Immediately, they began their set, nailing each song flawlessly, playing with a zealous passion that pulsated deep inside me. It had been so long since I’d watched from the audience as he performed—typically, I watched from the wings of the stage—and it was a truly different experience looking into his eyes as he crooned the lyrics. As the song they had just debuted the night before came to an end, Mason grabbed a wooden stool sitting on the side of the stage and dragged it over to where he stood. The music stopped, and everyone—myself included—remained silent, watching and waiting with ardent curiosity.
Palming the neck of the microphone, he affectionately gazed down at me and smiled warmly, extending his hand down in my direction. “Scarlett, will you join me up here, please?”
Surprised. Startled. Dumbfounded. A thousand other emotions I couldn’t pinpoint roared to life inside of me.
Scattered cheers and whistles echoed throughout the otherwise soundless room as I unquestioningly stood up and joined him, nervous my shaky legs were going to collapse underneath me.
“Sit down,” he instructed, pointing at the stool.
Doing as he requested, I hopped up on the circular, wooden surface as he traded his electric guitar for an acoustic one waiting for him off to the side. I didn’t need to look at my reflection in a mirror to know my cheeks were severely blush-stained and my eyes were enlarged to the size of saucers, unsure of what was happening.
The stares of the audience fixed on me. My gaze fixed on him.
Without another word, his fingers strummed the guitar and the opening chords of “Your Guardian Angel” resonated loudly throughout the room. My face lit up, remembering the first time I’d heard him sing that song—the morning after I’d come back from being gone after Evie’s death. He’d been cooking breakfast for me and was unaware I was watching him; I’d snuck up behind him and whispered in his ear, “I’ll stay with you, Mase.”
After he sang the first verse and chorus, he somehow morphed the song into Robbie Williams’ “Angel” without missing a beat, and then a little bit later, he did it again with the Aerosmith song of the same name. Magically, he’d comprised a compilation of songs about angels, perfectly interweaving the lyrics and transitioning the harmonies so that it flowed faultlessly. Tears of unadulterated joy spilled down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. The final part of the angel anthology was Jack Johnson’s rendering of the namesake, and as he sang the powerful, awe-inspiring lyrics . . . I knew.
I simply knew.
And the answer was yes.
The song came to an end, and he propped the guitar up against one of the nearby amps. Then, in his sensual baritone voice—his grey eyes glimmering—he spoke directly to my heart. “Hollywood is known as the land of dreams. Los Angeles is the City of Angels.” Pausing to lick his dry lips, I found his nervousness endearing and sexy. “So I figured, what better place to make my dreams come true and ask my angel to be my wife?” He dropped to both knees in front of me as he pulled a ring out of his pocket. The world around us metamorphosed into obscurity; nothing else mattered in that moment. With hands slightly shaking, he slid the solitaire onto my left ring finger. “Scarlett Alexandria MacGregor, will you marry me?”
I’m not sure I ever actually said yes; instead, I sprung from the stool into his arms, tackling him to the floor. My mouth crashed down on his boldly and unapologetically, answering him first with my lips and then my tongue in what had to be the most ungraceful kiss ever.
Ask me if I cared. I was going to be Mrs. Scarlett Templeton.
Over five years later and I still remember that night as if it was yesterday—hands down, one of the top-three moments of my life. Browsing through the photos of the two of us up on the stage, the euphoric glow on our faces is undeniable. We had no idea in that moment of the curve balls that would be thrown our way shortly after, but for that night, my life felt like a fairy tale.
TWO LINES, TWO BEATS
THIS ~ ED SHEERAN
SCARLETT
Looking around for a clock in my new living room, all I can see are the towers of boxes surrounding me on the floor. I need to get up and get some water anyhow—it was the real reason I got out of bed to begin with—so I rise to my feet and quietly scamper into the kitchen. The clock on the stove reads three-fifteen as I grab a cold bottle from the fridge. My sensible self is telling me I really need to go back to sleep, otherwise I’m going to be dragging ass tomorrow when I need to be productive, but I shush her with a promise I’ll only stay up another thirty minutes.
