The Rock Star's Baby Bargain - The Bangover

Setting Colette back on her feet, I swipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “You’re going to see your doctor tomorrow,” I insist. “To make sure you stay safe through the entire pregnancy.”

“Her office isn’t open on Saturdays,” she says with a grin. “But yes, I’ll make an appointment on Monday. I’ll call from Nashville as soon as we land.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re staying here. I’ll stay, too, and figure out another place to—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, laughing. “I’m fine to fly. I doubt the doctor will even want me to come in for a few weeks. The pregnancy will only be high risk when I’m farther along.” She presses on tiptoe, kissing my cheek. “For now, we’re fine to honeymoon in Nashville while you record the best album ever.”

I hug her closer. “A wedding, a honeymoon, and a baby.”

“Too much?” she asks.

“Not a chance. Just wondering what I did to get so lucky.”

“Day drinking,” she says, seriously, before laughing at my confusion. “If you hadn’t been at Chippy’s that afternoon, you never would have heard Fernando being a jerk or come to check on me. As I see it, we owe all this good fortune to day drinking. As soon as the baby is born, I’m having mimosas to celebrate.”

I grin. “Or we could just have orange juice and a nap. I have a hunch we might not feel much like day drinking with a newborn.”

“True,” she says, wonder filling her eyes. “A newborn. We’re going to have one.”

“We are,” I promise, refusing to let worry in through the door. The pregnancy will be high risk, but Colette has a great doctor monitoring her every step of the way. Our baby is going to be fine.

And if by some terrible twist of fate, something goes wrong, we’ll get through that, too. Together.

“Yes.” Colette nods as if she’s read my mind, which she probably has. “We’ve got this.”

“We so do.”

And we do.

Our last-minute wedding goes off without a hitch, our honeymoon is busy but perfect, filled with nights lazing in our hotel bed, admiring the view of the Nashville skyline and recording sessions that feel like the best of my career. I’m so full of happiness and gratitude it comes pouring out of me in the work, and my new backup band of veteran musicians makes every take better than the last.

By the time Genevieve Frances Halloran is born the following May, my solo album has already hit platinum, and my fifteen summer tour dates are sold out.

My new manager, an amazing woman named Maggie, who stepped in and filled Chip’s shoes and then some, keeps begging me to add more, but I want to see how the three of us do on tour together before I agree to more time on the road.

My family comes first. Today and always.

“Up at two and ready to party, baby girl?” I ask, collecting our squawking two-month-old from her portable crib after the first performance in Bangor. “You’re a rock star already.”

Colette hums beneath her breath as she sits up in bed, getting ready to feed Genevieve after I change her diaper. “No partying. Just milk and then more sleep. We’ll party when we’ve caught up on our rest.”

“In five years or so,” I say, settling the baby in Colette’s arms and lying down beside her to watch the baby nurse. It never gets old, the miracle of seeing our little one latch on and guzzle like the healthy girl she is.

“Or ten,” Colette says with a smile as she reaches out, tousling my too-long hair with her free hand. “Go back to sleep. You have to perform tomorrow night. I just have to take naps with the baby between feedings. I’ll put her down when we’re done and get her the next time she cries.”

“No way. I’m not tired,” I lie. I am tired, but it’s a good tired, and since I can’t help with breastfeeding, fetching Gen from her crib and changing diapers seems like the least I can do. “Let’s adopt a dozen more.”

Colette laughs softly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Half a dozen. Tops.”

I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Sounds like a plan.”

“And a hope and a wish,” she says, looking down at the baby before turning the same loving gaze my way. “But if it’s just the three of us, that’s good, too. So much better than good.”

“It’s everything,” I agree, kissing the back of her hand.