27. Nash
Chapter 27
Nash
D ecember started with a whirlwind, Rebel Rose’s last album soaring higher than we’d ever imagined. It was a resounding success. The past few months blurred together in a cacophony of flashing lights, roaring crowds, award ceremonies, and endless interviews.
Yet through all the noise, a quiet thought gnawed at me: This isn’t for me anymore. What pieces of life were slipping through my fingers while I was here, basking in this manufactured spotlight?
The roar of the crowd resonated through the entire stadium as I adjusted my earpiece and made sure my guitar strap was resting comfortably on my shoulder. I jumped up and down, willing the stress to transform into anticipation.
My eyes connected with Easton’s in the backstage darkness. His knowing smile grew as he winked at me. I knew I had his back through it all.
“You ready, man?” He spoke loudly above the sounds of the crowd.
“As ready as I can be.”
Easton and I finally stepped onto the stage, the floodlights blinding for a second before the familiar sea of faces came into focus. The crowd was electric, their cheers a palpable wave rolling toward us. The stadium was sold out, and the tickets had practically vanished as soon as they went on sale. It should’ve felt like everything I’d ever dreamed of—and in some ways, it did. But tonight, there was a weight on my chest. A truth I’d carried with me for months, a decision I’d made for myself.
We played through the setlist like clockwork, and every chord and lyric landed just as it should. The crowd sang back to us with an intensity that made the air hum. There was a thrill coursing through me, sharper and more vivid than ever before.
I wanted to soak it all in, feel the beat of the drums reverberate through my chest, and let the energy of thousands wash over me one last time. It was a rush unlike anything else—pure, unfiltered connection with everyone out there, all of us caught up in the same electric moment. A different kind of peace ran through me tonight.
The intro notes of our last song echoed out, and before Easton started the familiar riff, I took a step forward, raising a hand to signal for quiet. The noise dipped, then hushed entirely, as if the stadium itself was holding its breath. I gripped the microphone a little tighter, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
This was it. I couldn’t and wouldn’t go back. A feeling of tranquility washed over me as I looked at the crowd.
“I want to say something before we close this out,” I began, my voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this moment, this tour, this… life. And before we sing this last song, I need y’all to know something.” I scanned the faces in the crowd, catching glimpses of wide eyes, anticipation written across every expression.
“Rebel Rose has been my world for years,” I continued, the words flowing now. “It’s brought me more than I could ever imagine: love, friendships, experiences I’ll carry forever. But lately… I’ve felt this tug, this pull to something more. Or maybe just something different. I’ve realized there’s a part of me—a big part—that I’ve been leaving behind in all of this.”
The silence was heavy now, the crowd hanging on my every word.
“So, after this show, I’m taking a break from music,” I said, the words finally out in the open. My voice cracked just slightly. “This will be my last concert with Rebel Rose. I’m not saying goodbye forever, but I need to step away, to find what I’ve been missing, to live the life that’s been waiting for me on the other side.”
This decision had been thought out, planned, and discussed with the crew, Easton, and Richard. Of course, Rich almost had a stroke when I told him I was quitting Rebel Rose. He tried to convince me to stay, to do one last tour, sell one last concert, do one last award show. But this life was already behind me.
For a moment, the quiet lingered, then the cheers erupted. It wasn’t the mournful sound I’d feared but something else entirely—support, understanding, maybe even pride. I glanced over at Easton, who gave me a slight nod and a smile that said everything we’d left unsaid.
“Thank you for everything,” I told them, my voice rising over the crowd. “You’ve made my dreams come true, and I’ll never forget it. Now, let’s make this last song count.”
The band eased into the opening chords, the familiar melody threading its way through the charged air. But this time, the lyrics were new—raw, honest, and written straight from my heart.
“This song is featured on our last new album, and it’s called ‘Dawn’s Light.’ It’s about how a deep connection with someone special can bring hope, joy, and strength, even in the hardest times.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me, grounding me in the here and now.
For tonight, I was still Nash Rhodes, the frontman of Rebel Rose, giving the crowd everything I had left in me. But as the final notes of the song rang out, I knew… It was time to let go and embrace what came next for me.
The final note lingered in the air, a bittersweet goodbye, before the crowd erupted into applause. The stage lights blazed, but my chest felt light—relieved, as if a heavy weight had been lifted. I took a moment to soak it all in: Easton waving to the fans, the cheers, the echo of my own voice in the stadium—the last echo I’d ever leave on a stage this big.
