CHAPTER ELEVEN
NASH

The diner is unusually busy this afternoon when I pull in. I park around the side of the building and use the entrance on the side to avoid the massive line that’s wrapping around the front of the building.

“Nash,” James, the manager’s voice, calls out from just down the corridor. “How are you, man?”

I reach to shake his hand, then remember we’re not supposed to do that right now, so I ball up my hand for a fist bump. “Hanging in there. I’m meeting someone. Can I get the spot in the back?”

He nods and grabs a couple of menus from behind the bar, then motions for me to follow him. “Your table is always ready for you guys.”

We permanently reserved the spot and paid a yearly fee to make sure it’s kept open for us. On the surface that’s because this table is at the back of the building, so it helps keep us from being railroaded when we’re trying to enjoy our meals; but it’s mostly because the first time we came to this restaurant was after our first show in Tulsa. That was over a year ago. It was also the same night Griffin met London, and we threw Stone out of the band, resulting in the fight that went down just a few feet from here. Making a permanent reservation was our way of trying to pay them back for the disturbances, even though The Machine covered the expense of any damages. “Are you having your usual, today?” he asks.

I pinch my lips together as I scan the menu. “You know, I think I might try something different today.” He looks shocked at first, 

because I always get the usual, but something inside of me is screaming to take a chance and try something new. “You got it. I’ll be back to check in with you.”

My focus shifts back to my menu. Chicken or steak? I ask myself with absolutely no idea of what the answer is. It’s like I’m locked into indecision.

“I don’t care if you don’t have my name on some stupid list. I’m here to meet someone.” A familiar voice cuts through my strained thoughts causing me to turn around to see Ainsley at the front of the building. She’s being blocked from going any further by the host and a couple of servers, and she’s giving them hell. I swallow a chuckle down to keep from doubling over. She’s as determined as they come, and I’ll be damned if I don’t love seeing that fire in her eyes. “Excuse me,” I say, tapping the host on the shoulder. “She’s with me.” I nod toward Ainsley, reaching out to take her by the hand.

“Uh…” The young host whose name tag says his name is Tony stammers. “I’m sorry.” Eventually he takes a couple of steps to the side allowing Ainsley through. “Of course, Mister Miller.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller?” Ainsley squeaks, whirling around on her heel. “How about I’m sorry, ma’am? I should’ve listened to your words and then checked to confirm what you have been saying this whole time?” She holds her hands out to her sides as the host gives her a blank stare. “No?” she asks, sarcastically, while shaking her head. “None of that?”

“Is everything okay here?” James asks, making his way from the back of the building.

I nod to Tony and say, “He was just trying to do his job, but maybe we could work on communication skills.” Just as I’m about to lead Ainsley back to the table, I stop. “By the way, please add her name to the list—permanently.”

“You got it,” James says, motioning for Tony to follow him down the corridor leading to his office.

“I hope he doesn’t go too hard on him,” Ainsley says.

“Some refreshers on common courtesy might be a good idea, though.”

“Thank you for helping me out,” Ainsley says, sliding around so she’s sitting in the center of the circular booth. “Somehow, I forget that you—all of you—are famous and have gatekeepers everywhere you go.”

I shake my head. “That’s not who we want to be.”

“I know, but it’s the job.”

“True.”

“It’s just hard to remember when you all are so… normal.”

“Normal is a relative term,” I snicker. “Have you met Travis?”

She giggles and the sound dances through my ears, making every part of me come to life. I’d give anything to hear nothing else in this life again except the sound of her voice. “Okay, Travis is always the exception.”

“That’s a given.” I slide my menu to the edge of the table. “So, I was surprised you asked to meet me today.”

Her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. “Were you?”

“Uh-huh. I kind of thought I spooked you with everything I told you yesterday.” A crack in my voice comes with my admission. Did she notice it? Her eyes glance up in my direction from over the top of her menu. She noticed.

“No.” She clears her throat. “I, uh—”

“Can I take your order?” James reappears beside our table and if I knew him better, I would want to strangle him. I force myself to remember he’s just trying to do his job.

