Chapter 4
four
Josh
Nashville may be known for their connection to country music, but damn do they know how to throw down at a show. The crowd tonight was the rowdiest we’ve had yet, and I’m already looking forward to round two tomorrow night.
I walk into the greenroom wound the fuck up on adrenaline and drenched in sweat, my body paint barely hanging on. Kate hands me an oversized black towel so I can begin to wipe myself down before I put my clothes back on.
“God damn that crowd was good,” Eric says, peeling his sweat-drenched t-shirt off and setting it on the floor. He grabs a towel from his bag and wipes himself down before taking the shirt he wore to the arena off the table beside the couch where he’d left it neatly folded and slides it on.
“Best one yet,” Kevin agrees.
“And we get to do it all over again tomorrow,” I say, grinning and tossing my towel back to Kate, who is looking down at her phone and doesn’t see it coming until it lands on her head.
The room goes silent as we all stare at her.
“Just what I always wanted,” she says, as the towel begins sliding slowly toward the floor. “The Sexiest Man Alive’s DNA all over my face.”
Eric chokes on the water he’s currently chugging as we all burst into laughter.
She reaches up and tugs the towel the rest of the way off before tossing it onto the floor beside her, pockets her phone, and rubs a hand down her face.
“God, I love you,” Max says to her, holding up a hand for a high five.
She considers obliging, but holds her hands up, revealing they’re now covered in the disgusting sweat-and-paint mixture that I left on the towel.
She and Max both make a face before giving up on the high five as I cross the room and stand in front of her.
“I…don’t even know why I thought that was a good idea,” I say, looking down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says. I look from her hands to her face and press my lips together to hold back a laugh. “It’s in my hair, isn’t it?” she deadpans. I nod slowly. “Cool.” She turns and walks out of the greenroom.
I throw my head back and let out a sigh.
You. Idiot.
“Dude, you have to have the best assistant to ever exist,” Eric says. “She’s fucking hilarious.”
“I heard that, asshole,” Dani says as she steps into the greenroom.
Eric rolls his eyes as he checks his phone for what I can only assume is a text from Ty. “I’m ready to get the hell out of here whenever you guys are,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’m sure you are,” Kevin teases.
“It’s not so I can go see Tyler,” Eric says, sounding more defensive than I’m sure he means to. I chuckle as I pull my shirt off the floor and tug it back on. “It’s not!” he insists.
“Cool, let’s go out then,” Max says.
“No!” Eric says, way too quickly. “I mean, uh…you guys can. I’m…I’m pretty wiped.” He forces a clearly fake yawn and stretches his long arms up over his head for effect.
“It’s a good thing you already have a bunch of Grammys,” I say, grabbing my already packed bag from the floor and slinging it over my shoulder.
I smile, knowing Kate came in here early and packed everything up for me.
I need to remember to thank her later. “You’re certainly not going to be nominated for an Oscar anytime soon. ”
“Fuck off,” he says, walking toward the door. “I’m leaving. Come with me or stay, I don’t care.”
We file out into the hallway behind Eric and head for the back of the building to await our ride back to the hotel, and my mind drifts back to the show.
The way the energy of the crowd hit me before I even took the stage was like a current running straight through me.
The way the pulse of Eric’s drums, the grind of Max’s guitar, and the vibration of Kevin’s bass kept me energized.
The way the crowd morphed into a single force—screaming, singing, and moving with us.
It was one of the best shows of my career.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slide it out, my eyes going wide and my heart dropping to my feet when I see the message on my screen.
Kate: Did you all leave me here?
“Fuck!” I say, before turning and sprinting back to the arena doors.
“What?” Max calls after me.
“Kate!” I say, tugging on the doors that are, of course, locked from the outside. “We left Kate in there!”
“Fuuuuck,” Dani groans, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.
I text her back, my fingers shaking from nerves. She is, rightfully so, going to be pissed.
Josh: We’re out back waiting for an Uber. I can’t get back in from this side.
“Uber’s here,” Dani calls from behind me. I turn to see a black minivan pull up and everyone start climbing in.
