Forever Family (Forever #5) Page 2

  Corabelle shook her head. “Not if your water broke.”

  She was right. “Is it too soon?” I thought of Corabelle’s baby, born so early. He hadn’t made it, and died on his seventh day. Panic flooded me.

  “You’re fine,” she said. “Finn had a heart condition, remember? That’s why he died, not being premature.”

  But her eyes didn’t match her words. She was scared.

  “Come this way,” Todd said, leading us away from the stage. He still held on to the guard’s radio. We took small steps toward the back hallway, where the dressing rooms were. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more, a sofa or an ambulance.

  The guard followed us. “They always have EMTs at the arena for things like this,” he said. “They are coming down.”

  But suddenly I felt fine, like really fine. I straightened my back, checked for cramps, pain, weirdness.

  Nothing. The baby elbowed my belly as if to say, “Get over it.”

  Now I was embarrassed.

  “I think I’m okay,” I said. “Maybe it was something else?”

  Todd stopped in his tracks. “Is this one of those false alarms? My brother’s wife dragged him to the hospital three times before she finally popped out my nephew.”

  “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and check things?” Corabelle said. “Be sure.”

  I nodded as Todd opened the door to Chance’s dressing room. It was small and empty, the holding area for the low men on the concert totem pole.

  But it had a bathroom. I headed for it, pushing inside. I felt silly. Maybe I really had just peed myself.

  I went inside and stared at myself in the mirror below the hot overhead lights, my face pale and washed out. The dull brown of my natural hair color showed through the pink chalk I’d been applying to cover the roots, since I couldn’t dye my hair anymore.

  My mascara-heavy lashes were garish and sad. I’d bitten off my lipstick, leaving the plum liner standing out around the edges, like a coloring-book mouth nobody had bothered to fill in.

  I looked like a tabloid train wreck.

  And I’d peed myself.

  I turned on the water and wet a paper towel, fixing the smudges of black beneath my eyes. Then I wet some more to take with me into the bathroom for the cleanup.

  Maybe I would have to wear adult diapers.

  I could borrow from the baby.

  Tears sprang in my eyes at the thought. Nobody said pregnancy would be like this. Out in the arena, scantily clad girls were clamoring for Chance’s attention.

  And I was a pee-soaked, bad-haired, pale-faced washout.

  The toilet was inside a little stall even though it was the only one. I pushed the door inside and turned around to lift the long skirt. This was so awful. The lowest of lows.

  I had just reached for my panties, soaked in all the wrong ways, when the next contraction hit. I cried out, gripping the sides of the stall.

  The fullness hit me again, and I realized — that’s the baby.

  The baby was coming.

  “Corabelle!” I screamed.

  She came instantly, crashing through the door. “Jenny?”

  “Where are the EMTs?” My voice was starting to go, lost in the huffy breathing.

  “They’re out here. Waiting for you.” She took my hand. “Can you walk at all?”

  I forced my foot to take a step forward. It obeyed. I clutched at Corabelle, hanging on to her arm like a lifeline. We made a few more mincing steps toward the door.

  “You’re seven minutes apart,” she said. “That’s not too bad. You’ll make it.”

  I nodded, glad somebody knew what they were doing. We made it to the door and passed back into the main room. A man and a woman in navy uniforms were waiting, already wearing latex gloves. Behind them was a rolling stretcher. It looked like heaven.

  I fixated on their hands in the beige rubber, imagining my baby getting caught by them. This calmed me, knowing they were prepped and ready. I had a place to lie down. They would take me where I needed to go. It would be okay.

  I felt remarkably calm.

  “How far along are you?” the man asked.

  “She’s thirty-five weeks,” Corabelle said. “Her water broke.”

  The man turned to me. “Let’s get you up on the stretcher,” he said. “We’re going to need to transport you.”

  Suddenly my calm snapped. “No!” I shouted. “Not without Chance!”

  “A chance for what?” the woman asked. She had come around to my other side and the two of them were leading me to the stretcher.

