calm the fuck down, okay? This isn't good for the baby..."

"Shut Up, Adam! Just shut the fuck up! You're so worried about the baby! And Marley! But what about me?"

I'm losing my own temper now. "What about you, Mac? Jesus Christ, I'm only living every moment of my goddamn life for you! We said 'I do' and I'm not even me anymore. I'm we. Madam and Babycakes. That's all I am anymore!"

"So is that why you brought Marley here? To remember what it's like to be Adam Heartley, Rock Star? To boost your ego?"

Fucking Christ, she's taking everything I say all wrong, and twisting it to justify her anger.

"Goddammit Mac! Listen to me! I love you. Marley is my friend, that's all! I'm sorry I was inconsiderate and didn't make sure you were cool with her hanging at the house, but it nothing more than fucking oversight because all I can think about is you! You are blowing this way the fuck up! What did you even mean you told her off? What did you do? You can't go batshit crazy on a nice girl like that. She's normal."

The way Mac's face goes pale so fast almost scares me. For a second I think she's going to faint or something. Then she starts sobbing, and I realize, I have really fucked up now. I try to rewind my words, because honestly I'm so wound up I don't even remember the last fucking thing out of my mouth.

What did you even mean you told her off? What did you do? You can't just go batshit crazy on a nice girl like that. She's normal.

"Shit. Mac, I'd didn't mean you aren't nice and normal. I just meant...you're used to hanging with guys, and kind of rough guys at that, and you're fucking amazing and fierce and I love that about you, but you aren't like most girls...and I wouldn't want you to be..."

She's not listening. She's just crying into her hands.

"Mac..." I say in exasperation, leaning forward, reaching for her knee. She scoots into the corner of her seat and pulls up her knees, crying even harder. "Shortcake, I am so fucking sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded. You are the most amazing woman in the whole world to me. This is crazy. I love you. I want you. I don't want to fight with you about Marley, of all damn things. Please stop crying.I love you, do you hear me?"

Her head pops up suddenly, her face red, her mascara streaming. "Prove it."

I hold my hands up in futility. "I try. Every day, baby. I try. So fucking hard. What more can I do?"

"Call Marley. Right now. Tell her she's done with Soundcrush. Tell her you're blocking her number and she's never to come around any of us again."

I swallow hard. Mac is not thinking right. She knows I can't do that. Marley is Trace's counselor. She's my friend. And apparently she had a crazy night with Bodie so who the hell knows what is going on there? I can't just call her up, speak for the whole of Soundcrush and ditch her. And if I'm being honest, I don't think Mac should get to deliver a damn ultimatum like this. This doesn't seem like love; it seems like emotional blackmail.

"If I asked you to do the same thing to Dev—"

"That's not the same."

I cock my head, resentment creeping into my voice. "That's fucking true, it's not the same. It's obvious Dev is attracted to you, and I've never gotten that vibe from Marley. Plus Dev's had his hands all over your half naked body, dancing with you, pretending to marry you, kissing you in private, taking your clothes off, playing your rescuer, kicking the shit out of Dawes on your behalf. I'd say if anybody's been crushing on anybody in our 'friend scenario,' it's been Dev crushing on you. And yet you plan to work with him again, despite his crush and the fact that he's now triggered you twice. And I haven't said shit about it, because I trust you. I trust you to know what you can handle, and I trust you to make sure nothing goes sideways with his little crush. So maybe you shouldn't be such a hypocrite, Mac."

I can feel this slipping into the kind of fights we used to have...the kind where neither one of us will back down until we hit a wall. Mac sucks in a huge breathe, gearing to up to return fire.

"Hypocrite? Let me tell you something, Adam. It's not the same because I have been totally upfront with you about every interaction I have with Dev, and I never know when you are sneaking off to chat up Marley. And I told Dev straight up, if he ever hit on me, that would be the end of our working relationship. I wouldn't give it a second thought. But Marley? You softshell her and lead her on. I spent five minutes with her and I know—that girl is all-over the place. I don't know what's wrong with her but it's like she just ping-pongs from anyone that will give her attention—you, Kade, Bodie. It's not that I don't trust you...it's that I don't trust her. You want an ultimatum? How about this—if you ever disrespect me by bringing Marley around me again, we are done! Do you hear me? Over! You can take this goddamn ring back and go sit in your Nashville mansion alone and wonder what the fuck my baby and I are doing—without you!"

