“Are you okay?” Star asks Tag.

He waves a hand at her in dismissal. “I’m fine.” Apparently, she didn’t see the gash on his belly. The one that disappears into the sparse thatch of hair that leads to his rather impressive nether regions.

Emilio turns his back to me and starts to talk on the phone. He’s probably getting the whole story from Jason right now, because he doesn’t believe that it was nothing. But it was. It’s normal when you’re in a famous rock band. We’re used to it. Sometimes the fans get too exuberant. It happens.

Emilio gets off the phone and goes to Tag. He holds out his hand for him to shake. Tag stares at it for a moment and then finally takes it in a handshake. He looks startled, though. “Thank you for bringing her home,” Emilio says.

“No problem,” Tag mutters.

“So, what’s up with the group meeting?” I ask. I take a bag of chips from Lark and drop a handful of greasy goodness onto my shirt.

She snatches the bag back from me. “Get out of my chips,” she snarls playfully.

I pick one up, lick all over it, and then hold it out to her. “Want it back?”

She pretends to heave and then tries to ignore me.

“So, the meeting?” I prompt again.

Emilio and Marta make eye contact with one another for a beat too long. “It’s your mother,” Emilio says.

I look from one to the other. “What about her?”

“She’s worse, Finny,” Emilio says, his voice so gentle that it’s seriously pissing me off.

I snort. “That’s nothing new.”

“No,” Emilio clarifies. “I mean she seriously hurt someone this afternoon. Another resident. They want to move her to a facility with more security.”

I pop another chip into my mouth. “So?”

Marta huffs out a sigh. “So, mija, they need your permission to move her.”

My mother has been in a long-term care facility since I was a little girl. They have to keep her in a place where they can regulate her meds. Usually, she’s fine. Apparently, she now has more to worry about than her mental illness.

“You’ll need to go and make some decisions about her care,” he goes on to explain.

I shrug. “Why me?”

Marta comes to stand beside me and runs her hand down the length of my hair. “You’re the only family she has left.”

“So which one of you is going?” I grin at them. I have no desire to go and see my mother again. She was frantic today when I looked at her through the tiny glass in the door to her room. She paced from one side of the room to the other, wringing her hands, mumbling to herself.

“This is something you need to do,” Marta says softly.

“Hire someone to go and evaluate my mother,” I say with a shrug. “No biggie.”

“We can’t do that for you,” Emilio says. “They also want to do some counseling with your mom and they would like for you to be present.”

“No.” Hell no.

“Finny–”

“No,” I say again. “I’m not going. Besides, none of you can go with me, because we’re booked for the tour. And Jason is in the hospital.” I shrug. It seems so simple to me. I raise my finger in the air. “Speaking of which, if my personal security guard is injured, who’s going to travel with me when we’re on tour?”

Emilio and Marta look at one another, perplexed.

“I could go and help,” a male voice says from the side of the room. I look up to find Tag leaning against the wall, his shoulder hitched in the doorway.

“You would do that?” Star asks.

He nods. “I was going anyway, to be a roadie.” He laughs lightly.

“What about Benji?” says Wren.

He shrugs. “What about him? We’ll take him with us.” He points at Marta. “Marta said she was going to watch him while I worked. Now she won’t have to. He can just hang with me.”

“No.” I say it quickly, and Tag’s head spins around to face me. He’s confused, but I can’t have Tag following me everywhere for six tour dates.

“I can take care of you,” Tag says.

The room goes quiet. You could hear a pin drop, if one should happen to do so.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I rush to say.

“Then it’s settled.” Emilio stands up and dusts his hands together.

“It’s not settled!” I hiss.

But everyone is getting up from their seats. This is so not settled.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” I practically yell.

“You’re going on tour and you have to have someone to protect you,” Emilio says firmly. “Tag is going with you. Marta will help take care of the baby.” He holds up his hands to stop me when I would interrupt. “That’s all there is to it. Get your shit packed. You leave in the morning.”

He’s using the dad voice again. Damn it, I hate it when he does that. Emilio let us get away with a lot, but when he brought out the dad voice, we knew we had better listen.

“But–”

“No buts!” he says loudly. “It’s settled, Finny. Go pack your shit.” He points toward my room.

I get up, and I think about throwing the pillow I’m holding in my hands directly at his head, but I would never do it. I have too much respect for Emilio. But damn if it doesn’t cross my mind.