Page 15 of Bonding the Band

“It is,” I confirmed.

“This is Nurse Donahue from the student clinic. I need to double-check your identity before I give you your test results.”

I gave her my birthday and student ID number, my knee bouncing with impatient nerves as I relayed the information.

“Excellent, thank you. Miss Reed, I wanted to give you a call regarding your blood test results. We can confirm that you are, indeed, pregnant. Congratulations! Or perhaps, commiserations? How are you feeling about the news? Is your pack excited?”

“Um…” It wasn’t really a congratulations kind of situation, at least not in the middle of my degree, but omegas were supposed to be jazzed about babies. That’s what was expected. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet.”

She didn’t need to know I didn’t have a pack. No sense in checking if she was going to be a judgy bitch about a single omega mom.

“I’m sure they’ll be elated. Babies are such a blessing. Now, while I have you on the phone, we should book your prenatal appointments, unless you’d prefer to go to another clinic? We’re equipped on campus to accommodate all your needs. You’re certainly not the first omega pursuing a degree and a family at the same time. You should contact your primary care physician as well, so we can coordinate care as needed. Do you have any questions? ”

“No…” My voice was weak. “I’m…good?”

“Okay, then! If you think of anything, you’re welcome to give us a call and ask. Be sure to book your appointments. Have a good day,” she chirped before hanging up.

I stared at my phone screen for a moment, trying to process what she had said.

It was confirmed.

I was pregnant.

Fuck.

Chapter 7

Hendrix

June, Los Angeles

“You guys,” I pleaded, “I don’t have stashes on the bus. I swear.”

“Uh-huh.” Phin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, you’ve been getting shit from somewhere. You’ve been a mess for weeks and we can’t do it anymore. If we can’t send you to rehab right now, then getting you off whatever you’re on is the next best thing.”

None of them believed me. I had hardly touchedanythingsince I’d started waking every day feeling like I was going to hurl. Gary was eyeballing me, almost daring me to rat him out. I pressed my lips together while my bandmates searched every nook and cranny of the tour bus.

They’d find nothing.

I didn’t keep anything here, because everything I took came straight from Gary. At first, it had been products to calm me down when I got too anxious, but then it had transitioned to things to boost me up so I could perform at the level Gary expected. I wasn’t even sure what all I’d consumed over theyears, trusting him to know what I needed to get through the day. He was usually right.

Or…at least he had been.

Maybe the quality had slipped in the last batch, or it had been laced with something else. Who the hell knew? He had to source things all over the world, and it was bound to get sketchy once in a while.

I had barely been functional the last few weeks, no matter what he gave me.

I didn’t blame the others for being worried about me. Hell,Iwas worried about me. Honestly, the symptoms were starting to freak me the fuck out way more than I was willing to admit out loud. Gary didn’t want me to take time off for a doctor’s appointment when I’d already wasted so much time being too ill to function.

They could all see me struggling. I knew they thought I was high as a kite on god knew what, and sure, sometimes…a lot of the time, I had been, but not this time.

My stomach turned as they lifted every cushion, tucked their fingers into every little gap, and moved everything not nailed down. Witnessing my bandmates’ distrust firsthand was humbling as shit.

Arlo rocket-launched himself onto the couch next to me, his fist connecting with my chest, sending pain shooting through my tender pec and making black spots dance in my vision. “Motherfucker!”

“Where are they?” Arlo demanded.

“I told you, I don’t have anything in here.” I whined, crossing my arms over my chest in case he decided to punch me again. “I’m sick, not high.”

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