“Yeah,” Ainsley starts then turns back to the menu. “This looks good,” she says, pointing to a picture on the page.

“And for you?” he asks, turning to me.

“No idea,” I admit.

“I can give you more time,” he says, stuffing his pad back in his pocket.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I think I need to just decide.”

“Like pulling off a band-aid?” Ainsley asks.

“Exactly.” I close my eyes and when they open, they land on something I’ve never tried here before. “I’ll have the Country Caviar Chicken Breast.”

“That’s a big difference from your usual. Feeling adventurous today?”

I nod. “I think I am,” I say with a wink to Ainsley. She tries to hide a smirk, but I see it. It makes me think I might have more hope than I thought.

“So,” Ainsley says, leaning over the table so she can keep her voice down, “I’ve been thinking about what you were saying yesterday.”

“Oh, great,” I groan, leaning back against the leather booth. “Which part and how much trouble did I get myself into?”

She chuckles and takes a sip of her water, nudging the lemon so that it falls off the rim and into the glass. “It’s not bad, I promise.”

“Okay,” I say with a sigh of relief. The wrinkles in this shirt are suddenly overwhelmingly obnoxious against my skin. I tug at the hem trying to pull them out without drawing too much attention to myself. “What is it because I’m on pins and needles,” I tease. Kind of. I’m shaking a leaf on the inside but trying not to let her know that.

“When you said you wanted to do something else, something bigger than what you’re already doing—”

“I really do not know what I’m talking about when I say stuff like that. I just want to—”

“Would you let me finish?” she asks with a chuckle. “I’m not judging. I have an idea!”

Oh! “Sorry.” I cringe

“What kind of cause would you want to get involved in?” she asks with her eyes sparkling from the excitement she’s trying to keep contained, but it’s bubbling over. It’s infectious. I’m excited and I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, yet.

I shake my head and search for any kind of answer, but I’m drawing a blank. “I don’t know. Something that could help a lot of people and fill a need.”

“Okay.” She bobs her head from one side to the other like she’s pondering my answer. “What about raising money to help with the health care system crisis?”

I lean in closer. “I’m listening.”

“The health care system itself is broken, that’s something almost everyone can agree on; but we’re still there every single day trying to save lives. They blocked the funding from the top of the food chain, but if we were to raise the money needed to fully staff the units…”

The big picture of what she’s proposing is slowly becoming clearer. “We could help the medical teams save lives if they just had the resources, they need to do it.”

She nods emphatically. “Just today, I had to send a teenager and ninety-year-old woman three hours away for treatment.”

“Because there weren’t enough beds?”

She shakes her head, holding her face in her hands. “That’s just it. When they report the bed numbers in the news, they’re focusing on the wrong things and it’s sending the message that there’s more than enough coverage for everyone. That’s just not the case.”

There’s no shortage of beds. We have plenty of beds, but we don’t have the staff to cover those beds.”

“Oh.” I let out a low sigh, finally understanding the scope of everything she’s been saying over the last couple of days. “It sounds like your career isn’t all that different from mine when you get right down to the mechanics of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Business is business and money makes the world go round.”

She nods and sinks back into her seat. “But you have the platform to help make some major waves and bring some big changes that are long overdue.”

“Okay,” I say without another second of hesitation. “Do you have anything in mind already?”

“Maybe a meet-and-greet or a telethon. I have no idea.”

“Let me talk to my brothers and we’ll come up with something.” If we can help them save even one life, then whatever we have to do will be worth it.

---

“Dude, who ate my Oreos?” Travis asks, with his head stuck in the mini fridge under the reception desk.

I keep my head down, passively denying my involvement in the great Oreo caper and keeping my eyes focused on the images scrolling across the screen I’m holding in my hand.

“Nash?” Adair says out of nowhere.

“It wasn’t me,” I say with every bit of conviction in my voice that I can muster.

His nose curls up as his eyes dart between me and Travis. “I do not know what you’re talking about, but there I s someone on the phone for you.”

