Xavi sits on the foot of his bed, eyeing me like a five-course meal as I finish slipping into the expensive, shimmery dress I have no business wearing. It's gold with a chiffon trumpet cut, hugging its way up my body and sitting snug around my shoulders in a bateau neckline. This thing puts my one-week overdue belly on full-display, and Xavi absolutely adored it for me the moment he saw it.

"Okay," I exhale heavily, resting my hands on my hips as I catch my breath and turn to face him. "I'm dressed. Happy?"

His lips curve into a crooked smile as he stands, coming toward me. "Very. You look amazing."

I look down, stifling a smile as my cheeks burn up. "I look like a glitter blimp."

He redirects my chin upward with his thumb and forefinger. "You look fucking sexy," he disagrees, and quickly plants a kiss on my lips. "Why don't you wanna come? You worked hard on this."

"I don't know..."

Maybe because it's a red carpet event for my literal idol. Maybe because I'm forty-one weeks pregnant and waddling like a penguin everywhere I go. Maybe because there will be cameras everywhere and someone is bound to recognize me as "the girl who threw a metal water bottle at Chris Ellington's head."

Maybe because Jazmin will be there.

I haven't seen her since she packed up and moved to Tijuana full time in May, just after I returned to Chris's and Rigo's house. Xavi finished the DJ residency—which ended in June—and moved all of his things out of there, leaving the apartment to Jazmin. Their relationship hasn't recovered from what happened between us yet, but tonight is another chance for that to change. Xavi needs to be there, regardless of how I feel about it.

I breathe through the nerves as my fingers caress the glitter for grounding, just like my new therapist, Mandy, taught me to do. Therapy this time around has felt a lot like being a kid again, because it's so much about emotional regulation. I've got enough acronyms memorized for grounding and redirection techniques that I could write a manual on them all at this point.

"Mi amor," Xavi purrs, smiling gently, "you deserve recognition."

My shoulders drop a little in exasperation; the most I'll allow myself to feel before disappearing from the room now. "I'm just your plus one."

"Just?" he repeats, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

"Plus two, if you count Ariel," I snicker.

He grins big, exhaling a laugh. "Always."

I roll onto my toes to press our lips together one more time, then turn around so he can zip me up, and follow him downstairs by the hand.

It's utter chaos that we walk into-the usual when the Reyes family gathers. There are people and children everywhere, all talking, yelling, and laughing at the same time. All adults—save for Xavi's parents Melissa and José, who are staying behind to watch the kids—are dressed to the nines for the premiere of Can't Really Explain It tonight; the title I suggested, which Chris and Rigo loved. I know Jazmin is here somewhere, but I don't look for her. I notice Kyle, Mariluz, and my brother huddled with drinks by the door and head straight for them with Xavi in tow.

Liam made the sudden decision to attend college in Los Angeles, which turned out to be his own attempt at mending the bridge between us. He's been here for about a month and a half, living on campus at UCLA and visiting me in Beverly Hills often. I feel so much pride to know our upbringing couldn't dampen his spirit as much as it did mine. He's stronger than I am, and thanks to that strength, Ariel will have more than just the Reyes family to turn to.

"Are you still pregnant, girl?" Kyle asks, feigning exhaustion. "Get him outta there already. I'm ready to be an uncle."

Right as he says that, pain sears through my hips and lower belly in a Braxton-Hicks contraction—those that aren't really labor but still hurt like hell. I've been having them off and on all day, but I'm not worried yet. I press my hand into my hip in a futile effort to relieve some of the pain, wincing. Everyone around me goes pale and wide-eyed.

"Oh my God, is it time?!" Kyle panics in as controlled a voice as he can manage.

Xavi's hand rests on my lower back. "Was that...?"

"Just a Braxton-Hicks contraction," I assure them all with a sigh as the pain subsides. "No baby today."

"Good, it's Friday the thirteenth anyway," Liam comments with obvious relief.

Kyle laughs as his shoulders drop exaggeratedly. "I thought the baby heard me."

Xavi shoots Liam a smirk. "Don't tell me you're superstitious."

Liam laughs. "Dude, your whole family is superstitious."

"Not me," Xavi counters with a shrug. "Besides, if the baby comes today, that's proof that Friday the thirteenth isn't all bad luck."

