“There’s Audrey and Heidi,” Latson points, “and Paige, Lauren, and Shannon. They were all friends with my sister. If you ever get bored, ask Dean about Shannon.” He wags his eyebrows. “That’s a good story.”

“Is she the old girlfriend?” I ask, referring to the song.

“Possibly.” He smiles and moves on. “There’s me, Dean, Rob, Mike, Luke…” His tone changes. “And Levi.”

I look at the guy he obviously hates. He’s tall, taller than Latson, and casually dressed like the rest of them. The exception to his appearance is his brown hair is styled, while the other guys have messy mops on their heads. He has piercing blue eyes, but they look smug, like he’s hiding something. He’s also standing at the edge of the group, like he’s included but not accepted. “He looks shady,” I say. “I didn’t know he was in your band.”

“He wasn’t. He was our agent.” Latson leans back in his chair. “Heidi kept running into him at shows and she introduced him to my sister. What started as a working relationship turned into more.”

“More?”

He nods toward the photo. “You’re looking at Oliver’s dad.”

What?  I study Levi closely. I see nothing of Oliver in him. “Is it weird that I never gave a thought to who his father was?”

Latson shrugs. “It’s just as well. Oliver never knew him. Levi stayed with Audrey through the pregnancy, but as soon as she had O, he left. He didn’t want anything to do with a baby.”

“That’s awful.” How could anyone leave O?  Or Audrey?  She’s gorgeous and, from what Latson told me earlier, really smart. Or was she?

“Please tell me she didn’t OD because of this asshole.” I hold out the picture.

“Levi introduced her to drugs,” Latson says. “Hell, we all tried something at some point.” He studies his hands. “She stopped using when she found out she was pregnant, but started again after he left. It didn’t help that my father practically disowned her after he found out she had a baby and no husband. She named Oliver after my dad to try to smooth things over.” Latson looks me in the eye. “It didn’t work.”

It’s hard for me to imagine the kind doctor who helped me abandoning his only daughter. “So, she committed suicide?  I mean, things sound like they were shitty, but she had you and Dean and –”

“I don’t think she meant to,” Latson says. “Dean and I got her into rehab, and I kept Oliver while she got clean. When she was sober, I talked her into terminating Levi’s parental rights.”

“And then?”

“He started coming around again.” Latson scowls. “He wanted her, but not his son. She fell into old habits; her tolerance level wasn’t what it used to be.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You know what happened next.”

I look back at the picture and the smiling faces. Everyone looks so unsuspecting. They look like they’re ready for the time of their lives, like nothing bad could possibly touch them. I can tell they felt invincible.

“It was her choice,” I eventually say. “You did everything you could.”

“Did I?” Latson gives me doubtful look.

“Yes.” I turn my body toward his. “You intervened. She got well.”

“She didn’t stay that way,” he mutters.

“What were you supposed to do?  Monitor her every move?  Set up shifts with Dean?  You two did –”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Latson cuts me off. He sits forward and picks up his guitar. “Do you want to try those two songs again or move on?”

There he goes, shutting down like he did in the car. He may not think he wants to talk about what happened, but he keeps revealing bits and pieces. I’m not sure how much is left to the story, but I wish he’d let it out.

Setting the picture aside, I pick up my guitar as well. “Show me the other songs and then we’ll go back to the first two. That way I’ll know what to concentrate on when I practice later.”

Latson studies me for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing me.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“For not pushing. I changed the subject and you let me.”

I lift my hand and play with his hair. “I can be patient. You’ll discuss it when you’re ready.”

“I’m surprised I’m discussing it at all. I think this tour is messing with me.”

My expression softens. “It probably is. Dean is going without you.”

“You’re going without me.”

I freeze. “If it bothers you that much –”

“Don’t say you’ll stay.” Latson’s eyes grow dark. “Not because of me.”

“I wasn’t.” I smirk. “I was going to say if it bothers you that much, you’ll have to make time to come out and see me. A visit or two won’t hurt, will it?”

He circles my wrist and lowers my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I’m so glad you said that. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you across the country.”

I laugh. “I see. How many trips were you planning?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He kisses my fingertips. “But, there will only be a few. I have some things that need my attention here, like a bar and a kid.”

“Being responsible is so overrated,” I tease.

“You’re right.” He inches closer. “Now you know why I wanted to be a musician and not a doctor.”

I kiss his nose. “I’m happy you’re a musician. I’m also happy I’ll get to see you. Thanks for fitting me in.”

“I think it’s you who will have to fit me in.”

I shake my head, although he would know a touring schedule better than me. “We’ll make time,” I promise.

“Good,” he says, “because we’ll need to be alone when we’re together.” Smiling, he leans over his guitar to kiss me again. This time, when his lips meet mine, they stay there. Our kiss deepens, and our guitars bump together.

“Um, there’s something in the way,” I say.

Latson takes quick care of the situation. “There shouldn’t be anything between us.” He slides his hand around the back of my neck to bring me closer.

“You’re right,” I murmur before my mouth is occupied again. There will be too much distance between us soon enough.

Chapter Eighteen

Eight days later, the sound of hyper first graders echoes in my ears. I put my hand to my forehead to block out the sun and search the playground for Oliver. The weather decided to turn full-on summer for his last day of school.

Eventually I find him at the water balloon station. The kids are paired up on the grass and tossing balloons back and forth like an egg toss. Sporadically spaced around the playground are other activities, like sidewalk chalk, bubbles, tug-o-war, and a bounce house. Parent volunteers man each station, and Latson was assigned to the shoe pile. I was given the ice cream table, and my pre-made sundaes keep melting into mush before they’re eaten.

“This is pointless,” Erica, Donovan’s mom, says as she presses whip cream onto my cups of vanilla soup. “Although, the kids don’t seem to care.”

I add some chocolate sprinkles to our concoctions and look out over the covered pavilion in front of us. Kids are sitting at picnic tables and slurping their ice cream with laughter. Some have vanilla mustaches from drinking the dessert instead of using a spoon. It makes me smile. “As long as they’re happy,” I say.

She agrees and keeps whip-creaming. She stops when we finish enough sundaes for the next rotation of kids. I stick my spoon back in the dish of sprinkles and my eyes roam the playground for Latson. He’s all broad shoulders and khaki cargo shorts, his arms flexing as he helps another mom chuck small shoes and sandals into a mountain of footwear. After the last shoe hits the pile he looks over and waves. I wave back.

“So,” Erica fans herself in the heat, “how long have you been dating Oliver’s uncle?”

When she introduced herself as Donovan’s mother, I introduced myself as Oliver’s friend. She grew concerned about Mrs. Gibson and asked if I was his new nanny. I told her I was seeing Latson to clear up any confusion.

“A few weeks,” I say.

“Well, between you and me,” she steps closer, “I know some PTA moms who are going to be disappointed.”