“Huh?” I ask, letting my attention drift to where Mira, Carly’s executive assistant and our temporary receptionist, is tapping the side of her headset.

“Phone call, Mister Miller,” she says.

I cringe and shake my head. “No phone calls.”

“But Mister Miller,” she starts.

“Not today.”

Travis holds his hand out for her to give him the headset. “Hello, this is Travis Miller. Can I help you?” His eyes glaze over as he listens to the voice on the other end of the line. “Sure thing. I’ll get him for you.” He tosses me the wireless headset and shrugs his shoulders. “You’re famous again, dude. Get used to it.”

Damn it. I put the earpiece attached to the mic up to my ear. “You’ve got Nash Miller. Leave a message at the beep. Beep.”

“I know you’re there,” a very familiar voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi, Nigel.” I roll my eyes. “How are you doing?”

“Skip the pleasantries. I know you all are getting ready to launch your next record, but I’ve got a label who wants to pick you up.”

“Why would you even try? You know Amaryllis is staying—”

Nigel scoffs on the other end of the line. “They don’t want Amaryllis. They want you.”

“Why, me?”

“They’ve got a bone to pick with The Machine, and they would love to use you to do it.”

“I’m not interested, man.”

“How can you say that?” Nigel scoffs. “You’ve been itching to get back at The Machine and Stone Thompson for years. Now is your chance.”

“We’re doing just fine on our own.”

“Are you?” Nigel asks with a bite to his tone. “You know I’m pulling for you guys, but I’ve been following your live sessions on socials.”

“What’s wrong with our live sessions?”

“You know what’s wrong with them. The soul of Amaryllis isn’t in them. You know it. The guys know it. We all know it.”

I let out a guttural growl without meaning to.

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger just because I’m the only one who will tell you what you need to hear, even if you don’t want to hear it.”

“The radio expects a certain sound out of us and like you said, we’re gunning for The Machine.”

“You can’t do that when you put out music that sounds like The Machine’s thumbprint is on it.”

F.U.C.K. Why does he always have to be right? “We also can’t do that if we can’t get our music played on the air.”

“Why don’t you let me handle that?” he asks.

“Is that what this is about, Nigel?” I say through a half-hearted laugh. “You need a gig?”

“No.” He almost sounds offended. “I have a gig. I’ve been working with Adair to scout new talent and you know it.”

He’s right. I do know that, and it irritates the hell out of me every time I think about it. “So, what do you want?”

“I can help you, if you’ll let me; but I can’t do shit when Amaryllis is tying my hands.”

Groan. “I’ll talk to the guys and see what they want to do, but I am not deciding on something like that without talking to them first.”

“If you want on the radio, without selling out, and without throwing away the dreams you all had when you pissed away your career—just as it was taking off—then you should let me help.”

“Goodbye, Nigel.” I tap the button on the headset to end the call and toss it back to Mira who’s sitting behind the desk. “If Nigel calls back, send him to Adair.”

She nods. “You got it.”

“And…” I add, with one finger in the air, “if anyone calls looking to talk to me about a deal, or an opportunity, or a massive campaign to bring The Machine to their knees…” I make air quotes with my fingers. “Just tell them to get lost. Please.”

She makes a smartass salute and pops her headset back on her head. “Sir, yes. Sir.”

“Ha!” Travis is way too amused by the theatrics. I’m unimpressed with either of them, right now.

“Shut it. I’m tired of talking to suits who just want me to dance for them.”

Travis grabs his chest and lets out a gasp. “You’re not interested in bringing The Machine to their knees?”

“I’m not interested in anything that involves me leaving Amaryllis to go out on my own. I’ve had enough with the suits and their agents wanting to sign me since the rooftop performance.”

Adair’s eyes narrow while he tries to study my expression.

“What?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air.

He doesn’t say a word, but I can tell what he’s thinking.

“I’m not about to abandon you guys to go out on my own when I’m not even sure I want a career on stage, anyway.”

“Dude, are you about to have a nervous breakdown or something?” Travis asks.