“I’m waiting for Kate,” I call back. Dani has a short conversation with the driver, then she turns to me.
“She’ll wait for you both,” Dani shouts and climbs into the back.
I turn my attention back to the doors, pressing my face against the glass and cupping my hands beside my eyes to cut down on the glare.
A few minutes later, Kate rounds the corner and I back away so she can open the door.
“I’m so, so, so—”
“It’s fine,” she says, smiling. I can tell it’s forced, and it fucking guts me. I start to open my mouth to tell her that no, it’s not fine, but she pushes past me and heads for the minivan.
Everyone’s still amped from the show, so we’re a raucous bunch, but the driver is cool as hell and tolerates our dumb asses better than most people would.
It’s not until Kevin makes a stupid comment that should have been an obvious tee-up for Kate to come in with one of her signature one-liners that I realize she’s not paying attention. She’s sitting in the front seat with her head pressed against the window and arms folded across her stomach.
She’s obviously upset, and I feel like an asshole all over again. I reminded myself to thank her for packing my bag up for me but then forgot about her.
I scrub a hand down my face as the frustration bubbles up in my chest. I hate this.
I fucking hate that my brain just drops things like they were never there to begin with.
It’s not that I don’t care—I do, and that’s what makes it worse.
My attention shifts, bounces, and skips over details like a needle over an old record, and I don’t even realize what I’ve lost until it’s too damn late.
And now Kate, the one person who keeps my life from spiraling into complete chaos, is sitting up there probably wondering if I ditched her on purpose. Wondering if I even remember she’s here. If I even care.
She’s quiet the entire way to our floor and walks straight to her door before she disappears inside without looking back.
“Shit,” I mutter, before opening my door and stepping into my room. I messed up. We all did, but I feel it harder than any of them. She’s my assistant. My responsibility. And I left her there. After I was the reason she had to step away in the first place.
I enter my room just as she shuts the door between our adjoining rooms and turns the lock. She clearly wants space, and I don’t want to push her, but the need to apologize and explain myself is eating me alive. I slide my phone out of my pocket and fire off a few texts.
Josh: I’m really sorry about earlier.
Josh: Can we talk? Please?
I stare at my phone for five minutes, and when she doesn’t respond, I give up and head for the shower.
Cranking the hot water as far as it will go, I strip off my dirty clothes and kick them into a pile under the bathroom counter.
I check my reflection in the mirror and laugh at how ridiculous I look tonight—the remnants of the black and blue body paint still smeared across my skin between my pecs and the spaces between my abs and under my chin.
I step into the shower, hissing as the scalding water hits me, but quickly relaxing under the spray as the heat soaks into my tense muscles. I close my eyes, tip my head back, and begin to let all the stress wash away down the drain.
Forgetting little things is one thing, I’m used to it. But what happened tonight is something else. Something so much worse. I’m so sick of my brain short-circuiting like this, losing the things that should stick, and people should stick.
Maybe this is my wake-up call. I forgot a whole-ass person tonight, and if that doesn’t prove that I can’t do this on my own anymore, I’m not sure what will.
I know I should go back on my meds, but dealing with the side-effects—insomnia, headaches, and mood swings—while on tour sucks worse than dealing with the symptoms. I was not the best version of myself on that stuff, and I don’t want to go back to feeling like that.
I need help. I need…I don’t know. A system. Something that keeps the important things from slipping through the cracks.
And then it hits me.
Post-it notes.
Bright, impossible-to-ignore, stick-‘em-everywhere Post-it notes. Reminders, names, appointments—all the things that matter. If my brain doesn’t want to hold onto things, I’ll force it to.
Stepping out of the shower and into the steam-filled bathroom, I pick my phone up off the counter, ready to text Kate again, but I stop myself because a text isn’t nearly good enough. She deserves more than that. I dry myself off, pull on my sweats, send a few texts to Dani, and collapse into bed.
Tomorrow morning I’ll make things right with Kate, and after that, I’m going out and buying every damn Post-it note I can find.