Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (45 page)

The ceremony was brief, to the point, and before long it was time for their song. They’d been planning to sing it a cappella, but Dave surprised them both by volunteering to provide the musical accompaniment. Shan could tell that Quinn was deeply affected by the offer. His friendship with Dave hadn’t been the same since the revelation that they were a couple and she knew it was a sincere effort on Dave’s part to extend the olive branch, one that they were touched and grateful to accept.

When Dave heard the song, he decided it needed to be played on a twelve-string guitar, which had a prettier, sweeter sound than a six-string. Quinn concurred, requesting that he use the Fullerton that had belonged to Shan’s mother. “That way she’ll be there with us, too,” he told her and Shan could only nod, overcome by this thoughtfulness.

They turned to face each other as the opening chords of the song commenced and Quinn began to sing as haunting, lilting tremolos filled the chapel.

I told you I was ready

Now here with you I stand

I knew someday I’d be here

Prepared to take your hand

I found what I was missing

When you appeared that day

My perfect mate, my woman

You took my breath away

They’d created their individual verses separately. It was the first time Shan had heard them, the words he’d composed just for her, and her own voice wavered as she sang the words she’d written to him.

You’re the one I’ve always wanted

My key, my heart, my home

You opened up my silence

And now I’m not alone

We’re a family together

And it’s time to take a leap

Into a happy ending

To have, to love, to keep

Even Elvis looked misty as they began the chorus, which they’d practiced over and over and over, until their voices blended so flawlessly that it was impossible to hear where Shan’s singing ended and Quinn’s began.

You’re the one

We sing in perfect harmony

You’re the one

The only perfect one for me

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the chaplain said when they finished singing. Their friends and family burst into a wave of applause and even Denise was smiling as Quinn pulled Shan into his arms and she rose up on her toes to kiss him, the man she’d never thought she could have.

“This studio is coming right along,” Dan said. “It’s going to be primo, dude. You’re putting in a drum booth, though, right?”

“Of course. A vocal booth, too. I’ll treat that end acoustically,” Quinn said, pointing at the southern tip of the room. “That way, we’ll get surgical sound there, but it will be livelier here.”

“Got your equipment picked out already?”

“Three ADATs and a Yamaha O2R,” Quinn said. “That’ll give us twenty-four tracks. Shan wants a Lexicon reverb, too.”

“You must be working like a dog to get it finished so fast,” Dan said.

“It’s a welcome diversion. I need an occasional break from ‘I’m so fat.’” Quinn’s ear caught the sound of ponderous footsteps. He grinned. “Here comes the fat girl now.”

Shan emerged from the stairway. She looked hot and irritable. And huge, Quinn thought, his eyes drifting to her stomach, barely covered by the bulky Indian dress she wore.

“The burgers are on,” she announced and noticed Quinn looking at her. “What?”

“You look like a Weeble,” he said cheerfully.

Shan made a pained sound, turning away, and Dan chuckled as Quinn grasped her arm. “Oh, come on, babe. You’re nine months pregnant. Nobody expects you to be light on your feet. Can you watch the burgers?” he asked Dan, pulling Shan onto his lap and waiting until he went upstairs before speaking again. “Tell me what’s wrong, angel.”

She shook her head. “Come on,” he said. “I can tell something’s up.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I feel strange today.”

“How do you mean, strange?”

“Strange, as in not normal. Strange, as in not right. Just
strange.
” She frowned. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a lab specimen.” She grimaced. “I can’t wait until this pregnancy is over with, so you can stop acting as if it was a science project.”

“Do you want to call Dr. Taylor?” he asked, ignoring her editorial commentary.

“No.” She shook her head. “Not until I’m sure something important is happening.”

“Maybe we ought to, just to be safe.”

“
No,
I said.” She struggled to rise and he obligingly teetered her into an upright position.

