by Sara Mack
His questioning look doesn’t hide his annoyance. I’m sure he assumes what I have to say is bad. “What did he do?” he asks.
“Who?”
“Latson.”
“Nothing! He’s being very supportive.”
“Of?”
I take a deep breath. “You know Dean?”
Pete nods.
“He’s going on tour. He’s opening for Ariel Allyn, and he wants me to play in his band.”
My brother’s eyes grow wide. “The Ariel Allyn?”
“Is there another?”
In one quick swoop, Pete wraps me in a bear hug and lifts me off the ground. “You’re going to be famous!”
People standing next to us start to back away. “Put me down,” I laugh. “I’m not going to be famous.”
“You never know,” he says as my feet touch the sidewalk. “When did this happen? I knew you could play after Latson’s party, but damn. A tour? Have you told mom and dad?”
“Not yet. It just fell in my lap last night.”
The light changes and we start to walk across the street. “So, spill,” Pete says. “When do the shows start?”
“Late June in L.A.”
“So, you’ll be here a couple more weeks?”
“No. We need to rehearse. I leave after Oliver’s school picnic.” I was relieved when I got home and finished reading Dean’s email. Our flight leaves next Thursday evening. I have a date with a certain little boy, and I didn’t want to let him down.
“When it rains, it pours, huh?” Pete bumps his arm against mine. “New boyfriend, new career, new sister-in-law.” He lets out a low whistle. “Maybe you should thank me for making you come out here.”
I bump his arm back, but harder. “I would have had the sister-in-law regardless, but I do thank you.” I smirk up at him. “I might even miss you while I’m gone.”
“You’d better.” Pete’s walk slows a little. “I know all of us will miss you. How long will you be on the road?”
“Until November. I’ll be back before Thanksgiving.”
He nods. “This is big.” He stops walking. “I’m proud of you, Jen.”
“Don’t be proud yet. I haven’t done anything.” I step out of the way of passing pedestrians. “I didn’t compete for this. Dean handed it to me. It could be a disaster.”
“Nah.” Pete shakes his head. “You’ll do fine.”
“C’mon.” I grab his wrist and pull him along. “Latson helped Dean write a few of his songs, and he said he’d work with me before I go.”
“Work with you or work on hooking up with you?”
I shoot him a sarcastic look. Does he think that hasn’t happened yet? “Do you really want to know?”
He closes his eyes. “Never mind.”
We walk half a block in silence before I say, “I’m surprised you’re on board with this. Aren’t you worried about me? What happened to Protective Pete?”
“He’s still around.” My brother gives me his fatherly stare as we get stopped at another street crossing. “But this is a professionally run organization. You’ll be surrounded by people, and Dean’s not trying to get into your pants.”
“You’re right.” The light changes and we start to walk. “However, I will be spending months on a bus with him and two other guys.”
Pete’s expression changes. “Wait. What?”
I skip ahead of him, dodging a few people so he can’t lecture me.
“Come back here!” he shouts and tries to catch up. It’s not easy to for him to work around people with his big body. “Little J!”
I laugh and start to run. I’m going to miss teasing him while I’m gone.
~~~~
“Let’s take it from the top of “The Short Life”,” Latson says as I reposition my fingers. We ran through the ballad a couple of times before switching gears to the faster paced “To Hell and Back.”
As he plays next to me, I concentrate on the chords, waiting for my turn to join in. We’re sitting in the infamous guitar room, the one he mentioned during our fire escape talk. He wasn’t lying; he really has a room full of guitars. In fact, it’s set up more like a mini-studio, with soundproof insulation on the walls and a mixing board in the corner. There are at least fifteen instruments in here, including the Fender, along with a few amps and mics.
He nods as he comes to the end of the first verse, indicating it’s time for me to play. The first part of this song features the lead alone, then the rest of the band joins in. Latson sings the chorus, since I don’t know all the words yet:
“I’m down so low, you’re up so high
A million miles an hour
The speed you fly
Never catching up, never slowing down
Short is the life
We’re burning into the ground.”
At first I keep up, but then I start to stumble through the rest of the song. I find myself paying more attention to the words than the notes. I try to focus, but this is the third time I’ve heard the lyrics. Before the song ends, Latson stops playing and gives me a curious look. “What’s wrong? Did your fingers seize up?”
“Of all of the things you make me do, the worst of them is missing you,” I quote a line from the song. The words are so sad. “Who is Dean missing?”
Latson shrugs one shoulder as he shifts his weight. “He lost a sister, too.”
“The song is about Audrey?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. “I thought it was about a woman.”
Latson acts nonchalant. “Audrey was a woman.”
“You know what I meant.” I reach over and set my hand on his arm. “If you would rather I learn this one on my own that’s okay.”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. When Dean started to write the song it was originally about an old girlfriend.”
Oh. “When did that change?”
Latson gives me a pointed look. “After our sister killed herself.”
His words make me do a double-take. “I thought you blamed someone named Levi for her death.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Hang on.” He sets his guitar down and then heads over to the corner where the mixing board sits. There’s a small desk there too, and he opens the top drawer. When he returns to me, he’s holding a picture. “This is us,” he says as he hands it to me.