  I planted my feet. “My fiancé! I want him!”

  “Where is he?” the man asked.

  Todd stepped forward. “He’s onstage. I’ve already ordered the crew to end his show.”

  The contraction started to ease and I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees. “Thank you,” I told Todd. “Thank you so much.”

  He patted my back. “You’re going to be fine.”

  But Corabelle was in a fury. “Do you not realize the situation we’re in? This baby is NOT DUE. We have a PREMATURE INFANT. Get up there!” She pushed me toward the stretcher.

  I dug in. I’d never seen her face so red, but I was not about to leave without Chance. “Back off, Cora,” I said. “Chance is coming with me.”

  “Let’s get you ready to go,” the male EMT said. “We won’t leave until you say so.”

  I didn’t trust any of them. I backed away, shaking my arms to get myself loose. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me. I can refuse transport. I know how this works.”

  “Ma’am, you do not want to have a baby in a concert arena,” the male EMT said. “Let’s get you up. We’ll collect your husband.”

  Oh my God. He wasn’t my husband. Not yet.

  “We have to get married!” I said. “Now!”

  “You’re in labor!” Corabelle said. “There’s no time for that!”

  The contraction was long gone, so I flailed like Kermit the Frog. “Like hell this baby is coming before I have a marriage certificate!”

  Corabelle’s face was bright red now. “I really think you need to focus on the baby.”

  “I really think you need to back off!” I was being mean and confrontational, but God, the pain. Even with the contraction gone, my back was killing me. My whole body was revolting against the onslaught of unfamiliar muscle clenching.

  Todd whipped around to us, the radio to his cheek. “Chance is on his way. They cut the set short.”

  “Will you get on the stretcher now?” Corabelle asked.

  I didn’t think I had a choice. The pain rolled through me like a tsunami, taking all my strength with it. I listed forward and the two EMTs caught me in their expert arms, lifting me up and onto the gurney.

  Lying down was bliss, pure bliss. With no contraction, and no need to stand, everything collapsed inward. I actually fought sleep for a second, like I was passing out.

  The EMT strapped a blood pressure cuff to my arm. I stared at the white rectangles on the ceiling. I realized for the first time that the concert noise had stopped and piped-in music had taken over. Chance would be here any second.

  As if on cue, the door slammed open, smashing against the wall. “Jenny!” Chance shouted, careening across the room to lunge against the stretcher. “What happened?”

  “I think I got a little too excited,” I said.

  “She’s in labor,” Corabelle said. “Seven minutes apart.”

  His beautiful eyebrows shot up. I stared at him like he was a mirage. Everything seemed fuzzy on the edges.

  “Blood pressure is 180 over 115,” the male EMT said. “That’s high. Let’s get her out the door.”

  The stretcher began to roll. I kept my gaze on Chance, jogging alongside us. An earbud was still clipped to his back collar. I reached for it, but my arm was rubbery. I was so tired. I bumped along as they wheeled me down the empty backstage hallway.

  But the minute we pushed out the back door and into the cool eveni
ng air, I was revived. All the color flooded back and the hard edges returned and I realized — I’M HAVING A BABY AND NOT A WEDDING.

  I tried to sit up and realized I was strapped to the gurney. “Stop!” I shouted. “I’m not having this baby today!”

  “Darling, I don’t think you have a say in the matter,” Chance said.

  We continued rolling toward the boxy yellow and blue EMT vehicle.

  “No!” I said again, trying to find the buckles that held the straps in place. “I’m getting married first!”

  “Jenny,” Chance said, taking my hand to stop me from unlatching myself. “We didn’t exactly do things the old-fashioned way. We’ll have the wedding.”

  “Nooo,” I said, imploring him with my eyes. “I know what happens in there. They’ll put my last name on the baby’s crib. For our whole lives, those pictures and documents will show that he was a Gillespie first and a McKenzie second.”

