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“How old?” Iris asked.
“Three.”
“Cute?” Roddy asked.
“Fuckin’ adorable,” I confirmed.
Iris grinned. “Look at you, all paternal and proud.”
“She has a kid?” Adam seemed perplexed by this.
“Yep. Ezra.”
Iris crossed her arms over her chest and flicked her fingers. “I know tours aren’t exactly ideal places for small children, but we’re all settling down—”
Adam coughed. “Speak the fuck for yourself, madam.”
She rolled her eyes. “All of us are settling down except legendary groupie-magnet, Adam Wainwright.” She flicked her fingers again. “Anyway, the kid is welcome.Ezrais welcome. I’m just putting that out there. When the time comes, we will hammer out the details.”
I dipped my head. “Thank you.”
I didn’t say more, but that acceptance meant a lot. Because I did plan on bringing Wren and Ezra around my band. I did want them to attend shows and spend some nights on buses with me. If I had pushback from my bandmates...well, if it came down to a choice, I knew the one I’d make, and it wouldn’t make me happy.
But right now, I was happy.
A producer stuck their head in the room, inviting us to follow them to the stage. The audience was live, the broadcast wasn’t.
The appearances, interviews, autographs, paparazzi, the fame, it all got old. But this, heading to the stage to play with the three people I’d lived through some of the shittiest, happiest times in my life with, this never got old. The seasons were always changing, but the desire to blow down the house with our sounds never, ever went away.
