a/n - i'll just get this out of the way now — this chapter is just one whole helping of soft-core porn, lol. for my readers who aren't down with that, i figured i'd give you a fair warning in advance. i've been reading julia quinn's Bridgerton series and idk, i think all those sex scenes sparked something within me... anyways, this is wildly unprofessional. proceed onwards

CURTAINS. WHY THE hell did this luxurious, grandiose hotel suite that was shot twenty stories high into the air not have curtains?

The sun was beaming through the immense glass windows and right onto Reagan. She turned over sleepily, wrinkling her nose when she felt the hot bath of sunlight drenching her through the comforter swaddled around her body. It was impossible that the sun could be that high in the sky already. It couldn't be any later than eight in the morning. For as early as she'd gone to sleep, she didn't need more than eight hours of shut-eye. At least she hadn't thought she did when her head had hit the pillow.

She sat up and messed her hair, trying not to grumble. Dave was still passed out, sprawled onto his stomach with both arms tucked beneath a pillow. The digital alarm clock on the pale wooden nightstand closest to Reagan told her that it was a quarter past ten.

Her eyes bugged. Ten? In the morning? Had they really slept that long?

Dave's need for that kind of sleep, she understood. But in her case, it had been slovenly to sleep in so late, especially when her body was hardwired to rise at the ass crack of dawn for either work or attending to a beckoning Gracie.

Maybe the flight to Honolulu had worn her out more than she'd thought. Or worse, maybe she had to confront the truth that she hadn't been sleeping well since last summer. Her and Dave's first night in Hawaii had eased all the tautness in her circadian rhythm, lulling her into a long sleep that she hadn't had in months.

Reagan flexed her shoulder blades backwards, working out the tight kinks knotting her muscles. She'd fallen asleep with Dave's arm thrown around her and hadn't moved from that spot for the rest of the night. Now, her body was paying for it. All of her joints had gone rigid, cracking in protest when she twisted them side to side.

Wide awake, she slipped her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, peering through the offending windows and out at the expanse of blue sky, smattered with streaky white clouds. It was strange, not being able to see the beach. They might as well have been floating thirty-thousand feet above the ground in an airplane again.

The ostentatious balcony didn't help things. With its perfectly curated, private jungle of plants and crystal clear swimming pool, the real question was who the hell would want to look at the beach when a private oasis lay available only steps away?

Reagan got out of bed carefully, ensuring that she didn't squeak the bed springs (did they even squeak? Or would that have been too offensive to the suite's luxury guests?). She padded over to the windows and noticed a smooth silver handle, indicating that one of the windows was acting deceptively as such. Of course, their bedroom would allow for access onto the balcony as well.

She tugged the door open as quietly as she could, edging it along the tracks before stepping outside. A cool, breezy wind tickled her skin and instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself. The chill was nothing compared to an icy gray morning in Seattle, but it felt necessary to shield herself from the incongruity in the weather. They were on a tropical island, but here was a wind chill strong enough to raise goosebumps on her arm. It had to have been the elevation of their suite.

She took her time walking across the smooth, wooden deck flooring, examining every blooming flower and bright green plant that had been placed there for her to ogle at. The pool, she had to admit, was kind of cool. It was smaller than your average suburban, backyard swimming pool, the kind that Reagan imagined people in Florida had installed, but it was deep and inviting and —she dipped her toes in and raised her eyebrows — heated.

It was impossibly superfluous, having a heated swimming pool in Hawaii, but she wasn't about to complain. Combined with the crisp breeze, a heated dip in the pool might have been nice.

The edge of the balcony overlooked what her eyes had been searching for. Waikiki Beach was spread thin beneath her, looking as glorious as it had the night before. In the distance, she could see specks drifting through the waves, surfers wrapping up their early morning head-starts.

