Several hours later, Dylan hunkered backstage, restringing and tuning Jack’s guitars. He still couldn’t believe his mom had left. After years of threatening Jack, she finally did it. Dylan was bummed that she wouldn’t be around, but he understood. Anyone could see that Billie and Jack’s divorce was inevitable. They always argued. Billie hated touring and Jack hated being stuck at home, just like Dylan.

A metal folding chair scraped along the floor and Dylan looked up. Uncle Cal flipped the chair around, straddled the seat, and rested his arms on the back. He dropped his smoldering cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with the toe of his boot.

“How ya holding up, kid?”

“Fine, why?”

Cal shrugged. “Don’t know. Guess I’d be bent if my mom split midtour.”

Dylan grimaced. Had his funk been that obvious?

“Is that why you never married Chase’s mom? Figured you’d end up divorcing, too?”

Dylan had never met his aunt. She was a groupie and Cal had knocked her up at the beginning of their tour that year. By the end of the season she’d given birth, only to ditch Cal and the baby. Uncle Cal hadn’t minded. He was head over heels with his son. He always said Chase was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Uncle Cal scratched his chin. “Let me tell you something, Dyl. Love doesn’t belong on the road. Hell, it doesn’t belong in the music industry. Long-term relationships don’t work for guys like us. We’re away from home too long, and there’s too much wanderlust coursing through our veins. Women just want to settle and nest and shit, and we just end up cheatin’ on them and hurtin’ them.”

Dylan looked up from the D string he was tweaking. For once, Uncle Cal’s advice seemed spot-on.

“One more thing before I leave you to your work,” Cal said, standing up. “I know about your mom’s three Bs. She’s right. But if you find yourself in a certain, er . . . predicament, and you can’t keep your dick in your pants, put a sock on it.” He dropped a small paper bag on Dylan’s lap. He turned to walk away only to turn back, snapping his fingers. “Hey, I could use your help. Chase feels like shit. Dude drank too much and I grounded his ass. Think you can tune my axes?”

Dylan looked over at Cal’s collection of Strats and Taylors. The work would keep him busy and his mind off his parents. “Sure. No prob.”

“Thanks, kid.” Cal gave him a knuckle bump, then walked off, lighting another cigarette.

Curious, Dylan opened the bag on his lap only to quickly close it and glance around, wondering if anyone had seen. Heat flashed across his face and chest.

Uncle Cal had gifted him his first box of condoms.

Finally!