Heat flares through me. Now she's really gone too far. "That's just fucking great, Mac! Real mature! How could fucking say that shit? Threaten to leave me? Threaten me with our kid? What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't act like that anymore! We are married!"

"It's not even real!" Her words burst with pain and hurt, but they hit me cold.

"Not real," I whisper. I'm staring at her, hardly even recognizing her beneath her hateful vengeance. "Not real," I repeat. I nod woodenly and look out the window. The cold spreads through me, and the words I spew harden into a conviction."You're probably right. There's no license. Our marriage isn't legally valid. I thought we were married in the presence of God, but you know what? I'm not even sure He exists, so it was probably just some words we said, not a covenant we made. We can always walk it back, if you want."

She starts to whimper quietly again, but I can't comfort her, because I can't summon the strength. I honestly don't know what the fuck I am doing. She's right. We got married in a fever and literally since the day after we made those promises to each other, we've been tested over and over again. Would a loving God accept our vows and then allow all these cruel circumstances to pull us apart, immediately and over and over again? We're failing, and I don't know how to win at this alone, and I don't feel a damn bit of help from above.

We don't speak the rest of the ride. She shuts the door to the Soundcrush trailer in my face, and I wander the festival grounds alone. I'm sorely tempted to get drunk. Maybe it's only the knowledge that we have to play tonight that keeps me drinking water instead. I make sure not to return to the trailer to dress for the show until I see Leed and Bodie go in ahead of me, because I won't make her cry again, not when she has to be onstage in an hour. To my relief, she seems composed and is doing a halfway decent job of bullshitting with the guys.

Our set is amazing. Scary how fucking good we can play when all five of us are stretched tight and pushing our negative emotions into our hard-edged music. After the show, I follow Mac back to the trailer, and she allows me in as the new stylist takes off her stage make-up.

The show has burned off our anger, and left...nothing in its place.

She speaks to me in dull tones, telling me she's tired and she doesn't want to stay for the last band, but that I can stay if I want. I tell her, I really can't, I belong with her, but the words sound flat to both of us. We leave the others at the festival and return to the house. She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. We shower separately.

After, we speak more monotonous words about our travel plans for tomorrow, and then she asks me to turn out the lights. I guess this is what married fighting is like—we are just going to ignore the elephant in the room and go to bed...what? Angry? Sad? Desperate to fix this, but too weary to try?

The cold war continues all the way to Nashville, although we speak a little about small things. She thanks me for hiring a private jet. I don't tell that after what happened before, there's no way I am letting her fly commercial again—not even first class. I can't imagine how awful it would have been for her to go through what she went through on our last flight with a cramped plane full of people trying to get a picture of her crying and speculating about what might be wrong. No, that is one problem, I can easily fix—I'm leasing a private jet, at least for the rest of her pregnancy.

We eat lunch on the plane. We talk about the food, like old people. She comments that the baby is moving a lot. I tell her that's good. I tell her my parents are planning a full family dinner tonight but she can always bow out with the excuse of needing rest. I see hurt in her eyes when I say that, and I feel guilty. Again. I didn't mean I didn't want her there, but I guess that's the way she took it. I don't try to fix that mistake, because I don't want to argue in front of Penelope, who is with us to facilitate the nutritionist interviews.

Our schedule is crazy tight like always. We go straight to the specialist.

The news we receive there is exactly the same diagnosis that Dr. Michaelson gave us. Subchorionic hematoma. I take MacKenna's hand as we watch our daughter on the ultrasound and hear the same statistics—one third of fetuses don't survive to twenty weeks in the presence of a hematoma.

Then, things improve a little. This doctor is highly optimistic, and tells us that the sobering statistic is skewed due to early miscarriages in the first trimester, and that at fifteen weeks, MacKenna's odds of continuing the pregnancy are certainly already way better than that. He tells her every day that her pregnancy progresses normally, is bringing that scary sounding number to one chance in a hundred that something will go wrong. He says he sees no reason for us not to proceed with the belief that we will be delivering a healthy, beautiful baby girl in February.

MacKenna smiles for the first time since yesterday morning. I try to mimic her happiness, but the harsh words from yesterday hollowed me, and I have no where to sink this good news. It's just rattling around inside me, I can't really feel it.

When we leave the doctor's office, we are less tense on the ride out to the farm. Reluctantly, I clear my throat. "We should probably talk things out, don't you think?"

