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“Is that really all you need?” Ron shook his head as he took in the mess Barrett had made of the suitcases he was trying to fit his entire life into. “Are three suitcases really going to last you?”

“Yes. I told you. We can’t fit that much on the bus anyways,” Barrett said, throwing in a few of the shirts the stylists had suggested.

They’d insisted on completely styling the band throughout the course of their tour, but Barrett liked to keep things simpler than their three-hundred-dollar leather jackets, so he’d opted to take a few shirt and ring suggestions and call it good.

“Can’t fit much but plan on living out of it for a year. You’re practically homeless.” Ron shook his head.

“That’s part of the fun. You know you’re welcome to join,” Barrett teased.

“Trade my couch for constant car sickness? No, thank you. I’m fine staying right here.”

“I know.” Barrett managed to shut the zipper despite the bag bursting at the seams. “You better not turn my room into an office or something. I’m coming back.”

“Why would you do that? You should just get that place in Los Angeles Dennis was going on about. It’s better.”

“I’m looking at different places around the city,” Barrett said. “But I like having options.”

He’d had a hard time accepting he was going to be even further away from Ron for almost an entire year, but as always, the man was more than insistent that if Barrett decided not to do the tour just because of him, he would never let him inside the house again.

The place he’d looked at in LA was a nice house, with an extra large garage he was intent on turning into a studio, and three bedrooms so Ron would have choices if he ever decided to move in.

As long as Ron was here, Barrett would visit more than he had the past year when this tour was over.

His answer seemed to please Ron. “That’s better. Hopefully, some swanky gated place with security.”

Barrett shook his head and carried the suitcases into the living room, where Sandra and his day pack sat on the sofa. “I don’t need security.”

“Don’t lie. Toni was bragging that you guys got swarmed by fans at LAX. I don’t want you ending up like John Lennon. They can get bloodthirsty.”

“We’re not as big as The Beatles.”

“You never know.”

A knock on the front door interrupted them, and Barrett looked at the clock on the wall. He wasn’t even supposed to meet up at Toni’s place for another hour, so why had one of the guys stopped by for some reason?

He dropped his bags and opened the door.

The couple on the porch looked completely out of place in this neighborhood.

Pastor Duncan wore a khaki suit, and Mrs. Duncan wore a baby pink dress and carried a plate of cookies. They looked like they were going to church.

They smiled up at Barrett, Mrs. Duncan a little bigger and more nervous than the pastor’s relaxed simper.

Pastor Duncan spoke first. “Good evening, Scott.”

Barrett blinked.

Never, in a million years, would he have expected this .

“Uh, hi,” was the best he could come up with.

Ron shuffled behind him until he was taking up the rest of the space in the doorway next to Barrett.

While Barrett held nothing against the Duncans, Ron hadn’t quite gotten over his grudges that they had assumed the worst of Barrett and kicked out their own daughter.

“My, my, what a pleasant surprise.” Ron felt the need to add in his sarcasm. Barrett shot him a look. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Well,” Mrs. Duncan spoke, her eyes jumping from Ron to Barrett.

She finally settled on Barrett, who was no doubt the kinder face of the two and the reason they’d come there.

“We heard you were leaving on a tour across the country. Read it in the town paper the other day. How exciting!” Her voice was chipper to the point of making Barrett almost jump.

He wasn’t expecting such aggressive . . .

kindness. “Thought we would bring over some cookies as a congratulations. I hope you like chocolate chip.”

He accepted the cookies and laughed under his breath, smiling. “Chocolate chip is my favorite, thank you.”

That seemed to please her, and she released a pleasant sigh. “They’re also meant as a thank you.”

Barrett’s brow raised. “Thank you?”

“It’s long overdue; we know,” the pastor chimed in. “But we owe a lot to you, Scott, for what you did for Janelle.”

Barrett perked up, his back straightening.

Hearing her name for the first time in a while sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

He thought about her often but spoke about her only on occasion.

It wasn’t that he avoided the topic of her.

She came up every so often in casual conversation, but he was busy, and he preferred to stay focused on this intensely vital moment in his life.

He wasn’t sure their rapid rise of success would have been possible if he had been distracted during it. No time for hookups or anything—not that he would have even if he could.

Nell was always there in the back of his mind. Nobody else stood a chance.

“I didn’t do much,” he mumbled and looked at the cookies to avoid their eyes.

A soft hand grabbed his, and he stared at Mrs. Duncan as she grasped his fingers between her palms. Despite her nerves when she’d arrived, she looked openly grateful and comfortable at this point.

“You did everything for her. We know it had to be difficult for you after everything, but we would have never known what to do or how to help her if you hadn’t done what you did.

You gave her something to live for, you helped her get back into a car when we thought it was impossible, and you brought her back to us.

I don’t know how I will ever be able to show you how much it means to us. We wanted you to know before you left.”

Barrett stared at her, then the pastor, who nodded along in agreement to everything she said. Even Ron, who had started this conversation prepared for a fight, could only watch them in mellowed silence.

Barrett cleared his throat, not wanting his emotion to show. “How is she?”

Mrs. Duncan grinned brighter, if that was even possible, and Barrett saw Nell in it. “She’s never been better.”

Barrett nodded, and she let go of his hand. “We have a show tomorrow night in Bellevue.” He reached over to the counter and grabbed one of the fliers their manager had printed, handing it to them. “You’re welcome to come if you’d like. I can make sure there’s a table for you.”

Mrs. Duncan laughed. “Oh dear, that’s so sweet of you, but I doubt we would fit in there.”

Barrett chuckled because she wasn’t wrong. The image of them wearing their Sunday best in a venue full of screaming, head-banging fans was delightful to imagine.

“But we wish you the best of luck,” the pastor added, and Barrett chuckled.

Shortly after, the Duncans said their goodbyes, with Pastor Duncan telling him to share the cookies with the rest of the band and Mrs. Duncan pausing at the bottom of the steps.

“Oh! By the way, I listened to your latest release. It was a little intense for my taste, but I can see why you kids like it so much.”

Barrett waved as they drove away and walked back into the house, half wondering if he had just experienced an intense hallucination. The cookies in his hand told him otherwise.