Chapter 2
two
Josh
Nashville traffic is a nightmare. It’s not New York or L.A. bad, but it’s bad enough that we’re at a standstill, creeping toward the radio station at a pace so slow I imagine I could get out and walk there faster.
Eric, our drummer, taps his fingers against his knee, restless energy radiating off him like it always does before an interview, which isn’t surprising seeing as how he’s the one who’s tried the hardest to stay out of the public eye.
Pair that with the fact that the woman he’s secretly in love with is back at the hotel sick as a dog and alone in her room, and well, you have the anxious ball of energy to my right.
Max, our guitarist, is leaning against the window in front of me, sunglasses covering his eyes and hiding whether he’s actually resting or just ignoring us.
Kevin, our bassist, is next to Max, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at the setlist for tonight or doing something equally productive.
I’m scanning the most recent email from my assistant containing the list of pre-approved topics for the radio spot.
Reading the same bullet points our PR team always pushes—the new album, the tour, funny road stories, avoid mentioning the thing at the hotel in Chicago last year—blah, blah, blah.
I lock my phone and slide it into the front pocket of my jeans.
The driver finally maneuvers through the last bit of traffic and pulls up to the station’s entrance. A cluster of screaming fans wait near the doors, phones already up, ready to record as soon as we step out.
Some of them are holding signs and a few are wearing our latest merch, and something about that—seeing them in something we designed—still hits differently, even after all these years.
We climb out of the SUV, and the moment my feet hit the pavement, I shift into frontman mode. It’s automatic— shoulders back, easy grin, wave to the crowd, sign a few autographs, and take some selfies.
This is the shit I know how to do. The part that’s effortless. It’s the smaller stuff that gets me all tangled up.
Like the fact that I cannot for the life of me remember anything about my new assistant.
Have you ever been to Nashville?
Fucking. Idiot. When she’d reminded me that she grew up here, I wanted to hurl myself out of the goddamn window.
I need to get better at taking my medication.
Well, I suppose I first need to get better at remembering to refill my prescription and then actually taking it.
Whoever thought the best way to treat people with attention disorders was by asking them remember to take a daily pill clearly didn’t think it through and deserves a swift kick in the balls.
I know I could ask Kim—
Kim?
Jesus man, her name is Kate.
I could ask Kate to help me. That’s what Dani said I should hire her for.
To assist me. Help me remember the important shit.
But talking to people about this diagnosis always makes me feel weird.
Like they’re going to judge me for not being able to function like a normal human being.
I’m thirty-five and still can’t focus or remember to do basic shit without help.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried so damn hard to be normal. To be like everyone else. But I’m not, and it’s never really bothered me before. Not until this morning.
For some reason, the look in her eyes when I fucked up cut right through me. She forced a smile and brushed it off, but it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on my head and snapped me back to the reality that I can’t do this on my own anymore.
But the idea of going back on that medication and dealing with all the side effects—
“Ready?” one of the radio employees asks, snapping my attention from my spiraling thoughts to her. I look around and realize we’re standing in the hallway outside the broadcast booth.
How in the hell did we even get up here?
The interview goes off without a hitch, and we’re back at the hotel by lunch. The door to Kate’s adjoining room is open, but she’s not inside, so I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling, unsure what to do for the next few hours.
Max and Kevin were headed to the airport to pick up their wives and kids, who will be joining us on the road for the next few weeks.
Eric made a beeline for Tyler’s room and is likely in there feeding her chicken soup or doing something equally, nauseatingly thoughtful.
I never thought I’d see him like this. After everything he went through with his ex-fiancé, I fully expected him to take a page out of the Josh Calloway playbook and be single for the rest of his life.
But then he met Tyler and, well, it’s safe to say he’ll never be the same.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text to Kate.
Josh: Lunch?
Kate: What do you want me to have sent up?
Shit, I guess my question didn’t translate well over text. I tap her photo at the top of the message and call.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”
“Sorry about that text. I uh,” I huff a laugh and rub a hand down my face. “I meant, do you want to have lunch? Not, Me hungry! Feed me woman!” My sorry excuse of a caveman impersonation makes her snort a laugh on the other end of the line and it’s fucking cute.
