Montana
I wake deliciously exhausted from our session in the studio followed by hours of lovemaking here in our bed. I take my time stretching my arms over my head then pointing and flexing my toes. Beside me, Denali groans as he stretches, too. He takes up more of the bed with each passing week. He’s going to be huge.
My phone informs me it's nearly ten o’clock. Carson’s already in the studio. I’m surprised Denali let me sleep so late. I guess we kept him up late last night, too.
“Let me go potty, then I’ll take you outside,” I tell him as he nuzzles my neck, and I scratch his belly. Never far from my side, he follows me into the bathroom, whining as I wash my hands. It’s hours past his usual potty break, so I don’t delay him any longer.
Every muscle aches as I descend the stairs, and my head hurts. Once outside, I take a seat on a patio chair as Denali does his business then runs to greet his friend, Snoopy, now on my lap.
Carson When Tony joins us in the emergency department, Montana’s still unconscious. I share the information Fran told me. In her motherly tone, she tries to calm my nerves.I watch as the nurse replaces the empty IV bag with another. She promises Montana’s improving with the fluids in her system.Later, a rustling sound near my head wakes me. I lift it from the bed, finding Montana looking down at me.“Kiss… Beth…”I barely make out her raspy whispers.“What?” I ask.Tony appears on the opposite bedside.“Kiss…” Montana’s eyes flutter closed. “B-e-t-h…”And she’s out again. Neither Tony nor I understand what the two words mean. We attempt to work through it out loud, but we’re too tired. The wall clock reads six a.m. We need Montana to wake up. Then, we need to go home and sleep. **** Hours later, the nurse returns, taking Montana’s vitals. At her movement and tou
Montana Snuggled close, my head on Carson’s chest, my mind rewinds the past twenty-four hours. What a day it turned out to be. “Are you ready to talk about our news?” Carson asks, tucking hair behind my ear to reveal my eyes. “This baby has made me so happy, love.” “What will I do while you go on tour?” I ask, feeling nervous. “Stay in Des Moines or LA?” “What do you want to do?” he asks. “I don’t know,” I confess. “Well, I’d prefer if you were with me in LA while we prep for the tour. Then, I’d love to have you on tour with me,” he says, pulling me closer. “How would that work? Would I drive my own RV and follow your tour busses or be on the bus with you and all the guys?” I inquire. Carson shrugs. “The guys have had women ride the bus with us from time to time. Most of theirs were one-night stands. But I’m sure we could lobby to sleep in the actual bed at the rear of the bus. The guys love you, and as long as you could tolerate al
BOOK ONE: UNBREAKABLESchuylerEvery three months, I'm forced to endure this torture. Once I check in at the reception counter, I assume an empty seat in the crowded waiting room. Amongst those waiting, I'm the outlier. Though I may not look any different, my appointment is the opposite of all the other patients waiting. Bile coats my throat, and my heart aches with jealousy. I grind my teeth as I fight back tears. My blood pulses loudly in my ears. I attempt to breathe through my nose, hoping to keep my pain from showing, from spilling out for all to see. I won't rain on their parade and dampen their excitement. I might hate them for having what I cannot, but I'm not evil. I'll keep a tight lid on my pain.I try to focus on reading my current book on my Kindle app, but my eyes can't help but wander. They want to witness what my heart longs desperately for. Directly across from me, an excited young couple with a toddler coo into a baby carrier while they wait for their six-week checku
SchuylerDuring the 10-minute drive through Des Moines back to my parents' house, I release my anger. The flood gates open; rivers of hot tears flow down my cheeks. Why is it this way? There should be two waiting rooms, one for obstetrics and another for gynecology. I'm only 23 years old; I'll endure this trauma four times a year for at least thirty years.It's hard continuing my teacher education studies and planning a future that will surround me with children when I can never have my own. My heart aches when I see others living the life I want. It's inevitable––pregnant women and children are everywhere. While at the grocery store, I see mothers shopping with little ones in the cart. When I drive by parks or walking trails, families are everywhere, some with strollers, and some with children on their shoulders.As I near my childhood home, I wipe all evidence of tears from my cheeks and take calming breaths to steady myself. In the driveway, I sit for a few minutes before exiting th
