CHAPTER 7 #3
“Nadie!” Tyler laughed, but it was hardly offensive. The language she’d heard on tour buses would have shocked the filthiest comedian.
“Sorry, Auntie Ty, but”—she pointed—“that’s Cary Kingston.”
“You were amazing,” Cary said, shrugging into his guitar.
Bert jogged down the steps. “What the . . . ?”
Tyler cupped her hand over her dad’s ear. “Slight change in plans.”
“Nice meeting you, sir.” Cary extended his hand. “I’m Cary. Big fan.”
Bert stared at Tyler, eyes bulging while shaking Cary’s hand. “Same, but—”
“He’s playing a few songs, Dad.”
“Thanks, son,” Bert said. “Means a lot.”
Son-in-law sounds better.
“Don’t mention it.” Cary shook his head like it was nothing.
Bert turned around and climbed the stairs with a pep in his step. He grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Winnipeg, we’ve got an extra special treat for you!” He revved up the crowd by raising his arms. “Put your hands together for Manitoba’s own . . . Cary Kingston!”
The audience half-applauded, probably expecting to see a tribute artist. Cover bands were common in casinos, especially in the Prairies where it was challenging to draw headliners.
Darting up the steps with his guitar slung over his shoulder, Cary grabbed the microphone and yelled, “Winnipeg! It’s good to be home!”
The crowd went into a frenzy and phones flashed like fireflies in the darkness.
A few moments later Dylan appeared, glaring at her sister, and mouthed, What the fuck?
Tyler shrugged as if she didn’t understand the question, but she knew perfectly well what was up.
“Did you know he was coming?” Dylan asked, pouring champagne into her sister’s glass.
Tyler shook her head, eyes fixed on the stage. “I’m totally freaking out.”
“Me too.” Dylan blew out a breath. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “We watched the game.”
“I thought he didn’t like hockey?”
“He doesn’t.”
Tyler studied Cary’s fingers as they moved along the neck of his guitar. She closed her eyes and imagined what his fingers could do to her in the bedroom.
It’s getting hot in here. She fanned herself with her hand but it was no use.
After playing two up-tempo hits, Cary strummed the first chords of his most popular love song and flashed his famous smile at her. She smiled back, goosebumps running down her arms.
“Yeah, I’m sure that kiss meant nothing.” Dylan nudged her shoulder. “You’re such a loser.”
“What?” Tyler avoided her sister’s gaze and continued to focus on Cary.
“Are you kidding me? He’s totally into you.”
“You’re crazy.” She finished her second glass of champagne before grabbing the bottle and pouring a third. “Bottoms up!”
Dylan covered her glass. “I don’t like Nickelback.”
“What?”
“It’s one of their songs, dummy.”
“Right.” She didn’t understand why they were the most hated band in the world. Nickelback had great songs and an amazing live show, and they were super nice guys, too.
Cary’s song ended and he addressed the crowd. “Thank you, Winnipeg! Don’t forget to bid on the silent auction.” He held his Gibson Montana by its neck. “You can bid on this one too!”
“Did he just give his guitar away?” Dylan didn’t seem to trust what she’d heard.
“I think so.” Tyler blinked until her eyes blurred. “Do you want to meet him?”
“No.” Dylan glanced at the rock star. “I need to stay objective . . . for you.”
“There’s nothing going on, Dylan.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I don’t believe me, either.
Tyler clicked her kitten heels across the floor to where Cary stood. “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.”
“My guitar?” He flicked his wrist dismissively. “I’ve got a million of them.”
“It’s the big finale if you want to join us?” Bert interrupted.
“Dad!” She couldn’t believe he was putting Cary on the spot after what he’d done for them.
Cary hung his head, disappointed. “I don’t have a guitar anymore.”
“Thanks for doing that.” Bert shook his hand again. “Above and beyond. You can play mine if you’d like.”
Pardon?
Bert never let anyone touch his beloved two-tone sunburst Stratocaster.
A gift from her mom on their first anniversary, the guitar was sacred to him—almost worshiped.
That winter, while Bert was on the road, Michelle had worked extra shifts to afford it.
She told him later—and he’d told the kids—the joy on his face had made every hour worth it.
“I’d love to,” Cary said.
What kind of fresh hell is this?
Not long after the finale ended, the dressing room door opened and Tyler stumbled backward, rolling over on her heel and nearly twisting her ankle.
“Happy birthday!” the Robertson family shouted as Dylan and her dad carried in a slab of white cake with lit candles.
Cary frowned at his tour manager like he was in deep shit for something.
Tyler covered her face with both hands. “You guys . . .”
“You thought we forgot!” Bert chuckled from his belly. “Gotcha!”
“I couldn’t even look at you this morning.” Dylan bent over laughing. “It’s your favorite.” She stood up and pointed. “Red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”
“I’m a better actor than you, Dylan.” Joe hugged his sister-in-law. “Happy birthday!”
Nadie hopped on the balls of her feet. “Happy birthday, Auntie Ty!”
“Happy birthday.” Perry, her eldest brother, kissed her on the cheek. “Now blow out the candles. I’m starving.”
Stewart, who was two years younger than Perry, hugged her warmly. “Happy birthday, Tiger.” When Stewart was a little kid, he couldn’t pronounce “Tyler.”
