“So that’s what those are for?”
I nod and smile. “Makes me look important instead of nauseous.”
She reaches out, pulls me in by the shirt, and I kiss her. It’s not long. “I love you, Lou Navarro.”
“I love you too,” she says, like it’s obvious and should have been said on the way to load-in. “There is no one else but the three of you who could get me on a stage.”
Houston walks up with two bottles of water and a smile that knows exactly how hard she just did a thing. Salem bumps my shoulder with his and says, “Our heart,” just to make her roll her eyes. She rolls them and takes the water, and drinks half without stopping.
We do the encores and the last meet and greet because we promised it. Winners of a radio thing. Venue VIPs. A couple of contest kids with markers and sleeves they want signed. No new faces other than the list. Security checked IDs on the way in. Quincy’s troll farm threats were fake, but not all of them were, so we keep it tight.
I stand in the line with my brothers and shake hands and look people in the eye and listen to the quick stories about how their cousin used our old song at a wedding or how their kid learned drums on a kit that barely stayed in tune. I love hearing how our music affects people. Makes the craziness worth it.
We end the line on time. The tour manager we hired for the road closes the curtain and checks the list, and gives me a thumbs-up. We move the last people out and walk the corridor to the dressing rooms. The crew is already half loaded. The buses are half full. The show file is backed up three times and sent to the cloud.
More items off the checklist.
In the room, Lou sits on the arm of the couch with a piece of toast someone found and a look on her face like her brain is back to grids. “We should swap the second and third phrases on the projection for a couple of cities where the wall is brighter. It’ll read cleaner.”
“Workaholic, take a night off.”
“This coming from you?”
“Someone ordered me to relax. I think she should take her own advice.”
I step over and set a hand on the back of her neck and rub the way Tia the Chocolate Fairy did to me. Lou’s moaning in seconds. “Wow.”
“We’ll hit the spa before we leave the hotel.”
“Done.”
Mom texts a string of hearts and one note that says,you did good, baby.
Thanks, Mom. See you before we leave town?
I’ll be by in the morning.
The radio station that pushed the single sends a note saying the call-ins spiked when the whisper hit. The label sends a bland congratulations that reads like it was approved by a committee. The people who wanted the old masters were fired and/or arrested for the break-in. The case is going to be messy, but that’s life sometimes.
Quincy is still fighting for his freedom in the case, and that thought makes me smile every day.
The four of us shower and tuck into Houston’s bed for the extra space. It won’t always be like this. Not during a tour. Tour time is crazy. One night bleeds into another. You might do a little sightseeing between shows, or you might just sleep. Lou mentioned that the tour with Troy was bare bones—he didn’t have the money to fund a good one. So, I plan to make this one wipe out her memories of that first tour.
Same with her old life.
I can’t imagine what it takes to give up a child. The hardest circumstances, the worst situation. Has to be. No one does it forfun, certainly. It’s hard for me to not be angry with her parents. Stupid, I know. They could be dead for all we know.
But they hurt her, and that makes the primal, stubborn part of my brain very, very angry.
Lou snores. In the middle of the night, she sometimes burps in her sleep. I don’t think she knows that about herself. It’s funny every single time, because it wakes us up, and the three of us have to hold in our laughter so we don’t wake her.
She’s funny in ways I never see coming. Supportive in ways I don’t deserve. She sees the world differently from us. From me, especially. Yet she also understands me. It’s some kind of magic trick, and I never want to figure it out.
I’d rather there was magic in the world.
She snores against my chest, her face buried there. My arms are wrapped around her, and Houston spoons her, breathing deep. Salem lies on his back next to me, arm draped over his face, also snoring. She likes being stuck between us; it’s like she feels safer the more she’s buried in us.
We make her feel safe. It’s an honor I never expected.
