Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
PATTY
I t’s finally here.
The concert in Memphis.
I’ve been waiting for this day for three months.
Plus a decade, give or take.
When I see Manny, I wave him over.
“Hey, my dad’s having surgery next week, and he’s gonna be laid out for a couple of months. I have to go take care of him, so I won’t be able to be here.” I scratch my jaw, my nails grazing the ridged scar that lines it. “But I have a buddy who can take my place—he’s great. He can meet up with y’all in Nashville in two weeks for the next leg of the tour. I’ll send him all my notes. The mix is programmed. It won’t cause any trouble.”
Manny’s eyes widen. “Okay. Does Lucy know?”
“Of course. She understands. And I’ll be back for the next tour. For anything she needs,” I add, even though I shouldn’t.
Manny gives me a knowing smile. “I bet you will.” Then he shakes my hand. “I’ve been around the industry a long time, but I’ve never seen someone give more than you do. You’re a good guy, Patrick.”
“Thanks, Manny. You too. Oh, and don’t let the label push her around, okay? She already has a hard enough time believing she earned a seat at the table.”
Manny’s eyes sharpen. “They’re making her think she doesn’t deserve to be here?”
“Every night, those execs surround her like piranhas. They want to sell her songs to Nash.”
Manny curses. “It’s because his last album was a flop, and the label’s afraid they’re losing their biggest star to irrelevance. I’ll talk to Lou’s agent. She’s the rising star, and his is plummeting to earth. We won’t let that happen.”
The room gets dusty, and I blink to cover my emotion. “Thanks, Manny. I knew I could count on you.”
Manny gives me a once-over. Then he chuckles and walks away.
By mid-morning, Lou’s band shows up, ready for rehearsal. When I spot Delilah, I pull her aside. But since the band has gotten close, the rest of them follow.
“Hey, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I won’t be here for the second leg of the tour.”
“Oh no! We’ll miss you.”
“Thanks. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and… keep an eye on Lou—Lucy—for me.”
Delilah’s smile is every bit as knowing as Manny’s. She and the girls swap a look. “We’ll look out for her. She has a good heart.” Then Delilah squeezes my arm. “And so do you.”
I can’t stop my brows from pulling together. What is it with everyone trying to build me up? Did some tour-wide memo go around that we need more positive affirmations or something?
Soon, Rafael and a few other guards escort Lou in. Her hair’s up in a high ponytail, and with her athletic gear on and her bare face, she looks strong. Determined. Normally, this would be the moment she goes straight to work.
But instead, she smiles and waves at me. Then she takes a deep breath and walks over to her band.
“Hey, guys! How are you liking Memphis?”
“It’s great!” Abby says. “We had the best barbecue last night.”
“You should come next time. Open invitation,” Delilah adds.
Lou’s smile slips—just for a second. Her shoulders creep up.
I expect her to stand taller. But instead, she looks at me. I hold her eye for a moment, trying to give her the confidence to trust. To let people in. To not fear that it’ll make her weak.
And then, instead of shaking off whatever she’s feeling, she cocks her head slightly, shoulders still high and almost hunched.
And just like that, a piece of her armor crashes to the ground.
She looks tentative. Hopeful.
Open.
“I’d love that. When we get back from our break, let’s go get some in Nashville. I know a place that’ll knock your socks off.”
“We’d love that!” Bailey says, and the others all beam.
And Lou beams back.
It’s nothing—a simple show of friendship. But it’s blinding. Too bright for the shadows that have lurked around me all these years. My dad always said that sunlight’s the best disinfectant. I don’t know that Lou needed disinfecting. But the doubt and fear she’s held onto, the walls she’s kept up?
They’ve been toxic.
I know the feeling.
Manny and the stage director start clapping and barking out directions, and when Lou takes her place, she’s smiling.
How can I walk away from that smile, even for a few months?
Why isn’t doing the right thing less complicated?
“All right, gang, listen up,” Manny yells. “Lucy Jane and Connor Nash are co-headlining tonight, and Connor has graciously decided that he’ll use all our tech and crew. Oh, and he’ll take the second forty-five-minute set. Lucy will take the first, and then she’ll come out at the encore and they’ll perform three duets. One of hers. Two of his.”
Manny ain’t even trying to hide how irritated this makes him.
I haven’t followed Nash’s career—too much hurt there. But knowing now that his last album was a critical failure puts everything into focus. The label pressure. His flirting.
He’s trying to capitalize on her fame. Borrow some of her star power.
It’s why he keeps commenting on her posts with heart eyes and other stupid emojis used exclusively by grandmothers and little kids who stole their momma’s phone.
