Page 69 of My Song for You
And what kind of asshole father loses his four-year-old son in a mall?
I ducked into another kids’ clothing store and searched between the racks and displays. One of Logan’s favorite games was hide-and-seek.
“Can I help you find something?” a woman in her early fifties asked.
“I’m looking for my four-year-old son.”
She didn’t belong in the band’s demographics, so chances were good she had no idea who I was. There would be no tweets going out that I had a son, nor would it go viral that I had lost said son.
I showed her the picture on my smartphone.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen him. Let me call mall security for you.”
“Okay, but I don’t have time to wait for them.” I gave her my number so they could call me, and rushed out of the store.
My phone pinged, and I read the message.Found him!!!!! He’s in the toy store.
The store was across the plaza from where I was standing. I sprinted across the beige stone and entered the small store. In the corner, next to a shelf full of stuffed animals, the redhead was kneeling next to Logan and talking to him.
“Thank you,” I said, working to catch my breath.
“You’re welcome.” She stood up.
Logan held up a stuffed dog that resembled Rocky. “Puppy.”
I squatted and hugged him hard. “It’s a very nice puppy. But Logan, you can’t just wander off like that. Next time, you need to tell me if you want to go somewhere.”
“You busy.” He hugged the toy.
“No matter what, you always come first.”
Because I owed the girl and her friends big-time, I asked for her address so I could send them signed posters of the band. It was the least I could do. Logan was still hugging the toy puppy by the time I had finished talking to her.
“I know he’s not a real dog,” I said, “but would you like him?”
He held the puppy tighter. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” I even managed to sign it as I said it. Although after I almost lost Logan, I doubt my growing signing ability would impress Callie.
Logan considered that for a second. “Thank you.”
We arrived at Mason’s loft a short time later. “How’s my little man?” Mas held up his hand to high-five Logan, who had to jump up to reach it. It had become a routine with those two. “Who’s this?” Mason asked, pretending to pat Logan’s toy.
“My dog,” Logan said proudly, and waited for the rest of the band to do the same as Mason. I grinned at the sight of four grown men fussing over a stuffed toy as if it were a real puppy.
Four grown men, one with green dye on his hands. “You wanna explain why you have green hands?” I asked Aaron, although I already had my suspicions.
They were confirmed when he glared pointedly at Mason.
Mas snickered. “Well, you did complain that house plants die at the sight of you. I just thought I’d help you out.”
Kirk snorted a laugh. “The term is ‘green thumb,’ drummer boy. Not ‘green hands.’ ”
“Hi, Jared,” a female voice said from the far side of the room, its owner already bored with the guys’ typical antics. The husky sound of it would’ve left most men sporting a hard-on—but for once, it did nothing for me. I hadn’t even noticed Tiffany when Logan and I entered the room.
Looking like she belonged in the sparsely yet expensively furnished loft, she sashayed her way over, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pressed her body against mine. “I’ve missed you, love.”
“How did you know I’d be here?” I unhooked her arms from around me and walked over to Mason’s fridge. Unlike mine, it wasn’t covered in Logan’s latest artwork. But it did have one of Logan’s pictures of what could’ve been Mason on the drums…if you used your imagination.
