Tour exists in some surreal state, where the time either flies or drags.

The past four days have brought two shows. For once, it's not the shows I'm counting.

It’s two sound checks, which I dodge.

It’s four lunches I skip, throwing myself into writing that won’t come.

It’s eight interviews, each more frustrating than the last. Even though I know they serve a purpose, they feel like wasted time.

I want to shout that I’m retiring. That I’m grateful to my fans and I’d be even more grateful if they would accept my humble goodbye and promptly forget about me forever.

I owe Cross an answer tonight. There’s no way he’s forgotten.

If I tell him I'm out, he might take his secret to the grave. I can see him doing it just to spite me.

And even if Haley finds out—from me or someone else—he might simply deny her what she's owed. He has no obligation to provide for her, even if the thought leaves a metallic taste in my mouth.

Nothing’s happened between me and Haley since Dallas. If I’m avoiding her, it’s because that’s the best possible way for this to play out.

When she leaves, I won’t have the torture of resisting her.

I won’t have any part of her.

“Jax, you have a visitor,” Nina calls into my dressing room. “Technically two.”

I turn to see the kid running at me. Red braids bounce at her shoulders, and her eyes are bright with eagerness. “Uncle Jax!”

My heart lifts even before I wrestle her into my arms, lifting and spinning her around. “Hey, squirt. Damn, you’re getting heavy.”

“You can’t say that to girls,” Grace chastises, right on Annie’s heels.

“Which part, damn or heavy?” I shoot her a wink, setting Annie down and wrapping my sister in a hug.

“I’m glad you made it,” I murmur against her hair, a few shades darker than mine.

“We did. Finally.”

I want to escape. To take off and take Grace and Annie with me.

Until last week, that was the plan.

For the first time, something’s holding me back.

I don’t want to leave Haley.

Not like this.

“I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too.” Grace’s smile is faint in the back seat of the Town Car after the show.

Annie’s curled up and half-asleep against my shoulder.

The three of us had gone to the Olive Garden and gotten a private room there. Sometimes the most comforting things aren’t limos or hotel rooms—they’re breadsticks.

“You’re pretty good,” she says.

“I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.” The answer comes easily, but even I know it's not enough anymore.

I check on my niece. Annie’s fast asleep between us.

“It always feels strange, seeing people cheer for you. Sometimes I want to scream at them that they don’t know you at all. Like how you make the best chocolate chip cookies. How you used a nightlight until you were twelve. The way you played puppets with me when I was home alone instead of going out with your friends. That you tried to grow the world’s most awful beard at sixteen and hunted down any remaining photos of it at seventeen.”

I grin. “I’m glad those are the memories you have.”

“I remember other things too. Us swiping food. And the games you’d play so I didn’t realize we were dodging child services.”

“Annie will never deal with that.” It’s a promise and a threat.

“Things are good. I told you.”

I reach for Grace’s arm and pull up the sleeve that’s too long for the summer heat.

She sucks in a breath when I brush my thumb over her skin.

“Again?” I whisper hoarsely.

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like I’m weak. Like I’m in need of protection.”

“It’s getting worse.”

She pulls down her sleeve. “I protected you too.”

Anger burns in the back of my throat, along with regret and unfairness.

I turn her words over as the car pulls up in front of the airport, then I reach into my pocket and pull out a stack of bills. I tuck them into her hand, squeezing.

“Grace, I want you to leave. Pack a bag. Come on the tour with us. Hell, you don’t need a bag, I’ll buy you whatever you need. Rent you your own bus. Just don’t go back there.”

She blinks at me. “He’s my husband. Just because things get hard doesn’t mean you bail. He’s been there for me.”

When you haven’t. Her meaning is clear.

“I’m not letting her be raised like this. I’m not letting you go through it.”

“It’s not your choice. Whether you come home in two weeks or two years, it still won’t be.”

She tries to give the money back, but I fold her hand around it. Her shoulders cave in as she pockets it. “You might get to call the shots out here, but this is my life, big brother. Our lives.”

She brushes a hand over Annie’s hair, and the kid stirs. I sweep Annie into a fierce hug. She laughs sleepily.

“You call me every day, yeah?” I tell Annie.

She nods.

“You happy, squirt?”

Another nod, her smile in the dark. Guilt and helplessness tear through me.

“I’ll see you soon.” I don't know if the words are true.

Grace shifts out of the car, tugging Annie with her. I don’t want to let go. But I do.