Page 60 of Rock Chick Bonus Tracks

That man was him.

Son to Lana Mason.

Stepson to Chloe Mason.

Husband to Stella Gunn.

Father to Tallulah India Jet Mason.

And…yeah. Brother to Caitlin Mason.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“First, Tex and Nancy are joining us this weekend. She mentioned she’d never been to Universal Studios, so obviously Tex made it his mission to get her here. They arrive tomorrow.”

“Not a problem. We got room.”

And they did. They had a seven-bedroom, nine-thousand square foot house on a compound located on the north side of Malibu that included a detached studio, a casita, a pool house (so also obviously a pool) and extensive gardens.

“Second, you need to call the head of security at Universal Studios and warn them Tex is coming.”

He chuckled and lied, “I’ll get right on that.”

He heard her husky laughter, felt it in his chest and parts south, then she said, “Tally been going on again about how she justcan’t livewithout Sophia.”

Mace blew out a sigh.

He liked their house with its proximity to the beach, so he and Tally could surf.

Tally liked that, and the pool.

Stella liked the studio.

But all of them were done with LA.

Tally’s best friend had moved to Phoenix. Now, Tally was in fits of despair—near-tween-girl style—that her bestest bestie sinceforeverhad left because her dad got transferred, and they weren’t going to get to see each other at school every day.

He and Stella tried not to spoil their girl.

But seriously. Droughts. Mud slides. Earthquakes. Daily run-ins with fruits, nuts and flakes (no judgement, Mace was a fan of letting it all hang out and being who you were, but Mace couldn’t deny he missed the solidity of Denver, there were fruits nuts and flakes there too, but not at every turn).

And living in a town where you could walk into any store, coffee shop or restaurant and see anyone from the A-list to the C-list (Stella being A-list) and have to deal with the fans who didn’t have a problem asking for a selfie, or who did and took pictures of you while you were eating eggs benedict at brunch, was getting really old.

Phoenix had zero natural disasters, three-hundred-sixty-five days of sunshine, and a plot of land they’d bought in Paradise Valley, which they already had the permits to build on.

“Family meet tonight?” he asked.

“Family meet,” she agreed.

“Got some things to wrap up. Should be home in a couple of hours.”

“See you when you get here. I’m cooking.”

Of course she was. Rock star who’d repeatedly made the cover ofRolling Stone, cooked for her family every night when she was home.

“Look forward to it, whatever it is.”

“Okay. Later, babe.”

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