Maybe. I shove Adair in the shoulder. “And why are you working with Nigel?”

“He’s not that bad, dude. He’s actually been pretty decent since we left.”

“You know he’s got an agenda.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think he does. Not this time.”

“He was The Machine, as far as we were concerned.”

Griffin enters the room, and the door closes a little too loud behind him, making us all turn and notice. “Sorry.” He grimaces. “To be fair, Nash, if you think about it, Nigel helped us in a lot of ways. He’s the one who helped us get Stone out without it getting ugly in the media. Somehow, he convinced The Machine to pay London’s legal fees after her ex showed up on tour, and he’s been helping Adair launch the management leg of Amaryllis studios.”

“Nigel was The Machine.”

“So were we, until we weren’t,” Travis pipes up, slapping me on the back, which just makes me want to deck him.

I swallow it down and let out a slow breath. “Now that we’re all here,” I motion for them to grab a seat at the conference table, “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“This is it.” Griffin kicks his feet up on the table and lets the chair recline all the way back. “He’s about to tell us he’s breaking up with us.”

Adair grabs a box of tissue from the supply cabinet in the back of the room and slides it into the middle of the table. “Sounds like we’re going to need these. Get ready to weep, boys.”

Travis grabs my arm and wraps himself around it. “You can’t leave without us. I won’t let you,” he whines like an overgrown child.

“Dude,” I growl, shaking my arm. “Get off me.”

“Never!” he screeches, latching on harder.

Sigh. “Fine.” I attempt to ignore the human-sized growth recently bonded to my forearm. “I was talking to Ainsley today—”

“Did you tell her you love her, yet?” Adair interrupts.

I snatch the tissue box off the table and launch it at his head. “She said the health care system desperately needs help.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Travis smarts off from his position, still wrapped around my arm.

“Seriously, dude?” I ask, glaring at him. “You’re going be a smartass while you’re still dangling from my arm?”

His face twists into a scowl. “Mister grumpy pants needs to tell Ainsley he loves her, so he’ll chill out,” he sing-songs the last bit as he flops into a chair next to Adair.

“Like I was saying,” I continue, reaching up to massage my temples and hopefully stifle the massive headache knocking on my door. “We can’t do anything about the system as a whole, but we can start at a local level and maybe, eventually, use that as forward momentum to spark something bigger.”

“What’d you have in mind?” Griffin asks, steepling his hands together under his chin.

No clue.

Mira pops her head in the doorway and holds up one finger.

“Mira, please no phone calls right now.”

“It’s not a phone call.” She takes a step inside the room. “I just overheard your conversation and I think I might have an idea.”

Travis jumps up and makes his way to the other side of the table, pulling out a seat for her and motioning for her to take it, which she does. “What’s your idea?” he asks, rolling her chair up to the table.

“Right now, concerts in live venues are not possible.” Her finger dances across the screen of her phone as she searches for something. “But according to the official safety regulations, we could hold an event if we could guarantee social distancing.”

“How can you do that at a live show, though?” Travis scratches the back of his neck.

“What if we rented this out for a two-night event to ensure everyone had a chance to come out for the show?” she asks, flipping her phone around displaying an image of the city’s one and only drive-in theater. “It’s the perfect set up. They’ve already got the equipment for each vehicle to have their own audio experience, safely from inside their respective cars, or they could roll their windows down and listen to the show that way if they wanted to.”

“Or both, if they want to rattle their brains.” Adair makes cups around his ears and shakes them back and forth.

Griffin glances up at me with a smile on his face. “I like it.”

“So do I.”

“What’s the cause, though?” Travis asks.

“We’d be raising money for the local hospitals,” I say, surprised by own conviction. “We could do a series of shows and each set could be for a different hospital in the area.”

Mira makes notes on phone. “I can get everything set up, if you want me to.” Her eyes dart from Griffin to Adair to Travis, and then to me.

“Let’s do it,” I say, without even looking to see if my brothers are on board. It might be the only decision I’ve ever made about the band without waiting for mutual consent.

