“Mrs. McKallister?”
I froze.
“This is Lassen.” The man paused, then added, “the grumpy bus driver.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“No apology needed,” he said, his voice indeed grumpy. “I’m the one who told the kid to call you.”
It hit me that I hadn’t been there, that someone else had stepped in and done what I was supposed to do.
“I’ve been driving buses a long time,” Lassen went on. “Seen plenty of stupid shit. Partying, egos, and idiots who think the rules don’t apply to them. This isn’t that. This is unsafe. If your kid stays on this tour, things have to change.”
“Have you reported it to… to anyone?” I asked, hearing the misplaced accusation in my own voice.
“Yes, ma’am. I raised it with the studio,” Lassen said. “They told me to stay in my lane.”
I pressed my lips together as my anger built. “Thank you… fornotdoing that.”
He cleared his throat again. “I just drive the bus, ma’am.”
“That’s not true,” Jake said. “Lassen’s a friend, Mom. And he’s probably going to lose his job over this.”
“That’s not on you,” I said, grateful Jake had someone looking out for him, but furious he’d needed that. “And it won’t be on Lassen either.”
I straightened as my resolve settled in.
“Jake, I need to hear it from you. Do you want to continue this tour, or come home?”
The line went quiet for only a second.
“I want to keep going, Mom. If we can fix it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then we fix it.”
By morning,I’d laid down the law.
As expected, the label pushed back hard, threatening breach of contract and financial penalties. But that was before they understood the cards I held. The studio hadn’t just mismanaged a tour; they’d placed a minor in an unsafe environment under an unqualified guardian. That risk alone changed their entire attitude.
Spencer was pulled from the tour. Lassen was too.
By that afternoon, three men in suits were standing in our living room, their tone markedly more conciliatory. This time, Scott and I didn’t stand across from them alone. Scott’s divorce lawyer was there, and so was her best friend, a high-powered entertainment attorney. It turned out Spencer wasn’t just careless; he was connected. He was the studio head’s son, in fact,who’d been handed responsibility he hadn’t earned and didn’t merit. Assigning him as Jake’s guardian violated more than the studio’s own promises—it put them out of compliance with the laws designed to protect underage performers, opening them up to scrutiny they clearly didn’t want.
We didn’t threaten; we presented outcomes the studio couldn’t afford to see play out. What followed wasn’t agreement—it was damage control. Jake got his own bus, and the musicians who treated him like a novelty were replaced. And after a tense negotiation, Lassen got his job back, driving exclusively for Jake.
The last unresolved piece was the guardian. We no longer trusted the studio to decide who that should be, but we were in the same position as we’d been in before. Neither of us could join the tour to be with him.
“What about Mitch?” I suggested.
“I can’t ask him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll say yes.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“No,” Scott said. “He just started his new job. And he has a girlfriend. I can’t ask him to give it up for two years until Jake turns eighteen.”
