All Note Long by Annabeth Albert

Rob’s couch with her on his chest and given her a bottle while her mama made them all tamales. His chest had been so tight, he was surprised the rest of them couldn’t hear it creak with all the want. He’d had a manager once who’d suggested that Michelin marry a nice girl, give her a giant prenup, get himself some Viagra, have a couple of kids, and never worry about rumors again.
    Michelin fired him on the spot. Sure, he’d taken female friends as dates to events for years, things that were more about photo opportunities for both of them, but he wasn’t going to actually date or marry someone. Even if his heart did break a little every time he talked to Rob and heard the kids whizzing around in the background. Rob and Griselda had four now. A full house. Michelin’s dad was one of six siblings, his mom one of five, all ridiculously procreative people, filling up their tiny county. He knew one of his mama’s greatest sorrows was that he was an only kid, and he’d seen how wistful she got around Rob’s brood in particular.
    Just one more thing Michelin had never been able to give her. And now she was gone, and he was here, telling Rob the absolute minimum about the story and the interview scheduled for tomorrow.
    â€œNever heard you say the words,” Rob said in between making shh ing noises to the baby. “But I knew. You know that, right?”
    â€œYeah.” That they’d never had to have this conversation was something Michelin was grateful for. He’d known that Rob had guessed, probably two decades ago if they were honest, but they just danced around the issue. But he’d known before he picked up the phone that he wasn’t going to shock Rob.
    â€œYou need me to run interference with rest of the family until this blows over?” Predictably, Rob guessed the real reason for his phone call.
    â€œYeah.” Michelin wasn’t too proud to admit that he needed that. They’d all been so thrilled when he’d returned to his country roots. He had no illusions that he’d be the subject of family gossip, most of it not pleasant, for a while. Oh, they wouldn’t disown him, and they weren’t the type to say ugly things to his face, but the rumors and judgments would still swirl. “Only thing is, I’m not sure this is gonna blow over. People aren’t going to let this go, Rob. Doesn’t matter even if the nastier part of the story stays buried. The fans aren’t going to treat me the same.”
    Because it was Rob and they had three and a half decades behind them, he could voice his biggest fear without needing a giant shot of whiskey to do it. He leaned against the desk in his sitting area, letting the corner dig hard into his thigh while he waited for a reply.
    â€œFuck the fans,” Rob said firmly. “You’re still my brother. Same as yesterday. And you’re still the guy who wrote ‘Graduation Day’ and ‘Sunday Afternoon Party’ and the rest of the songs that have become anthems for Redneck Nation. All those kids using you for their senior class song—they’re not going anywhere.” Rob sounded far more convinced than Michelin felt.
    â€œHere’s to hoping.” He turned toward the bank of windows that overlooked the valley below—and the pool to the eastern part of his property. Lucky was swimming smooth, graceful laps, churning through the water. Watching him was more soothing than pacing, more reassuring than even Rob’s words.
    â€œThis . . . thing with the dancer—is it really only for show?” Rob sounded more curious than judgmental.
    â€œYeah.” He watched as Lucky hoisted himself out of the pool, and even though it was way too far to see his eyes, Michelin swore he could feel those chocolaty depths meet his own, swore he could sense the questions in Lucky’s head.
    â€œDarn.” Rob laughed. “I was going to tell you to bring