After a few months of him unabashedly staring at my bare stomach, I told him one evening, "A watched pot never boils, you know."

Pulling his eyes to my face, he murmured, "I know. I'm just imagining how big the baby is. I'm trying to visualize it."

I smiled at his answer as I stroked his cheek. "I do that too."

Grinning, Kellan carefully laid his head against the bulge of our child. At five months along, there was a decent amount of room for his head to rest. He stared up at me while I resumed stroking his smooth skin. "What are you doing?" I finally asked him.

His content expression grew dreamlike. "Listening to her. Or him." We'd decided not to find out the sex. We wanted to be surprised. And besides, like what happened with Anna, sometimes the technicians made mistakes.

Laughing, I told him, "No, you're listening to the chicken parmesan that I had for dinner." Looking toward the door to our private room on the bus, I murmured, "I wonder if there's any of that left."

Whispering "Shhh . . . I'm listening," Kellan resumed his intense scrutiny of my digestive system.

Then he started to lightly hum, like he was singing along to my internal noises. I felt a rolling sensation in my stomach as the baby moved. Kellan's eyes widened, and he looked up at me. I laughed at the look on his face. "Keep humming," I told him.

He did, and the baby moved again, then kicked. Kellan smiled as I sighed and said, "The baby likes Daddy's voice."

Lifting his head, Kellan crooked a smile. "Just like his mom. Or her mom."

For a minute, I debated what I wanted more, him or the chicken in the fridge. I ended up choosing what I always chose. Pulling Kellan to my lips, I reveled in the one perk of pregnancy that we were both enjoying-a ramped-up sex drive.

When I moved into my seventh month, the D-Bags went international. Kellan was worried at first about me continuing to be on the tour. He didn't want to run the risk of me giving birth backstage; he wanted me to be as safe as possible. I told him it was fine, we would be home long before I was due. Kellan didn't really want to be away from me then anyway, so my words easily convinced him. Plus, I told him we could finally become members of the Mile High club during the super-long flight to Australia. Since Kellan had never had sex on a plane before, he was intrigued, to say the least. Considering how far along I was, joining the club was a challenge. It took a lot of finagling, skill, and a hand clamped over my mouth. Airplane-bathroom sex made tour bus-cubby sex seem spacious in comparison, but we managed to pull it off. A giggling air stewardess even gave us wings afterwards. Kellan wore his pinned to his shirt the entire time we were Down Under.

So, while I was plump and full of life, I roamed a rock concert with a rock star. The band was playing in Perth first, then heading over to Sydney and Brisbane. The backstage area was full of contest winners, diehard groupies, radio personalities, the crew, and members of the bands. While security was present and watchful, Kellan insisted that the fans weren't confined to a meet-and-greet room and were allowed to roam and mingle with the rock stars. Clumps of them were even allowed to stay during the concert, something Sienna had never allowed. But Kellan still wanted some level of intimacy with his fans. That made writing more of a challenge for me, since just as many of his fans wanted to talk with Mrs. Kyle too. But laptop in hand, I found a spot to listen to him perform and work on my writing.

Since publishing my first book, I had really started focusing on my second book. Maybe it was the countless hours that Kellan had read Pride and Prejudice to me, but the storylines that filled my mind were all Jane Austen-style historical romances. I found that time period fascinating and engrossing, and now that my autobiographical story was purged from my mind, I loved the idea of doing something different and shifting away from contemporary novels.

Periodically while writing, I watched my man on stage. He was having such a good time on this tour. He loved hanging out with Holeshot and Avoiding Redemption. The three bands meshed well, personality-wise and musically. In fact, when the tour was over, Justin and Kellan were going to record a collaboration, a song they'd both been working on during quiet times. I'd heard the guys practicing the song together, and it gave me chills. I couldn't wait for the fans to hear it.

Kellan and the guys were planning on recording the album in Seattle this time, keeping it close to home, since I would be so much closer to delivering by then. Nick was fine with it, though. Truthfully, Nick was fine with a lot of stuff recently. After the scandal with Sienna, he'd been scared straight by his father. That man did not want to lose his two largest acts because of the manipulative way his son had been running things.

True to her word, Sienna kept her distance from us. She'd congratulated the boys for their Grammy win at an after party, but that was about all we'd heard from her. Her album had plummeted after her soulful, honest public apology, but she was slowly starting to bounce back. And I had no doubt in my mind that she would. If anything, the woman was tenacious.

By the time the tour was over, I was ready to go home. I was tired and very, very pregnant. I had a newfound respect for Anna for staying on the tour right up until the very end of her pregnancy. It was fun on the road, but it was a draining lifestyle. I was eager to see my sister again too. So was Griffin. Anna had decided not to join the boys on this tour. Gibson was getting into a stage where she needed more attention and guidance-absolutely everything went into that girl's mouth-so Anna had stayed home with her. I was very proud of my sister for putting the baby's needs first. That was leaps and bounds from the Anna I'd grown up with. She'd been worried about it, but she was a great mom. I hoped I'd be just as great.

When I hit my ninth month of pregnancy, I was done with it. I was huge. I was exhausted. My feet were swollen. My back ached. I could not find a comfortable sleeping position to save my life. And my amped-up sex drive had sizzled away to nothing. I wanted this child out of my body.

Kellan did everything he could to appease me. He drove a half an hour away just to get me one specific kind of ice cream. He gave me back massages every night. He even tried to give me a pedicure, which made me laugh so hard that my feet were shaking and the bright red nail polish ended up smeared all over my toes and his hands. It was sweet, though.