God. Dave wasn't going to take her surfing, was he? She was always up to try something new, but the idea of balancing precariously on a narrow board with unknown sea creatures lurking beneath the waves made her shiver. Plus, she would have hated to wipe out in front of him. That would have given him something to laugh about at her expense for the next decade.

She stood there a few moments longer, listening to the gush of waves kissing the shoreline, before tiptoeing back inside the suite. Dave was still asleep, so she continued her quiet creep past the bed and into the bathroom. For the first time since their arrival, she realized that she really had to pee, and she hadn't showered in twenty-four hours. Shit, she thought, hoping that she hadn't forgotten a razor to shave with.

When Reagan crossed the threshold into the bathroom, she lurched into a halt. Her teeth gritted against each other.

The designers of the suite hadn't spared their mercy on any room. The bathroom was just as opulent as the rest of it, with a built-in tub that was almost as deep as the swimming pool and a shower that could have fit at least five bodies in it. Hell, it could have served as an extra place to sleep. Even the toiletries looked expensive, wrapped in delicate clear packaging with downy white towels alongside them, folded in stacks.

She took a deep breath. It was fine. It was absolutely fine. She refused to feel like an imposter while coaxing herself into enjoying this. Dave had made her feel like she deserved it, so why not take the bait and amuse him for the duration of the trip?

Once the shower head was turned on and she'd jumped back from the powerful stream of water, Reagan took her clothes off and helped herself to one of the soft robes folded on the countertop. After slipping her arms into it and wrapping it closed around her body, she thought that if anything came out of the trip, it would be the likelihood of her stealing those bathrobes.

It took another minute of stealth movements to go back out into the bedroom and get her toiletry bag. As predicted, Dave hadn't woken up yet, but he had shifted positions. He was laying on his back with his head drooped to one side, snoring lightly. At this rate, Reagan thought that he might sleep all day. She would have to eventually wake him. If she let him sleep through an entire day's worth of the trip, he would be pissed.

Her shower was longer than usual, though she didn't go through the motions of washing her hair, pinning it away from the spray with a banana clip. It was nice to simply stand under the hot water, letting it gather in her cupped hands before spilling down her frontside in a silky waterfall. The feeling was relaxing enough to soothe every ache of tension in her body and clear her head of all the negative thoughts that had taken root there.

Damn Dave. Damn him for always being right and knowing how to fix her problems, even if only for a moment in time.

She continued her leisurely pace, lathering herself in soap twice and shaving every square inch of her body in preparation for having to wear a bathing suit. When she noticed that her fingers had become alarmingly pruned, she finally turned the shower off, got back into her robe and returned to the bedroom.

Unsurprisingly, Dave was still asleep. Her shower had gone well past thirty minutes and yet, he was still unconscious.

Reagan sighed. Well, that confirmed it. She was going to have to wake him up after she got dressed. It was better to have to rouse him from sleep than face him around one p.m., when he'd finally rise and go ballistic over all that wasted time.

She grabbed the television remote off the dresser and plopped down onto the bed, less mindful of shaking it than she'd been before. The buzz of the t.v. would surely wake him up, sparing her the task of having to do it herself. As she dug her thumbnail into the power button and started to click through the channels, she felt the bed shift beneath her and a warm rush of breath caress her neck, followed by a kiss.

"Morning," Dave said, sounding groggy and irresistibly charming all at once. Reagan twisted back as he wrapped one arm around her robe-covered waist.

"I thought I was going to have to wake you up," she said.

"Shit. What time is it?"

"Looks like it's almost eleven-ten. Did you get enough sleep?"

She thought that he would react badly, groaning and berating himself for having slept right through the morning, but he only leaned his head lazily against her back and yawned.

"Yeah," he answered. "I feel great. How long have you been up?"

"Not long. I took a shower."

"I can see that." He tugged at her robe and grinned. "Christ, you found the bathrobes. Does this mean . . . holy shit . . . you're actually enjoying yourself?"

Reagan jerked her elbow backwards into his ribcage and grumbled. "I never said that I wasn't going to enjoy myself."

