“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.”

“Mom!” His face flamed hot.

“Three Bs, baby. You obey them or you’ll never set foot on a tour bus again.”

“Fine.” He sighed, defeated.

She smiled. “You sound just like your father. So handsome, too.” She pulled him in for a tight hug. “I love you.”

“Love you back.”

She kissed his cheek. “Take care of Chase. Watch each other’s backs. I’ll see you in four weeks.”

“Billie?” Jack asked when she walked past him without a word or glance.

“Don’t screw up, Jack,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You do and I’ll make sure I get full custody and Dylan never goes on tour with you again.” She slammed the cab door and Dylan jolted. This was it. This was the end of his family. He blinked hard to fend off the tears and watched the driver speed off in a cloud of dust.

A hand dropped on Dylan’s shoulder. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Uncle Cal snickered. “Your face looks like a Picasso on a heroin trip.”

Dylan gasped, sprinting to the family bus.