Kneeling down next to the photos scattered on the floor, I excitedly submerge my arm into the storage container and draw out another small pile. Immediately, my eyes are drawn to several in the stack that are larger than the rest, and are printed on a different type of material. Staring down at the black and white sonogram pictures, I beam internally. I think back to the day we found out our lives would change forever.
After Mason proposed in LA, our relationship only continued to grow and strengthen. I knew we couldn’t even think about getting married until after the tour ended, and even then, I’d have to find out what their schedule would be for the next tour. I didn’t mind though; I was confident it would happen someday. The display of love and adoration he showed me—not only during the proposal, but each and every day—spoke volumes about what I meant to him. In the rare times I did feel insecure or lacked confidence, all I had to do was look at my charm bracelet circling my right wrist and the diamond solitaire sitting atop my ring finger and I was reminded of his loyalty and faithfulness.
As the tour progressed, Jobu’s Rum steadily climbed the charts and increased in popularity as they played more shows. When the third single on their second album hit the top-five overall, we were in Oklahoma City, close to the halfway mark of the tour. That night after the show, we all went out to celebrate their amazing accomplishment, but after about an hour of being at the bar, I began to feel sick. A sudden onset of nausea, chills, and overall body aches hit me out of nowhere.
Insisting that Mason stayed out with his friends, I somehow made it back to the bus, and instantly passed out cold on my bed. I didn’t remember them coming back, but the next morning, he told me I still had my shoes on and my coin purse clutched in my hand when he found me. Unfortunately, the light of a new day didn’t bring any reprieve from the awful feelings, nor did the next. Finally, after four days straight with no improvement, Sophie asked Ed to take us to a pharmacy so she could purchase some different medicines. The guys were at a sound check when she entered the area that was my “room” and tossed a plastic Walgreen’s bag down on the comforter next to my lethargic body.
“I think you need that,” she said matter-of-factly, standing in the doorway waiting for me to do something.
Groaning, I bent over at the waist to retrieve the bag, expecting to pull out some kind of drugs, but instead, I pulled out a pregnancy test. My questioning eyes flashed up to hers, asking the words I couldn’t muster the strength to speak.
“How long’s it been since you had your period, Scarlett?” Sitting down on the bed next to me, her voice took on a comforting tone as she soothingly rubbed my unshaven calf.
“I don’t know,” I croaked. “I have a hard time keeping up with time on this bus.”
“Take the test, please. If it comes back negative, we need to get you to a doctor to find out what’s wrong. If this was a stomach bug, at least one other of us would’ve gotten it, being that we live in such close quarters.”
Her words rang with truth, but I’d felt so terrible; I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of pregnancy. “Okay, I’ll take it. Can you help me get up?” I hated feeling so puny and whiney, but because I hadn’t eaten in so long, my strength was completely diminished.
“Of course,” she replied with an encouraging smile.
Taking hold of my hands, she slid me to the end of the bed and helped me the few feet to the bathroom she and I shared. She opened the box and handed me the stick.
“Just pee on this part and put the lid back on. Then we wait three minutes for the results—two lines means positive; one line is negative,” she instructed.
I nodded and closed the sliding pocket door, unsure if I was shivering with nerves, illness, or a little bit of both. I managed to pee a little bit—my body was so dehydrated from the lack of fluids I’d been able to keep down—and I hoped it was enough for an accurate reading. Doing as I was told, I covered the stick with the lid and sat it down on the side of the sink to wash my hands.
I didn’t even get the soap pumped into my hands before two blue lines glared up at me from the results window. The breath escaped my lungs in one whoosh as the little bit of color I still had in my face drained rapidly. If I hadn’t been frozen into a statuesque form of myself, I’m sure I would’ve panicked . . . screamed . . . vomited . . . something. But I stood there unmoving, staring at the plastic object that mocked me and all of the plans I had for my future.