She looks at me with her Killer face. "I refuse to fight about your fucking fangirl anymore. I told you what I need from you. When you get ready to accept it, you can let me know."

"Look, as far as I'm concerned there's no reason to ever bring Marley around again. We aren't that kind of friends, and I never had any intention of making her SCIC. But I can't speak for Trace or Bodie's dealings with her. That wasn't what I was talking about anyway."

"Fine. Did you mean what you said? That we can just...take it back? Our marriage?"

"Did you mean it when you said it wasn't real?" I counter.

"Honestly? I don't know. I thought it was real. But then, yesterday felt like the first time we were in real trouble...and it was the first thing I thought...that it would be so easy to walk away. Take a break. Make a new plan. A new set of rules. Whatever."

I nod, "Yeah, I get that. But the problem is... I think maybe...I felt like we were in trouble the day after we stood up and said those things to each other, as soon as you decided to go to LA. I think I've been questioning what's real the whole time."

She still has her killer face on. "So what are we saying? That we aren't married?"

I shrug. "Goddamn, I don't know, MacKenna. I really don't. I just know I love you like crazy, but our life is nothing but crazy, and I don't want to raise a kid in the middle of a fight that never ends."

She looks at her hands, fingering her diamond, that's really an engagement ring, not a wedding ring. "I always knew you were coming home, you know. I always knew you'd get tired of the crazy, hippie, nomad, rock-star life and come back to Nashville and live the straight life, with a perfect wife and perfect family and peaceful existence. I'm...I'm sorry I robbed you of that. I guess I'm...selfish...for loving you."

I shook my head. "This is on me. I've made so many mistakes, MacKenna. I think...my karma is killing us."

"So what do you want to do?" she whispers.

I shake my head, helplessly. "Don't know. Can we just try to get through this family dinner and sleep on it, maybe? Maybe things will look differently tomorrow."

She nods, "Okay, I can do that." She smiles brightly at the brace of nieces and nephews that are running down the long drive to meet our car. "Put on your nice guy face, okay, Adam?"

So I do. Between my crooked grin and MacKenna's perfect smile, we manage to fool everyone. Or so I thought.

We've barely accomplished dinner before my sisters have lined laptops up on the coffee table in the living room and have Mac in there to start making boards for all the rooms in our rapidly rising house that neither of us are now sure we will live in. Mac's a pro, though—she puts the emotions aside and gets to the important matters—paint colors and floor stains. She's never decorated a house, but she's decisive and somehow really talented at grouping the design elements. Within half an hour, she's gone from Pinterest boards to designing custom furniture with a representative on some high end furniture website.

I shake my head in admiration. She's incredible. She's going to make the best kind of mom—relentless in her energy, fierce, able to put aside her emotions and get down to business. I don't why we can't seem to find the right balance between us, because I truly believe she's the most amazing woman I've ever met. But maybe I'm just not man enough to match her.

"Walk with me," my dad says, making me jump where I stand in the doorway, watching Mac with my sisters. He makes a pitstop at the buffet in the dining room and pours whiskey, but I stop him from pouring me one. He raises his eyebrows.

I shrug. "It's been a tough month, with Mac in LA. Turns out, whiskey is not a lonely man's friend. More like his enemy."

He chuckles. "Very true and very wise, son. Can I use that in a sermon?"

I laugh bitterly. "Sure, why not?"

We walk in the twilight down the path to the nearest nearest field, which is little more than a huge multi-family garden. My dad surveys the rows of beans, cucumbers and beet plants.

"Be time to put in some cabbage and collards soon. Did I tell you we put in pumpkins this year, and we're doing one of those computerized corn maze designs? The girls thought it would be fun to get up a Fall Festival for the community, now that most of the grandkids are getting on up and we all have the time to manage it. We're going to have bands and games and bonfires and food vendors. I know you'll still be on tour through the fall, but it might be fun for you and MacKenna to make a visit while it's running, if you can..."

"Sounds like a great plan, and a lot of fun." I reply vaguely. "Not sure we will..." my voice cracks. "Not sure if we are gonna make it, Dad."

"Adam," my Dad doesn't say anymore than my name, but he asks volumes. He clearly heard the double meaning in my words.

"It's been a tough month," I repeat. "We're struggling, okay?"

"I know, Son. It's obvious in your eyes." He says quietly. "You wanna talk about it?"

