Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
Lucy
This is so not how I saw tonight going. Thought I’d drag myself through the show, hit the showers, pass out on the bus, then wake up somewhere in Texas and veg in the hotel until call time for dress rehearsal.
Instead, I’m in a rental car with Nash, holding his hand and watching the city lights zoom by as I study his profile in astonishment.
The one thing that kept my nerves at bay night after night—imagining him sitting in the front row, beaming with pride as he watched me—it came true.
It came fricken true!
I can’t stop touching him. Looking at him. Smiling at him. It all feels so surreal that part of me worries that maybe, if I glance away, he’ll disappear and I’ll wake up in my bunk in the bus, alone, disheartened, disappointed.
As soon as we’re out of the car, Nash wraps an arm around my shoulders and draws me close, like he can’t not touch me either. “You look wild, you know? With your fancy hairdo and stage makeup. I wonder if people are gonna think I paid you to come here with me.”
I roll my eyes. “Right, it’s the sweats and slides that really sells it.”
Luckily, we don’t pass anyone on the way to his room. As soon as the door swings shut behind us, he pulls me into his arms, pressing his forehead to mine and staring deeply into my eyes. “I can’t believe this is real.”
“Me neither.” I tilt my chin upwards and kiss him. My body responds instantly, yearning, wanting, craving. Nash’s hands press against the small of my back, his body obviously responding with a yearning and craving of its own.
“I need a shower,” I whisper, kissing him softly on the jaw, right below his ear. “Care to join me?”
The next morning, Nash and I order breakfast to our room and sip coffee, holding hands across the table. I’ve been gone almost as long as I’ve known him, and yet, somehow, being with him again feels like life has returned to how it’s supposed to be.
“Tell me everything.” His voice is low. Warm. Comforting.
“That’s a tall order. Everything is a lot. I don’t even know where to start.” Bus rides. Pre-show excitement. Post-show crash. Sandro’s unpredictability and demanding nature coupled with the sheer exhilaration of listening to thousands of people scream, cheer, and sing along.
“Start simple. What’s been your favorite city so far?”
I think back on the blur of the last few weeks, trying to decipher one stop from the next. “Honestly? I’d be better able to tell you what’s been my favorite stadium so far. Most days I have no idea where I am. The bus stops, we do our thing, we get back on the bus, rinse, repeat.”
Nash narrows his eyes. “No way.”
I shrug. “You saw how it was last night. The night before we were in… um… San Diego? I think? Anyway, we did the show, loaded up after, drove into Phoenix. There was time to eat, rehearse, and you where there for the rest.”
Nash throws an arm over the back of his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. “I guess I thought you’d get to see more of the country.”
“I did too, honestly. But, I don’t know. It’s grueling. And exciting. And hard. And wonderful.” I lift my coffee to my face and inhale, organizing my experience into words. “It’s the worst best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Are you enjoying it?” Nash has his evaluating face on. Like he’s weighing everything I’m saying against what I might not be saying, watching facial cues for context. It reminds me of when we first started getting to know each other, like I’m a puzzle he can’t help but try to solve.
I nod in answer to his question, then pause and surprise myself by shaking my head.
“Are you regretting it?”
I continue shaking my head. “I wouldn’t change my decision.
I’m thrilled by the experience and I feel like I’ve grown so much as a person and a dancer.
Like, there were days when I didn’t think I could do it, and then I did it anyway.
Plus, I’m dancing all the time and I swear, there’s healing in movement.
I wish more people would just get up and dance more.
Have a bad day? Turn on some music and move. The world would be a happier place.”
Nash huffs a laugh. “I think you mean stranger place. Imagine people just randomly dancing down the aisle of the grocery.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I sip my coffee, grinning at the thought. “But also, happier. I feel like we need a little more of that and a little less of what we have.”
He considers my point, and I prepare myself for his searing rebuttal. Instead, he shrugs, sits back, and says, “You’re probably right.”
“Woah. You’re conceding without a fight? That is a change I’m not prepared for.” I take a bite of eggs. “Tell me about you. What’s going on in Nash-ville?”
“Started playing my guitar again.” He delivers the news like it’s no big deal. Like he’s telling me it rained on Tuesday when really a hurricane struck the whole Eastern half of the country.
“You didn’t!”
“I did.” He nods, cracking the smallest of smiles. “It’s not amazing. I’m nowhere near as talented as Sandro or Grayson but it feels good to have it back in my life. Something that’s not work. That’s just for me.”
“I’m proud of you. And speaking of work, how’s the new job?” I inwardly cringe. I never understood why he took the admin job and he hasn’t really talked about the why or what of it. Could be because we never have time to get into stuff like that. Or it could be because he’s miserable.
“I hate it,” he says, and there’s a glimpse of that hurricane. His eyes darken. His jaw tenses. “I thought I’d have a chance to make changes from the inside but it’s like beating my head against a brick wall.”
“Honestly,” I say, “I was so surprised when you took that job.”
“I’ll trade you honesty for honesty. I didn’t want to take it. But the timing was hard to ignore.”
Nash explains that the day he was offered the promotion was the day I told him about the offer to join the tour.
“I had it all worked out in the car. I was going to tell you that you didn’t have to leave Stillwater.
That the pay raise and stable hours meant we could really start building something.
