CHAPTER FIVE
NASH

“Whose idea was it to do this damn performance on the roof?” Adair growls. He’s hunkered down trying to hoist the last of the equipment up the fire escape, since it’s the only access to the roof, while Mick and his team push from the other end. “We should’ve hired a crew for this shit.”

“Maybe.” I reach over and grab hold of the straps to help them hoist it the rest of the way. “By the way, it was your idea.” I groan, digging my heels in to keep the damn thing from going over the rails.

“I’m an idiot. No one listen to me ever again.”

“Done and done,” Travis yells over the sound of our sound equipment powering on.

Adair grunts and starts to yell back at Travis, just as the guy on the end of our line drops his amp. It just misses Griffin’s console, which sends a cringe shooting through my spine. “Easy!” I yell through cupped hands. “If we break his rig, I can’t replace it before he gets back.”

“It’s okay!” The tech yells as he kneels in front of it to check it out.

“Why are you using mine, anyway?” I hear Griffin’s voice echoing through the speakers, perched on Amaryllis branded stands at each corner of the roof. “It’s custom! I never authorized th—” Travis holds one finger up to his lips and makes the Shh! sound as he hits the mute button from the main computer, we’re using to patch him in for the show. Griffin points at our youngest brother through the screen, makes a fist, and punches his hand.

I fight back my laughter, so Travis doesn’t whirl around and punch me in the shoulder.

“You better run when he gets back, Travis,” London calls out from her seat on the sidelines. Her keyboard is already in position and hooked up, she’s just waiting for the rest of us to get our shit together. It seems to be a running theme around here lately.

I grit my teeth as I check the time on my phone’s screen. “Get it hooked up, guys. We’re running out of time.”

“You hook it up!” Adair yells back.

“I hooked mine up, dickhead.”

“Guys!” Travis sits behind the drum set and counts us down just as Adair gets the last of his cords plugged in, sending a buzz echoing through the audio feed. London takes her place behind the keys as Carter moves to sit between Carly and Ainsley, who have been here watching this circus unfold all afternoon. They’re all just on the other side of the production console and at least three feet from the edge of the roof—insurance requirements.

Groan.

All the bullshit aside. Having her here today might be the only thing keeping me from being a complete and total mess.

With everything that’s gone wrong today, even in the last five minutes, as we’ve tried to pull this show out of the dumpster fire, I haven’t given more than half-a-shit about any of it because I’m focused on her.

Travis signals the start of the song, with me and Adair following right behind him. As we launch into the first verse, Griffin belts out his vocals remotely through the Zoom-in. It takes a few riffs for us to find a comfortable rhythm. There’s a major difference between playing live and playing half-live-half-remote. Everyone who’s watching from the side seems to enjoy it, though, especially Ainsley. She’s watching me with a smile plastered on her face.

Performing for a crowd is a rush, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel in this moment, knowing I’m part of the reason she’s wearing that smile.

We let the final notes ring out for a few seconds to wrap the song. “All right,” I sigh, letting out a slow breath. “Let’s see how it sounded.” The replay rolls through the speakers as soon as I tap the button.

It doesn’t sound great.

But it’s not as bad as some live audio can be.

Adair bobs his hand in the air. “It’s passable.”

Travis nods. “Griffin’s voice is kind of metallic, probably because of a weak signal.”

“Can we work with it?” London asks. “Is there anything we can do to compensate for it?”

“I don’t think so…”

Griffin tries to say something but his image flickers on-screen and just like that he’s gone.

“Son of a bitch!”

Mick’s already trying to get him back, but the signal keeps dropping on the other end before he can connect.

“Did he just lose signal, completely?” London asks, checking her phone, probably sending Griffin a message to make sure he’s all right.

I shrug. “Must have.” My phone rings. Incoming call from Kurt… His timing is impeccable. “Yes, sir,” I answer after the third ring.

“We’re ready to patch you guys in. Are you set up?”

This isn’t going to be good. “Yep.”

“All right,” he says with the air of authority you’d expect from a television producer. I imagine him in a shiny suit with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. “I’ll have them connect you. Make sure you’re looking up, so you see the countdown.”

“What the hell are we going to do without a vocalist?” Adair asks, with a screech in his voice.

I point to the phone I’m still holding in my other hand, mouthing the words, Shut. Up. They’re listening.

“When it clicks over to zero, you’re on,” Kurt instructs.

