CHAPTER THREE
NASH

“Dude, it feels like a truck hit me,” Travis groans and flops over on his side. He’s been lying on the overstuffed sofa since I got here.

“Would you stop whining for five seconds?” I grumble, while flipping through my contacts, trying to find the number for the producer of the Late Show.

Travis groans louder. “It backed up and ran over me again.”

“Beep! This is Nash.” I glare at him from over the top of my phone as he sinks further into his sofa cushions. “I’m handling crisis number one, right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get to you at my first available opportunity. Adair, maybe you could help with this one?”

Our brother grumbles from his chair in the dining room. He’s been studying those wedding cake samples all morning.

I smack him on the back of the head in that loving older brother way… I still have some growing up to do. What can I say? “Sometimes I wish I could tune life out like you do.”

“Huh?”

Travis snickers and sits up straight so he can get a clear view of Adair’s face. “Adair is the only one with that luxury,” he says, making random weird faces until Adair glances up and catches him. He grabs a pillow off the chair beside him and hurls it at Travis smacking him right in the face.

“Man down,” Travis groans, sinking back under the blanket and curling up in the fetal position.

“Carly is going to kick my ass if I don’t give her an answer on which one, I like better, by lunchtime.”

“I told you, Oreo,” Travis manages to spit out without a single ounce of pain in his voice.

“You don’t sound sick to me, little bro.” I narrow my eyes at him.

He groans.

“Here we go again,” Adair mumbles under his breath.

Fine. “Which one did Carly like best?” I ask, grabbing a fork from the drawer in their kitchen and diving into the first tiny piece perched delicately on a silver Styrofoam plate.

“The red velvet.” Adair slides the piece closer to me. “But I hate it.”

“Red velvet it is.” I nod and let my eyes roll back in my head as I take the bite of sweet cake heaven. “Carly wins.”

“I said I wanted Oreo,” Travis yells.

I shrug and toss the fork in the kitchen sink. “Too bad you aren’t the one getting married.”

“No, but I am,” Adair grumbles. “I hate the red velvet.”

“Happy wife, happy life,” Travis and I say in unison. “Hey,” Travis adds. “Don’t worry about it. You get to pick the groom’s cake. Let her have what she wants. You’re just lucky she said yes. Don’t eff it up now, dumbass.”

Adair throws his head back and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I want chocolate for the groom’s cake.”

“Oreo. Got it,” I tease as I make my way to the downstairs bathroom so I can try to find some Tylenol for the overgrown child we call Travis while still scrolling my contacts. “What was the producer’s name for the show we’re doing tomorrow?”

Silence.

“Neither one of you is any help. Thank you very much.” My eyes scan the bottles in the medicine cabinet until a bright red cap grabs my attention. “Got you.” I snag the bottle and take it back to the living room, tossing it to Travis. He catches it without even looking up. “Take some and get your ass up. I need help today.”

He pops two pills in his mouth and fluffs his pillow. “I think I’m taking today off; I’ll be with you in the morning.”

“I hate—” A song clip plays from my phone, interrupting me before I can finish telling our youngest brother off. Kurt-L.S. Producer, the screen reads. That explains why my search for Late Show didn’t pull anything up. I have to get better at details. “Hey, Kurt! I was just going to call you.”

Adair makes a jerking motion with his hand. I snatch the pillow from underneath Travis’s head and launch it at our brother. He ducks just before it gets there and the pillow smashes into the wooden window blinds, making a loud noise that echoes through my phone speaker.

“Hi, Nash,” he pauses. “Is this a bad time?”

I effing hate you both, I mouth covering the speaker with my hand. “No, this is a fine time. I needed to talk to you about the details for tomorrow, anyway.”

“I hope there’s not a problem.”

“No, no problem. Just some… necessary changes.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. They don’t sound nearly as confident as I had hoped.

A long pause comes from the other end. “What changes might those be?”

“Well, Griffin is stuck on the other side of the world waiting for two negative tests and he’s not sure they’ll let him back in the country by tomorrow.”

“So, he won’t be available for the performance?”

“He’s available, we just… uh…” I stammer before letting out a slow, steady breath. I’ve done this type of conversation thousands of times. I can handle this. “We just need to adjust the performance, so he can join us from where he’s at.”

The sound of a pen tapping against a desk comes from Kurt’s side of the call. “That’s fine. We needed to adapt to the recent CDC requirements, anyway. Email me your Zoom account info and we’ll set everything up on our end.”

Phew.

“You got it. I’ll have it sent over before lunch.”

“Okay, great. Talk later.”

The line goes dead, and a wash of relief comes over me. “This is what I hate about the industry. Music should be about art and expression, not rigid details and bullshit. If we were an established label—”

“If we were established, you’d what? Ignore all the publicity and marketing that has to be done to stay on top?” Travis just shrugs and goes back to scrolling through the guide on his television. “At least it’s covered, and we can get the new songs out there starting tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Carly’s already got the marketing campaign set up to go live one hour before the performance.” Adair smiles when he says Carly’s name. For so long they were at war, both struggling to carve out their own way; but once Adair finally admitted his feelings to her, they became a powerful team. Carly would’ve been fine on her own, but Adair is a much happier version of himself now. Sometimes I wish I had that in my life, but it’s not for me right now and that’s okay. “Aren’t you feeling better yet,” he asks Travis.