  I didn’t cry much, but tears definitely spilled out of my eyes then. I meant it. I should never have waited so late to have the ceremony, but Chance and I had barely met when I got pregnant. We weren’t sure about the marriage part until a couple months ago. I’d done things as fast as I could.

  “Can you call the JP we hired?” I asked Chance. “See if he can come now?” We’d arrived at the ambulance and the EMTs were opening the doors.

  Chance’s face was genuinely pained. “Jenny, he’s doing that other wedding tonight. Remember? He told us about it.”

  More tears spilled out. “Then I’m not going anywhere,” I said stubbornly. “I’m not getting in the ambulance until we have somebody to marry us.”

  Todd caught up with us, still holding the stolen security radio. “Dylan’s ordained. Remember how he married that Kardashian?”

  I grabbed Chance’s collar. “Get Dylan. NOW. We already have our license. We just need someone to do it.”

  Todd and Chance looked at each other.

  “What are you waiting for?!” I didn’t intend to end the sentence with a scream, but another contraction hit me mid-sentence, and I howled like a strangled cat. The EMTs froze in place.

  Todd almost dropped the radio, but he buzzed through. Chance took my hand and tried to lead me through the breathing exercises we’d done in our birth preparation course. I elbowed him in the chest. “Stop it,” I wheezed. “Just stop it!”

  His face registered panic as he looked up at Corabelle. She shrugged. “It’s not like the classes,” she said.

  I kept Chance’s hand in a death grip. I knew this sucker would end eventually. Then we could get Dylan down here and do the words. He could sign the paper later. It would work. By the time it mattered what was filed where, we’d have it all squared away.

  I turned back to Corabelle. “Call my mother. She’ll get there when she can.”

  “Shall we put you inside now, ma’am?” the male EMT asked.

  “No!” I said. “Not…until…we have…Dylan!”

  The lights over the back parking lot had a haze over them. The pain was intense but the cool air helped. Maybe I’d just have the baby out here.

  But he was early. Or she was. God, I would find out what we were having!

  “Dylan’s coming,” Todd said. “The Titanium Overlords are going to extend their set to cover for him.”

  “NOW can we put you inside?” the female EMT asked.

  I nodded, trying to breathe, trying to listen, and trying to stay in control of the situation.

  This might be my finest hour.

  The contraction began to settle as the EMTs slid the gurney into the back of the ambulance. Corabelle stayed down, her eyes wide, and I knew she was thinking about when she last rode in one, after almost drowning in the Pacific. Gavin had pulled her from the waves. What a day that had been.

  Chance got in beside me.

  “Come on,” I said to Corabelle. “I need my witness!”

  She climbed inside.

  We heard footsteps approaching, then Dylan’s face appeared in the door. “Hot damn,” he said. “I always wanted to be part of an emergency wedding during the birth of a baby!”

  “Get your ass in here,” Chance said. “Jenny won’t go to the hospital unless we’re married.”

  Dylan hopped inside, glammed up for his concert. Behind him, a roadie with a video camera squeezed in.

  “This is too many people for the capacity of this vehicle,” the female EMT said sternly.

  I tried to sit up again. “Then I’m not going.”

  “I’ll get out,” Corabelle said.

  “No!” I glared at the EMT. “Kick yourself out if someone needs to go.”

  Chance waved to the male EMT, who was still standing outside. “Just go,” he said. “It’s only a few miles.”

  The female EMT tried to push forward, but the video camera guy aimed his lens at her. “Smile, you’re about to be the most hated figure in a viral video!”

  She hesitated. “I don’t get paid enough for this,” she said.

  “We’ll make sure you get a hefty Christmas check,” Dylan said. He winked at the male EMT, who still waited on the ground outside the door.

  “We good?” the EMT asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but shut the door.

  “How are you going to get back?” Chance asked.

  “Todd’s following in his car,” Dylan said. “We got it all taken care of.” He grinned down at me like I was the best thing ever.

  “Can we get more lights in this place?” the video guy asked.

  The female EMT glared at him, and he shrank back. “I’m all good,” he said.