“Welcome to your first ‘Superstar Collaboration,’” Manny says to Lou. “But you need to remember—this is every bit as much your show as it is his. You hustled harder than anyone to get here, and you’ve earned your place on this stage.”
He holds her eyes. “Got it?”
She blinks and nods wordlessly.
But I see it—the emotion in the way she bobs her head. And I feel it, too.
Manny looks at the rest of us. “Y’all, this will mostly resemble our tour, but Connor likes a lot more pyrotechnics than we’re used to, which is why we’re gonna rehearse again and again.”
“When’s Connor showing up?” the stage manager asks, looking at the clipboard.
“Sound check.”
“Sound check?” Lou can’t hide her shock. Or maybe she doesn’t want to. She gives a little laugh. “Okay, then.”
Her bandmates exchange looks, and Delilah puts a hand on her hip. “He commented with three lines of multi-colored hearts on your last post and said, ‘Be right there.’ Yet he didn’t show up for rehearsals yesterday or today?” Then they all look at Lou like they’re lifelong friends. “No,” Delilah says, shaking her head. “If my boyfriend did that, I’d have a new one.”
“You know that’s right,” Bailey says, making Lou smile.
And just like that, leaving after this weekend feels a little more tolerable.
She’s surrounded by people who care about her, even if she’s been too afraid to let them in.
And I needed to see this.
Needed her to see it.
There are people who love her, who’ll look out for her.
But as I watch her laugh—watch her light up—I realize something else.
I’m not sure how I’ll leave at all.
We rehearse all morning, then take a quick break before sound check.
When rehearsal ends, Lou comes right over and grabs my hand.
“Your family is here,” she says, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. “In the Green Room. Let’s go.”
One of the stage techs struggles with an amp, and I give him a nod, telling him I’ll be right over. “Let me finish this one thing, and I’ll catch up,” I tell Lou.
She nods, then invites the band to come with her, saying she knows how much her friends will want to catch up with them.
One thing becomes two, and I don’t leave the stage for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.
On my way to the Green Room, I can’t help but scan every hallway for Nash.
And then—just as I step off the stage and into one of the long stadium corridors—I see him.
In an instant, my body goes haywire from too many emotions.
Anger.
Hurt.
Sorrow.
Regret.
I don’t know whether to fight, flee, freeze, or fawn. And frankly, I’ve done all four at one time or another.
With Nash, specifically.
I thrust my hand into my pocket, clutching the flash drive, debating what to do. Wondering if I have the nerve.
His boots slap against the concrete stadium floor, and—surrounded by his entourage—he doesn’t even notice me.
The edges of my vision blur, the world shrinking to tunnel focus. A sick weight settles in my gut, heavy and cold, as I look at the guy I put all my faith in at such an early age.
The guy I worshipped. Loved like a brother.
Apart from that moment on stage a couple of months ago, I haven’t seen him since before my accident.
Sean said he sent a huge floral arrangement to the hospital. Sent cards and baskets to the house.
But after waking up in a hospital bed, I was done caring about everything that had gotten me there.
At least, I thought I was.
But that was a lie—a way to protect myself from truths too painful to confront. So instead, for the last ten-plus years, I’ve hated myself. Beat myself up. Let guilt eat me from the inside and shame and anger fester until they became the only things keeping me upright.
My fingers press into the flash drive as we get closer and closer to passing each other.
A war rages inside me. Do I keep my head up and meet his eye?
Or duck it?
Fade away into nothing.
My work boots and his fancy cowboy boots fall in perfect sync, the clatter echoing off the walls.
Ten feet away.
Five.
My eyes flick up to his?—
And then …
I pull them away.
A pressure builds in my chest, sharp and unbearable, but I keep looking forward.
A few more steps.
And then—he’s passed.
I exhale.
Relief and disappointment crash over me at the same time.
My steps continue, and I’m just about to turn the corner when?—
“Patty?”
I grip the corner of the wall, wanting to squeeze the brick until it crumbles. Wanting to run.
This isn’t how I expected to see him.
I’m not ready.
But I turn around anyway.
I wipe every emotion from my face, refusing to let myself slip into the old, eager fawning.
Not for an instant.
“Hey, Nash,” I say, staring directly into his dark brown eyes.
His eyes go wide.
His mouth opens.
Then, he looks at his entourage. “You guys go. I’m gonna chat with my old friend.”
They glance at each other, hesitating, but he sends them off with a wave. Then he walks over to me, his steps quieter now—more purposeful. His hand lands on my shoulder, his eyes searching my face like he’s not sure what he’ll find.
And then he pulls me into a hug. Pats my back.
“Let’s go catch up.”
I swallow hard.
“I’d like that,” I say.