Adair rests his elbow on the table and lets out a heavy sigh. “I hate to be that voice in the room, but is this going to alienate some fans?”

I shrug. “I hope not, because this is just about supporting the people on the front lines. This isn’t about the politics. The numbers are going the wrong way and they need more hands on deck, but don’t have the resources to make that happen, so let’s see if we can help.”

He nods. “I’m in.”

“Honestly, this is why I wanted to open the studio in the first place,” Griffin says.

“To fight the man?” Travis makes air quotes around ‘man’.

Griffin just stares at him for what seems like forever, then blinks twice. “I wanted us to get more involved—to be independent again. It’s hard to take on any issue or connect with the fans on a deeper level when corporate is standing in the way.”

“True.” Maybe Ainsley was right, and we’ve all been on the same page this whole time.

Griffin’s phone rings. “Sorry, guys,” he says, as he checks the caller ID. “It’s London.” He taps to answer and holds the phone up to his ear. “Hey, babe.”

Travis and Adair make stupid, kissy faces to aggravate Griffin. They’re married. You’d think our two idiot brothers would be over the theatrics by now, but…

“All right, just pay the contractor and tell them we want to see samples before they install anything.”

I’m trying hard not to eavesdrop on their conversation, so I decide to text Ainsley.

“Sorry, guys,” Griffin says as he ends the phone call. “The contractors showed up early.”

I’m still staring at the last message received from Ainsley. Should an emoji make my heart soar like that? I’m not sure that’s supposed to happen. “Wait. What contractors? You guys are already renovating?”

“No,” he laughs. “When we went on vacation, we also went horseback riding, and Carter fell in love.”

“Oh, no.” Adair groans. “You’re buying the horse?”

Griffin shakes his head no. “We’re buying a huge plot of land and converting it into a therapy ranch. Carter connected so much with those horses, it seemed like something we should look into, so we talked to his doctor, and it’s still being studied but there’s some really promising reports coming out; but there wasn’t a therapy ranch within the tri-state area.”

“So, you two decided to change that?”

He nods matter-of-factly. “Carter did, actually. He said he wanted kids to go there and feel comfortable like he did. We couldn’t say no to that.”

“I’m proud of you, dude.” I reach over to pat him on the back. “You’re doing something for your family and for the community all at once.”

“Maybe it runs through our blood, huh?” he says, arching an eyebrow at me. Maybe we can do more with this studio than I gave us credit for, especially if we’re all involved.

“Speaking of kids,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “We have a class getting ready to start.” I motion for Travis to flip the switch for the monitor as I grab the wireless keyboard. When I log in for the session, there are way more parents visible in the cams than last time. I kind of expected that would happen after word got out the rest of the guys would jump in with me. “Class, we’ve got some extra guests today.” I lean to the side so the camera angle can catch my brothers in the background. They slap on the stage smile and start returning Hellos back to the kids on the other side of the screen.

“I’ve been working on a plan for how this will work,” I say pulling up a chart in the shared screen view. “I’m going to stretch all of us right out of our comfort zones.” Audible grunts and groans come from the grown men behind me, while the kids are jumping up and down with excitement. “First, I’ve decided we’re going to add lyrics to our team. I don’t handle the lyrics for our songs. Griffin usually takes care of that for us, so this is a chance for me to learn right along with all of you. Let’s get to the good stuff, though. I’m going to block everyone into groups, so as your filter changes colors that’s the team you’re on. Got it?”

A collective “Got it!” echoes back through the speakers.

“Griffin, you’ve got the pink team. Adair, you’re purple. Travis, you’re green, and I’m team blue. How’s that work for everyone?” I ask, taking a step back to make sure everyone’s assigned to a team. Liam pipes up first, “My mom is going to freak out! Travis is her favorite.”

Adair grumbles. “Travis is everyone’s favorite.”

“Nuh-uh,” Aiden says through the camera. “Griffin is my mom’s favorite.”I can’t help but laugh. I love the excitement in the kids’ eyes. The awkward laughter coming from my brothers doesn’t hurt either. This was a great idea. I give myself a mental pat on the back.