  Despite the ongoing pain, I felt elated. We were going to get this done. I wrapped both my hands around Chance’s.

  “You know what the hell you’re doing?” Chance asked Dylan.

  “It ain’t rocket science,” Dylan replied.

  The video guy shifted toward Dylan and turned on a long, narrow light over the lens. “And…go,” he said.

  Dylan’s face got all serious. “Mawwaige,” he said. “Mawwaige is what bwings us together today.”

  Corabelle groaned, but I laughed. If we had to get married in an ambulance, between contractions, by a rock star who’d only been ordained so he could hook up a Kardashian, we might as well have a good time with it.

  Chapter 3: Tina

  When I got the text from Corabelle that Jenny was getting married in an ambulance by the singer Dylan Wolf, I dropped my phone.

  Darion looked up from his sketch pad. “Everything okay?”

  “We have to go!” I told him.

  I stuck the caps on all the open tubes of paint and rubbed my messy hands on my shirt. New stripes of color layered over all the splotches and spatters from other days.

  Darion set down his charcoal. “What’s going on?”

  I lunged for my tennis shoes. “Jenny is in labor and getting married in an ambulance. If we can get to the intersection of Balboa and Clairemont in five minutes, we might catch them.”

  Darion stood up and tossed me a towel. I wiped my hands hastily and dug through the bowl by the door for my set of keys.

  We raced down the hall, not bothering with the elevator. We took the stairs two and three at a time to get to the garage.

  “Was that the spare car keys you grabbed?” he asked as we darted between cars, looking for his black Mercedes.

  “Of course! No way was I going to wait on the valet!” Dang fancy condo and its snaillike doormen.

  We spotted the car and dashed for it. Only when Darion was behind the wheel and heading out the exit did he ask, “Is the baby okay?”

  “Corabelle didn’t say. But she isn’t due for over a month.”

  “That’s premature, but not enough to cause serious issues, as long as the baby is healthy,” Darion said. “Why the wedding?”

  “Beats me. They only decided to get married a couple months ago.”

  We sped down a back street. The night was quiet in our residential neighborhood, but traffic picked up as soon
as we headed into the Saturday evening nightlife.

  Another text came through from Corabelle. I read it and told Darion, “They already passed through the light at Genesee. We should see them any minute.”

  “They’re going to St. Anthony’s, then?” Darion asked. “We could meet them there.”

  “She wants me to be a witness and they’ll be married before we get there,” I said. I peered out the window as we approached the intersection.

  “Are they in lights and siren?” Darion asked.

  “I see lights!” I said, pointing.

  “Got it,” Darion said. He careened across two lanes to swing into the small parking lot of a gas station.

  We leaped from the car and took off down the middle of the street toward the whirl of lights. The vehicle didn’t seem to be slowing down.

  “You sure this is the right ambulance?” Darion yelled as we approached.

  “We’re going to look pretty crazy if it isn’t!” I said.

  The ambulance passed us, lights flashing, but no sirens. We stopped in the middle of the street, watching it go by. “They’re not supposed to stop,” Darion said. “They could get in a lot of trouble if they do.”

  But even as he said it, the brake lights lit up. When it came to a stop, the back door popped open and none other than Dylan Wolf appeared. “Come on in, the party’s just getting started!”

  I rushed up to the bumper and took Dylan’s hand to get a leg up. I immediately bumped against the back of the stretcher where Jenny was strapped in. She was panting, her hair leaving pink chalk on the white pillow.

  “We’re having a contraction break in the ceremony,” Dylan said.

  “You can’t let anyone else in here!” a woman in an EMT uniform protested from her tight space in the corner.

  A cameraman was filming it all, a light shining over his lens. Chance held on to Jenny’s hand, telling her to breathe.

  Corabelle kneeled on the floor close to Chance.

  I squished myself along the side with the evil EMT, past the cameraman.

  “This is crazy,” I said to Jenny.

  She flashed a pained smile.