Once I get checked in, we walk to the security screening point. There, I find Dean, Jules, and Pete standing off to the side.

And, unexpectedly, Carter, Felix, and Gwen.

“You guys!” I say in surprise and hurry my steps. “What are you doing here?”

Carter opens his arms wide, and I step into them for a hug. “Little J. Do you think we’d let you leave without saying goodbye?”

“I said goodbye last night at work.” My voice is muffled against his chest.

“It’s not the same.” He holds me tight. “I forgot to tell you. If you need a bodyguard, let me know. I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

 Aww, I think. Before I can respond, he steps back and hands me off to Felix.

“Mi amor,” Felix says with a pout. He catches my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Como voy a vivir sin ti?”

I give him knowing look. “You’ve lived without me before. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

He grins. “Be careful out there.” He wraps me a quick hug before Gwen pushes him out of the way. She holds on to my shoulders and looks me squarely in the eye. “You must call or text me,” she demands. “I want all the details. I want pictures of roadies. I want pictures from the stage. Oh!  I want pictures of you on stage.”

I laugh. “Okay, but only if you promise to take care of my boys.” My eyes jump from Carter to Felix, then to Latson and Oliver who are talking to Dean. “You don’t have to worry about Pete. Jules has that covered.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Jules says and walks over. “Don’t worry about us back here. Concentrate on you.” She leans into my side. “And, remember, if you need someone on the tambourine, my offer still stands.”

“Got it,” I say. “You guys will probably get sick of my daily updates. I’ve never met Paul or Drew, and I doubt Dean and I have much in common. I’ll need someone to talk to.”

“We’re here for you twenty-four, seven,” Jules says and Gwen nods. “Any hour of the day or night. Don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks.” Even though I assumed as much, it’s still reassuring to hear the words.

Jules’ eyes focus on something over my shoulder, and I turn around to see my brother. He doesn’t say anything; we’ve talked about this opportunity so many times over the last week there’s nothing left to discuss. Without words, I step up to him and we give each other an insane squeeze. “Love you,” he says against my hair.

“Ditto,” I say into his chest.

After I step away from Pete, Oliver skips over and tugs on my hand. “I made you something.”

“You did?” I crouch down to his level. “What is it?”

He holds out a piece of paper that’s been folded a dozen times. “It’s a picture.”

“You made me my own Oliver art?” He nods as I carefully take the paper and open it.

It’s a drawing of three stick figures. Each one is labeled above their head: “Uncle Gunnar,” “Me,” and “Jen.” My heart melts as I notice the little Oliver figure stands in the middle, holding hands with his uncle and me. I’m wearing a colorful triangle-shaped dress, and there’s a guitar in my other hand. Latson is wearing shorts and has three straight lines for hair. A bright yellow sun sits at the top of the paper, and there’s green grass at the bottom.

I hold it out so we both can see. “I’m going to hang this up wherever I go,” I tell Oliver.

“You will?” He gives me a tiny smile. “I thought if you missed us, you could look at a picture. That’s what I do when I miss my mom. It makes me feel better.”

My breath catches. He’s such a well-adjusted kid. It’s easy to forget everything he’s been through. I look over his sweet drawing again, now aware of the meaning behind it. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I’ll look at it every day.”

He looks a little sheepish as I ruffle his hair.

“Hey.”

I stand up at the sound of Latson’s voice. He gestures for me to follow him, and we walk a few steps away from the group. He takes my free hand, threading his fingers through mine.

“Dean’s ready whenever you are,” he says. “He didn’t want to interrupt your goodbyes to tell you.”

“So he made you do it?”

“I volunteered.” Latson gives me an uneasy smile. “I wanted a few minutes alone with you.”

I don’t like his expression. “Is everything okay?”

He nods. “Do you like Oliver’s picture?”

“I love it,” I say. “He’s so thoughtful. You’re doing a good job with him, you know.”

Latson ignores my compliment and runs his thumb over the back of my hand. “You remembered to pack my shirt, right?”

“Of course.” Latson gave me one of his white tees that suspiciously smelled like he dropped a whole bottle of cologne on it. “Everything in my suitcase is going to smell like you.”

His smile grows more genuine. “I may have added another one to your bag. I hope you don’t mind.”

I wind my hand, the one that holds Oliver’s picture, around his waist. “I don’t, but I wish you had crawled inside instead.”

Latson lets out a breath and rests his forehead against mine. “How did this day get here so fast?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Time always does the opposite of what I want.”

We stand there in silence before he brings his hand to cradle my face. He kisses me, catching my mouth with his and taking his time to brand every part. When I think the kiss is over, he surprises me by capturing my lips again.

And again.

“I want that burned into your memory,” he whispers. “No one else gets to kiss you. No one.”

“Okay,” I breathe. Like the thought would cross my mind. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Not as much as I’ll miss you.”

“Jen?” I hear Dean. “You ready?”

No, I think, but “yes” comes out of my mouth. Latson squeezes my fingers before letting me go. Reluctantly, he gives me his lopsided dimple smile. “Go be a rock star.”

~~~~

After a four -hour flight, we land at LAX. I spent most of the trip with my eyes closed and my ear buds in, listening to a continuous loop of Dean’s songs. Before the plane took off, he showed me an itinerary for the coming days. Scheduled in amongst rehearsals and photo shoots are appointments for costuming and radio interviews. It was a little nerve-wracking to see what lies ahead, so instead of watching the in-flight movie, this newbie decided to be proactive and practice playing guitar in her mind. The music took me to another place, and it also helped block out the cries from a screaming toddler a few rows back.

“Roxanne will meet us by the baggage claim,” Dean says as we walk down the jetway.

“Who’s Roxanne?”

“She’s my agent-slash-manager.” He smiles. “She’ll be joining us on the tour, so you won’t be stuck alone with us guys.”

The news will make my brother happy. “Is that routine?” I ask. “I mean, she’s not just doing it for me, is she?”

“No,” Dean says. “Managers usually accompany their talent.”

I nod. Okay. Good.

We exit our gate to a long line of people waiting to board our empty plane. The airport is teeming, as I assumed it would be. Dean seems to know where he’s going, so I walk beside him without question and glance around. Maybe I’ll see someone famous. All I end up seeing are a blur of faces until my eyes zero in on a Starbucks.

“Can we stop?” I ask, my eyes darting to the coffee shop. “The pretzels on the plane really didn’t do it for me.”

“Sure.” He pulls out his phone. “Let me tell Roxanne.”

“You have to check in?”

“She has a car waiting. It’s courtesy to let her know we’ll be a few minutes.”

Holy crap. I didn’t realize. “I’ll make it fast,” I promise and start to walk away. I thought we would be taking a cab.

“Wait.” Dean follows me. “You’re not the only one who’s hungry.”

Of course the place is crowded and the line takes forever to move. I don’t want to leave a bad impression with Roxanne by making a pit stop, but I really am starving. I consider getting a smoothie, but throw health out the window and end up ordering a S’mores Frappuccino instead. I get a zucchini walnut muffin too, and Dean opts for an iced coffee with milk. When our drinks are prepared, the barista calls out, “Jan and Dean!”