The picture is of a group of people standing outside a tour bus. The girls have their arms wrapped around one another, and the guys try to look like hard asses by striking rocker poses. I find Latson standing next to Dean in the back; his hair is longer and he has his fist in the air. Dean is sticking his tongue out and giving the camera the bird. My eyes skip over the people I don’t know and land on the girls. I recognize Heidi, even without her red hair. She’s blonde in this picture and has her arm around another girl’s waist. Their heads are tipped together, but I know it’s Audrey without asking. She has the same color hair as Latson, except it’s wavy. I can see Oliver in her, especially in her eyes and mouth. She has cheekbones some women would die for.
“There’s Audrey and Heidi,” Latson points, “and Paige, Lauren, and Shannon. They were all friends with my sister. If you ever get bored, ask Dean about Shannon.” He wags his eyebrows. “That’s a good story.”
“Is she the old girlfriend?” I ask, referring to the song.
“Possibly.” He smiles and moves on. “There’s me, Dean, Rob, Mike, Luke…” His tone changes. “And Levi.”
I look at the guy he obviously hates. He’s tall, taller than Latson, and casually dressed like the rest of them. The exception to his appearance is his brown hair is styled, while the other guys have messy mops on their heads. He has piercing blue eyes, but they look smug, like he’s hiding something. He’s also standing at the edge of the group, like he’s included but not accepted. “He looks shady,” I say. “I didn’t know he was in your band.”
“He wasn’t. He was our agent.” Latson leans back in his chair. “Heidi kept running into him at shows and she introduced him to my sister.
What started as a working relationship turned into more.”
“More?”
He nods toward the photo. “You’re looking at Oliver’s dad.”
What? I study Levi closely. I see nothing of Oliver in him. “Is it weird that I never gave a thought to who his father was?”
Latson shrugs. “It’s just as well. Oliver never knew him. Levi stayed with Audrey through the pregnancy, but as soon as she had O, he left. He didn’t want anything to do with a baby.”
“That’s awful.” How could anyone leave O? Or Audrey? She’s gorgeous and, from what Latson told me earlier, really smart. Or was she?
“Please tell me she didn’t OD because of this asshole.” I hold out the picture.
“Levi introduced her to drugs,” Latson says. “Hell, we all tried something at some point.” He studies his hands. “She stopped using when she found out she was pregnant, but started again after he left. It didn’t help that my father practically disowned her after he found out she had a baby and no husband. She named Oliver after my dad to try to smooth things over.” Latson looks me in the eye. “It didn’t work.”
It’s hard for me to imagine the kind doctor who helped me abandoning his only daughter. “So, she committed suicide? I mean, things sound like they were shitty, but she had you and Dean and –”
“I don’t think she meant to,” Latson says. “Dean and I got her into rehab, and I kept Oliver while she got clean. When she was sober, I talked her into terminating Levi’s parental rights.”
“And then?”
“He started coming around again.” Latson scowls. “He wanted her, but not his son. She fell into old habits; her tolerance level wasn’t what it used to be.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You know what happened next.”
I look back at the picture and the smiling faces. Everyone looks so unsuspecting. They look like they’re ready for the time of their lives, like nothing bad could possibly touch them. I can tell they felt invincible.
“It was her choice,” I eventually say. “You did everything you could.”
“Did I?” Latson gives me doubtful look.
“Yes.” I turn my body toward his. “You intervened. She got well.”
“She didn’t stay that way,” he mutters.
“What were you supposed to do? Monitor her every move? Set up shifts with Dean? You two did –”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Latson cuts me off. He sits forward and picks up his guitar. “Do you want to try those two songs again or move on?”
There he goes, shutting down like he did in the car. He may not think he wants to talk about what happened, but he keeps revealing bits and pieces. I’m not sure how much is left to the story, but I wish he’d let it out.
Setting the picture aside, I pick up my guitar as well. “Show me the other songs and then we’ll go back to the first two. That way I’ll know what to concentrate on when I practice later.”
Latson studies me for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing me.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“For not pushing. I changed the subject and you let me.”
I lift my hand and play with his hair. “I can be patient. You’ll discuss it when you’re ready.”
“I’m surprised I’m discussing it at all. I think this tour is messing with me.”
My expression softens. “It probably is. Dean is going without you.”
“You’re going without me.”
I freeze. “If it bothers you that much –”
“Don’t say you’ll stay.” Latson’s eyes grow dark. “Not because of me.”
“I wasn’t.” I smirk. “I was going to say if it bothers you that much, you’ll have to make time to come out and see me. A visit or two won’t hurt, will it?”
He circles my wrist and lowers my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I’m so glad you said that. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you across the country.”
I laugh. “I see. How many trips were you planning?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He kisses my fingertips. “But, there will only be a few. I have some things that need my attention here, like a bar and a kid.”
“Being responsible is so overrated,” I tease.
“You’re right.” He inches closer. “Now you know why I wanted to be a musician and not a doctor.”
