Page 89 of Four More The Merrier

I wipe my mouth, slumping against the bathroom wall. The cold tile seeps through my pajama pants. "And say what exactly? 'Hey guys, I'm pregnant and I have no idea which one of you is the father because I banged you all?' That'll go over well."

"Better than disappearing without a word. Why should you have to shoulder all this alone?"

"I'm not alone, as long as I have you." I say leaning my head against hers.

Abby sits cross-legged beside me, pushing a glass of water into my hands. "Drink. You're getting dehydrated. But for the record, you and little string bean will always have me."

"String bean?" I snort.

"Strings of a guitar, someone flicking the bean got him or her here, it works." she says with a shrug and a smile.

Once I stop laughing, I take small sips, trying to keep the nausea at bay. My apartment feels smaller than ever, the train rattling past right on schedule. "Their careers would be over if this got out. The media would have a field day."

"You don't know that."

"Have you seen the tabloids? They're already under scrutiny for their 'wild behavior.' And they've already had one baby mama scandal..." My voice cracks. "They can't handle another one. I can't do that to them."

Abby reaches for my phone as it buzzes again. "That's the twentieth call from Lyle today. The others have been blowing up your phone too."

"Block them." I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chest. "It's better this way."

"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting, you look miserable." She wraps an arm around my shoulders. "And you're going through morning sickness alone when you could have four hot country stars taking care of you."

"Stop." The tears come hot and fast. "I ruined everything. Their friendship, the tour, my career..."

"Hey." Abby pulls me closer as I sob into her shoulder. "You didn't ruin anything. Love is messy sometimes. But running away isn't the answer."

Another wave of nausea hits and I lunge for the toilet again.

The doorbell rings, cutting through another round of dry heaving. My heart stops.

"I'll get it!" Abby calls out from the kitchen.

I manage to scrape myself of the linoleum and lean on the doorframe.

"Oh shit." She peeks through the peephole. "There's some Backwoods Backstreet Boys at your door looking mighty determined."

"No way." I scramble to my feet, legs shaking. "No, no, no. Hell no. Tell them I'm not here."

"Quinn?" Lyle's voice carries through the door. "We can hear you in there."

"Go away!" My voice breaks as I press my back against the hallway.

Abby shoots me a look. "I'm telling them to leave."

I hear the door chain rattle as she opens it a crack. "Boys, this isn't a good time-"

"We're not leaving until we talk to her." That's Jarron's voice, firm and unyielding.

"She's not feeling well," Abby says. "She needs rest."

"Is she okay?" Beau's concerned tone makes my chest ache. "Is she sick?"

"I said leave!" I shout, fighting another wave of nausea.

"Not happening, darlin'." Austen's drawl joins the chorus. "We'll camp out here all day if we have to."

"They're not kidding," Abby stage-whispers to me. "Lyle's literally sitting down against your front door frame."

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