Side Trip(51)

Dylan clapped his hands over his cheeks, horrified. What was she talking about? He started wiping off the lipstick he couldn’t see. He had no idea if any was coming off or he was just smearing the marks and making it worse.

Jack shrugged. Dylan knew he had no idea what he’d been up to last night. Jack Westfield had been smashed.

Billie came over. She touched Dylan’s hair, his face, his shoulders. “Are you okay, baby?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” He fended off her hands. He hated when she went all mama bear on him. It was embarrassing.

“Grab your things. We’re leaving,” she said at the same moment a yellow cab pulled into the fairground’s dirt lot.

“What the hell, Billie?” Jack exclaimed.

“I told you, Jack, if you got drunk one more time and couldn’t be a damn parent to your own son, then we’re through.”

“Nothing happened, Mom.”

“Stay out of this, Dylan,” Jack ordered.

Billie nudged his shoulder. “Get your stuff.”

“I can’t leave,” Dylan said. “The tour’s only half-done. I have a job,” he pleaded, desperate for her to understand. Dylan always let Jack down about performing live, but when it came to keeping his dad’s axes in top condition, Dylan was the best, and Jack knew it. It was one way—the only way—Jack didn’t see Dylan as a disappointment.

“Get your things. I’m not telling you again,” she said, handing off her duffel to the cabdriver.

“You’re the band’s manager. You can’t leave,” Jack protested.

“Watch me.” She opened the cab door. “Dylan,” she urged.

“What about Chase?” he argued.

Jack latched on to that. “Yeah, what about Chase? He’ll be by himself. The boys watch out for each other.”

“What’s going on here?” Uncle Cal asked, stepping off the bus while yanking up his fly. At least he had the decency to put on a shirt. “You finally leaving us, Billie?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Cal. I’m finally leaving you. Dylan,” she snapped.

Cal smirked. “What did you do this time, Jack?”

“Shut the fuck up. Dylan, don’t move. Billie, you do what you need to do, but Dylan stays. I need him. He and Chase are the only ones who know our Fenders like we do. They know the right ax for the right song. I don’t have time to train another tech midtour, and I won’t risk my instrument in someone else’s hands.”

“You didn’t seem to care last night when that slut’s hands were—” She stopped abruptly, her gaze darting to Dylan. He stared at her, wide-eyed. Holy shit. No wonder Billie was pissed.

“He’s right, Billie,” Cal said. “He’s the only one who gets it right through the entire show.”

Billie glared at Cal.

“Let him ride out the tour; then I’ll personally put him on a plane after the last show,” Jack proposed.

“Please, Mom.” Dylan didn’t want to spend the rest of his summer break stuck at home. The school year was boring enough in Seattle.

Billie glanced from Jack to Dylan and back. Her mouth opened and closed until she crossed her arms. Dylan sensed she’d come to a decision, her battle picked, and he hoped it wasn’t this one.

“The last concert is an afternoon show. He’s on a plane that night, not a day later.”

Yes!

Hands on hips, Jack ground his jaw. “Done.”

“You don’t force him onstage, and he doesn’t set foot on that bus again,” she added, pointing at the bus he and Chase never should have ventured onto.

Jack held up his hands. “Whatever you want, so long as he stays.”

“You’d better keep your promise,” Billie demanded.

“I will. Get cleaned up, Dylan. We have a long day ahead.”

“One second.” Billie pulled Dylan off to the side. She grasped his face and looked him straight in the eye. One day Dylan would tower over her like Jack did, but today, the last day Billie would ever tour with and manage the Westfield Brothers, they were the same height.

“Do you have to go?” he asked, suddenly missing her as realization set in. She was truly leaving them. Touring season would never be the same. But more to the point, she wouldn’t be around to come to his defense when Jack tried to drag Dylan onstage with him. “I’ll stay on the family bus from now on.”

Billie’s face softened. She brushed aside the hair on his forehead. “It’s not just about the bus, baby, you know that. Your dad and I haven’t been ourselves around each other for a long time. Touring is tough on a marriage. This industry eats relationships alive. Your dad and I finally admitted ours isn’t cut out for this.”

“You can’t stay a little longer?” Dylan knew Billie bailing on the band was inevitable. She’d threatened to leave more than once. But they only had another four weeks left on the road. He didn’t want to see her go, but he wasn’t brave enough to beg her to stay, not with everyone watching. They’d think of him as a whiny kid when he’d been trying so hard of late to show them, and himself, that he was almost a man, like last night with that girl.

Billie shook her head. “We’ll talk more when you get home. For now”—she showed him three fingers and counted down—“no bongs, no booze, and no boinking.”