"Good, because you're going to," Dave declared. "You're gonna' have so much fun on this vacation that your head will explode."

"Hence why I was going to wake you up. I figured you'd have a whole itinerary planned for us today, since you were bold enough to book this trip in the first place."

"Uh . . . I didn't plan that far in advance. I was thinking we could take it as we go. See what we end up wanting to do."

"What? You don't have anything extravagant planned? No surfing? Parasailing? No, wait! You're telling me that we're not going to cliff dive?"

Dave snorted. "We can do whatever the hell you'd like. I didn't plan those things because I wanted to leave it up to you. It's more fun letting things pan out, anyways. We don't have to be stereotypical tourists. But if I'd known that you wanted to do that stuff, I would have planned it."

"I thought that you wanted to do them," Reagan admitted.

"Is that your special way of saying that you want to see me strapped to a parachute five hundred feet in the air, clinging to it for dear life?"

"No, I just thought . . . you know, with all the drama back home, that you'd want to take your mind off —,"

His hand flew to her mouth, gently silencing her as he curved his fingers across her lips.

"Sh," he said, closing his eyes. "I don't want to talk about what's going on at home. I don't want to talk about the band or Kurt or work or anything relating to all the above. This is about you and me. Do you think we can do that?"

Reagan nodded, his hand moving up and down along with her bobbing head. He smiled approvingly and dropped it away.

"Thank you," he said.

"No, thank you."

He looked taken aback by the flip flop in exchange of gratitude, but Reagan offered him a small smile. It was only appropriate to thank him when he was gifting her the very thing that she'd subconsciously knew she needed, but never pursued.

A break. A long, mind numbing break away from everything that was ripping apart at the seams in Seattle. She would graciously accept what he was doing for her, what he was doing for them both. He'd given her a freeze button, allowing her to stop time in place so that she could enjoy the most authentic source of all her pleasures — alone time. With him.

It would be just like the way it once was, but even better, lacking the stuffiness of a small, pet-filled apartment and filled with the reassurance that while they were plainly better off than they'd ever been before, they still had each other.

He kissed Reagan's neck, taking his time in shaping his lips against the skin of her throat. He coasted his mouth downward slowly, prying back the neckline of her robe to expose her bare shoulder.

"So, what's on the agenda for today, then?" she asked, closing her eyes reflexively in response to the feeling of his lips on her body.

"I dunno'," he murmured. The stirring way that his words whispered across her skin made her shudder. "There's a lot to do here. We could go out and see what we find first."

"Mhm."

"What did you say earlier? Cliff diving?"

"Uh huh."

"Or surfing?"

"Yep."

He'd pulled her robe even lower, inching the cotton fabric down her arm until it pooled at her elbow. His mouth followed every trace of newly bared flesh.

"Would you be mad," he whispered, "if I asked you to stay inside with me all day? And if I promise that we'll have a nice dinner later tonight?"

Reagan turned her neck towards him, glancing over her shoulder until she met his eyes. His question was loaded with the implication of what he was really asking of her and she was delighted to feel that she wasn't offended by it at all. In fact, it was as if he'd read her mind, or at least reacted to the way she was responding to him, her face flushing as she leaned slowly backwards.

"I wouldn't be mad at all," she said around a growing smile.

__________

Reagan had sorely underestimated the advantages of their huge, private balcony and the unknown wonders that it lended, far from the prying eyes of beachgoers and other hotel guests. No one could even hear her from that vantage point, skimming the high blue of the sky.

That was what she thought about as she laid beneath Dave, her legs crossed around his waist and her neck strained as she tilted it backwards, breathing hard as he moved on top of her. She hadn't forgotten to appreciate the outdoor furniture. The long, cozy chaise, with its ample helping of pillows that were just as fluffy as the ones inside, made the experience akin to all the pleasures of being in a real bed.