Instead, you told me about the tour, and I just let you go. ”
Well, that’s news to me. I flash back to my conversation with Stella and Gabby, me admitting that if Nash had asked me to stay, I would have.
“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask, sitting back in my chair.
“I told myself it was because I didn’t want to be the guy standing in the way of your dreams, which was true.
Or that I didn’t want to fight for yet another relationship we both knew was doomed, which was also true.
But also? I was scared. Asking you to stay would have put me in a vulnerable situation. I didn’t want to get hurt again.”
“Fair enough.”
He takes a drink of his coffee, regarding me over the edge of his mug. “Can I ask you a question?”
I nod.
“I heard that if I’d asked you to stay, you would have. Why didn’t you say that? You said you weren’t sure you wanted to go; why not say you really wanted to stay?”
I put down my coffee and sit back. “I was scared, Nash. Just like you. What if you didn’t want me? I don’t have a way to support myself. No education. No skills. Not even a place to stay. It seemed like you wanted me to go, so I went.”
“I wonder what would have happened if we’d just been honest with each other.”
I lean my elbows on the table and take his hand. “At least we’re being honest with each other now.”
The next question that comes to mind is a hard one. One I don’t know the answer to. One Nash probably doesn’t either. My instinct is to smile past it, to enjoy his company, to keep things easy and light because I only have him for such a short time and we can figure out the hard stuff later.
But it’s that kind of thinking that got us into this mess.
I take a deep breath and ask, “So what do we do now?”
Nash runs his hand through his hair. “In the short term, I thought we’d finish breakfast. Maybe I’d get you naked. Then take you out on the town because you deserve at least one city you remember.”
“Believe me. I’ll remember Phoenix for the rest of my life. But I was talking about—”
“The long term.” Nash smiles. “I know.”
I shake my head. “There are months left on this tour.”
“I know,” he says sadly. “And I know that I love you. That I’d love to try and make something real out of this. Out of us. But I also know that I need to see you more than five minutes in a hallway before and after rehearsal.”
I drop my gaze. “I’m sorry it’s like that.”
He reaches across the table to lift my chin, his eyes so soft, so gentle, so understanding, it almost breaks me.
“I know how crazy your schedule is and was in no way trying to lay guilt at your feet. I can stay awake until the concert ends. Set alarms even, so we can talk once you’re on the bus.
I can fly out to see you when you have a couple days between shows, like this.
Or fly you home. It’ll be easier the next couple weeks as you head east and our time zones align. ”
“And it’ll get complicated again once we leave the country.”
“Then we’ll iterate and adjust. I’m all in with you, Lucy.
Even if it’s hard. Even if I have to wait.
Hell, I took a desk job on the off chance you’d still want me when this tour is over.
” Nash takes my hand. “It won’t be perfect, but we’ll figure out how to make this work. I have faith in that. In us.”
We finish breakfast, feeling both better and still uncertain about our future. But I know we’ll try, and that’s what counts. The rest of the morning, we spend in bed, enjoying each other. The evening we spend seeing everything Phoenix has to offer, then fall into bed together at the end of the day.
The next morning, he drives me to the airport. Rather than following the signs that lead to passenger drop off, he veers towards rental car returns.
“I think you missed the turn,” I say, twisting in my seat to point out the window, then turning back to Nash with a question in my brow and ridiculous hope in my heart. Hope about what, I can’t be sure.
“I know where I’m going,” he replies cryptically, then with a wry smile says, “Houston. I’m going to Houston with you.”
His gray eyes glint with happiness. I used to compare them to a storm, churning and boiling with rain clouds. Now? There’s a warmth inside that reminds me of silver, of precious strength, of love.
“You’re flying with me to Houston?”
“Figured I’d stick around until the very last minute,” he says, casual like he didn’t just detonate my heart. “Then I’ll head home. Assuming that’s okay with you.”
I wiggle in my seat, too excited to stay still. “Of course it’s okay with me! I want to spend every minute with you that I can.”
Nash smiles, placing his hand on mine. My grin widens until it feels like my entire body is smiling and I settle back into my seat with a happy sigh. We turn in the rental, then find our way to Departures. I slip my hand in his while my mind shifts into overdrive.
After a few moments, an idea strikes. “Okay,” I say, slowly as I’m still working through the thought, “so… this is a long shot, but if I can pull off what I’m thinking, would you stay in Houston one more night?”
He quirks a brow. “Hospital’s already mad I’m using vacation days. What’s one more?”
My grin breaks free. “Hang on, then. I need to make some calls.”
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at my phone in disbelief.
If me getting the call to come back to the tour after Trish bailed was a miracle, this must be divine intervention.
Somehow, some way, I just got permission for Nash to be backstage during the Houston show.
These are the kinds of things that don’t happen—just like everything that’s happened to me since I’ve met Nash Kincaid.
“I don’t know how this all worked out,” I say, “but I’m not gonna question it.
You have permission to hang out during load in, rehearsal, and to be backstage during the show.
Assuming you want to spend your whole day surrounded by sweaty dancers, grumpy stage managers, and be forced to listen to hours of Sandro René.
I look up, and Nash is watching me like I hung the moon. Which is hilarious, considering he’s the one who just made my week, my month—maybe my whole year.
He cups my cheeks, tilting my face towards his, then presses a kiss to my lips. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Sweaty dancers, grumpy stage managers, bad music, and all.”