Following Trouble (12 page)

“I like you like this.” Rob nuzzled his face in my damp hair, breathing in deep.

“Barefoot and pregnant?” I teased, hooking a bare leg over his.

“Wild and wanton.”

I sighed. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

“We could. Theoretically.”

“Your fans would find us.” I laughed. “And lynch me.”

“You’re going to love Europe,” he promised. “I’m gonna show you the whole world.”

Ireland was a shock
to my system after spending twenty-four hours in Aruba. I leaned against Rob as we walked through the airport in Dublin. I was so tired I could barely stand up. I’d tried to sleep on the plane—first class seats were very comfortable—but I couldn’t. Rob snored gently beside me the whole time and I sat and looked at my ring.

Not an official engagement ring, he said—just a promise. He would marry me, as soon as he was free. Still, a ring was a ring. He meant what he said. I wanted to be with him, I wanted to spend my life with him. There was no doubt about that. But as we traveled across the ocean, I couldn’t help thinking about all the things standing in our way.

It had really hit me, sitting with my parents and Rob, how hard this going to be. Rob wasn’t just some guy I was bringing home to meet my parents. Rob was a rock star. That trumped everything. His whole life was lived upside down. He slept during the day, he did shows at night. He traveled all the time, all over the globe, to do concerts. He spent long hours writing songs, and presumably, recording them. He made so much money it scared me, but that also came with a lot of strangeness I’d never had to deal with—not the least of which was the ability to get anything you wanted, whenever you wanted. Like last minute flights to Aruba. Or heroin.

My dad had pulled me aside and asked if I was sure, and while I had reassured him, I knew exactly what he meant. Because Rob wasn’t just a nice guy who had gotten me pregnant, who loved me and wanted to marry me. When I said, “Yes,” I was giving up the ideal of some normal life in the suburbs raising children, planning holidays, and visiting family several times a year. My life was going to be very, very different from anything I’d ever imagined.

The problem was, I couldn’t imagine what it would be. I’d had a taste already—Rob’s palace in the Hollywood hills, our trip to Aruba—and I knew being on tour would give me a much better idea of what life on the road would really be like. Katie had already told me a lot, of course, but that wasn’t the same as being there. Rob would disappear at least once a year, maybe more, to go on tour. Would I go with him? With a newborn? A toddler? How would that work?

And if I didn’t go with him—what then? Katie swore Rob didn’t even talk to fans after the show while they were on tour. There were no women around him, aside from Celeste, who kept tabs on his interviews and engagements while he was on the road. But what happened after a year, two? Could what we had withstand that kind of pressure?

My father had made an off-hand comment while Rob was in the bathroom, something about celebrity marriages. My mother had been talking about Susan Sarandon in The Lovely Bones—one of her favorite actresses—and my father had remarked that she was married to Tim Robbins, from The Shawshank Redemption, which was his favorite movie.

“I heard they broke up,” I’
d told them and my mother was shocked.

“Goodness, they were married longer than any Hollywood couple I’ve ever heard of.”

“Longer than that Kardashian girl,” my father had snorted. I was surprised he even knew who she was. “But hey, those few hours, that’s like seven Hollywood years.”

Hollywood marriages. Were we just doomed?

“Are you all right?” Rob turned my face up to his as we stopped at the baggage carousel. “You look pale.”

“Fine.” I attempted a smile. “Just tired.”

Which was true. I was exhausted. My brain wouldn’t shut off, no matter what I did.

“Is someone meeting us?” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I saw Celeste hurrying up the walkway.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “The driver—these traffic circles—anyway, how was your flight?”

“Long.” Rob grabbed my bag off the carousel, setting it between us. “The gang all here?”

“Yesterday.” Celeste nodded, doing something on her Blackberry. “In fact—oh, there he is now.”

Tyler came at Rob from behind, putting him in some wrestling hold. They grappled for a moment and I saw security watching, but it was over as quickly as it had started. They hugged, slapping each other on the back.

“Man, it’s good to see you, bruh.” Tyler met my eyes over Rob’s shoulder and I saw his expression change, the sadness and shame creep into his eyes.

“You too.” Rob gave him an extra squeeze and then let go.

“Hey Sabrina.” Tyler rocked back on his Keds, hands going in his pockets. He looked like he expected me to hit him, but I was past all that. After seeing Katie and talking to her more in depth on the phone, I had a far better understanding of what had happened between them.

“Hi Tyler.” I put my arms out for a hug. “Katie says hi.”

He looked surprised but he accepted and even hugged me back.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispered, so only I could hear.

“She misses you.”

“I miss her too.”

“How’s Ireland?”

“Fucking grim. All it does is rain here, man.
” He rolled his eyes, brushing a long bit of blonde hair from them. He hadn’t cut his. “It’s like Seattle with sheep and castles and shit.”

“You look tired,” Celeste said, pulling the handle up on my carry-on. “Let’s get you to the hotel.”

“I am tired,” I agreed, feeling Rob slip his hand into mine.

Tyler grabbed Rob’s bag and we headed o
ut of the airport building. A big, white stretch limo was parked at the curb, the driver holding the door open. Several people looked our way, probably wondering who we were to warrant a limo at an airport. I didn’t know if it was common in Dublin or not. Rob helped me into the car and I slid to the corner. He slipped in beside me, putting an arm around my shoulder.

“So where are the guys?”
Rob asked.

“Kissing the Blarney Stone.
” Tyler grinned.

I laughed.
“You’re kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“What time is it?” I asked, blinked out the window. Tyler was right. It was raining.

“Ab
out nine in the morning,” Tyler replied.

“It feels like
the middle of the night,” I said.

