Page 10 of Love is a Drum Beat
They wanted bad.
Leaning back on her bed, Jo looked down at the stomach she’d started getting used too. Was this bad enough for the fans?
She reached for the book on her bedside table. It was about what to expect in childbirth, and Jo almost wished she’d never read it. Childbirth sounded… disgusting, painful. But at the end of it, she’d have her baby alien. She hadn’t told anyone that she was kind of excited for that part. Her friends saw her hiding as her avoiding what was coming, but they were wrong.
She didn’t want to share any of this with the media, with the world.
“I’m going to break the cycle.” The cycle that was the Jackson legacy. Her dad wasn’t the only bad parent in the bunch. His parents before him were no different.
It was like a sickness. Jacksons couldn’t help being crappy parents.
Except she could. She closed her eyes. “I promise.”
She had something her father and his parents never had: a support system, people who would make sure she always did what was right, people who’d love the baby as much as her.
Reaching for her phone, she realized she’d left it out on the table and let out a curse. “Oh crap, baby, don’t listen.” She’d have to clean up her language.
She turned her attention back to the book. As awful as it was to read, she needed to keep going. There’d been no birthing classes for her since she refused to leave the apartment. She paid good money for her doctor to come to her for appointments rather than venturing out.
But she couldn’t focus. With a groan, she put the book down. The boredom was real. She was used to spending her time on tours or preparing for concerts. Life as a drummer was always busy, always moving.
Noah had sent her a few songs to work out a drum part to. But the music was out in the living room.
“Why does everything have to be so far away?” Her back ached as she used all her strength to roll from the bed.
She fetched her phone off the table and walked around the couch to lower herself. Well, to try to lower herself. There was no graceful way to do it, and she sort of just collapsed onto the cushions.
Eyeing the sheet music on the coffee table, she unlocked her phone to text Noah.
Jo:I just realized something.
Noah took no time to reply.
Noah:Good for you?
Jo:We’re going to be raising kids together.
It was still weird to Jo that Noah had a little girl in his care. She never would have imagined him taking on the role of a dad, but he was surprisingly good at it.
Noah:You’re going to love it, Joey. I promise.
That was the thing. She knew she’d love being a mom—even in her crazy world—but she still had doubts that she could keep a living, breathing kid alive.
Noah:I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.
Jo:You a mind reader now?
Noah:I just know you. You are not your parents.
Jo:I know.
Noah:We’ve got this. You and me. Have we ever let each other down?
Jo smiled. The answer to that was an easy no. For so long, they’d had each other and no one else, but now everything was changing.
Jo:Not yet.
She put her phone aside and looked over the songs he’d sent. They were good, better than good. Noah was a talented songwriter. His words held a poetry. Jo’s job was to put the heart into the songs, the passion.