“Got it.” I end the call, shoving the phone back in my pocket, as the numbers flash, rolling backwards, on the monitor.

Travis hits his drum sticks together in sequence with the countdown they started in the control room. “It’s going to be a miracle if we can pull this off,” he says, with a defeated sigh.

He’s not wrong.

The number flips to 0 and the camera switches on filling the screen with our faces. It goes to Adair first, and he jumps in with the bass line to fill the empty space in the intro caused by the lack of Griffin—and his guitar.

A miracle… “Let’s turn water into wine,” I say mostly to myself. Since Griffin isn’t here to handle his part, I play a mixture of rhythm and lead as I lean over the console and motion for Ainsley to notice the button that’s connected to a mic rigged to my setup. “When I give the signal, hit this button once.”

“This one?” she asks.

I nod and take my position in front of the mic stand as I play the lead-in for the first verse, while turning to catch Ainsley’s attention. She notices and hits the button, causing my audio to come online. I’ve sung backup vocals on this song a dozen times in the studio, but I’ve never once taken the lead.

There’s a first time for everything.

I grab the mic and pull it close, letting the full range of my voice expand to tackle the first verse. The next three-minutes-fourteen-seconds go by in a blur. I know we hit the pocket and nailed the performance, but it feels strange being the one who carried the vocals.

It also felt really fucking good.

As I let the last note ring out, I glance over to Ainsley and catch her watching me. The look in her eye is all the approval I need.

Just as I’m letting myself catch my breath, the host of the show comes on-screen. “Hey, everyone. This is Bo Bose, and that was Amaryllis—or three-quarters of Amaryllis. What’s the story there, guys?”

“Hey, Bo. Moving on up in the world, I see.” It was just last year he was DJ’ing for the local syndicate radio station.

He nods and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Looks like I’m not the only one moving up in the ranks. How’d you end up taking lead vocals on this one, Nash?”

I clear my throat and try to figure out how to do the P.R. dance around this one. “Griffin is overseas and wasn’t able to get home for the show.”

Carly’s groaning and dragging her hands down her face from her seat. She is the resident marketing and P.R. expert, so I’m sure my improv is irritating the hell out of her.

“Seems like he should’ve planned his travels a little more carefully.”

“It’s not like that,” I explain.

Carly makes an airplane with her hands then crosses her arms in an X over her chest.

Ah-ha! “Travel restrictions happened overnight. There was no way to know ahead of time. He had been here remotely and just lost connection right before we went live.”

“So, you’re telling me you had zero time to prepare for that performance?”

I nod.

Adair is clenching his jaw and biting his tongue beside me. I can hear Travis sassing off in the background behind me. I make a gesture with my hand that we’ve all determined is the universal sign for Shut up, Travis. It’s like a secret handshake. No one else knows about it.

“That’s right. I filled in as best I could. Hopefully, the fans enjoyed it.” I wink into the camera and give my best showman’s smile, hoping that’ll be enough to end this misery.

Bo scratches the back of his head as he reaches across the desk, grabbing his phone. “Do you see this?” he asks, turning the screen toward the camera as he’s scrolling through the comments left on the live feed. “I would say they loved it. Congratulations, man. They’re asking in the chat, so I have to ask you now…”

And here it comes…

“Why haven’t you stepped up to the plate before, dude? With that voice, you could’ve been putting out your own music.”

“Putting out my own music was never part of the plan. My brothers and I started Amaryllis to put out our music. It’s not an individual thing for us.”

“Uh-huh.” He scrolls through the comments until he lands on another one that he wants to add into the awkward mix.

This.

Is.

Why.

I.

Hate.

This.

Business.

Everything is a gimmick. Everything is for sale. Everything is a performance.

“Nash, they’re asking if you plan on taking more of a shared spotlight with Griffin once Amaryllis gets back into the studio and back out on the road.”

“You know, I don’t think we’ve looked that far ahead. We’re just excited to get this latest album out there and into the hands of our fans.”

Bo looks straight into the camera and leans in to make sure the dramatic effect transfers to our live viewers. “Listen, you’ve got to give us something here.”

The guitar pick I’ve been holding since the performance snaps between my finger and thumb. I hadn’t even realized I had been fidgeting with it. “What I can tell you is we’re excited to get back out there and see our fans live and in-person again.”

“And as for your position in the band?”

“The more fame I get, the less I want.” I shrug and start strumming out the chords to our biggest hit.