“Jet lag.” Celeste nodded knowingly.
“You sure you’re all right?”

“Just an upset stomach.”

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

“On the plane.” I made a face, remembering. “
Some weird chicken thing. That was probably it.”

“Well you
don’t want to eat Irish food,” Tyler chimed in. “Mutton is disgusting.”

“You
sure
you’re okay?” Rob looked concerned. “It’s not anything… serious?”

“No.” I shook my head, eager to reassure him.
“It just… cramps, I guess. I’m sure…”

It occurred to me then that, unlike intestinal cramps, these were coming rhythmically. Every five minutes or so, in fact.

“Is it the baby?”

Everyone stopped.

“I… don’t know.” I blinked at him, feeling a panic buzzing in my belly. Was it? Could it be?

“Ce
leste, get Dr. Paxton on the phone,” Rob ordered. “Tell him to meet us at the hotel.”

Rob carried me into the lobby. Celeste had already taken care of checking us in and we went upstairs in the elevator.

“Still feeling it?” Rob asked as he put me on the bed.

I nodded, wincing.
It wasn’t unbearable, but it was… well, crampy.

Rob
felt my forehead, frowning.

“I’m not sick, I’m just pregnant.” I pushed his hands away, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure if I just… owwww…”

“Hey, here’s the doc,” Tyler announced.

“I apologize. I was in the bath.”
An oriental woman came in wearing a hotel robe and slippers, carrying a black bag.

“I’m Dr. Paxton,
” she said by way of introduction, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re Sabrina?”

I nodded. Obviously—the only pregnant woman in the room.

“So you’re having contractions?” she asked, putting a hand on my lower belly.

“I don’t know, what do contractions feel like?”
I looked down at her small hand moving over my belly. “It’s just kind of like cramps. But they come and go.”

“At regular intervals?”

“Every five minutes maybe.” I shrugged, unsure.

“I’m going to listen to baby’s heartbeat.”

The Doppler required a bunch of the cold, blue goop on my belly, and I waited, anxious, while she ran the wand over my stomach, listening to the crackling sound until, finally, there it was, the gallop of my little girl’s heart.

“Heartbeat sounds great.” She smiled reassuringly, wiping the stuff from my belly and helping me sit. She took my temperature and my blood pressure—both perfectly normal—watching as I winced through another mild cramp. They seemed better now that I was in a bed.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

“Six or seven hours ago.”

“And drank?”

“I had some
soda on the plane.”

She frowned, shaking her head.
“Water?”

“Ummm…”
I looked at Rob and he shrugged and shook his head.

“You’re dehydrated.”
She put the Doppler and goop back into her bag. “That can cause contractions. Your uterus gets irritable when you haven’t had enough to drink.”

“Kind of like me.”
I snorted.

“Exactly.”
She smiled. “So drink up.”

Tyler handed me a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Drink that and two more,” she said, standing and picking up her bag. “Rest for a while on your left side. And call me if they get longer, stronger and closer together.”

“Thank you.”
I called. “Sorry we interrupted your bath!”

She just smiled and gave us another wave as she headed out the door.

“Okay, you heard the doctor, everyone clear out.” Celeste ordered, although I don’t know who she was ordering, because it was only her and Tyler.

Rob came to the bed carrying two more bottles of water. He stood over me, making me drink them until I complained.

“I’m going to have to pee like a racehorse after this!” I cried, gulping down the second.

“Okay, Secretariat, just drink.”

When I laid down on the bed, my belly was so full of water, I sloshed, and it made me laugh. Rob snuggled up behind me, his hand resting protectively over my lower belly as we spooned together on the bed and drifted off.

I woke up, disoriented, unsure of where I was, and then I remembered. I heard Rob’s deep, even breathing in my ear. Ireland. We were in Ireland. I smiled, closing my eyes, realizing I could have been anywhere in
the world. I was in Rob’s arms and that was all that mattered.

“How are you now?”
he whispered, kissing the side of my neck.

“Better.”
It was true. I didn’t feel sick or even tired anymore. And I hadn’t felt any cramping or contractions since I’d awoke.

“
You scared me, baby.” He had a catch in his voice, his arm tightening around me. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Didn’t mean to. Besides, it wasn’t me, it was her.”

“Stop it, Esther,” Rob said, rubbing my belly. “You’re trouble already.”

I laughed. “Just like her daddy.”

* * * *

“They hated it.” I sat in the c
hair on our patio overlooking Milan, too depressed to really appreciate the view.

“No, it was my fault,
” Rob insisted. “I should have waited until we were back in the states. They’re just in tour mode. They’re not even thinking about the next album.”

“But all the songs need to be written.”
I picked up a tomato out of the bowl the staff had left, taking a big bite. I had been craving all things tomato for weeks and they’d brought a whole big bowl full. I ate them like apples, and I’d never had a tomato that tastes as good as the ones I’d eaten in Europe.

“Yeah, I know.” Rob watched as tomato juice dripped down my chin “The band seems to think songs
magically appear out of thin air.”

“Anyway
, they hated it.” I grabbed a cloth napkin from our breakfast setting, catching the juice before it stained my shirt. “They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.”
He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“I’m Yoko Ono.”
I took another big bite of tomato, chewing loudly.

“You can be my Yoko Ono if you want.”
He laughed, coming over and pulling me out of my chair and into his arms.

“I don’
t want to be Yoko!” I wailed, pouting. “Want a bite of my tomato?”

“Blech. I don’t know how you can eat them like that.” He made a face.
“And if being Yoko means you’re my inspiration, then fuck ’em, because you are.”

I sighed, resting my head against his chest, hearing the knock on the door and ignoring it.