One Night Standards
: Chapter 15

I’m lying in bed, wrapped in Lyle’s arms, both of us gloriously naked and still basking in the aftermath of a pre-dawn fuck-a-thon when we’re jarred awake by an obnoxious pounding on the door.

This type of wake-up call is not something I will ever get used to. Lyle and I are going to have to replace a place of our own sooner rather than later, before Anika gives me a freaking heart attack. That woman has no respect for boundaries.

“Go away,” my grumpy husband shouts, reaching to the side of the bed for a shoe and blindly flinging it in the direction of her grating voice.

It connects with the wood with a loud thud.

“Open this fucking door, or I will break it down.” The locked doorknob rattles as she gives it a good jostle from the outside.

“That truce was short-lived,” I grumble as I drag myself up to sitting.

“There’s no stopping her when she’s worked up like this.” The frown he aims at me doubles as an apology, as he pulls a rumpled tee over his head. “Throw some clothes on,” he suggests, eyeing my bump, before stumbling toward the dresser for pajama pants.

“I’m not joking.” Anika’s fist meets the door again, banging three times in rapid succession.

“No one thought you were, Godzilla. Give us a minute to put some clothes on, for fuck’s sake.”

I grab one of Lyle’s hoodies from the desk chair and throw it on with the nearest bottoms I can replace, a pair of his ratty sweats that are balled up on the floor.

Keeping it real classy, I think to myself as I give him the nod to open the door.

“Good morning,” Lyle sings as she storms right past him with an all-too-familiar iPad clasped to her chest.

“Start talking,” she barks, holding the tablet out for our examination.

Tears mount in my eyes and the breath whooshes right out of my body when I catch sight of the image on that screen: Lyle and I walking out of Dr. Ruby’s office, staring adoringly at what is without question an ultrasound photo. “Shit…”

“Well,” Lyle says, studying the screen for an obscene amount of time. He’s irritatingly calm. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag.”

“The cat’s outta the bag?” Anika repeats, aghast. “So, you’re telling me this isn’t a doctored photo?”

Bile churns in my stomach as my husband looks her right in the eye and answers with a very matter of fact, “That’s correct.”

The iPad takes off flying across the room, denting the sheetrock and shattering across the tile floor.

I jump back, shocked by the outburst.

“Was that really necessary?” Lyle’s eyes pan briefly to the mess then back to the raging brunette breathing fire no more than two feet in front of him.

“I asked you,” she grits out. “No—I begged you—not to keep any more secrets from me after the wedding.”

At least he has the decency to look contrite when he responds. “You did.”

“And you didn’t see fit to tell me the woman you married just happened to be pregnant?”

“It’s not his fault,” I cut in, shaking like a leaf but unwilling to let him take the fall. “I asked him not to—”

“Of course it’s your fault,” she snaps. “Every bit of this is your fault. Before you, I had some control over this one.” She swats a hand toward Lyle, who is the picture of calm, albeit a touch annoyed.

“You’re overreacting,” he says, rolling his eyes, which only further enrages her.

“Am I?” She scoffs. “Because there is no way we can pass this child off as yours, considering the image was clear enough to zoom in and read the due date!”

“So?” he shrugs, while I stir beside him, damn near hyperventilating.

“So,” I answer, meekly, “We either have to say we slept together while I was still with Trent or admit that I was already pregnant when we wed.”

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” Anika appears to be on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. “Your fans haven’t even fully accepted her as your wife yet and now this.”

“It’s a fucking baby, Anika. Everyone loves babies!”

There he goes, finally showing some emotion. Though I’m not sure it’s the kind that’ll help our cause.

“Not women who fantasize about having you for themselves.” She scrubs a frustrated hand over her face. “Women who we’re trying to sell on some fairy tale love story.”

“We just need to make a statement,” he says to her, but his mollifying tone says it’s more for my benefit. “Go grab your laptop.” He shoos his manager toward the door with a few backward waves of his fingers. “And let’s get this thing handled.”

“No,” she says shaking her head side to side in rapid succession. “You and your new PR nightmare here can figure this one out on your own.”

Shit. “I have to sit down,” I say, panting for breath before plopping down on the foot of the bed. Lyle’s rigid posture says he’s about to blow.