Just when I accepted the fact that I was going to be pregnant forever, I started having contractions. I immediately wrote down when they happened and how long they lasted. Kellan noticed me scribbling in one of his lyric journals and rested his head on my shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?"

Staring at a stop watch, I counted the seconds as I breathed through the pain. "I'm logging my contractions."

"You're what?" Kellan turned me to face him; his eyes were wide and panicked. "Is it time? Should I take you to the hospital now? I'll start the car. And I'll get your bag. Shoot, I need to put the car seat in."

He took off before I could answer a single one of his questions. "Kellan! It's . . . still early." My contractions were mild and still really far apart. Even I knew we had plenty of time.

He was a flurry of activity, though, so I didn't bother explaining that to him. I simply sat on the couch and waited to log my next contraction. Kellan dashed around the house grabbing things he thought we needed and muttering to himself about things he was sure he was forgetting. "Kiera, will we need diapers? I'm grabbing diapers. We should bring diapers."

Over my shoulder I yelled out, "Kellan! I'm sure the hospital will have some." He didn't respond to me, and I was sure the trunk of the Chevelle was going to be loaded with enough diapers to cover the bottoms of half the children in Seattle.

I glanced over at my mom, calmly sitting beside me. Not wanting to miss another grandbaby's birth, she had flown to Seattle pre-due date. Dad was going to join her once the baby was here. "He's a wreck," I said.

Laughing, my mom patted my knee. "They all are the first time."

Even though I was nowhere near giving birth, twenty minutes later I was stuffed into the Chevelle and Kellan raced me to the nearest hospital. Glancing at his speedometer, I firmly told him, "Slow down. We have plenty of time."

Kellan flicked me nervous glances. "Are you sure? How do you know? Maybe you're just having a really mild labor. Maybe this is as bad as it will get for you."

Amused, my mother started chuckling in the backseat. I did not find that comforting.

Hours later, I could have killed my husband, I could have killed my mother, and I could have killed the manufacturer of the mislabeled birth control pills. I was going to die, I was positive. I'd never felt something so painful in all my life. But then, some angelic nurse in cloud-covered scrubs gave me drugs . . . and things were much, much better.

It was still horribly uncomfortable, and hard. I'd never really thought about how difficult the act of giving birth was. You would think, since it happens all the time, it would be a much more seamless process. I mean, you don't see cats and dogs screaming, grunting, and writhing in pain. I've watched videos of whales giving birth before, and I swear those creatures didn't even notice they were delivering. And let me tell you, even partially numb from the waist down, I noticed.

Holding my hand, Kellan helped me as best he could. I could tell he felt completely useless and wished he could do more. He'd probably offer to give birth for me if he could. "You're doing great, sweetheart, almost there."

The doctor told me one more push should do it, and I nearly cried. I just wanted to be done. I hated this. I would rather be hit by another truck than ever do this again. Mom squeezed my other hand. "You can do this," she told me.

I knew I could too, and I gave it my all. The relief was nearly instant, and I knew I was done even before I heard the baby start to cry. Tears rolling down his cheeks, Kellan kissed my sweaty head. "You're amazing," he whispered.

Closing my eyes, I managed a small, thankful smile.

The nurse's perky voice stirred me from my stupor. "Congratulations! It's a boy!"

I heard my mom start to cry as I flashed open my eyes and stared up at Kellan. A boy? We'd had a boy. Kellan's gaze was fixed on the small bundle in the nurse's arms. His expression was a combination of awe and joy. "I have a son?" A shimmering tear fell off his cheek and landed on my shoulder.

No, I was wrong, I would do this a thousand more times to see that look on his face. Well, at least two or three more times.

The nurse nodded as she came toward me with my son. I was dying to see him, hold him, but I minutely shook my head at her and flicked a glance at Kellan. Understanding, she handed the baby to him. Kellan had been through so much crap in his life, he deserved to be the first one to hold his child.

Making a sound that was both a laugh and a sob, Kellan stared into his son's eyes. "Hey, little man," he whispered. "I'm your dad, and I love you . . . so much." Voice quavering, he added, "I'm so glad you're here."

I was sobbing long before Kellan handed him to me.

Several months later, I was wading through a sea of pink and white balloons. They were all over my house. And I mean all over my house. Clumps of them were attached to every lamp, vase, banister, doorknob, cabinet handle, and chair back. The ceiling was littered with them. So was the floor. People in the living room were having a blast, kicking them back and forth. Hopefully nobody took a swipe while Gibson was near. My fifteen-month-old niece was in hog heaven, trying to collect as many squishy balloons in her arms as she could carry. Anna was watching her like a hawk, making sure none of the balloons popped and scared her, or popped and became rubbery treats. That little girl still had oral-fixation issues. She would put anything in her mouth. Anything. Anna had already told me about Gibson finding her sex-toy stash. She'd saved Gibson from a lifetime of needing therapy by mere seconds. They now kept their assortment of adult toys in a locked box on the top shelf of their closet. And I'd give anything not to know that.

In my kitchen, a three-tiered cake was resting on the middle of the wide oak table. It was in the shape of a heart, and each layer was a different shade of pink. Even the plastic tablecloth was pink. And the plates. And the silverware. Surrounding the cake were cookies and candies in various colors and styles, all of them with a heart theme. And little conversation hearts were spread over the table as edible decorations. It looked like we were throwing a birthday party for cupid.