I kiss his nose. “I’m happy you’re a musician. I’m also happy I’ll get to see you. Thanks for fitting me in.”
“I think it’s you who will have to fit me in.”
I shake my head, although he would know a touring schedule better than me. “We’ll make time,” I promise.
“Good,” he says, “because we’ll need to be alone when we’re together.” Smiling, he leans over his guitar to kiss me again. This time, when his lips meet mine, they stay there. Our kiss deepens, and our guitars bump together.
“Um, there’s something in the way,” I say.
Latson takes quick care of the situation. “There shouldn’t be anything between us.” He slides his hand around the back of my neck to bring me closer.
“You’re right,” I murmur before my mouth is occupied again. There will be too much distance between us soon enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Eight days later, the sound of hyper first graders echoes in my ears. I put my hand to my forehead to block out the sun and search the playground for Oliver. The weather decided to turn full-on summer for his last day of school.
Eventually I find him at the water balloon station. The kids are paired up on the grass and tossing balloons back and forth like an egg toss. Sporadically spaced around the playground are other activities, like sidewalk chalk, bubbles, tug-o-war, and a bounce house. Parent volunteers man each station, and Latson was assigned to the shoe pile. I was given the ice cream table, and my pre-made sundaes keep melting into mush before they’re eaten.
“This is pointless,” Erica, Donovan’s mom, says as she presses whip cream onto my cups of vanilla soup. “Although, the kids don’t seem to care.”
I add some chocolate sprinkles to our concoctions and look out over the covered pavilion in front of us. Kids are sitting at picnic tables and slurping their ice cream with laughter. Some have vanilla mustaches from drinking the dessert instead of using a spoon. It makes me smile. “As long as they’re happy,” I say.
She agrees and keeps whip-creaming. She stops when we finish enough sundaes for the next rotation of kids. I stick my spoon back in the dish of sprinkles and my eyes roam the playground for Latson. He’s all broad shoulders and khaki cargo shorts, his arms flexing as he helps another mom chuck small shoes and sandals into a mountain of footwear. After the last shoe hits the pile he looks over and waves. I wave back.
“So,” Erica fans herself in the heat, “how long have you been dating Oliver’s uncle?”
When she introduced herself as Donovan’s mother, I introduced myself as Oliver’s friend. She grew concerned about Mrs. Gibson and asked if I was his new nanny. I told her I was seeing Latson to clear up any confusion.
“A few weeks,” I say.
“Well, between you and me,” she steps closer, “I know some PTA moms who are going to be disappointed.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Have you seen your boyfriend?”
Yes, I think. I saw a lot of him this morning after he dropped Oliver off at school. I’ll never be able to look at his shower the same way again.
Erica glances over my shoulder at a group of ladies gathered on the sidewalk. There’s not a lot to monitoring the chalk station, and they’re staring in Latson’s general direction.
“The one on the far right, Natalie Spencer, she’s Max’s mom,” Erica says. “She’s been after your man since she got divorced last year. And the one in the middle? Jackie O’Rourke? She’s been eyeing him since Oliver first started at this school.”
She’s serious. “They really talk about him?”
Erica nods. “I�
��m surprised he’s not a permanent agenda item. The PTA meetings usually start out like an episode of Cougar Town.”
I laugh. I wonder if Latson knows.
Speaking of, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him walking my way. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and wipes his forehead with it, earning a collective gasp from the chalk moms. I stifle another laugh. I’m tempted to tell him he’s the PTA hottie.
He makes his way over to me with a smile. “Can I get a water?”
“Sure.” I open a cooler under the table marked for volunteers. I hand him a bottle and watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple before I brush it away. “I’m glad I got the job in the shade.”
“Lucky.” He smirks before downing half the bottle. “I’m surprised how bad little kids shoes stink in the heat.” He makes a face, then looks down. “How are your feet?”
I look at my exposed toes in my flip flops. “They don’t smell.”
“I meant are they cold,” he says. “You’re getting on a plane in a few hours.”
“I know,” I sigh. “It’s hard to believe I’ll be in L.A .tonight.”
The past week has flown by so fast my nerves haven’t been able to keep up. It’s been both a blessing and a curse: while I haven’t had a chance to be anxious, I know, sooner or later, reality is going to bite me in the ass. I’ve been going through the motions to make sure I stay busy, so I won’t second guess my decision. Keep working: check. Spend time with Pete and Jules: check. Try to learn Dean’s songs: check. Try to pack everything I own: check. Spend quality time with Latson: check. And last, but not least, attend Oliver’s picnic.
Check.
“Yoo-hoo! Lat-son!”
I look to my right and see Natalie wave as she comes over. When she makes it to us she flashes a perfect, white smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve been meaning to ask ... who are you requesting for Oliver’s teacher next year? It’s a toss-up between Littlejohn and Hunter for Max.”
She bats her eyelashes and I take in her denim capris, flowy tank, and cute wedges. Her brown hair is layered in a trendy cut, and she looks like she could be in her late thirties.