“Are you okay?” Sophie called out. “Are you getting sick again?”
Silence.
“Scarlett? Answer me! What’s going on?”
More silence.
She must’ve figured it out after a few minutes, because the next thing I recall was her looping her arms around my waist, hugging me and telling me everything was going to be okay.
But she was wrong. Nothing was going to be okay.
Sophie stayed with me that night instead of going to the show; neither of us said much. I knew I had to tell Mason soon, but I didn’t know how. My emotions followed the second-hand of the clock, whirling through my mind in a circular motion. Worry. Fear. Anxiety. Hope. Apprehension. Helplessness. Excitement. Worry. Fear.
Over and over, I couldn’t escape it.
I finally passed out from exhaustion at some point, only waking up when Mason slipped into bed next to me. I curled into his warm body and clung to him, wanting to blurt it out, but knowing it wasn’t the time.
“Hey there, Angel,” he whispered, pulling me close. “You feeling any better?”
“A little, I guess. I’m just really tired.”
Kissing me on the forehead, he nodded. “Get some sleep. Hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Morning came, and of course, I didn’t feel any better. I spent the better part of an hour dry-heaving into the white porcelain bowl of death, trying to be as quiet as possible since I knew everyone else was still asleep. Sophie was waiting for me with a glass of ginger ale and graham crackers when I emerged, and she sat with me at the table as I sipped and nibbled, hoping it would stay down.
“There you two are,” Mason greeted us cheerfully as he slid into the chair next to me wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants hung low on his hips. Kissing me on the cheek, he gave me a once-over and shook his head. “We’re going to take you to an urgent care clinic as soon as we get into Kansas City.”
I shook my head and waved my hand in front of my face. “That’s not necessary. I’ll get better, eventually.”
“It’s non-negotiable, Scarlett,” he replied in a stern voice I wasn’t used to hearing from him. As if he immediately felt bad, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him. “Well, I do have a little bit of good news you missed out on last night. Maybe this will cheer you up some.”
“Oh, really? What happened?” Sophie asked curiously.
A proud smile covered his face. “The producer we met with in LA wants us to record our next album with him as soon as this tour finishes up, and Owen locked in the dates for our third tour, which will include some international venues. I hope you girls like life on the road ‘cause it doesn’t look like we’re going home anytime soon.”
Instantaneously, I burst into uncontrollable tears at his announcement, confusing the hell out of him, and prompting a look of empathy from her.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?” His head swiveled back and forth between me and Sophie.
“I’m pregnant, Mase,” I blurted out in-between my blubbering sobs. It wasn’t how I planned to tell him. Shit, I still hadn’t even figured that part out either, but it definitely wasn’t going to be in front of another person while stuck on the bus traveling down the highway.
At first, I didn’t look up at him, petrified to see the look of disappointment or abhorrence playing on his face. Sophie excused herself to leave us alone to discuss things, even though I secretly wished she’d stay—she was my security blanket.
“Let’s go to our room and talk about it,” he said in a hushed voice.
I nodded and stood up, and then he did something that shocked me. He scooped me up in his arms, kissed my lips tenderly, and carried me to the back of the bus, where he gently laid me on top of the bed. Lying down next to me, he wrapped me in his arms and held my face snugly up against his bare chest as he lightly stroked my hair. We stayed like that for a few minutes, both trying to find the words that matched our thoughts.
Eventually, he pulled back from me a bit so we could look into each other’s eyes before he began to talk. “Angel, I can only imagine what you’re thinking and feeling right now—God knows my head is all over the place—but the one thing I’m not wavering on at all is that this baby is a blessing. I know we haven’t talked about it, but I assumed one day in the future we were going to have a family. We’re already engaged, we love each other unconditionally, and we’re just speeding up the family thing a bit.”
