Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Nash
I thought I had a good picture of how challenging Lucy’s life is.
I did not.
I respected her work ethic from the moment we met. Turns out, I’d never really seen it in action until today. Watching her now, the amount of energy and discipline she’s expended is extraordinary. And the show hasn’t even started yet. My respect for her doubles. Triples.
Sandro René is no slouch either. While I still find his music lacking soul, his energy, his attention to detail, it’s fascinating to watch.
He’s exhausted. I can see it in the sweat on his brow, the heaving of his chest, but he’s determined to give the show what it requires of him… even in rehearsal.
Lucy grins as she rushes past me in the wings. I lift my hand and return the smile when—
WHAM.
A thunderous clang and clatter from the stage, followed by a heavy grunt and several alarmed shouts.
The music cuts instantly. Floodlights flare to life, blinding after the strobes.
“Medic!” someone yells, high and panicked.
I’m already running. Past techs. Past dancers. Onto the stage.
Sandro René is tangled half beneath a collapsed riser, his face gray, one arm crushed against his chest at an impossible angle.
“I’m a doctor,” I say, dropping to my knees. “Give me space.”
The knot of bodies around us pulls back fast, leaving a circle of shocked silence.
Sandro’s breathing is fast and shallow. His curls are matted with sweat, eyes wild as he tries to shift, only to choke out another strangled sound. “It popped. When I fell. I heard it.”
“And I bet it hurts like hell” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Looks like a shoulder dislocation. Don’t move. We’re gonna get this taken care of.”
His eyes squeeze shut, sweat beading at his hairline. I anchor one hand behind his shoulder blade, wrap the other around his wrist, and test the tension—yeah, it’s out.
“Okay, Sandro. I’m going to lift and rotate to get this back in the socket. Not gonna lie, it’s gonna hurt, but only for a second.”
He nods once, jaw clenched.
I count low so only he can hear.
“Three… two…”
CLUNK.
His breath rushes out in a harsh gasp, body sagging against the stage as the joint slips back into place. Relief floods his features instantly.
“It’s in,” I mutter, supporting the joint. “Stay still. Slow breaths.”
A voice shouts from the wings, breathless: “Medic! Coming through!”
The tour’s athletic trainer pushes through the crowd carrying a packed trauma bag. Her eyes land on me, then on Sandro’s shoulder.
“What happened?” she asks, kneeling opposite me.
“Collapsed riser. Anterior shoulder dislocation. Reduction completed.” I shift slightly so she can inspect.
She blinks—impressed despite the adrenaline. “You reduced it already?”
“Had to.” I nod toward the metal structure beside us. “Didn’t want him pinned with it out.”
Sandro opens his eyes again and looks between us. “He did it fast. Barely felt it.”
The athletic director checks alignment, palpates gently, and lets out a breath then starts wrapping his shoulder for stability. “You saved him a trip to the OR for sedation.”
I shrug. “I work in emergency medicine. I like to keep people out of the OR as often as possible.”
Sandro huffs a weak laugh. “Hire him,” he mutters. “Before someone else does.”
I glance up—Lucy is standing just outside the circle of people, eyes locked on me, chest rising quickly, eyes wide and shocked like the rest of the cast and crew standing around.
Our gazes meet and her face softens. Relief. Pride. Something warmer and deeper that lands squarely in the center of my chest.
I stand, brushing dirt from my palms as the athletic director takes over.
Lucy steps closer, voice quiet but fierce. “You’re incredible.”
“I’m well trained.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not just training. That’s compassion. That’s you to your core, running to help those who need it most before things get even worse.”
Behind us, Sandro groans as someone helps him to a chair, but he still manages to lift his good hand and point at me.
“You,” he says, voice rough but sure, “we need a guy like you on this tour.”
The room freezes.
My pulse jumps as all eyes turn to me.
Sandro waves his good hand around. “Find my lawyer. I want this man employed and on site with me from today onward. Whatever it takes, man,” he says, his eyes on mine. “Thank you.”
The room erupts into movement, energy, conversation about what just happened and about what happens next.
Amidst the chaos, Lucy blinks up at me. “Did Sandro René just offer you a job?”
I flare my hands, frowning. “I’m not sure.”
“If he did, you wouldn’t have to go home.” She huffs a laugh. “We could live my dream… together.”
I weigh the options. It’d be easy to give up the job in Admin.
I know Mom would pop in to check on my house from time to time, but there’s not much to take care of there.
My life was small before Lucy. And while I have no clue what to expect from a life on tour other than a total disruption of my routine and the careful predictability I’ve built into my days, something—some quiet voice inside me—says that’s exactly what I need.
I throw an arm around Lucy’s shoulder. “Funny thing about that,” I say, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Together is exactly where I want to be.”