“No, thank you.” I patted Myles. “I’m heading back, all right?”
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No need. I know the way from here, and it’s not even that late.”
He leaned on me. “But babe, babe. Sorry, Lex, I mean. Sorry. Um. I’ve been drinkin’ since ten this morning. About ready to pass the fuck out. And plus, I ain’t sure I can walk in a straight line.”
“I’m not sure you can walk at all.”
Lucas rested a big hand on Myles’s shoulder. “I’m heading that way, too. So if you need help, I’m here.”
Myles looked up at Lucas. “You got it, dude.” He laughed, eying us expectantly. “Full House.No? Nobody? I used to love that show. Crow’s mom would let us watch TV and drink sodas, and we’d always watch that, and…what was the other one?Step by Step.Ahh, the nineties, man.” He waved at Ramsey and Ink, as if they were far away. “Bye, guys. You’re the coolest. Thanks for making me feel welcome, and not famous.”
He saw Brock, then, ambling up to the group. “That was a hell of a flight, man. I want you to know I appreciate you staying sober and flying us.”
Brock laughed. “Ah shit, he’s going maudlin.” He glanced at me. “Quick, Lexie, get him out of here before he starts crying on our shoulders.”
“I’ll do something on your shoulder,” Myles said, and cackled.
“Gross, dude,” Brock said, laughing. “Not on my shoulder, you’re not.” He grinned, gesturing at me. “On hers, maybe.”
I flipped him off. “Don’t you volunteer me for that, motherfucker!” I laughed, though, making a joke of it.
Myles wobbled, eyes on me. “No, I thought about that, but she’s too classy for that. Wouldn’t want to.” He smirked at me, winking. “I got other plans, anyway.”
“Yeah, passing out and hoping you don’t piss the bed,” Brock laughed. “And good luck with that, man. You arelit.”
“I never piss the bed. Well, not since I was super little. I did get so drunk this one time that I shit myself, though. But I was like, a kid, and Crow and I had gotten hold of a bottle of Everclear. That was a bad time.”
“Well, you better not shit on me while I’m in the bed with you,” I said. “You shit on me, I’ll never have sex with you again.”
Myles held his hand up to his heart. “I solemnly swear I will not poop the bed.”
I laughed, and angled him away, toward where Mom’s condo was. “Come on, rock star. Let’s go.”
“Not a rock star,” he mumbled. “I’m acountrystar. ’S different.” A muzzy laugh. “Rock stars are sissies. They think they can hang, but they can’t. Bring a rock star to a country show, and he’ll wimp out. We know how to fuckin’party.”
I eyed Lucas. “You want to take his other side? I think this fella’s reached his limit.”
Lucas moved around to prop Myles up on his other side, and Myles grinned at each of us. “It’s a sandwich. Except the meat is on the outside, and the white bread in the middle.” He grinned at Lucas and then at me. “Big meat. Sexy meat.” He poked his belly. “No meat. Just a skinny kid from the ass end of Texas.”
Lucas laughed. “One foot in front of the other, Myles.”
And, step by step, we got him back to Mom’s. Up the stairs, into the condo, where Mom, Cassie, and Charlie were watching a movie—they paused it as we entered and regarded Myles with amusement.
“Wow, someone had a good time,” Mom said.
Myles wobbled his head, now finding it hard to hold it up. “Too good. This is tradition, though. Last night of freedom before going back out on the road, I get bomb-faced. Because on the tour, I gotta be theman. The honcho. The boss. Gotta wear the belt and twang but not too much, and sign for fans, and beon. And I love it. I do.” He blinked at Mom. “I do. I love it. But it’s hard, sometimes. So I go a little cuckoo, the night before I go on the road.” His eyes go serious. “I don’t do this much.” He looked at Lucas, and Mom. “Don’t want you to think littler…lesser…not as good of me. I stay cool. Just not tonight.”
Lucas clapped him on the back. “If you can keep it under control the rest of the time, I got no issues, son. You’re entitled to cut loose now and then.”
Myles nodded. “Gotta cut my bladder loose, is what. Back teeth are floatin’.”
I helped him, with some effort, into the en suite bathroom, where he pissed for approximately twenty minutes, braced with two hands on the wall behind the toilet. He shuffled, only partially dressed, to the bed. And flopped in.
I helped him undress, brought his feet up and onto the bed. Tucked him in. “Sleep good, rock star.”
He seemed oddly lucid, his eyes on mine. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