“Make a wish,” Bert reminded her.
What should I wish for?
She glanced at Cary, but her mind flashed X-rated images—too dirty for birthday wishes. She closed her eyes and wished he’d write another love song, then blew out the candles in one breath.
“Your mom would’ve been proud of you, kiddo,” Bert said, licking the icing off a candle.
“Would’ve?” Cary’s eyes shifted in her direction.
After thirty years Bert still had trouble saying it. “My wife passed away from cancer.” He twisted his wedding ring in semicircles. He’d never taken it off, not even to play slide guitar. “That’s when we started this benefit concert.”
“I’m sorry.” Cary’s voice softened. “I didn’t know.” He hugged Tyler gently. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Like my birthday wish?
“No.”
“Everyone!” Bert clapped twice. “Take a glass. There’s wine, champagne, sparkling grape juice for the kids.” He handed Cary a glass of red wine. “Made it myself.”
“Thanks.” Cary took the glass willingly.
“No!” Tyler cautioned. “You don’t have to drink that.”
The rock star cracked a smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Raise ’em up!” Bert lifted his glass over his head. “To Michelle!”
Everyone echoed, “To Michelle!”
After eating his fair share of cake, Perry grabbed Tyler in a playful headlock. Not much had changed since she was a child— he was still the clown of the family, taking after their father. Now his kids had to put up with his shenanigans, as did his poor wife, of course.
“Birthday noogies!” Perry rubbed her head with his knuckles, but she twisted out of his grip and straightened her half-pulled topknot.
“Jesus, Perry. Grow up.”
“I’m six-four,” he joked.
“We’ve got company.” Tyler gestured to Cary and her brother made googly eyes. Staring at Perry, she drew a line across her neck with her finger as a warning.
Perry seemed to catch her drift and extended his hand. “Hope to see you back here, Cary. Thanks for playing our concert.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, shaking his hand. “I hope to see you, too.”
You do?
Perry winked at the birthday girl. “We’re heading out, Ty-Ty. It’s way past the kids’ bedtime.” His smile faltered. “We sure do miss you.”
She dodged his gaze and mustered a tight-lipped smile.
Stewart whistled with two fingers. “Boys! Go hug your aunt. We’re leaving now.”
All four boys ran up to Tyler, nearly knocking her over, but she was happy to see their hockey conditioning was paying off. They were all tall enough to be defensemen.
“Bye, sweetie,” Perry’s wife said with a pout. She loved her sister-in-law more than life itself.
“I’ll be home at Christmas, Tamera. Take care of yourself.”
“I love you,” Stewart told his baby sister. “Be good now.”
A single tear hung from her lash line, meaning an ugly cry was coming. It never got easier saying goodbye to her family. The older she got, the harder it was to handle.
“I love you too.” Tyler raised her voice. “But get out of here!”
Just after midnight, Bert whistled, quieting the dressing room. “The auction’s officially sold out,” he announced. “Cary’s guitar went for twenty-five grand!” He crossed the room and shook Cary’s hand. “Thanks again, son,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word.
Tyler stepped forward. “It really does mean everything, Cary.”
He nodded, humbled by their gratitude. “Can I ask you a question, sir?”
“Shoot.” Bert stood up straight, fingers jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, thumbs hanging out. She couldn’t imagine what he was going to ask her dad. Hopefully nothing too personal.
“What was it like playing with the Humbler? Other than you, he’s my favorite guitar player.”
Bert gave him a heartfelt smile. “He was a sweet guy, soft-spoken. He let his guitar do the talking.”
“Did he ever,” Cary said. “His fingers were like butter.”
“I’m just glad I knew him.” Bert stared into the distance as if he were trying to remember something. “I’d be happy to show you a few of his tricks the next time you’re in town.”
“I’d love that.” Cary beamed.
I’ll show you a few tricks, Cary Kingston.
Vegas walked over and gently rested his hand on Cary’s shoulder. “Hey, man, we’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
Cary sighed. “No rest for the wicked.”
“I’ll walk you.” Tyler slipped out of her heels and wiggled her toes. “Ooh . . . that’s much better.”
After saying goodbye to her family, Tyler led the way down the hall toward the back door, her pulse ticking like a bomb about to explode.
“Is the car here?” Cary’s voice was casual, but she heard the restlessness underneath.
“I’ll check.” Vegas zipped up his coat. “See you, Tyler.”
The door shut behind him, and a cool breeze slipped through, sending a shiver down her spine. Or maybe that was just nerves.
It’s now or never.
She turned to Cary, heart hammering. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she slid her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”
“Happy birthday!” His hands found her waist, warm and steady. “I wish I’d known. I would’ve brought you something.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? You donated your guitar.”
“That was nothing.”
The words barely had time to settle before she leaned in, pulse roaring in her ears. Then, suddenly, their lips met, and—
Mmm . . . red velvet cake and cheap wine.
Their lips locked together like Lego pieces. If only she’d worn Le-Glue instead of gloss, maybe he wouldn’t pull away.
A loud bang at the door shattered the moment.
Cary jerked back, eyes slightly dazed. She caught her breath, biting back a nervous smile.
“Text me when you get back?” she asked, hoping he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice.
He blinked, as if recalibrating. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice was rougher now. “Say hi to Rory for me.”
She nodded. “Will do, Cary.”