Page 20 of Bonding the Band

“You’d better, or I will personally kick your ass.” She made kissy faces at me as she departed for her first class, and I dragged my ass all the way into consciousness with a hot shower and a package of Pop-Tarts. I added a banana, in the interest of at least pretending to be healthy.

I looked up Hard Knot Life because I apparently liked to torture myself, and stared at the band photos that had been posted since their concert last night. I watched clips of Hendrix rocking out on stage, closing my eyes and pretending like I was right there with him.

That was a stupid idea.

My body rebelled, hearing him, thinking he was close, and getting no relief. I lost my Pop-Tarts to the porcelain god and consoled myself with a bottle of water and a slice of leftover pizza as I dragged my ass to my first class.

It was just morning sickness. Absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was bonded to a rock star and he was thousands of miles away, instead of tucked up in bed with me. This was so fucking unfair. Why wasn’t there a biological undo button?

I could get through this.

I had no choice.

Emailing the management for the band via the contact form on their website was degrading, but I was bordering on desperate. After hitting submit, I resolved to wait, albeit impatiently.

The universe didn’t make me wait long, though. By the next morning, there was a response in my inbox, but not the one I wanted.

I knew it.

I read over the message again, even though it made me both queasy and furious.

Unfortunately, due to the unverified nature of your claim, we are unable to put you in contact with any members of HardKnot Life. Once the child in question is born, you may submit a formal request for a paternity test. Should that prove positive, we will take necessary steps.

– Sincerely, Gary Williams, Manager

I closed my eyes against the blur of tears. Had Hendrix personally rejected me, or had management decided I was one of god only knew how many women or omegas who had reached out with a similar claim? I wasn’t certain which one was worse.

I threw my phone down onto the bed and stumbled into the bathroom to toss my cookies.

A soft hand gathered my hair into a ponytail and rubbed my back.

“Cloveeer,” I whined.

“I know, babe.” She smoothed my sweaty hair off my forehead while I lay in misery on the bathroom floor.

“I need your help.”

“Absolutely. What can I do?”

“Can you get me backstage at Hard Knot Life’s Salt Lake concert?”

Clover brightened. “You’re going to try to find the roadie?”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at her as guilt snaked through me. I wasn’t sure what she would do if she knew who the father actually was. “I emailed the company, and they were no help.”

“Of course they weren’t.”

“I have a…small confession.”

“Oh?” Clover was staring at me with the excited intensity of a thousand suns when I finally looked at her. “You never have confessions. Gimme!”

“I may not have beenentirelyhonest with you about who the father is.”

Clover’s mouth dropped into an O. “It’s not the roadie?”

I shook my head.

“Do you actually know who the dad is? Oh my god. Did you sleep with more than one someones? Is it a baby daddy mystery?”

---