Cary hung his head, disappointed. “I don’t have a guitar anymore.”
“Thanks for doing that.” Bert shook his hand again. “Above and beyond. You can play mine if you’d like.”
Pardon?
Bert never let anyone touch his beloved two-tone sunburst Stratocaster. A gift from her mom on their first anniversary, the guitar was sacredto him—almost worshiped. That winter, while Bert was on the road, Michelle had worked extra shifts to afford it. She told him later—and he’d told the kids—the joy on his face had made every hour worth it.
“I’d love to,” Cary said.
What kind of fresh hell is this?
Not long after the finale ended, the dressing room door opened and Tyler stumbled backward, rolling over on her heel and nearly twisting her ankle.
“Happy birthday!” the Robertson family shouted as Dylan and her dad carried in a slab of white cake with lit candles.
Cary frowned at his tour manager like he was in deep shit for something.
Tyler covered her face with both hands. “You guys . . .”
“You thought we forgot!” Bert chuckled from his belly. “Gotcha!”
“I couldn’t even look at you this morning.” Dylan bent over laughing. “It’s your favorite.” She stood up and pointed. “Red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”
“I’m a better actor than you, Dylan.” Joe hugged his sister-in-law. “Happy birthday!”
Nadie hopped on the balls of her feet. “Happy birthday, Auntie Ty!”
“Happy birthday.” Perry, her eldest brother, kissed her on the cheek. “Now blow out the candles. I’m starving.”
Stewart, who was two years younger than Perry, hugged her warmly. “Happy birthday, Tiger.” When Stewart was a little kid, he couldn’t pronounce “Tyler.”
“Make a wish,” Bert reminded her.
What should I wish for?
She glanced at Cary, but her mind flashed X-rated images—too dirty for birthday wishes. She closed her eyes and wished he’d write another love song, then blew out the candles in one breath.
“Your mom would’ve been proud of you, kiddo,” Bert said, licking the icing off a candle.
“Would’ve?” Cary’s eyes shifted in her direction.
After thirty years Bert still had trouble saying it. “My wife passed away from cancer.” He twisted his wedding ring in semicircles. He’d never taken it off, not even to play slide guitar. “That’s when we started this benefit concert.”
“I’m sorry.” Cary’s voice softened. “I didn’t know.” He hugged Tyler gently. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Like my birthday wish?
“No.”
“Everyone!” Bert clapped twice. “Take a glass. There’s wine, champagne, sparkling grape juice for the kids.” He handed Cary a glass of red wine. “Made it myself.”
“Thanks.” Cary took the glass willingly.
“No!” Tyler cautioned. “You don’t have to drink that.”
The rock star cracked a smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Raise ’em up!” Bert lifted his glass over his head. “To Michelle!”