From this vantage point I can only see the back of his head, but can clearly envision the look he gives her. “I can appreciate that you’re upset. But that’s enough of this tantrum throwing.” He takes a purposeful step toward her. “It is literally your job to smooth this shit over. It’s what we pay you, quite nicely I might add, to do. Get off your fucking high horse, go get that damn laptop, and let’s get this dealt with like adults.”

Other than some heavy breathing, Anika handles her berating fairly well.

Until he tacks on one final demand. “Then stay out of my face the rest of today.”

That sends her spiraling. “Stay out of your face?” Anika screeches. “Stay out of your face?” She slams both palms into his chest, causing him to lose footing and stumble back. “Oh, I’ll stay out of your face all right. But it won’t just be for today.”

Oh no. Nausea bubbles in my throat because I know what’s coming next.

“I fucking quit!” Her lip quivers, and her eyes are rimmed in red. “I can’t work like this.”

The tremor in her voice brings tears to my eyes, and I don’t even like the girl. What the hell is wrong with me?

She gives me a scathing look before storming toward the door.

“Ah, piss off, Annie.” Lyle cuts a hand through the air. “You don’t quit, and you know it.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, rushing over to my husband. “Stop goading her.”

“You don’t know Anika like I do. She lives and breathes this band.” He pats the top of my hand that’s clutched onto his arm. “She’s just blowing smoke.”

Maybe he’s right. He does know her better than me. And maybe she does have a flair for the dramatic. But I saw the pain in her eyes; witnessed the look of pure devastation on that woman’s face.

All I know is I can’t leave things as they are. My conscience won’t allow me to overlook the way we’ve hurt and betrayed her.

“I’m going to go talk to her.” I give his arm a squeeze before moving for the door.

Lyle stops me in my tracks. “Just let her be.”

“Even if she does just get over it, it doesn’t mean what we did was okay. This is my fault. I asked you to lie to her, and it’s on me to make it right.”

“Argh,” he growls gripping two fists full of his hair in frustration. “This is not a good idea.”

I pinch his chin in my hand and rise up on my toes to press a kiss to his lips. “I can handle my own, Mr. Livingston. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Where are you going?” I ask when I hear him padding though the house behind me.

“Gonna go sit on the couch so I’m close by in case I have to break up a cat fight.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrug, smiling to myself over the way he’s fretting unnecessarily over this. I’ve never been in a physical fight in my life and don’t plan to start one now. I don’t know Anika well at all, but I just can’t see her attacking a pregnant chick. Even if said chick is me.

“Here goes nothin’…” I glance back at my husband, who’s barely got his ass propped on the edge of the couch. That man is ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. God bless him.

“It’s not too late to do the right thing.” His eyes pan from Anika’s closed door to the stairway leading to his room.

I shake my head. “I know. And I have every intention of doing it.”

“Woo.” I rotate my head and roll my shoulders, taking a deep inhale before lightly rapping my knuckles against the door.

When she doesn’t answer, I knock a little harder. “I know you’re in there, Anika, the door’s locked.”

Nothing.

“I just want to apologize.”

Still nothing.

“Fine. I’ll talk through the door.” I sigh. “The reason Lyle stepped in and proposed when my fiancé left me on our wedding day is because my father is dying…” I groan. “Well, he was dying. It seems like an experimental drug—”

“Just get in here,” she says, pulling the door open.

I shoot my husband a thumbs up on my way in, to which he simply shakes his head.

“You have a really nice room.” I’m not just making small talk. It’s gorgeous. Everything is white and pink and trimmed in gold. It looks like a Pottery Barn catalog.

She nods, motioning for me to have a seat on the tufted pink couch while she takes a white leather armchair.

“Listen…” She sighs. “You don’t need to bare your soul to me. I was—” She shakes her head. “—still am extremely angry, but Lyle’s right. This band is my life, and I’m not leaving. So whatever messes you two make, I’ll be here doing my best to clean it up.”

I nod. “I’m really glad to hear you’ve decided to stay.”

She pokes her tongue around on the inside of her cheek.

“I’d still like to apologize and fill you in on every sordid detail of the mess I’ve made of my life, because we’re family now…” I smile, but she doesn’t return it. “And because you deserve to know. No more surprises.”

“Fair enough.”

And boy do I ever fill her in. Starting with Lyle and me sneaking around as kids and the promise he made when he left to join the band. I tell her about my relationship with Trent, and the day he broke up with me. I divulge as much as I can remember about that night in the Bahamas, which isn’t much. I sob through the retelling of my father’s illness, and how I shamelessly begged Trent to marry me so he could walk me down that aisle.

