9. Nash
Chapter 9
Nash
I leaned back in the diner’s worn vinyl booth, the familiar aroma of stale coffee and sizzling bacon hanging in the air. Across from me, Easton and Richard were absorbed in their meals, unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my mind. It had taken me a while to fall asleep last night, replaying everything that had happened over the past few days.
I’d spent five days at Dawn’s ranch, meeting the people there and getting a taste of ranch life. It was unfamiliar territory for me. Growing up in Edmonton, I had always been a city boy.
It’s strange to think about now—how I was singing about country living, open fields, and small-town values, while my boots were firmly planted on concrete. Life in the city moved fast—traffic lights, noisy streets, workaholics—but that music was for everyone, wasn’t it?
Sure, sometimes it felt like I was playing a part, like maybe I didn’t belong. But country music reminded me of those quiet nights with my dad, sitting on the back steps, him teaching me chords on his old guitar. That’s where it all started—the kind of moments that felt pure, real, and true. It wasn’t about where I came from but about the stories I could tell, the memories I could honor.
“I’ve got something to run by you,” I said, setting down my mug and finally finding the courage to speak.
Easton paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Richard didn’t even blink, too absorbed in scrolling through emails on his phone.
“Sure, shoot,” Richard said without looking up, taking a sip of his coffee.
I cleared my throat, and Richard finally glanced my way. “I want to do a benefit concert,” I said. “Big, bold—something that puts the spotlight where it’s needed.”
That caught Richard’s attention. He set his phone down, his eyebrows raised. “A benefit concert? For what?”
“For a ranch called Skyline Acres,” I explained. “It’s a place where people with disabilities can work, learn, and live with dignity. They’re struggling to stay afloat, and I think we can help.”
Richard blinked. “You’ve been sitting on this idea where exactly?”
Easton’s gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable.
I smiled, memories of my first few days at the ranch coming to the forefront. “It’s Dawn Taylor’s ranch.”
“The barrel racer?” Easton asked, half his mouth full of eggs.
“Yeah, the barrel racer. People already love her, and the media calls her the rodeo princess. This could do wonders for our image. I spent a few days there already—met the residents, helped with the chores. They’re great people, exactly what you wanted Rebel Rose to represent, Rich.” I added.
Richard nodded, his manager instincts already kicking in. “A big concert, huh? We talking arenas? Headliners? Media coverage? Because if we go big, we’ve gotta do it right.”
“Yeah,” I said, locking eyes with him. “But it’s not just about the ranch. Let’s be real—it’s about me, too. I know the headlines haven’t been kind lately. This concert can bring attention to Skyline Acres, but also remind people who I am and what Easton and I stand for. And we can’t half-ass it. It has to be great.”
Richard’s grin spread slowly, like he’d just hit the jackpot. “Now that’s the kind of thinking I can get behind. We’ll sell out every seat, stream it live—hell, let’s get some big names on the bill. We’ll make this the event of the year.”
I held up a hand to slow him down. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, there’s more. I’m not just talking about throwing money or our name into the pot. I need to be there. Hands-on. At the ranch. They need help, and I will give it to them.”
Easton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you’re gonna drop everything to work on a ranch? With the kind of schedule we’re facing for this concert?”
“Yeah,” I said, meeting his skeptical gaze. “I’ll balance it. I owe them that much. I’ve seen what they’re doing up close, and it’s not something you can understand from the outside. If I’m asking people to care about Skyline Acres, I need to care enough to show up myself.”
Richard looked like he wanted to argue but then sighed and nodded. “All right. You want authenticity? You’ve got it. But let’s be clear—you still need to rehearse, record, and promote this thing. No disappearing on me completely.”
“Deal,” I said, feeling the weight lifting from my shoulders.
Easton narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain pretty girl you danced with, would it?”
I froze for half a second, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “This is bigger than that, Easton,” I said, leaning forward. “Skyline Acres is our chance to get back in the spotlight. It’s exactly what we need to make people forget about my… errors. They’ll see two guys who want something good for their people.”
The words came easily, but the thought of it being just about me left a bitter taste in my mouth. For some reason, I didn’t want them to know that I had the time of my life at the ranch—learning, helping, finding a kind of purpose I hadn’t felt in years.
Easton held my gaze, as if trying to read me, but I didn’t flinch. After a beat, he leaned back, shrugging. “Fair enough. But just so you know, doing something for the wrong reasons doesn’t mean it can’t end up being the right thing.”
His words struck me harder than I expected. I was passing off the whole thing as a way to clean up my public image, as if I was just another country star looking to earn back favor. But that ranch wasn’t just a chance to polish my reputation; it was also an opportunity to make up for my mistakes—and maybe, in some small way, give back to Easton.
Richard broke the silence, clapping his hands enthusiastically. “Well, whatever your reasons, I like it. Let’s make this the biggest thing you’ve ever done. I’ll start contacting venues, sponsors, the whole nine yards.”
Easton’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained cautious. “I’ve got your back, man. But I know you—be careful not to bury yourself in this. Just remember why you’re doing it.”
I couldn’t hold his gaze, taking a sip of my now-cold coffee. Easton didn’t usually insert himself much into our conversations, but when he did, it always carried weight. It was one of the qualities that had helped us get as far as we had with Rebel Rose.
As the conversation shifted, Richard’s mind was already in overdrive, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of his coffee cup like a drummer catching the beat. “We’ll need to move fast if you want to get back into Red Dirt Rendezvous at the end of the summer. Mid-July could be the perfect time.”
“That’s in two months,” I said, hesitating. Easton agreed the timeline felt impossible with all the work ahead.
Richard cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Well, as long as you can juggle everything, I think we’ve got a shot at pulling this off. But make no mistake—this concert has to be flawless. A comeback, a statement, a cause—all rolled into one. It’s a hell of a balancing act. You ready for it?”
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their expectations settle on my shoulders. “I’m ready,” I said, my words firm. “Whatever it takes, I’m ready.”
Easton nodded, the usual skepticism in his eyes softening just enough to let a hint of trust shine through. “All right then,” he said with quiet resolve. “Let’s do it.”
Richard’s phone buzzed, and he snatched it up, already making notes and firing off emails. Easton shook his head with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re insane, you know that? We could’ve just made our third album and gotten back on track slowly. Rich was stressing about our image, but it’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad, East. You’ve seen it for yourself. The last few shows were a circus. People were so scared I’d do something ridiculous, they barely even looked at us.”
We needed good press, and this concert was the way to get it.
The three of us sat there for a moment, the weight of everything ahead of us hanging in the air. But for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel just pressure or doubt. I felt purpose.