Free Rockstars F#*k Harder by Penny Wylder

that hope entirely.
    Falling for the rock star you work for is damn foolish and I know it, but it’s not like I can change it. Fuck.
    At this point, I’m out of time. I fly out to New York to meet Drew tomorrow and finalize details for the East Coast tour that starts the day after. While I can still manage to mask my growing belly to some extent, the moment he touches me, he’ll know.
    I need air so I go out into my old neighborhood, walking my parents’ corgi. It’s still as quaint as I remember, true suburbia with the wood siding and picket fences, looks straight out of some cheesy family comedy. I wonder how Drew would like it here, what he would think of living in a place like this. I can’t imagine raising a kid in the middle of L.A., though really, it’s not like it matters what Drew thinks when I don’t even know that he’ll want anything to do with us. I’m so, so afraid he’ll want nothing to do with us.
    My mom calls me into the living room when I get home, and by the way she’s frowning, I can tell she’s concerned. Mom and Dad have been supportive, but I haven’t told them everything, just that I’m pregnant and I don’t think the father will be involved. It hurt to say that, but I couldn’t lie, couldn’t feed them some delusion that the mystery father might care when I don’t believe it myself, when I’ve feared the worst for months. And while they’re happy with the prospect of becoming grandparents, I also know they worry.
    After luring me into a false sense of security with a plate of cookies, Mom finally opens the long dormant can of worms. “You still haven’t spoken with the father?” she prods gently from across the couch. Sitting there in worn jeans and a sweater ensconced in the fading floral furniture of my youth, she looks so sympathetic, so much like home, that I can’t bring myself to deflect.
    “I—no.” I shake my head with a sigh, then glance ruefully to my belly. “But you know I fly to New York tomorrow, and it’s not like I can keep it from him for long.”
    “So you’re meeting him in New York, then?” she keeps pushing. “You work together?”
    Another sigh. “Yeaah. He’s sort of my client. And I know, Mom, I know it was stupid, but—”
    Mom raises a placating hand and I quiet, eager for wisdom, for answers, for something . “Love is never stupid, sweetie.”
    “It’s not—” I sputter. “I mean, I don’t—”
    “You don’t?” her raised eyebrows scream skepticism.
    I shrug. “I don’t know. But it hardly matters. Drew Avery really isn’t the romantic type.”
    “I suppose you’ll never know if you don’t talk to him,” she chides, and I know she’s right. Drew Avery might not be the romantic type, but he also might be . I haven’t even given him a chance to prove me wrong. I’ve been far too frightened for that, too afraid to be proven right.
    Well, I suppose he’ll get that chance soon enough, whether I will or not, but I really don’t think it matters. Fondest dreams aside, I really can’t picture a man like Drew settling for one woman, let alone settling into family life.
    Taking another cookie from the plate in front of her, Mom chews thoughtfully but backs off, and I’m left with my thoughts, my own fears as I have been for a while now.
    The next afternoon, I’m on a plane to New York. The flight is hell, even in First Class, my need to pee every half hour humiliating. But when I think about her, this little girl that is me and Drew, this mystery child I will meet in a few short months, my heart swells.
    I find myself wondering if she’ll look like me, or maybe like Drew, wondering what she’ll feel like in my arms. I may not be sure how I feel about Drew, but I love our daughter.

    A fter a few hours of hell , we finally land in Buffalo. I can’t help my relief. Later, I’ll have to face Drew, but as the limo arrives at the hotel, I know I have a few hours to myself. To rest. To recuperate. To figure out what the hell