“Bloody hell!” The shower door opens, and arms envelop me. I look up and see Sam, my agent, her short blonde hair and black pantsuit drenched by the spray as she tries to lift me.
The water is tepid now, and I’m starting to shiver. The shock in her hazel eyes brings me back to reality. “I’m fine. I’ll stand,” I tell her through chattering teeth.
“It doesn’t look like you’re fine. What the hell happened?” All it takes is for Sam’s eyes to land on my stained robe to know everything she needs to know. She pales and her arm reaches out, lending the support I need as she walks me to the toilet where she wraps a large towel around my shoulders. “We have to get you to the hospital.” She reaches inside her bag and produces a pad. I swear she has whatever it takes to survive an apocalypse in that bag.
Shaking my head, I accept the pad. “No. No hospitals.” God, the press will have a field day, and I have a concert starting in three hours.
My underwear is soaked through, and Sam snatches a pair of panties off the pile of laundry I meant to pick up earlier and hands them to me. “We need to get you checked out.”
Ensuring the pad is secure, I stand and slip the panties on, then reach for the discarded leggings and sweater I took off after the soundcheck. I hand Sam the towel while I remove my gown, slipping on the clothes. I turn to wash my hands and if at all possible, pale even more at the sight of myself in the mirror. My onyx eyes are circled with dark rings. Wet dark strands stick to my almost translucent skin. Even my lips are devoid of color. I dry my hands.
“Please, no hospitals. It will be all over the press in an hour. I can’t take that now.”
“I’ll make sure no one finds out. Simon and Bridget can help.”
At the mention of my best friend and her fiancé, I feel some of the panic leave me and I relax a little. Bridget and Simon would help me. Bridget had become one of my closest friends when I started volunteering in the cancer wing at Memorial. She was a nurse in the ER, and we’d bumped into each other in the hall outside the oncology unit while I’d broken down when five-year-old Timothy Jones had succumbed to his leukemia. She hadn’t asked any questions; she’d merely wrapped her arms around me and held me while I cried. Me, not Hayley Stephens, world-renowned rock star; just me, a sad woman grieving the loss of a little boy that didn’t deserve to suffer the way he had.
“Okay, can you grab me my phone?”
“Use mine.” Sam dials Bridget’s number and hands me the phone.
“Hey, Sam, we just got the tickets. VIP passes! Thank you so much.” My best friend’s voice brings tears to my eyes.
“It’s me.”
“Oh, hey, I can’t wait for later. Brendan is at his grandma’s house, and Simon and I are looking forward to some adult time.” Brendan is Bridget’s eight-year-old son, and I love him to bits. I feel a stab of pain at not being able to watch my own baby grow into a sweet child like him.
“Bridge, I’m having a miscarriage.” I probably should’ve sugarcoated that a little, but I can’t help myself.
I hear something crash to the floor and Bridget’s gasp. When she speaks, her throat is clogged with tears which threaten to bring on a fresh bout of my own. I won’t let them fall though; I can’t afford to break right now.
“Oh! Oh shit, Hayley, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Where are you? Are you at the hospital?”
“Not yet. Can you call it in and make sure no one releases this to the press?”
“Of course I can. Simon is finishing up his shift; I’ll get him to page Dr. Evans. Come through the back. I’ll meet you there.” She knows what I went through when I found out the pregnancy test I’d taken had been a false negative. Having my results splashed all over Twitter within half an hour of leaving the doctor’s office created a shitstorm that resulted in Ethan denying the baby was his, a dozen or more guys claiming the baby was theirs, and a few hundred trolls and psychos all weighing in on what a whore I was.
I’d neither denied nor confirmed the rumors, choosing instead to ostrich my way through the situation. It didn’t matter that the doctor phoned me personally to apologize and tell me she’d fired the girl who sent out the tweet. What came of that one tweet changed everything. It threatened my reputation and everything I worked so hard for. It also stained my view of human nature in general. How could they not see how awful Ethan was after what he tweeted? How could people support him after he did that?
I hang up, and Sam pulls me to her in a crushing hug that borders on painful. “This fucking sucks,” she whispers through tears that shock me dumb. I’m feeling so many emotions right now that I doubt
