Montana

When his parents come into view through the large, glass window, separating the production area from the recording studio, shock and worry flood Carson’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks through the studio mic, filling the booth.

I open the door to the studio. “Nothing’s wrong. I asked your dad to help me with some marketing—I didn’t plan to mess with your recording schedule. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “It’s ...