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Our manager calls during a break, and somebody puts him on speaker while the rest of us tear into takeout spread across the table in the corner.

“Album timing still looks good,” he says. “If nothing changes, release will land about two weeks before the first show.”

“That’s what we want,” I say.

He runs through a few promotional things we need to schedule before we leave, then starts talking about what could happen after the first leg if the album performs well. A couple of festivals have already shown interest. Macklin Row’s people have floated possible additional dates. Nothing guaranteed yet, but enough that management wants us to leave some room on the calendar.

Our bassist leans back in his chair. “So basically, if this goes well, we’re never coming home again.”

Everyone laughs, including me.

The conversation moves on.

Festival dates. Radio appearances. A possible live session in Seattle. Somebody starts arguing about what else we need to do before we leave, and within a minute we’re back to the usual bullshit.

But the joke sticks with me.

If this goes well, we’re never coming home again.

Not literally, obviously.

But for years, every opportunity has had a finish line. A weekend run, a short regional tour, then Europe, which was the longest by far. Six months felt enormous when we left and somehow went by faster than I expected once we were in it. I’ve always thought about touring the same way: take the gig, play the shows, come home, then wait for whatever comes next.

The difference now is that if Hollow North keeps growing, whatever comes next is going to keep getting bigger. More tours. More festivals. More cities. Maybe someday a headlining run of our own that lasts just as long as Europe did.

That’s what I want, which should make all of this simpler. Somehow, it doesn’t.

When rehearsal ends, I head for Lachlin’s. Conlin’s truck is already parked out front, which saves me the trouble of tracking him down later.

I knock once before letting myself in.

Conlin is stretched across one end of the couch, and Lachlin is standing near the kitchen, bouncing Jack against his shoulder. Briar is nowhere in sight.

“Where’s the wife?” I ask.

“Sleeping. She worked last night,” Lachlin says, shifting Jack higher against his shoulder.

I nod and head for the refrigerator. By the time I come back with a beer, Jack has turned toward my voice.

I stop beside Lachlin and look down at him. “Hey, buddy.”

Jack keeps watching me as I move closer, and something in me softens. A few weeks ago he barely seemed aware of anything beyond eating and sleeping. Now he’s tracking voices and faces, changing a little every time I see him.

Lachlin notices the way I’m looking at him and shifts Jack toward me. “Here.”

I take him without arguing, settling him against my chest.

Lachlin comes back with a beer and drops into the chair across from us. “How was rehearsal?”

“Good. We spent most of it working through the new set, but management called while we were there.” I take a drink and adjust Jack against my chest when he squirms. “They think there could be more after the first leg. Extra dates, festivals, maybe other opportunities if the album does what they’re hoping.”

“That’s great,” Lachlin says.

“It is.” I look down at Jack for a second before continuing. “That’s actually what I’ve been losing sleep over.”

Conlin turns toward me, and neither of them interrupts.

“I keep treating this like it’s one tour. Four months, maybe longer, then I come home and everything goes back to normal.” I rub my hand slowly over Jack’s back until he settles again. “But if Hollow North keeps growing, that isn’t how this works anymore. There’ll be another tour after this one. More festivals. More travel. Maybe someday we’re headlining our own run, and I’m starting to realize this might be the new normal.”