Performer’s secret number one-hundred-and-seven: when the questions get too intense, play another song. Sure, it’ll piss off the host since it wasn’t planned. Who cares? It also shifts the burden of performing for the camera off our shoulders and back onto theirs, as they try to keep up and play along like they knew the encore was coming all along.

Some hosts are better at playing along than others.

Bo forgets the name of the tune as he’s trying to throw it to us and defaults to “…playing their biggest hit.”

I don’t even feel a little bit sorry for putting him on the spot. The guys jump right in, helping me carry the focus away from the invasive conversation. Music is language, and that’s one thing I can say for us, even if we fight like cats and dogs, we always hear each other when we play it out. I let myself fall into the music, opening my voice to do the song as much justice as I can. There are certain tones to Griffin’s voice that mine doesn’t have, but that’s okay. The guys launch us into the bridge, and I have no issues letting my voice travel through the highs and lows. It’s like I’m experiencing the song for the first time—again.

Adair and I mute our strings just as Travis chokes the cymbals. “And we’re out,” I say, nodding to Ainsley, who smacks the same button she hit for me just a few minutes earlier.

“I’ve always been a fan of you guys and after meeting you last year, I know you four are the most down-to-earth and real dudes in the industry. The fans still want to know—”

I point to the mic and make a knife motion against my neck.

“And Amaryllis is telling me the audio’s been killed, so we’re just going to keep watching and waiting to see where this goes. Anyway, if you guys can still hear me, keep killing it and we’ll get you back on here to talk about what’s up next for you. Speaking of coming up next…” The audio trails off as the feed dies and the monitor flickers turning solid blue. I let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding since finishing the last song.

“Dude!” Travis jumps over his set and bro hugs me. “You’ve been holding out on us!”

Adair slaps me on the back. “You saved our asses, man. Great job!”

“You know, I’m pretty partial to Griffin’s voice,” London confesses. “But that was amazing, Nash. You did a great job.”

The attention is more than a little flattering, but it also makes me uncomfortable. “I just did what had to be done. Not a big deal, guys.”

“Bullshit,” Travis calls me on it. “Everything is about to change.”

“Why?”

“Because once the press gets hold of this, you’re going to be the focal point. You might even decide to go out on your own like Bo said.”

“I don’t want to be the focal point,” I damn near growl.

“Sorry, bro.” He shrugs as he helps the crew break down his set to move it back inside. “That’s just how this business works.”

“And that’s why I hate it.”

Adair looks up from where he’s helping pack up his equipment. “What are you saying? Are you like ready to quit, or something?”

“No.” Maybe. “I don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, immediately getting defensive.

I fling my arms out to both sides as my hands ball up into fists. “That’s why we left The Machine, dude.”

“Why? So, you can do your own thing?” Adair asks. I think he’s just being a smartass, which is what he’s best at, but right now everything is raw and it’s hitting me wrong. Everything is off.

“No.”

“Dude, chill out. What are you talking about, right now?” Travis pipes in, trying to be the voice of reason, which just pisses me off more.

I grit my teeth as I try to swallow the burning lump in the back of my throat. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” Heat is boiling in my veins, from my toes all the way up to my skull. I imagine my face being flame red just as I look to the side and catch Ainsley still watching me.

She’s studying me.

Studying my reaction.

With her job, I don’t blame her. She’s probably trying to assess me for signs of a breakdown or something. She doesn’t say a word, but I can guess what she’s thinking. Lots of women think they want to be with a rock star until they’re with one. We may have shared a moment last night, but if she’s realizing what life in this business means…

The touring.

The spotlight.

The drama.

The effing games we play to stay relevant. I wouldn’t blame her if she was already pulling away.

Not that she can pull away since we’re not even together.

“Are you okay, Nash?” London asks, putting one hand on my shoulder. I know she means well, but I’m not in the mood to talk about my feelings with anyone right now.

I grunt and shrug her hand off, so it falls to her side. “I just want a normal life for once.” Is that too much to ask? “I’m sorry, London. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I think I just need to get out of here.”

She nods and gives me a gentle pat on the back. “I remember bolting the first time I joined you guys on stage. Sometimes it’s just too much, huh?”

That’s exactly what I’m worried about. What if it is too much? Too much for me. Too much for Ainsley.

I just need to get as far away from this rooftop as I can before everything implodes on us all. I hop over the rail, landing on the fire escape, and haul my ass down the metal stairs since it’s the path of least resistance to get the hell out of here.