She didn't know how it had happened. One minute they'd been kissing in the air-conditioned comfort of their bedroom, Dave peeling off the cover of her bathrobe, and the next they'd found themselves outside, tangled against each other and making real use of the great outdoors.

In Reagan's opinion, this was the ideal way of indulging in the balcony, a perfect approach to utilizing its privacy and splendor. She didn't know how she would ever accept enjoying this kind of bliss in a bed again, not when she'd gained the full perspective of how it felt under the baking sun, light gusts of wind and the faint ambiance of the ocean churning in the background.

Dave groaned, his arms almost buckling around her as he thrusted his hips against hers in a steady, pounding tempo. She dragged her fingernails down his back, biting them into his waist and whimpering.

"Oh . . . god," she panted, feeling as if the world was tilting right off its axis. He took a pause, sucking in a deep breath of air, and Reagan seized the moment to hook her leg tighter around him until he turned over. She sat in his lap, lowering herself down upon him as he hissed his through his teeth.

"So much . . . . for . . . staying . . . inside," she breathed, stirring her hips in a tantalizing circle.

"We should be inside if you're going to do that," Dave said after taking another gulping inhale. "What if someone sees?"

"No one is going to see us from up here. Except the wildlife, I think."

He wrenched his body upright, grabbing at the small of her back fervently as he lowered his head to kiss her chest. Her gasp melted into a moan when he cupped both her breasts into his hands, kissing and nicking her skin with his teeth.

"I still think someone might see," he mumbled. In a way, Reagan understood his grievance. The paparazzi was more inclined to follow Kurt's every movement and it wasn't as if Dave was being stalked by cameras at all hours of the day, but she cringed internally at the thought of someone actually catching a glimpse of them, stark naked and on top of each other. It wouldn't have made for as juicy of a headline wrapped around Kurt's name, but it would have definitely appealed to fans of Nirvana.

And she really didn't want Dave's fanbase to see her naked.

She climbed off of him with one swoop of her legs. He frowned and reached out, clasping at air as she backed away from him with a sly grin. In spite of her previous convictions, she covered her chest with her arm.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. Every word was punctuated with a blatant insistence of 'I'm-not-finished-with-you-yet.'

"It's hot," Reagan shrugged. "I'm going swimming."

She observed the depth of the pool, ensuring that it was really as deep as she'd thought it to be that morning, and turned around to dive in. It wasn't a flawless swan dive, but it came close to the form she'd perfected at the state parks that her family had visited every few summers when she was younger. It must have at least impressed Dave — when she surfaced and smoothed her hair back, he was sitting on the edge of the couch with a pillow placed meticulously over his lap.

"Better?" he quipped sarcastically, not quite close to forgiving her after she'd left him hanging.

"Yes. It's heated, but it still feels nice. Are you coming in?"

He looked back and forth suspiciously and Reagan laughed.

"Come on!" she urged. "Since when do you care if anyone sees?"

"I'd have to say I started caring after I realized how willing Kurt Loder would be to talk about my dick, enlarged to full screen on MTV," he said.

"MTV? You're being generous. You might get a feature in Modern Drummer, though. A small one."

"Small?" he asked sharply. "What do you mean, 'small?'"

Reagan smirked. "Just get in here."

He completed another quick scan of the perimeter and tossed the pillow aside, getting up and jumping feet first into the pool.

"Fuck! Where's the shallow end?" he cursed, splashing water as he started to tread it.

"I don't know if there is one."

"This isn't going to be easy, then."

Dave swam over to Reagan and wrapped her into his arms, nudging her all the way over to the side of the pool. Once her back was pressed up against the concrete, she folded her legs around him again, twisting her hands in his hair. She sighed contentedly when he was inside of her again, kissing the slick wetness of her face and neck.

"I love you," he murmured. "I love you so much."