She hands me a box of Kleenex to sop up my tears when I recount how shocked I was to learn I was pregnant, and the devastating way it all went down when I told my then fiancé.

“I didn’t even love him,” I cry. “And still I tried to convince him to marry me and accept this child as his, because I couldn’t see past what I needed. And quite simply, that was a groom.” I snort. “Any groom.”

Anika’s eyes are bigger than I’ve ever seen them. I’m sure she’s having regrets about opening that door. “That’s…a…lot.” She swallows hard.

I nod. “Then there was a knock on the door, and I thought Trent was coming back…that he’d changed his mind. But it was Lyle.” My heart swells at the memory. “He’d been standing out there the entire time. He heard it all and he still wanted me.” I shake my head. “And this baby.”

My hand moves to cup my tummy. “I thought he’d given up on us, and there he was with a ring he’d had for years. It was like I was transported from a nightmare right into my very own fairy tale.”

“And so you two got married.”

I nod. “I do love him, Anika. You have to know that. He’s the only one I’ve ever loved.” I blow my nose before continuing. “After the dust settled, I started to feel guilty. Like maybe he only proposed because he felt it was the right thing to do. I know he loves me. He loves my daddy. So, I—I gave him an out. But he refused to take it.”

“But why did you two hide the baby?”

“Because at the time, my dad’s treatments were not working, and he was only given weeks to live. I didn’t want for him to die knowing he had a grandbaby on the way that he’d never meet. It just felt cruel.”

She nods. “I get that.”

“It was selfish of me. I see that now. But for the past two months, I haven’t been myself. I’m horrified at the way we’ve hurt you.”

“Okay,” Anika says, smoothing her palms over the front of her pants. “It’s a lot. And the press is going to try to spin you in the worst possible light. So, be prepared for that.”

I nod. “But it’s fixable?”

“Yeah,” she says, “I think it is.”

Feeling as if the weight of the world has just been lifted, I smile at my nemesis. “Did we just become besties?”

She scrunches her nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Friends?” I hedge.

“Let’s go with distant cousins who tolerate one another.”

I snort. “It’s a start.”

“Now, get your asshole husband in here so we can draft this statement.”

When I open the door, Lyle all but falls in on top of me. “Nosy, much?” I can’t help but laugh at the thought of him standing there with his ear pressed to the door.

He shrugs, looking around for I don’t even know what. “Everything okay in here?”

“Peachy.” Anika crosses her legs, reaching for the open laptop on her desk. “Let’s do this.” She tips her head toward the couch, urging us to take a seat.

I sit in silence, watching the two of them interact as though they weren’t just yelling at each other a few minutes ago. There’s no apology from either party. No lingering animosity, either. It’s a dynamic I’m not accustomed to. I’m a person who much prefers to hash things out rather than allow them to fester. But whatever works for them, I guess.

It doesn’t take long for the pair to draft the perfect response.

My only request is that they allow me to make a call to my parents before it goes live. I’m banking that since they haven’t been blowing up my phone they haven’t yet seen this morning’s breaking news starring yours truly.

Hello fans! It’s me, Lyle—your beloved bassist.

Once again here to confirm a little rumor you may have gotten wind of over the last twelve hours or so.

Yes, it’s true that I’m going to be a father, and I couldn’t be more excited.

It is also accurate that my wife was already pregnant when we wed, and that this child is not biologically mine. This was never something that was kept from me. I knew it at the time I proposed to her.

Having been adopted myself, I’ve never put much stock in biology. I believe that love comes from the heart. And I love both Sammi and this little one with every beat of mine.

When I married this incredible woman, I made a commitment to both her and our baby. To love them. Honor them. Protect them. And it will be the greatest privilege of my life to do just that.

So, why the secrecy? I realize it’s difficult to look at a celebrity and see them as anything more than a public figure. But I’m also just a man. My wife and I have family and lives behind the cameras.

Sometimes we choose to hold things close for a while for personal reasons. I’m asking that you respect our privacy. That you treat my wife and my unborn child with the same regard you’d want for your own loved ones.

Though this announcement came sooner than we’d have preferred, here it is: We’re having a baby! Grab a drink, put it in the air, and join me in toasting this momentous occasion.

To baby Livingston!

Hot damn. I’m gonna be a daddy, y’all.

Cheers!