"On the day of an important event? Yeah, sure. Good luck." Liam chuckles, shaking his head.

"I think it would be wonderful if he came today," Mariluz chimes in, smiling softly.

"Me too," Kyle agrees. "I'm dying to know his name."

"It'll be soon, just not today," I say, more for my own comfort than theirs. My stomach keeps cramping between contractions. If this doesn't stop soon, I'll have a real reason to be concerned.

Breathe. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...

When I reach ten, I'm calmed enough to slip back into the conversation that continued without me: a debate about what my son's name might be. Xavi snickers to himself at every name suggested, which is nowhere near "Ariel." I smile knowingly as the desperation in Kyle's voice rises with each incorrect guess, finally exchanging giggles with Xavi when everyone has given up.

"I will literally pay you to tell me his name," Kyle groans.

Xavi clicks his tongue pitifully. "I'm already loaded, sorry."

"Ugh!" Kyle throws his head back dramatically.

"Listos?" Rigo calls out as he and Chris approach.

Xavi turns to him with his eyebrows furrowed. "Is it time?"

"It's time," Chris says with an exhale. He's fidgety with his cuffs; still nervous about letting the world in on his long-private love affair tonight despite the overwhelming support. The world will view him differently, no doubt, but will it be a good thing?

Rigo leads the charge in heading out to the limos before Chris can overthink himself into oblivion. There are two in order to fit everyone going; fourteen adults with all of Rigo's siblings. Xavi and I take the limo with Chris, Rigo, Kyle, Mariluz, and Liam, while everyone else takes the other one. I manage to get into my seat without ever seeing Jazmin, which makes me feel a mixture of relief and guilt.

Then another contraction hits. I do my best to hide this one, bracing through the pain and pushing into my hip again, but without leaning over at all and with a smile on my face. No one notices a thing as the limo moves. I deserve a damn Oscar for this.

I've never seen a red carpet event in-person before tonight, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not ready to run back to Beverly Hills on foot when we arrive to a massive pile of limousines. For a moment, I wonder who else would even come in a limo, before I suddenly remember the entire cast of actors and actresses we hired to star in the series. Of course they're coming in limos. This is their night, too.

"Is this one of those limos that comes stocked with champagne?" Kyle inquires as he snoops through compartments.

"You're about to walk the red carpet," Chris chastises him.

Kyle's expression drops, and he freezes. "Me? Why me? I'm not famous."

Chris shrugs. "You still had a big part in the series. It wouldn't have happened without The People Agenda."

"We're walking with Alex, and Liam is coming too," Mariluz informs him, leaning close. "Lola is with Xavi."

Kyle's fully pale now, sitting erect with his eyes darting around the limo. "I can't do this."

"Oh yes you can," I counter harshly, feeling extra snippy thanks to my cramped abdomen.

He looks at me pleadingly. "Let's just skip it together!"

Another contraction starts—concerningly close to that last one—and I inhale sharply through my nose. "Let's not." If I'm suffering through this to be here, he can suck it up too.

This contraction is worse than the previous ones; burning through my entire pelvis as I struggle to remain upright and calm. I pull it off though, partially thanks to Kyle continuing to panic about walking the red carpet. By the time Xavi peeks over at me again, the worst has passed and I'm able to give him a weak smile.

When we get out of the car, it's to a check-in tent with a security point to go through first. We move through it pretty quickly, and then it's just about waiting our turn to walk the carpet to the door. They offer everyone champagne while we wait—save for me, of course. They offer me a sparkling water instead, which I politely decline.

Chris and Rigo go first. I watch in awe as Chris's nerves disappear in an instant, to be replaced by that casual, I-don't-give-a-fuck swagger of his public persona. Rigo's public and private persona are much the same, because he never gives a fuck. They stand for pictures together, and when Rigo's hand slips into Chris's, the crowd of public onlookers erupts into cheers. I don't think they can get any louder—that is until Rigo sneaks a kiss on Chris's cheek and they go ballistic. Even the paparazzi are fumbling with their cameras in excitement at the pictures they took.

When they step to the side for an interview, Joaquín and his wife Alexis go out, followed by Alejandra and Noemi. Tiago, Jazmin, and Ximena walk out together next, and I don't even watch them go. I'm having another contraction, anyway. Just perfect timing—because Xavi and I are next.