She swallowed back a pleasured groan, planning to return the sentiment, when the sound of a phone ringing came from inside the room. They'd left the sliding glass door open in a haste to get out onto the balcony. Reagan dropped her arms away from his neck and contorted her body around.

"Forget about it," Dave insisted, clutching her closer. She imagined that he was assuming the call was coming from the business side of their lives, either from her work or his.

"It could be Sarah," Reagan said. She felt her stomach plunge at the thought. "Oh, fuck. Fuck! We didn't call this morning! She has no idea if we got here safely! Shit, Gracie!"

She scrambled out of the pool, neglecting to use the steps as she hauled herself up over the side of it and snatched a nearby towel from one of the other chaises. Tucking it hurriedly under her arms, Reagan dashed inside, following the sound of the trilling phone.

She'd fucked up in the worst way possible. Not only had she left Sarah most likely wondering if she and Dave had died in a fiery plane crash, but she hadn't talked to Gracie. It didn't matter if Gracie was still too young to know the difference of where Reagan was. All that had been important was that she hear her mother's voice and know that she hadn't been forgotten.

"Hello?" Reagan choked out, slamming the phone to her ear after she located it in the living room.

"Reagan! There you are!" It was Sarah on the other line, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry," Reagan said miserably. "I can't believe we didn't call."

"It's alright. Dave told me the name of the hotel you guys were staying at, so I called and they connected me right away to your room. I just wanted to make sure you were both okay."

"We're fine. How's Gracie? Can I talk to her?"

"She's perfect," Sarah laughed breezily. "There were some tears around bedtime last night, but she eventually dozed off. She didn't have Dave singing and you weren't that either, so . . . but hey, she just had a snack, I'll put her on."

There was a shuffling of the phone being held up to Gracie's ear and Sarah alerting her of who was on the line.

"It's mommy, Gracie," Sarah said in the background.

"Hi Gracie," Reagan cooed lovingly.

"Hi mommy!" Gracie's sweet voice filled the receiver,  as bubbly and childlike as ever as she stumbled over her budding syntax. Reagan's eyes welled with tears. Never had she expected the sound of Gracie's voice to fill her with such a need to hold her, to feel her in the cradle of her arms.

"Hi baby," Reagan laughed, stuttering through a soft sob. "I miss you."

Dave joined Reagan at the phone, fitting a towel around his waist. She waved him closer and handed the phone over to him eagerly.

"Gracie," she mouthed.

"Hey G," Dave said enthusiastically, raising the phone to his ear. He didn't have to identify himself before Reagan heard Gracie's screech of 'daddy!' through the crackling receiver speaker.

They talked with her for several minutes, assuring her that they would be home in time for the arrival of Santa Claus. Halfway through the call, Gracie presumably got bored with having a phone waved in her face, and Sarah came back over the line. Reagan promised that they would call again, mindful of the time change, to say goodnight to Gracie. When the call ended, Reagan set the phone gingerly back down in its cradle, discreetly wiping a finger under her eyes.

"You okay?" Dave asked, squeezing her hand.

She nodded. "Yeah. It just hit me how much I miss her. It hurts a little."

"That's exactly how I feel every night out on tour. It gets to be hell after awhile."

She knew exactly what he meant. It was hard enough grappling with the notion that she wouldn't see Gracie again for another four days. Being in Dave's shoes and having to wait months to see her was unimaginable.

Reagan took a steadying breath and allowed herself to smile. "I'll be fine. We'll all be together again soon. Might as well enjoy being here while we can." Her stomach rumbled and she raised a hand to touch it.

"I'm hungry," she announced. "Can we order room service?"

She started to reach for the phone again, but Dave's hand shot out first, clapping down on it before she could. He held his fingers there.

"I'll get you food," he said. "But . . ."

"But what?"

"Well, you're still not wearing anything under that towel . . ."

"True. I could really go for some chicken tenders, though. With honey mustard."

"I will order you six plates of chicken tenders if you just —,"

"Let you finish what you started?" Reagan suggested coyly.