“Yeah, kind of, but I’m afraid to get up and push my luck.”

Adair shakes his head. “Let’s hope this stuff works, and it’s worth it.”

“It will be.” Travis flashes a smirk. “I got the nurse’s phone number.”

Wait. “The nurse who asked for an autograph for her boyfriend?”

Adair lets out a booming guffaw. “You got a number for a girl who’s taken? Smooth, dude.”

“Things change. I can always just butt-dial in a few weeks and see what’s up.”

“Butt-dial. Right.” I shake my head. “I can’t deal with you idiots right now. I’m going to login to my class.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m putting myself out there and you’re still stuck in tough-rock-star mode refusing to let anyone in.”

I snort. “Who would actually want to be let in on this dysfunction?”

“Ainsley!” Adair and Travis both say her name in unison, which makes an echo in the room.

“Ainsley likes you, dude,” Adair adds with a knowing look.

“She’s great, but I’ve never gotten that impression from her…” I trail off into my own thoughts until their snickers and cackles bring me back into the moment. “No. I’m not interested in a relationship right now. I’m just acknowledging that she’s… nice.”

“And hot,” Travis adds with a squeak.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Oh!” Adair bellows. “He does like her.” They’re both pointing and laughing at me now, like we’re back in junior high.

“Whatever.” I take the stairs two at a time to hide myself away in the office on third floor. Maybe I can reclaim my sanity, for at least a few minutes, I think to myself as I fall into the chair behind the desk and start setting up my virtual classroom. Just as I think I’m safe, the smart speaker on the desk lets out a loud ding that makes me jump in my seat. “Damn it,” I growl.

“Nash and Ainsley sitting in the tree, k-i-s-s…” Travis and Adair have a good harmony. It’s almost 90s boy-band good.

“Goodbye,” I say, smashing the disconnect button on the top of the speaker and letting a maniacal grin take over my face as the yellow light turns to red. As I’m fighting with the twitch taking over my right eyelid, the screen flicks on and my students are all staring back at me in a video grid.

“Mister Miller!” They all shout out my name to the screen. A few of them are tugging on their parents’ sleeves to get them to look at the Zoom video. “See?” Liam, my youngest student, attempts to whisper to the adult sitting with him. I assume it must be his father, because he looks just like him. “I told you it was really him.” I’ve been doing this for a few months now, but the campaign just started taking off with the recent lockdowns, so most of these students are fairly new to our little jam sessions here. The excitement in their eyes makes me feel alive. It helps to ground me and remind me why we create music. To inspire the next generation. To let people know they’re not alone. To give people like us something to connect with because music heals. It connects. It feels like home when the world outside gets too cold.

“Hi everyone! Are you all ready to do this?” I hit a big power chord that echoes through the computer speakers. It took a while to learn which ones translate well across these virtual meetings. They are not the same go-to chords that resonate well in full auditoriums. Shocker. Little squeals and giggles take over the audio feed for at least thirty-seconds. I see a few more parents on-screen now. They’re all big-eyed and watching to see what the mega-rock star on the other side of the screen is going to do next. This is the part of fame that makes me the most uncomfortable. It’s hard being on all the time, especially when I never wanted fame. Music is something my brothers dove into and immersed themselves in after we lost our parents in the car accident. Since it was on Adair’s birthday, he took it particularly hard. When he asked if I’d play with them, how could I say no? I had taken on the responsibility of being the parental figure since I was the oldest and couldn’t let myself hurt their chances of healing through their art. I’m not sure it helped me heal any though. Sigh. “Today, we’re working on some more basics.”

Audible groans come through every single microphone that isn’t shut off in the settings.

An idea pings me in the back of my head and I can’t fight it, so I decide to lean into it. “But there’s absolutely no reason those basics can’t build into a complete song of our own.”

“What?” Little cheers and high fives are happening all over the video grid. It makes me smile seeing how excited they are to put something into the world that they’ve created. “How are we going to do that?” Aiden, our resident perfectionist and little worrier, asks.

“Don’t worry, little dude. I got you.” I tap the button to reconnect the smart speaker to the wi-fi and wait for it to flash, showing it’s connected. “Call, Living Room.”

“Connected to Living Room,” a robotic female voice announces.

Excellent. Revenge is a brotherly right. Don’t forget that… “So, I’m going to put you all into four groups.” I can hear Adair and Travis whispering on the other side, trying to figure out what’s going on. I ignore them and keep going. “One group will handle our melody. The second group will handle our harmonies, building on the melody presented by group one. Our third group is going to select our chords and group four will handle our rhythm.”

“Dude…” Travis whispers on the other side of the smart speaker.

