Once more, I’m wondering if taking care of me was just something he’s good at, not necessarily something that’s good for him.
Maybe I’m dragging him down the way his mom is. Making him lower his energy level, dim his brightness, mute his joy for the sake of matching someone he cares about.
I absolutely hate the idea.
In fact, it destroys me.
I back up until my butt hits the parked van and blink back tears in my eyes. Of course, that’s when his mom spots me.
“Flynn! You brought a friend.”
Flynn releases her, and she hurries over to me to pick up and squeeze my gloved hand. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she’s as warm as the sun. “Hi honey. I’m Monica, Flynn’s mom.”
“I’m Nadia.”
“It’s nice to meet you, sweetie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt if you two were doing something. I just didn’t want to be here alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Flynn reassures her. And she’s definitely not. She has Flynn. Ready and willing to walk 500 miles for her.
Because that’s who he is. And that’s amazing.
But I don’t want to be her for him.
And I fear I am.
Flynn
Nadia is quiet on the drive to the Kremlin, but I can’t seem to ferret out why.
We waited forty minutes with my mom until the cop finished writing her the ticket, and her car got towed, and then we dropped her at home.
“Everything okay?” I ask for the third time.
Nadia sends me a weak smile. “Yes. Your mom is sweet, and you’re a good son. I can see why you and Story are such kind people.”
Huh. That doesn’t explain her reticence.
“But?” I prompt.
“There’s no but!” she protests, except I’m sure there is. I keep replaying the scene trying to figure out what I fucked up, but I can’t think of anything.
I park underneath the building, and we take the elevator up to the floor where we rehearse, and that’s when I acknowledge that this day truly has become a clusterfuck.
Cadence is standing outside the studio with Lake, and both look deeply unhappy. Worse, they appear to be waiting for me.
“Cadence needs to talk to you,” Lake says.
What. The actual. Fuck?
I seriously could throat punch Lake right now. He should be clam-jamming Cadence for me, not bringing her to our rehearsal.
Seriously not cool.
I reach for Nadia’s hand because I swear to fuck, I already feel her slipping away. “Okay,” I say with fake casualness.
“I need to talk to you alone,” she says.
Nadia tries to let go of my hand. I refuse to release it.
“No, that’s not cool with me. Nadia is my person”–why the fuck can I still not call her my girlfriend?–“so she stays.”
Cadence’s nostrils flare. She puts her hands on her hips. “Okay,” she says a little too loudly. Loudly enough that everyone inside the studio can hear her next words. “I’m pregnant. I guess I’ll just tell everyone at once. I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”
The fuck it is.
My mother raised me better than to say the first words that come to mind. I’m sure Cadence is upset and stressed and overly emotional right now. Me being a dick won’t help.
Beside me, I feel Nadia panicking, and I fear it could turn into a full-on attack.
I try to keep my voice low and calm. “Okay, I seriously doubt that. I used protection both times I was with you.” I glance at my bandmate, who looks like he wants to murder me. “What about Lake?” I ask.
Nadia’s fighting me for the freedom of her hand.
Fuck. Of course she doesn’t want to let Cadence see her freak out. I also don’t want her to leave my side. I need to be with her if she has an attack. This is my fault, and I need to fix it.
“The timing isn’t right for it to be Lake’s,” Cadence says with full authority. “It has to be yours.”
Nadia tears her hand away and whirls, dashing for the elevator.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Okay, well–” I stare at Cadence then Lake. I know the right things to say here. That if it’s mine, I’ll take responsibility, I will support her through whatever choice she makes. Be with her all the way. But I just know this is bullshit.
I’m fucking sure of it.
“Hang on.” I hold up a finger and turn and dash to the elevator, slipping through the doors right before they close.
Nadia–my sweet, sweet girl–is on her hands and knees on the floor, struggling for breath.
I want to go in hot–rush to spit out a thousand words that will take away the sting of this unfortunate turn of events. I want to promise her that this changes nothing, beg her to still be mine, but I know my own frantic energy isn’t going to help her breathe.
So I drop to the floor with her. I lie on my back with my head near one of her hands, so I can see her face. I don’t touch her. I don’t try to say anything.