SchuylerExiting the backseat of the taxi, I immediately fall in love with the green vegetation, bright flowers, and the stone facade of our resort. Dallas tips the cab driver before speaking to the bellhops about our luggage. Soon enough, she joins me on the steps leading into the lobby.As we stand in line at the front desk, I scan our surroundings. The windows have no glass to keep nature out. Grand archways lead guests to the front doorway or a walkway toward the beach and guest rooms. There are more open windows than flat wall space in the lobby. Green foliage and bright blue sky extend everywhere I look."Ladies, I have drinks!" A bartender extends the round tray with two glasses of slushy, red beverage topped with a lime wedge and an umbrella.Dallas wastes no time taking the two glasses and passing one to me."Compliments of the men at the bar." The bartender nods in their direction.While we turn to look, the bartender returns to his area. Dallas smiles and waves at the four m
Schuyler"I'm sorry; it's been bugging me." I interrupt their teasing and motion in Dallas's direction to the guys flanking her. "I know your names are Rich and Garret, but I don't know which of you is which."Laughter fills the air. My diversion works. In my periphery, I notice Calvin looking down, a smirk upon his face.The blonde stands and extends his hand to me, his blue eyes meeting mine. "I'm Rich; I'm taller and better looking than Garret.""Dude, you're the same height," Joe jeers from across the group."You'll have to excuse Rich; his golden locks are an attempt to make up for his deficit in the brains department. I'm Garret." The man to Dallas’s left stands, offering me his hand.Dallas can't peel her eyes from him which leads me to believe she's choosing him over Rich. It's for the best. Two blondes would be much too perfect together."Rich-blonde, Garret-brains," I chant repeatedly after shaking Garret’s hand."Hey! I'm more than just my brains," Garret protests, pouting a
SchuylerAs morning light filters through the open curtains, I roll away from it hoping to catch some more sleep. As my left cheek hits the pillow, pain registers in my brain, and my eyes open wide. I sit up. My fingertips find my cheek swollen and warm. I slide from the bed, padding my way to the bathroom down the hall. I note Dallas’s door is no longer open; I assume she made it home.My eyes squint at the bright vanity lights. Leaning toward the mirror, I instantly notice my swollen cheek is bright red. The heat and redness concern me. Wanting another opinion, I knock on Dallas’s door.“What?” she moans.“Dallas, something’s wrong. I need your help.” I try to keep the concern I’m feeling hidden until I get her opinion.At my words, I hear footsteps on the tile floor, then the door flies open.“Shit Schuyler! What did you do?” Dallas asks as she turns my chin for a better look.“I woke up this way,” I answer.She guides me into the bathroom for further examination under the lights.“
SchuylerStepping from my shower, I wrap my hair in a small towel on top of my head and secure another towel under my arms. I’m wiping the moisture from the large vanity mirror with a spare cloth when I hear a knock on the door.“Schuyler, your mother is on the phone,” Calvin calls through the closed door.“Come in,” I call back to him. “Can you put it on speaker on the counter for me?”He complies then leans against the open doorway.“Hi, Mom,” I greet, tightening the towel covering my chest.“Calvin seems like a perfect gentleman,” my mother swoons, unaware he can hear her.As a red blush graces his cheeks, I decide to not inform her she is on speakerphone. Knowing my mother, she’ll have much to say or, better yet, ask about him.“Dallas shared all the details this morning,” Mom continues. “I’m just calling to see what the diagnosis was.”“The doctor believes it’s a bug bite that I’m having an allergic reaction to,” I share, acutely aware that Calvin’s eyes haven’t left my towel-cove