I can't hide this one, doubling over in pain as my uterus contracts again. Each contraction is like a period cramp but worse. So, so much worse.

Xavi's voice is intense in my ear. "Lola?"

"I'm fine," I insist breathlessly. "Just another Braxton-Hicks."

"You're having a lot of those today," he observes skeptically.

"And it's fine."

He puts his hands up in surrender. "Okay. It's fine."

It subsides to background cramps as our turn comes, and with a deep breath, I put on a smile and attempt to look like I belong on Xavi's arm. The flashing lights as we step out, however, instantly remind me just how foreign an experience this is, and just how out-of-place I am.

I follow Xavi's lead though, and he's a natural. The paparazzi call his name as expected, but then they call my name, too! I don't know how to feel about it, but I'm even more nervous now, that's for sure.

We step off to the side finally for an interview with a Spanish-language tv station, which Xavi of course leads. The interviewer—a tall woman with bronze skin, deep umber eyes, and straight black hair to the middle of her back—looks at me throughout the interview as if speaking to me, and all I can do is smile and nod awkwardly since I don't understand a word.

Then another contraction starts.

I want to hide it, but I can't. This situation is already so uncomfortable, and adding that pain makes it impossible to handle with grace. My free hand digs into my hip as I lean into Xavi, wincing at the pain and dying inside at the knowledge that the whole world will see this.

"Lola, do we need to go?" Xavi whispers urgently. The interviewer sounds like she's asking if I'm alright, and her voice is concerned.

"Nope," I grunt, exhaling heavily as the pain subsides again. "Braxton-Hicks," I say, smiling weakly at the interviewer.

Xavi quickly ends the interview and tugs me along the red carpet. "Lola, if we need to go, we can go," he insists. "No one will be mad."

But then you won't talk to Jazmin, I want to say, but I don't.

I sigh as I look at him. "I'm all right, Xavi. Braxton-Hicks aren't the real deal, but they still hurt. He isn't coming tonight," I tell him with faux confidence. Truthfully, right now, I'm not so sure. He was due a week ago...

"Fine," he relents, though I can tell he doesn't want to, "but if it gets worse, we're going."

I nod. "No more interviews. Straight inside," I order him.

"Let's go then," he agrees, leading me forward.

We finish crossing the red carpet as people scream our names and snap our pictures, passing right by everyone who went in front of us because they are still doing interviews. I only have to survive three hours here, maybe four. It's seven thirty, and there's another half hour before the premiere actually begins, then the premiere itself is slated for two hours. I should be out of here by eleven at the latest. I can make it.

Except, I can't.

I'm in my seat for an hour a half—already nearing the end of the first episode after suffering through increasingly frequent contractions that are now near-constant—when I suddenly feel it. Liquid drips down my leg steadily and onto the floor beneath me. I really should have listened to Xavi.

"Xavi," I whisper harshly. "It's time."

His eyes widen and he goes pale. "Now? Right now?"

I nod. "My water broke."

He stands quickly and helps me up, pulling me close for support as we move out of the dark seating aisle as quickly as we can. I can't help but feel self-conscious about the mess I'm leaving behind, and my cheeks burn up as I imagine the complaints from those stuck cleaning it. The next wave of pain as my body attempts to squeeze a baby out against my will stops that train of thought instantly, and now all I can think about is getting him out already!

I can't move fast enough down the stairs and I start to panic. "Xavi, I can't get down the stairs," I whine quietly through a contraction.

"I got you, mi amor," he croons soothingly.

Next thing I know, I'm in his arms and he's rushing us down the stairs much faster than I would have expected him to be able to carry me. I can see the flashes of cameras before we even get outside and bury my face in his neck. The contractions are near constant now, searing through my pelvis with such ferocity that I'm not even sure how I'm still conscious.

Paparazzi snap pictures and scream our names as we run past, and even the fan section goes wild to see us. It's probably obvious what's happening, so I suppose I can't blame them for their excitement. If I were anyone but me right now, I'd be excited too.

"Is she okay?" I hear a member of security ask.

"In labor!" Xavi calls, not stopping or slowing down to talk.

"Congrats!" the security guard yells back.

