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Rocco Collins laughed. “Not Baker. What’s going on? You’ve been running around like crazy since we took over the shift.”

I figured I might as well tell them about the concert. They were young. Maybe they’d have some suggestions about getting the word out.

“You guys remember the call this spring with the rock band’s bus in an accident in Griffith Park?”

“Oh yeah. It was Accidental Fire, right?” Rocco asked.

“Yeah. They’re planning a listening party for two weeks from yesterday. They want to partner with our station to do a community outreach performance for their new album coming out at the end of October. They’re talking about doing a dunk tank, and I think you clowns should sign up for it. You’ve probably got a lot of people who’d want to throw baseballs at you, right?”

Procter laughed. “Oh man, that sounds fun. Sign me up. Anything else we can do to help?”

“I’ll keep you posted. Procter, when do you want to start practicing for your CPAT testing?”

We chatted about everything he needed to work on and decided to get together that afternoon to run through some of the agility tests to check his time scores compared to what they’d been before he sprained his ankle.

I was fucking exhausted by the time I turned in that night. I’d been working with Lerner when I wasn’t taking Procter through his eight agility tests. He needed to finish the test in ten minutes and twenty seconds, or he’d fail. I didn’t want to see the kid wash out, so I’d run the drills with him, trying to encourage him.

I decided to sleep in the office again so I could call Jordan because I missed him very much.

His handsome face appeared on the second ring, and there was laughter in the background. “Hey, Thatcher. How are you?”

“Hi, honey. You made it home from Nate’s, I see.” He was sitting on the couch in the living room with a glass of wine.

“River and I are working on music before I sign the contract with Lerner. It’s a new song we wanna play at the event. Did you talk to Lerner? They were able to get permission to use the parking lot of the youth center. Someone will block it off so nobody can get into the structure, but there will be some food trucks, porta-johns, a dunk tank, and places for your fire department to park the trucks. I think they’re planning to email you the particulars, but I’m so excited you got to hear it from me. Thank you for helping with the event. I love you, Thatcher.”

I smiled at him. “That right there is thanks enough.” And it was.

Chapter Twenty-Five

JD

We pulled onto the street behind the youth center’s burned-out shell. Most of the debris was already gone. Once the city declared it a safety concern, they got busy clearing it out so we didn’t have to worry about kids sneaking inside and getting injured. Our insurance company was thrilled that it was taken care of before the event.

We were in Kit’s large Peterbilt tractor-trailer, me, Arlo, and Goldie in the sleeper area, and Riv in the passenger seat where he’d ridden many times during our last tour.

“Okay, I see Allen, Sam, and the rest of the roadies behind us in a minibus. Let’s hop out and get you guys set up. It’s, uh”—he glanced at his phone—“it’s nine. You play at two, and we’re out of here by five. Let’s get to work.”

The event started at noon, but we wanted to set up early so we wouldn’t have to fight the crowds to get everything placed. A DJ was joining the party to play music, and there was a dunk tank for the firefighters, along with a fishing game for little kids with prizes donated by local businesses.

Lerner had a long list of items being donated to the center after the building was replaced, and it would be even better than before the fire. I’d reached out to the director to discuss the center’s needs and figure out how I could help after it reopened.

The fire department was coming at eleven to set up on the far edge of the parking lot, where a large gate could be opened if they needed to leave in a hurry. Thatcher’s crew, who was off on Saturday and Sunday, had volunteered to help. The probies, as Thatcher called Procter and Rocco, were going to be in the dunk tank, and thankfully, the fire department would bring us some water for the tank and the fishing game.

The food trucks were already on the premises and smelled delicious. The folks who had worked at the center brought balloons and streamers to decorate, and a local company had created signs to tell people where things were located.

Lerner had called in a favor from a friend who ran an internet public relations company, and they donated their time to help spread the word of the event. The team had worked miracles for us, and everyone was excited.

We helped the roadies carry equipment, which usually wasn’t our job, but with everyone else pitching in, it felt like we would be seen as prima donnas if we didn’t.

I was carrying a crate of cords over to the makeshift stage area. We were allowed to piggyback from the electricity that powered the lights along the street, which was nice. I placed the crate close to the outdoor junction box where the outlets were located, and Allen, our stage manager, took it to begin powering things.

“Thanks, JD. I saw Tony around, so he’s here. How’s the hand?” he asked.

“It’s pretty good. I’ve stepped up my PT, but I don’t think I’ll be able to play at Rocktoberfest, which is a bummer. How’s your family?” The guys who worked for us were amazing.

“Everybody’s fine. They’re all coming to Vegas with us for Arlo and Goldie’s wedding. You think they’ll really pull the trigger?”

Just as he asked the question, we both heard them yelling at each other as they rounded a fence, Arlo pushing his keyboard and a hand truck while Goldie pointed out that he was a terrible driver.