I glanced toward the VIP section below one more time, expecting to see just Richard—probably already planning my replacement—and maybe a few industry suits. But there, standing together like they belonged, were faces I hadn’t thought I’d see tonight. My breath hitched.
Dawn.
She was right in the center, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears glistening on her cheeks but balanced by a smile so wide it could outshine the stage lights.
Her sister Billie stood next to her, clapping wildly, and Willow—steadfast, strong Willow—was there too, grinning ear to ear. Clara and Benjamin were waving their hands like they were trying to flag down an airplane, and Simon stood with them, rocking slightly but clapping all the same. The ranch had come to me.
I felt my smile break across my face, bigger and freer than it had been in years. My heart was thundering, not from the performance, but from this—from them. From her.
Dawn’s eyes locked onto mine, and I swore, in that moment, the noise of the crowd faded to nothing. It was just us, standing at opposite ends of this massive stage, but somehow closer than ever.
“Thank you,” I said into the microphone, my voice cracking just enough to give me away. The crowd screamed louder, but it wasn’t for me anymore.
I turned, waved to the band, and nodded to Easton, who was watching from the center of the stage with a knowing look. He was the only one who understood why this had to be the last time. He gave me a thumbs-up, his face calm but proud.
With one last wave, I stepped off the stage. As my boots hit the metal steps, I felt like I was stepping into something real—not a performance, not an obligation—something that belonged only to me.
I could still hear the roar of the crowd echoing through the corridors, a relentless reminder of the life I’d grown to resent. The stage lights still burned hot on my skin, even as I escaped their reach, sweat clinging to me like the weight of expectations I’d been carrying for years. My heart pounded, not from the performance, but from the urgency driving me forward.
My boots hit the ground with a rhythm that matched the thunder in my chest. The labyrinthine corridors stretched endlessly, but I navigated them with precision, pulled toward the sole glimmer of light in a world of shadows.
And then, I saw her.
Dawn. She stood there, searching for me, her wide blue eyes darting anxiously around the backstage chaos. Her presence was like a beacon in the storm, her silhouette both strong and unyielding against the frenetic backdrop. She was everything the stage wasn’t: real, grounding, mine.
She spotted me at the same time I found her, and we froze—a moment suspended in the whirlwind. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then I moved. First walking, then striding, and finally running, as if the space between us was an injustice I had to correct. Every step felt like shedding layers of pretense, shedding the expectations, the spotlight, and the noise.
When I reached her, my hands found her waist with a desperation I couldn’t disguise. She gasped softly but didn’t resist as I pulled her close. My knees buckled, and I let gravity win, falling to the ground with her still in my arms. The corridor floor was cold and unyielding, but none of it mattered.
“Dawn,” I whispered, her name escaping my lips like a hymn. My voice cracked under the weight of emotions I could no longer keep bottled up. “I made this decision for myself. I didn’t want to go on any longer in this life.”
She cradled my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “Nash,” she murmured, her voice steady, “I’m sorry about everything. I never wanted to let you go, but?—”
I stopped her. “Dawn, we needed this. I needed to go back out there to really realize that all of this didn’t matter to me anymore. I needed to experience it one last time to be sure. And I wanted you to take your time, not force yourself into a situation you didn’t want.”
A tear escaped, trailing down my cheek, and she caught it with her thumb, her touch as gentle as a lullaby. I pressed my forehead against hers, letting her steady breath guide my own.
“You’re my true north, Dawn,” I confessed, my words raw and unfiltered. “You’re the only thing that makes sense to me.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I love you, Nash Rhodes,” she said, her voice firm despite its gentleness. “You better be sure, because I’m never letting you go now.”
I laughed softly, holding onto her body as if she might disappear at any moment. “I love you, Dawn Taylor. And I’m never going away, anyway.”
The promise in her words wrapped around me like a balm, soothing wounds I hadn’t realized were still bleeding. I pulled her closer, burying my face in her shoulder, and for the first time in years, I felt something break free inside me. A dam I’d built against the tides of loneliness and expectations finally gave way, and I let it.
In that corridor, amidst the fading echoes of a world I was ready to leave behind, I found something infinitely more valuable. Dawn’s embrace was my sanctuary, her love a melody that no stage could ever rival.
And as I held her, I knew—this was my encore. This was where my song truly began, where I stopped chasing chords and found the rhythm of what really mattered.