We come to an abrupt stop, and I finally peek out. Mariluz and Kyle are already there waiting for us, and they're looking at me in a panic.

"The limo is coming up right now," Mariluz tells us. "We already called him."

Pictures continue snapping as security holds off bystanders. When the limo finally pulls up, Xavi gets in with me first. He sits me closer to the front in hopes of a smoother ride, then orders the limo driver to go to the nearest hospital. He takes my hand and sits beside me while Kyle and Mariluz sit on my other side, still watching me like hawks.

"We'll be there soon, mi amor," Xavi assures me soothingly.

"We're with you," Kyle adds, rubbing my arm.

All I can do is nod through the pain, wishing that the damn limo driver would hurry the hell up! He makes it there as fast as he can though, and thanks to Xavi calling ahead, there's a nurse already out there waiting with a wheelchair for me.

It all moves fast once we're up in a room. Dress off, gown on, and within minutes, I'm pushing. Xavi's by my side the whole time, holding my hand and brushing my hair back as I strain. Kyle holds my other hand through it while he and Mariluz cheer me on. And at nine-fifteen on October thirteenth, my son is born.

He weighs seven pounds and eight ounces, and is twenty inches long. He's a perfect picture of health, the doctor informs me with a smile—a relief to the tiny part of me that still worried all that early drinking might harm him somehow. His eyes are still a cloudy gray, not yet having developed their color, and he's got a full head of dark and curly hair just like Xavi's. His cheeks are chubby and full, and his little nose is just about the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life. Every little noise and coo he makes becomes my new favorite sound. He's beautiful. He's absolutely perfect.

"I can't believe he's finally here," Xavi says, his voice so low it's barely above a whisper.

I laugh quietly through my nose. "Me either."

He's beside me on the bed with his arm around my shoulder and his other hand gently stroking our son's hair. It's such a weird thing to think: our son. Nine months ago, I was just a depressed, drunk girl trying to drown out my failures with more careless mistakes. Now I'm a mom. I can't help but see every "mistake" that led me here as some kind of lesson now; like it all taught me in some strange way how to be the perfect mom for Ariel. I feel ready now.

There are two quick raps on the door and Xavi says, "Come in."

It's Kyle and Mariluz, returning with the hoard of well-dressed visitors who needed to know where to find me. Everyone came, even Liam and Xavi's parents with Mía. Even Jazmin, and she's got a soft smile on her lips.

As they all file in, we hear a stream of hushed congratulations. Xavi's mom Melissa comes right for us with her eyes already welling full of tears.

"Oh my goodness!" she gushes quietly. "He's precious!"

"Felicidades, mijo," José adds with a smile as he peeks over his wife's shoulder.

"Gracias, Pa," Xavi replies with a soft smile

I notice Chris, Rigo, and Mía sneaking around to the other side and give them a smile. It's strange not feeling an ounce of intimidation right now, but all I can think of is this perfect baby in my arms.

"Congrats, Lola," Chris says softly, grinning.

My smile grows. "Thanks, Chris."

"Oh no!" Mía exclaims quietly with her eyebrows furrowed. "He looks just like Xavi. That's so sad."

Xavi's tongue clicks in annoyance. "Who invited you anyway, pipsqueak?"

"Yo," Rigo answers in Spanish, snickering.

Jazmin steps up beside her father then, and her smile doesn't falter as she looks at our baby and then at us. "Congratulations, guys," she whispers.

Xavi's smile is guarded. "Gracias, Jaz."

"Thank you, Jaz," I say more openly. Hopefully. Because I know Xavi, and I know this isn't the end of anything. It's the beginning of the next chapter.

When I look back at Ariel, it becomes abundantly clear that my struggles were more than just about being a good mom. They were about building a village—not just for Ariel, but for me and everyone I love, too. They were about learning to let people in, and letting them show me the love I've always deserved, and learning to love right back. They were about finding people who would be there for me, no matter what. They were about this moment.

"And uh, not to pry," Kyle says from the end of my bed, laughing quietly with faux nonchalance, "but what's his name?"

I don't look up from the beautiful baby in my arms as I say it; just watch him adoringly as his eyes slowly open and he gazes back, feeling the love from everyone in the room with us right now—our new family.

"Ariel," I tell them. "Our son's name is Ariel José Reyes."