“Alright, well I’m just pulling up to the hotel now, so give me five minutes to get up there and we can talk about it.”
We hang up and I continue to stare at the ceiling until I hear her door click open. She steps into my room with a giant bag of…clothes? I sit up and look around, just now realizing that all my dirty clothes aren’t on the floor where I left them.
“What did you do?” I ask, immediately feeling guilty.
“Laundry?” she says, sounding confused.
“Here, give me that,” I say, taking the bag from her. I toss it onto the bed and look at her. “You shouldn’t have done my laundry.”
“Sorry,” she says, flinching and looking away before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks like she’s about to cry, and my chest tightens.
“No, ugh,” I groan, running my hands through my hair. Why can’t I say or do anything right around this woman? “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, while I appreciate the gesture, you, as my assistant, are not required to do my laundry.”
She looks back up at me through long, thick lashes, and I can see the tension slowly fade from her body.
“Is that not my job? Assisting?”
“Yes, but with things like helping me keep track of my schedule and answering emails and helping with sound checks and body paint. Tour stuff. Not…” I pause, trying to find the right word.
“Chores.” I force myself to swallow and take a few breaths as I fight off the feeling that I’m drowning in my insecurities.
“Hey,” she says, placing her hand gently on my arm.
“I am more than happy to help you with whatever you need help with. Honest.” I look at her and she shrugs.
“Cleaning, organizing, taking care of people—it’s what I love to do.
I didn’t walk through here grabbing clothes and judging you.
I saw clothes on the floor that needed to be washed, and I washed them.
End of story.” Her eyes flit back and forth between mine and she adds, “But if you don’t want me going through your things, I completely understand. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“I do appreciate it,” I say. “But I…kind of need to do better with this stuff. And I’m going to, I promise. The next time you see dirty laundry on my floor, you have my permission to light it on fire.” She laughs and I feel like I can breathe again.
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Dramatic? Yes. Effective? Also, yes.”
She steps away and slides her phone out of her back pocket. I watch as her emerald eyes dart back and forth across the screen and a smile pulls at her full lips as she reads whatever it is that has her attention.
It’s no secret that Kate is a beautiful woman, and if she weren’t my assistant, I’d have been making her breakfast the morning after we met.
“Dani and I are heading to Southern Spoon for lunch,” she says, jolting my consciousness back to the moment. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”
“Is Eric going?”
She laughs. “Oh, come on. You really think he’s going to pull himself away from Tyler for a second time today?”
“Okay, yeah, I realized as I was saying it how stupid it sounded. You sure you’re alright with me tagging along? I don’t want to intrude.”
She narrows her eyes at me, cocking her head to the side as she considers my question, her ponytail of long, fiery red hair spilling over her shoulder.
“You’re right, never mind.” She waves her hand in front of her dismissively. “I bet dining with a rockstar is a whole ordeal. I’m not in the mood for an entourage and a dramatic entrance.”
I laugh, loving how easily we get along.
It’s only been two weeks, but somehow, Kate fit into my life like she’d always been there.
She has this way of keeping everything running smoothly without making a big deal out of it, and she never comes off as overbearing.
She’s efficient as hell. Sharp and always five steps ahead.
She also laughs at my dumb jokes, then makes even better ones, and gives me shit right back when I tease her.
Most people around me have an agenda. They want something—access, attention, a favor they can cash in later. But not Kate. She’s real. Straightforward. No walls and no bullshit. It’s rare. I don’t think she even realizes how rare it is.
When Dani suggested I hire an assistant, the idea that someone would be following me around sounded like a nightmare, but I like having her around. Not just because she’s damn good at her job, but because she’s the first person in a long time who doesn’t make me feel like Josh Calloway, Rockstar.
With her, I’m just Josh. I can be goofy, ridiculous, and completely myself. And even after all the ways my brain has glitched out and I’ve screwed up these past few weeks, she’s never once looked at me like I was less because of it.
“Nah, I save the entourage for dinner,” I say. “Lunch is strictly VIP seating. And, hey, if you’re lucky, I’ll even let you sit at my table.” I reach up and boop the tip of her nose with my finger.
She rolls her eyes as she chuckles and slides her phone into her back pocket.
“Come on then, superstar. The Uber’s on the way.”