"Man of my word," he pleaded. Desperation was written all across his face and he fingered the edge of her towel, pulling at it with need.

"Oh, I don't know," Reagan said tauntingly, drifting away from him and clutching her towel closer. "I think it can wait."

"Reagan," Dave said through his teeth.

She grinned. "I meant the food."

And then he was against her again, yanking her towel away from her body while she fumbled to remove his. He pushed her by her hips all the way into the bedroom, never breaking their kiss, his hands roving her dampened skin.

The back of Reagan's knees hit the bed and she fell onto it, the comforter squishing beneath her as she came to rest. Dave fixed his hands around her calves and pulled her downwards, sliding her closer to the edge. She reached out to touch him, but he touched her first, gliding his fingers along the length of her neck and all the way down to her stomach.

"Make it worth waiting to eat," she teased.

He narrowed his eyes, slipping his hand between her legs. She jerked, suddenly gasping at his touch and feeling her vision obscure around the edges. That wordless response was as good as any pronounced answer and she knew right away that she would soon be forgetting everything else, especially anything as mundane as food.

His hands soldered to her hips as he stood in front of her, pulling her farther towards the end of the soft comforter. She parted her legs slowly and once he was inside of her again, trembling at the familiar feeling, Reagan bit down on the inside of both her cheeks. It felt so damn good, so insanely good, being this way with him. They fit together perfectly, ideally, like the snug corners of matching puzzle pieces.

She whispered his name, tightening her fingers around his arm that pinned her waist down to the bed. The other was grabbing at her chest, filling the space of his palm with a gentle squeeze.

"Dave," she whispered again. She said his name for no other reason except that she loved the way it sounded rolling off her tongue, breathy and hitched and begging. He pushed hard into her, beginning to move his hips frantically until the entire bed was jolting beneath Reagan. Ordinarily, she would have worried about the raucous knocking of the headboard into the wall, but she was reminded that there was no one behind it. They were alone, a whole floor of the hotel to themselves.

It didn't — it wouldn't — get better than that.

All she could do was groan his name over and over, clawing her hands up and down his arms until fragments of spotty light bursted behind her eyelids and her whole body arched. He finished at the same time, slamming her hips against his and holding her there, gasping and shuddering.

Time stood still as they both tried to fill their lungs with missing air, breathing heavily. Reagan laid the back of her hand against her forehead. As far as she could tell, the room was still spinning.

Dave released his grip on her and collapsed onto the bed. Rolling onto his back, he mimicked her position, dangling an arm over his face.

"Well," Reagan said breathlessly. "I'm still hungry, just to let you know."

"It's always about food with you," he returned. She heard a smile in his voice.

"Glad we're on the same page." She sat up and patted his chest. "You think about what you want to eat, and I'll be right back."

Reagan went into the bathroom with her cheekbones stained red and her heartbeat thudding oddly in her chest, as if trying to correct itself to a normal pace. When she caught a glance of herself in the mirror, all tangled hair and flushed pink across the face, she sincerely hoped that none of the hotel staff had thought to visit their floor within those last ten minutes.

She scooped her t-shirt from earlier off the tiled floor and slipped it on over her head, making her way over to the toilet. Before she sat down, she suddenly hesitated as a thought filled her head. It followed her all the way back into the bedroom when she rejoined Dave.

He was still lying on the bed in a heap, though one outstretched hand was pawing around his nightstand.

"Cigarettes," he muttered. "I left the pack right there last night."

"Can you smoke in here?" Reagan asked. Her voice sounded strange, afflicted by the random speculation she'd been mulling over in the bathroom.

"I was going to go out on the balcony. Hey, will you check the pocket of my sweats? I think I put them in there."

She bent down and grabbed his discarded sweatpants, digging into the pockets before finding the crushed pack of Marlboros and lighter that he was searching for her. She handed them to him.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. As he stuck a cigarette into his mouth, Reagan sat back down onto the bed, folding her hands into her lap.