She stomped up the stairs and Quinn followed, experiencing the thrill of possession that he felt every time he looked around their new house, where they’d been living less than two months. It was a graceful, Tudor-style villa in Mission Cove, a seaside hamlet about an hour south of LA. The place was spacious but not huge, nothing like the palatial estates that his parents and brother lived in. The property was breathtaking, though, right on the water, the house perched on a craggy overlook that gave the illusion of an island, with nothing but water and sky as far as the eye could see. It was everything he’d wanted, but the basement was really the pièce de résistance as far as he was concerned, a vast area that couldn’t have made a more perfect studio space if he’d designed it himself.

Shan seemed dazzled by the house and he knew she never thought she’d be living in such a place. It was a palace compared to what she was used to, with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a pool, a hot tub, and a guest house as well as a boathouse for the powerboat he planned to buy. He often caught her wandering from room to room inspecting them with a frown, like she didn’t believe it really belonged to them.

Right now she was frowning at him instead. “I know my own body,” she insisted, “and
you
don’t know anything, because
you’ve
never been pregnant.”

Quinn decided that silence was the best course of action. She was prone to these little fits of temper lately. Must be hormonal, he speculated, following her into the kitchen to get a beer before joining Dan on the deck, where he could bitch about the trials of having a pregnant wife to a sympathetic listener.

Denise was in there, making a salad. “I can finish this,” she said, as Shan pulled out a knife. “Why don’t you get off your feet?”

“It’s better when I move around,” Shan confessed and Denise made a sound of sympathy.

“You poor thing. Quinn, I hope you’re doing everything you can to help her through this.”

“Whatever she’ll allow,” Quinn said, opening the fridge, “but my very existence seems to annoy her of late.” He treated Denise with kid gloves these days, although she was meaner to him than ever. He swallowed her rudeness now, accepting it as his penance.

“You’re annoying in general,” she concurred, “but less so than usual lately.”

“Thanks,” he said and meant it, since it was about the nicest thing she’d ever said to him.

“He’s so fascinated with your pregnancy,” she said to Shan. “I have to confess, he’s surprising me.”

“I can’t see why. He’s fascinated with anything scientific. I’m sure when the moment comes, he won’t even talk to me. He’ll have his head in between my legs, videotaping the grand entrance of his offspring. I’ve forbidden cameras in the delivery room, but you’ll wait until I’m too delirious from pain to care and pull the Sony out of your pocket, won’t you?” She scowled at Quinn as she tossed a handful of chopped chives on the salad. “Can one of you bring this out?”

Denise took it and went outside. Shan took up the knife again to slice some tomatoes, but instead gasped, gripping the edge of the counter. “What is it?” Quinn asked immediately.

She opened her mouth to reply but a second spasm seemed to strike, this time accompanied by a gush of water. She looked down. “I think my water broke,” she said, as he gaped at the flood.

“You think we could maybe call the doctor now?” He grabbed the phone. “I can’t believe how fucking stubborn you are.” She moaned and he dropped the phone to catch her in his arms.

She clung to him, panting. “We’d better go to the hospital.”

He didn’t answer, just snatched the car keys off the rack. When he turned back, she was halfway to the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“Changing my clothes. Would you wipe up the floor?”

“But—” The door closed in his face. For a split second, he considered physically dragging her to the car, but as quickly as the thought occurred he abandoned it. One had to be patient when one’s pregnant wife went into labor. Clearly, they become irrational.

He grabbed a roll of paper towels and did as he’d been told. He was just straightening up when Shan emerged from the bedroom. She’d put on another tentlike dress, one he’d bought her during the last tour. It was a mass of tie-dye colors and she loved it but refused to wear it once she’d grown big, stating that it made her look like a weather balloon at a Dead show. He’d chuckled and agreed, but it pleased him to see her in it now.

“The food is getting cold,” Denise said, coming in from the deck just as Shan hunched over with another moan. “Oh my God! Is she in labor? She’s in labor!
Why are you just standing there?
” she shrieked at Quinn.

Quinn hurried toward the side door, almost colliding with Dan as he came in through the sliders. “What’s all the yelling about?”

“The baby’s coming,” Quinn heard Denise say as he headed for the garage to get Shan’s Jeep. He hated it and would have preferred to go in his new Testarossa, but she hadn’t been able to get in or out of that for weeks now. He pulled it around front and jumped out to help her, but Denise was already easing her inside. He danced impatiently, sure he should be doing something, then ran back around to the driver’s side. As he did, he heard Denise issuing orders to Dan.