Unsure of how to even respond, I started to cry again.
“It’s okay; it’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out together,” he reassured me. “Our entire relationship hasn’t followed the traditional path of doing things, so there’s no reason to start now.”
That prompted a small chuckle from me, and I wiped the wetness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Mason, I don’t think you’re realizing what this means. I won’t be able to tour with you anymore once I have the baby. We’ll be apart all the time. Plus, I don’t know the first thing about how to take care of a baby!”
His hands moved up to my face, cupping under my chin as his thumbs brushed softly across my tear-stained jaw. “Listen to me, Scarlett. We will figure this out; we are NOT going to be apart. You’ve always told me you believe strongly in fate—everything happens for a reason, right?”
“Right,” I murmured, still unsure I believed what he was saying.
“It’s all about perspective, Angel. I’m choosing to view this baby as a blessing, a creation made from our love.”
With those words, he leaned in and kissed me. Carefully. Cautiously. He softly grazed his lips against mine several times before his tongue slowly swept over my bottom lip. Moaning instinctively, my mouth parted slightly, inviting him in for a more sensual kiss. His hands slid from my jaw, down to my neck, and finally into my hair, his fingers twisting into the locks hanging loose at my nape. Our tongues met halfway, lazily rolling and winding around each other, dancing to the tune of our hearts beating. So many words were spoken in that kiss without a single sound.
Shortly after our talk, we both fell back asleep for a little while, only to be woken up by my need to throw up yet again. It was Mason that time waiting for me with the drink and crackers, which despite how awful I felt, made me smile. By then, everyone else was up and moving about the bus, so we decided to have a meeting to announce the baby news. We all agreed not to tell anyone else until I could get to a doctor and find out how far along I was. Also discussed was the band’s exciting announcement from the previous night. Mason made it clear that our having a baby wouldn’t impact them moving forward with their plans, and he instructed Owen to begin making whatever arrangements necessary to assure the baby and I would be travelling wherever they went.
Finding a doctor was another problem we had to address. We still had four months left of the tour, and with being in a different city every night, it wasn’t like I could see the same one more than once. Owen got me an appointment for the following day in Kansas City, but we agreed I would need to fi
nd one in Houston I could travel to see every so often. Less than twenty-four hours after finding out Mason and I were going to be parents, some of the shock and fear began to leave my system, and it was replaced with a tiny morsel of excitement.
At the first doctor’s visit, I could’ve sworn we were on an episode of Punk’d. It started with just Mason and me going to the appointment, knowing it’d be the only time we saw this doctor; we just wanted to confirm the pregnancy and get an idea of my progress. However, by the time we left the bus in the parking lot of the medical offices, the entire group was tagging along behind us, everyone excited about the ‘band’s baby’. I wish I could’ve recorded the facial expressions on the people in the waiting room and the office staff when the seven of us—four tattooed rockers, Sophie, Owen, and myself—strolled off of the elevator and into the obstetrician’s office. Soon after checking in, I was ushered to the back for a urine specimen and blood work; I’m pretty sure they wanted to get us out of there as soon as humanly possible. I didn’t wait long in the room for the nurse to come in and take my vitals, as well as ask me five hundred questions about my sexual history and past alcohol and drug use. I guessed I passed that part of the exam, because moments later, the doctor entered and greeted me with a bright smile.
“Hi there, you must be Scarlett,” she said as she offered her hand to me, which I shook politely. “I’m Dr. Scott. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I wasn’t sure what it was about her, but I liked her immediately. “It’s nice to meet you too,” I replied.
“So my nurse told me a little bit about your situation, but let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re currently on tour with your fiancé’s band, so you’re just passing through here, and you recently took a home pregnancy test that came back positive. You don’t know when you’re last menstrual cycle was, and you’ve been experiencing fatigue and nausea for about a week.” She looked up at me from the chart she held in her hand, awaiting my confirmation.