She shouldn't have been so bothered by what she was turning over in her head. It shouldn't have even mattered. It wasn't a big deal and it wasn't as if it were a kind of necessity, at least at the present moment in time, so why was it making her insides clench?

"C'mere," Dave said. He noticed her silence right away, removing the cigarette from between his lips and setting it aside. Reagan let him guide her down against his chest and tuck his arm around her. She could hear his heartbeat and while in the past the sound of it had calmed her, it did nothing to settle her now.

"Why are you so quiet all of the sudden?" he asked, nudging her. "Is it because I was going to go for a smoke break before getting the chicken tenders?"

"Why do you think I haven't gotten pregnant again?" she blurted.

Dave looked startled. He lifted his hand off of her, as if she'd spontaneously caught fire, and held it in the air for several long seconds before letting it fall back against her shoulder. She watched him swallow, evidently confused by her question, and she mashed her lips together.

"Uh . . . well . . . I thought you were taking pills," Dave said through an awkward stammer. "Birth control?"

"I am," Reagan replied, recalling the blister packs of pills that she'd started taking a month after Gracie had been born. "I have been. But there's been days where I've forgotten to take it. I'm so bad at remembering. With work and Gracie, it's slips my mind sometimes."

"So?" Dave asked slowly. "It's still birth control. It's not like you stopped taking it altogether."

"And I wouldn't," Reagan said quickly. "I wouldn't stop taking them without telling you. It's not like I've been deliberately missing doses. It's my fault."

"It's not a big deal. So you forgot to take some. They still work."

"They're not as effective if you miss doses. It can change my hormone levels and stuff. I could get pregnant."

"Are you . . . are you saying that you want to have another baby?"

Reagan moistened her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. "I don't know. With everything going on, I don't know. I mean, I want to. I really want to. But you're still on tour."

"But after?" There was a touch of renewed eagerness in Dave when he spoke again. "You want to try after I come back?"

She reflected inwardly on the question. It didn't take long for her to deduce that yes, she did want to have another baby with him. The feeling had come on suddenly, like it had been lying dormant within her for months and had finally made its presence known. She loved him so much. She loved the family that they'd created and the happiness that Gracie had brought them both. If there was a chance at more happiness, principally happiness that could come after a period of hardship, then she didn't want to turn it down.

There were still complications to wade through, like his commitment to the band and her newfound responsibility in working a demanding job, but the want was there.

"Yes," she whispered. "I do."

A blinding smile lit up Dave's face and he kissed Reagan, grabbing her face and pulling it towards his. "Really?" he asked, still grinning happily like a little kid.

"Really."

"I love you," he said, kissing her mouth, cheeks, nose and forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Reagan said softly.

It should have a been a cause for celebration. They'd finally decided that they wanted another baby and that they would make it a goal to try for one once the current tour was finished. Reagan wished more than anything that she could have adequately matched the joy pouring out of him.

But he hadn't answered her question.

He hadn't given her an inkling of an answer as to why, after all that time of missed birth control pills, she hadn't accidentally conceived a baby again.

It didn't work like magic. Reagan knew that. Her biological system had to be in perfect alignment for the moment to strike, quite literally, and it was completely plausible that it hadn't happened just yet.

But she feared worse than that. She remembered how she had felt, laid up in a hospital bed while being told that Gracie would be born prematurely. All because her body had betrayed her. Her own flesh had given out and risked the life of the child that she loved so much.

It only made sense then, that maybe, she wouldn't be able to have a baby ever again. Perhaps the ordeal of her pregnancy with Gracie had proven to be too much. There was that chance, sneaking around a dark and unforgiving corner, that she was done having babies simply because she couldn't. Her body had failed her once. It wasn't entirely out of the realm that it would do it again.

As Dave clung to her, whispering more feverish 'I love you's' against her cheek, she struggled not to break down and sob.