Abby’s arm encircled my waist, pulling me to her. She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need a minute alone?”
“No, I want you here.” I kissed the crown of her head. “I always want you with me.”
“And I always want to be here for you.”
I smiled down at her. “Besides, Mama would want you here. She loved you like I do.”
Abby’s chin trembled. “And I loved her too. I always will.”
At the sound of crunching leaves behind us, Abby and I turned around. A tall, lean man came striding toward us. His arms were laden with dozens of pink roses. When he got almost to us, he stopped abruptly. His dark green eyes scanned our faces. “Excuse me, are you part of Susan Moore’s—I mean, Susan Slater’s family.”
My brows shot up at his thick Russian accent. “I’m her son.”
A hesitant smile formed on his lips. “Of course. I see the resemblance now.” His gaze left mine to take in my mother’s grave. Regret filled his face. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here for the funeral. I didn’t know she was sick. I would’ve liked…” He drew in a sharp breath like he was trying to control his emotions. “I would have liked to have seen her again.”
“How did you know her?” I asked.
“We used to dance together many years ago.”
Abby’s arm jerked from my waist to cover her mouth. Her eyes had widened as big as saucers. “Oh my God. You’re Yuri?”
He smiled. “Yes, but how did you know?”
“Susan told me about you.”
“Wait, what?” I asked.
Ignoring me, I watched as Abby closed the gap between her and Yuri. She leaned up to whisper something in his ear. An agonized sob escaped his lips. When she finally pulled away, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Really?”
Abby nodded.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Swiping his cheeks, he turned his attention to me. “May I have a moment with her?”
“Sure. We really have to be going anyway,” I replied.
“Nice meeting you,” Yuri said.
“You too,” Abby replied while I nodded.
As we walked away, Abby took my hand in hers. “Who the hell is that guy and what did my mom tell you about him?” I demanded.
“It was something she wanted just between us—a girl’s thing.”
I skidded to a stop. “Please tell me that dude isn’t my real father or something like that!”
Abby’s blue eyes widened. “No, no, of course it’s nothing sordid like that!”
“Tell me,” I growled. When she shot me her infamous ‘Don’t you dare use that tone with me, Jake Slater’, look, I grunted in frustration. I hated begging, and she knew it. “Please.”
“Okay, since you asked nicely, I’ll fill you in on the way to the concert.”
The idea of a benefit concert in my mother’s memory had been Abby’s idea. She wanted it to be a hometown crowd for those who knew and loved my mom as well as me. All proceeds would go to cancer research and the American Cancer Society. She organized everything from having us perform in the park behind the high school where both my mom and I went to school. It would also be the opening of our newly billed act, The Crossroads Tour, where Jacob’s Ladder and Runaway Train teamed up together for a North American tour.
After performing with her brothers, Abby and I would be singing several duets before Runaway Train came on, including I’ll Take You with Me. It had been bittersweet when the song shot to number one on the Billboard Top 100 the day of Mama’s funeral. Although everyone was heralding it as the most emotional break-up song of the year, I knew the truth. It was about immense heartbreak and suffering—just not the kind they thought.
Since we were performing in a park, we had to get ready in our tour buses. My first order of business for our upcoming tour was to ensure that Abby and I had our own bus, so we could be alone without interruptions. Always thinking of someone else, Abby had insisted that we share it a lot with Brayden so that he and Lily could have more family time. Until then, I planned on christening every square inch of it with her when we got on the road. Tonight, however, there was no time for funny business.
Besides organizing the venue and bands, it had also been Abby’s idea for everyone to dress-up, so to speak, in respect for my mama. The guys from both bands were wearing black dress pants, black shirts and black ties. A single pink ribbon for Breast Cancer awareness was pinned to our lapels. Although strapless, Abby’s black dress came to her knees and met the tops of her black cowboy boots. Wrapped around her neck were my mother’s pearls. She wore them often, and every time she did, it made my heart ache with both pleasure and pain at the bond the two amazing women in my life once shared.