“Go turn off the grill,” she was instructing him as she squeezed into the back seat, “and bring Sugaree inside. Then lock up the house—you know where the spare key is, right?—and meet us at the hospital.”

“I can take it from here,” he said to Denise. “You can ride with Dan, if you want.”

“Get moving,” she told him and he frowned, but put the Jeep in gear and sped up the long driveway. He could hear Denise murmuring to Shan, encouraging her to breathe, reassuring her that everything was going to be all right, all the things he was supposed to be saying. He grabbed the car phone, plugged in the speed dial for Dr. Taylor, and reported the situation, pausing when asked how the contractions were spaced.

“Six minutes,” Denise said. “I’m timing them.”

“Six minutes,” he snapped and hung up after being assured that Dr. Taylor would be paged immediately. He reached for Shan’s hand, but found Denise already holding it. “Keep your mind on the road,” she said.

“It
is
my wife and also my kid, you know, Denise,” he said, braking for a red light. “I think I’m entitled to touch them.”

“Right now your job is to get them safely to the hospital,” Denise said, “so why don’t you just shut up and drive?”

He bit the inside of his lip, actually bit it, hurting himself in an effort to suppress the angry retort that sprang to his lips. “Deep breaths,” Denise was saying to Shan, and he took a few himself. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?”

Shan choked out a shaky laugh. “Do you think you could give birth to this child for me?”

“I would, if I could,” Quinn said as they pulled up in front of the hospital.

“You couldn’t stand the pain,” Denise said. “No man could.”

He considered a variety of responses, then a yelp from his wife drove Denise’s obnoxiousness right out of his mind. By the time they arrived at the hospital, Shan was white, the look on her face was beginning to resemble agony, and he felt a tendril of panic invade his stomach as he jumped out of the car.

Shan got her feet to the ground, then made it no farther. “I don’t think I can walk,” she gasped. Quinn continued to tug at her arm mindlessly.

Denise hung over the seat. “Get a wheelchair,” she hissed and he bolted inside.

When Shan was installed in the chair, he dashed alongside until he was unceremoniously halted at the door to the birthing suite. “But that’s my wife,” he insisted. He watched her roll away and, for a surreal instant, was transported back in time to the moment he’d watched the doors swing shut behind her at the clinic in New York. She looked defenseless, just as she had then.

“We have to get you scrubbed and suited,” a cheerful orderly said, nudging him into an adjoining room. Quinn fell into the hastily provided scrubs and was heading for the door when the orderly blocked his way. “You need to tie back your hair.”

Quinn regarded him in a blind rage. “My wife is in there giving birth and I’d like to be there when she does, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m sure you would,” the orderly replied, still annoyingly cheerful, “but first we need you to tie back your hair.”

Quinn considered punching the jovial smile right off the orderly’s face, but instead pulled his hair into a ponytail and installed the cap on his head. Next he was instructed to wash his hands with foul-smelling disinfectant, then he was finally allowed to join his wife.

“I can always tell a first-timer,” the orderly said. “You’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you. I even have smelling salts,” he added, “in case you pass out. Lots of first-timers do, you know.”

Quinn ignored him, catching Shan’s hand and gazing tenderly into her eyes.

“Where the hell did you disappear to?” she groaned.

“They made me change—” he began and she suddenly clamped down. He winced, his hand sending out darts of pain where her nails dug in.

“I’m so scared,” she whispered, and he pressed his lips against the back of her hand.

Just then Dr. Taylor bustled in, red faced and smiling, and disappeared behind the sheet. “Six centimeters,” he reported and the assisting nurse beamed at Shan.

“Looks like you’re in a hurry to get this over with, Mrs. Marshall.”

Quinn blinked. Nobody ever called Shan that. Most people used her first name. She still went by her maiden name professionally, too, but guessed it
was
her name now. He’d never really thought about it. “Mrs. Marshall” had a nice ring to it. In fact, he liked it. A lot.