Emma nodded, passively participating in the conversation while staying connected to her phone. She must have sensed me staring because she glanced up and said, “What? Don’t look at me. I start college in three weeks, and I’m not showering in a four-foot capsule.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’d never ask you. The bus has humidity. You wouldn’t last twenty minutes.”
“I’ll go,” Kyle volunteered.
“Yeah, right,” Scott said.
“What? I’m responsible.”
“You’re fifteen, and…” Scott paused. “We’ve met you.”
I sighed. “Do you have any coworkers—”
“Who want to leave a government job with a pension to babysit a rock star on training wheels?” Scott cut in. “No, I don’t.”
“I can do it,” Keith said, stepping into the doorway. “I’ll go with him.”
Scott and I exchanged a look, hesitating. Keith wasn’t the obvious choice. And, honestly, we might be swapping out one problem for another. But he loved his brother fiercely. And Jake trusted him.
“I won’t screw this up,” Keith said. “I swear.”
Famous last words.
42
SCOTT: A STAR IS BORN
Two and a Half Years Later
The bass rattlesthe riser beneath my feet, and my body remembers before my brain does. For half a second, I’m not standing backstage at a sold-out arena, a laminated pass swinging from my neck, listening to Jake’s name being chanted by forty thousand people.
I’m nineteen again, with sweat slick on my back, and a microphone in my hand, drunk on the sound of strangers screaming my name. We’d thought that was it—the height of cool—being loved, chosen, and untouchable all at once. I’d thought that was success.
The roar inside the arena snapped me back to the spotlights cutting across the stage, the crew in headsets, and the reminder that the cheers weren’t for me.
They were for my son.
The lights went down, and screams tore through the building, followed by chants of ‘McKallister.’ Paul placed a hand onmy shoulder, his smile as wide and unguarded as mine. This had once been his dream too, but neither of us had gone the distance.
“McKallister! McKallister!”
“Gotta admit,” Paul said, yelling over the mayhem, “it’s a hell of a thing to hear our last name screamed from the rafters.”
“A hell of a thing,” I agreed, letting the pride settle.
I glanced over and caught tears in my brother’s eyes. He pressed a palm to his chest. “He’s the best version of it yet.”
We stood there, just out of sight, letting the noise wash over us, letting our younger selves have this moment one last time before we watched the kid who’d finished the dream step into the light—and the crowd went wild.
Michelleand I took a moment backstage, just the two of us. Tonight had hit harder than we’d expected. Since signing that contract in our kitchen a few years ago, Jake’s music had gone everywhere—radio, Spotify, and now his first show of a sold-out arena tour. We’d been to plenty of his concerts, carving out time whenever we could to stay connected. But with each step his fame took forward, it felt like he was being pulled into a life that moved faster than we could follow.
“What are you thinking?” Michelle asked.
“That I’m just… aggressively proud.”
She smiled. “Me too. But I also feel a little sad.”
“I don’t think you’re sad,” I said. “I think you’re feeling nostalgic.”