I put my hands in my pockets, kick the dirt a little, then meet his eyes. "Dad, I'm not sure it will do any good. I know what a good marriage looks like. You and Mom, Luke and Alex, Ty and Brett, hell even Peyton and Janie, you guys have all shown me by example. But the problem is...it's not an example I can follow. I don't get to live this kind of life..." I gesture around the farm. "When Mac and I were here last month, decided build that house, and we said those vows...it was like, we got caught up in a fantasy. But now we're back in our real world—and Mac and I have another family over there. And I don't know how to be a good husband and a father over there...in that world. I'm trying, but...what I know from this world...it's not working for us. Our life is full of things you wouldn't understand. Things I can't even make any sense of, and I thought I was managing it all ok, before Mac and the baby. Now, I'm failing. I'm failing MacKenna and I'm failing my daughter before she's even born. Yesterday, we both came to the epiphany that maybe...maybe this fight we are fighting isn't really real. Maybe our marriage isn't real."

My dad nods, "Everything you say makes perfect sense. You're right. I don't know what you are going through, Son. I know your experiences and your beliefs are not my experiences and beliefs. I don't know if you are actually failing Mac and your baby, or just suffering a crisis of belief. And you're right—your marriage is not legally sanctioned, and even some liturgical people might argue that it's not real—they might say that God sanctifies a covenant through the laws of man. I honestly don't know or care if you are Biblically married, but I do know God was present when you pledged yourselves to one another. And I know that you love that young woman you're making a baby with, and I feel assured by both your doctors and by God that your daughter is going to be born healthy and whole. So you can decide that the vows you said weren't a real marriage and walk away, but you will still be tied to Mac and your daughter for life. What you really have to decide is this: do you want to be tied to them in joy, or in regret? Because I think you still have time to find joy, but I think you will regret it for the rest of your life, if you give up now, this easily."

I close my eyes, the last rays of sunlight fading, the backs of my eyelids swirling down into darkening shades as I think about what my dad has said. "Fuck, why are you always right?"

"I'm not," he assures me. "I'm just right about this. Come on back to the house. Just try for a little normal tonight. A little more tomorrow. One day at a time, Son."

I take his advice and join my sisters and Mac, weighing in my opinions on the decorating. Mac is quiet; she lets my sisters heap the abuse on me for my opinions. Brett keeps shooting me sympathetic smiles...I guess she also reads our tension but assumes it's because of the worry over the baby.

We go to bed like last night. With flat words. I hold her silently for a little in the dark, but after a while she turns away and I just lie there on my back staring at the ceiling. This is crazy. My thoughts are crazy. Why am I thinking that it feels like we are breaking up? After one big fight? What the fuck is wrong with me? With us?

I have prayed so many times in this room. Rote prayers my mother taught me, with a child's voice. Prayed for stupid stuff, like a new X-box or a good grade. Prayed gratitudes for my family, for our prosperity, for girlfriends, hell even for Soundcrush's early successes. Prayed in earnest for friends in crisis, for my sisters in labor, for nieces and nephews in the ER.

I don't know if I have ever prayed for help, here in this room.

"God," I think, not even sure if he's there, or if he's there, not sure if he cares for a sinner like me, "God," I repeat, "I need some help here. I don't even know what kind. I just need a sign, or a moment of inspiration, or a maybe just a fucking break. Please. Help me. For Mac's sake. For my daughter's sake. Please help me out...show me which way to go. In your name I pray, Amen."

When I wake in the morning, the bright sunlight hitting my face tells me I have slept far past the normal expectation of the Heartley Farm household, and I know right away, something else is not quite right, either. I reach to my left—Mac is not there. But even before I open my eyes, I feel a presence in the room. I open my eyes, and for a moment, in the blurriness of first sight, I have a sense of deja-vu. Trace is here, sitting on my dresser, just like he was a month ago—the night he crawled out my window and took my boat for a joy-ride.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.

"I hear you are fucking up, Heartley."

I blink rapidly, my vision resolving in the same second I realize that's not Trace's voice.

I sit up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Matt del Marco runs a hand through his spiky gray hair, sips coffee out of my grandmother's china and grins. "I would think it would be obvious. I'm here to stomp all the bullshit angst out of you. This is a Newbie Rock Star Daddy Training Day."

Holy shit. Maybe there is a god, after all.

I don't know about you guys, but I feel a lot better knowing Matt del Marco is on the scene to stage a one-man intervention with Adam. Thoughts?