Rocked Up

And yes, I am getting ahead of myself. For all I know, Brad won’t want anything to do with the baby or me.

Then again, I can’t imagine Brad being like that. I might scare him off and he might have never planned to be with me beyond all this sneaking around on the tour, but he’s not the type of guy to just leave a woman when she’s pregnant. He’s had that growing up – he will do the right thing.

But there’s a huge difference between the right thing and the thing that I want.

And the thing that I want is Brad.

And the baby.

I shake my head, trying to come to terms with how quickly my life has changed.

Thank god I’m pretty good at swinging with the punches.





Chapter Seventeen





Brad




It’s rare I see snow and I can’t remember ever seeing it fall so heavily. The wind is blowing sideways and I can feel it push against the side of the bus. I know George can feel the wind because he is wrestling with the steering wheel and leaning in close to the windshield. I don’t understand how ol’ George can see the road; from where I sit it looks completely black. The high-beams make the falling snow look like stars and comets whizzing by as we fly through space. We aren’t flying through space, we are on a highway in the middle of nowhere, en-route to Chicago, and we’re all terrified.

No one is saying a word. Everyone’s eyes are forward and we collectively brace ourselves when the large bus swerves and shakes. Everyone is in their usual spots. Lael’s in her seat at the front of the bus on the right, near the exit. Seeing her visibly afraid awakens something in me. I want to protect her. I have no idea how I might do that if the bus rolls off the highway, but foolishly I feel I could. I sit up tall and square my shoulders. I don’t care what my bandmates think as I make my way over to sit next to her. I wrap my arm around her and I smile.

We’ve all heard how fear is contagious. The truth is all emotions are contagious. I’ve made my living on that principle. Even at this point of my career there are times when I walk out on stage and the crowd is off. There is a funny frequency in the room that everyone has caught. There’s no telling how it started, and it doesn’t matter. If you don’t like what is being said, change the conversation. It’s my job to do just that and I do it well. Sometimes it takes a carrot, sometimes a stick and there are times where it’s best to not say a word and just wait for the right moment. Like a bear standing in a glassy pond watching the fish below, building trust, waiting.

I’m waiting for her. I can feel her and all of her emotions everywhere our bodies are touching.

“You do realize it’s safer to fly than take a bus around the country,” Lael points out with a chuckle.

This is another thing about fear, people are quick to pass blame. Although she’s right, I’m the reason we have to take the bus everywhere rather than fly.

“We’re fine,” I reply with a reassuring tone that is slightly forced.

As I answer her we pass flashing lights and sirens and can barely make out the overturned vehicles. Lael tenses up and pushes into me.

“Don’t let fear win,” I say as I pull her in tight.

I can feel her slightly relax. Partly because she’s amused by my cliché advice, but mostly because we are pulling off the highway. I assume we are being diverted due to an accident.

“So I guess you’ve been in a few blizzards on a tour bus in your day?” Lael asks.

“Actually, almost all of our tours are in the summer. Though there was a time in Norway where we had some close calls on windy cliffside roads.”

“Why are we doing a tour in the winter?” Lael asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “Someone has to.”

As I take a moment to silently question why we are doing a winter tour, Lael notices my confused contemplation and we share a laugh.

“Lael?”

“Yes Brad?”

“When this tour wraps up, will you come with me to one of those tropical vacation places where the sand is white and the water is blue? Like, Tahiti or somewhere like that?” I ask her, as if I was thinking out loud.

“What?” she questions.

“Last day of the tour we fly to a beach that looks like a postcard,” I say.

“Okaaaay …?” Lael’s simple one-word response drags out and her pitch dips and dives.

The bus stops with a thud.

George unbuckles his seat belt and stands up to address the gang. He’s expressionless as always, and he straightens his ill-fitting blazer before talking.

“The highway is blocked and we can’t go any further. I am sorry to say you will not make it to Chicago on time. We are parked in front of the only motel; I assume it will fill up quickly, if it isn’t already. I am old, so I get priority for a room. If there are not enough rooms available, there is enough fuel to keep the generator going so the bus will be warm. Good night.”

With that, George puts on his grey hat and opens the door. The wind whistles, and blows in snow.

“We are going to miss Chicago, this sucks!” I can hear Calvi from the back.

“Alright lads, chin up, these things do happen. Everything from here to Chicago has been canceled due to the storm,” Arnie says, while attempting to write an email on his phone.

“Well let’s try to get some rooms while we can,” Switch says as he zips up his tight leather jacket.

“Right, right, I will look into it.” Arnie gets up and makes his way out of the bus, forcing the door open against the wind.

I stealthily hold Lael’s hand for a moment and squeeze it tight to let her know I’m going to get up.

She pulls me in.

“I need to talk to you,” she whispers.

“Okay, alright,” I answer.

“Alone, later.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’m not staying on the damn bus, we have been on this thing for eight hours!” Switch shouts.

“I don’t mind staying on the bus; it’s probably better than that fleabag motel,” Calvi says.

This moment is not private and whatever Lael has to say will have to wait.

“Fuck it, I’m not waiting here,” Switch says as he stomps off the bus and into the blizzard.

“I am going to see what’s going on,” I say to Lael.

I push open the door and step outside. The wind is so cold it’s like a million tiny shards of ice stabbing your skin. I rush to the yellow light coming from the lobby entrance. When I step in, I’m overwhelmed with the smell of cats, cigarette smoke and dusty electric heat.

“Madame, we need five rooms, are you sure you only have two?” Arnie asks the lady behind the desk.

The lady has big blank eyes that refuse to blink and thin brown hair that falls past her shoulders.

“Yeppers,” she says slowly. The cigarette smoke falls out of her mouth.

Arnie steps away from the desk and turns to Switch and I.

“So,” Arnie says.

“So,” I add.

“So I’m taking one of the rooms,” Switch says.

I roll my eyes. That’s Switch, always looking out for number one.

“The other room goes to the lady,” I conclude.