“The spatula?” Mike laughed.
Quinn’s head spun around. “Dude, put it back. That’s my favorite spatula.”
I stopped in surprise. “You have a favorite spatula?”
“Yes. I use it to make eggs every morning. Put it back where you found it.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, walking Quinn’s favorite spatula back and shoving it, now with my signature scribbled across it, back into the drawer. “What am I supposed to sign then?”
That brought me to the fourth rule of my do’s and don’ts handbook.Don’t give fans the shirt off your back.
36
RORY: THE REAL THING
By the time the bus finally pulled into the parking lot at the arena, we were all packed and ready to go. With the five-day extended stay in Los Angeles, the others had friends, family, and girlfriends waiting. I didn’t have anyone or anyplace to be. I’d let the lease run out on my apartment in the weeks leading up to the tour and stayed in a cheap motel until it was time to fly to Vancouver to start the rest of my life. The tour bus was my home now. The band and the crew and Grace, they’d become my friends and family. So, while everyone was preparing to enjoy a fun weekend with loved ones, I would spend it alone in a hotel.
In no hurry, I waited for everyone to exit the bus before I lay back on the couch and pulled out my phone. Until the driver kicked me off, I planned to stay.
Grace popped her head back in the door. “You coming?”
“I’ll be leaving soon,” I answered.
Climbing the stairs, she walked over to me, her bag slung over her shoulder and guitar in hand. Grace nudged me with her knee. “Let’s go.”
I thought she meant for me to vacate the bus, so I stood up and grabbed my bag.
“I called us a ride.”
“Us?”
“You’re coming home with me. My parents are having a barbecue.”
I dropped my bag. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Grace. Your family does not want me there.”
“How do you know? Did you talk to them?”
“I don’t need to talk to them to know I’m not welcome.”
“Wrong. I texted my mom earlier, and she was excited to see you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. I told her you’re a good boy now and that you even tattooed my name dangerously close to your gonads to say you were sorry. She was like, ‘Oh, well in that case bring him over.’”
I grinned. “How generous of her.”
“Right?”
Taking a look around for spies and seeing none, I gathered Grace in my arms for a quick hug. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine. I’m planning on getting my tan on at the hotel pool.”
“Or… you can bronze up in my pool.”
I wanted to go—she knew I did—but there was no going back. Once families were gone, they were gone. I’d learned that the hard way in foster care. Over and over again. The McKallisters were the last on a long list of burned bridges. “You know I can’t go.”