Adair grunts and lets out a low groan. “Damn it.”

“This is going to be a fun experiment, but it’s also going to be a learning exercise for everyone; including myself,” I say, holding both hands to my chest. “I want you all to see firsthand how music is more than just the…”

“Technical mumbo-jumbo?” Liam asks with a bright-eyed innocence. His father looks appalled, and I can’t help but let out a giant belly laugh.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Liam,” I say, leaning into the screen so he can see how serious I am. I even point at my eyes as I do. “See? You can tell if I’m lying by my eyes. If they’re still green, then I’m telling the truth. If they turn darker, I might be pulling your leg.”

“They’re still green!” Several of my students shout out.

Music isn’t about the technical mumbo-jumbo. He’s right. “Music is about communication.”

“Communication?” Little voices echo.

I nod and pluck out a few notes from one of our bigger hits. “Music is one hundred percent communication. I can play this right now and some of you will recognize it immediately.”

Little heads nod up and down.

“But it doesn’t sound the same as on the radio, does it?”

“Uh-uh,” they all echo one another.

I tap my screen to pull up the radio version of the song and push play. “Can you hear the difference?”

“More instruments!” They all yell.

“That’s right, but do you still hear the notes I played?”

Eyebrows scrunch and noses wrinkle as they lean in closer to their speakers. Aiden is the first one to say something. “I hear it!”

“It’s harder to hear, but it’s clear; right?”

He nods. “That’s because those were chords from the rhythm. In our band Griffin plays rhythm for us. His job when he’s on the guitar is to hold the melody together. I play lead guitar. My job is to evoke emotion in the listener.”

“How?”

“Like this… I play the guitar solo from the same song.”

Gasps and “Yeah!” floods my speakers.

“The lead guides the journey of the song by bringing in the highs and the lows, it also guides the vocalist where to put the most emphasis, which helps drive the emotion the listener experiences on the other side.”

“That’s so cool!” Liam muses to himself. I love the excitement they bring every time we have a class.

“What do the other band members do?”

As much as I want to give a smartass answer, I don’t want to warp these kids’ musical growth. “So, the bassist, in our band that’s Adair, grounds the entire song by providing a constant for us to follow. In a conversation, that would be the overarching theme, so the bassist brings the musical theme for the song.”

“And Travis?” A little girl who I haven’t seen in our sessions before asks.“The drummer, also known as Travis, has the job of making sure everyone stays on beat, or in conversation that would mean staying on topic. So, the drums provide the framework for the rest of us; as we all communicate with each other, and bring in our own style and sound, we stay on track. Music is about building effective communication and healthy relationships—community—which is why I want to divide you all up into four study groups. You’ll learn to work together with your group mates, but you’re also going to learn trust and collaborate with the other groups. At the end of the process, we’ll have a piece of art everyone can be proud of.” With any luck, it might also help us all get back to the fundamentals.

---

I wave goodbye through the screen as the last of my students reaches up to sign out for the afternoon, then close my laptop and place my guitar back into its case. I’m always excited by the possibilities when I finish sessions with my kids. That’s something else… I’ve started referring to them as my kids. I’m attached. It’s going to break my heart when they all go back to in-person learning and we don’t get to do this anymore. An unfamiliar sound fills my ears. It’s coming from downstairs, so I decide to investigate. As I sneak down the stairs and peek around the corner of the stairway, to my surprise, I find both of my brothers around Travis’s piano tinkering out a new melody. “Ahem,” I cough, raising my eyebrow at them from the end of the staircase. “Maybe we should leave the piano to London. There’s a reason you two aren’t on keys.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Adair grumbles. “We heard your little scheme and we’re trying to get a jump on it.”

Wait. They’re not going to give me shit about that? “You’re what?”

“We’re working on our part before you decide to throw us into class without warning.”

Travis plays a couple more notes as Adair tries to find the rhythm to complement it. “Could you get lost? You’re fucking with the creative energy.”

“Rude,” I scoff.

“Please?”

“You got it,” I snort, pretending to be offended. They know it takes a lot more than that to get to me, so I’m not worried about it. With the epic levels of BS-ing we do, they’re used to my sense of humor by now. “Be ready to lead your groups by Friday.”

“Bye.” Travis draws out the sound, but keeps his head down focused on the keys.

I don’t even try to hide my smile, knowing I just got them to forget about the business of being in the band and get back to the basics of what we started Amaryllis to represent. Music heals. It brings family together, forms community, builds bonds. Sometimes we just have to refocus. This project might be exactly what we need to get us back to where we want to be, instead of just prolonging the agony of trying to stay relevant in the music industry.

My phone beeps and I check it to find Ainsley’s gorgeous smile in a little bubble on the side of my screen.

As soon as I hit send, my stomach does somersaults. It’s very much like just before a show and the crowd is cheering and chanting Am-Uh-Real-Us! Except this time the roll in the pit of my stomach doesn’t stop. It just gets worse as I look at the read receipt with no response. My phone clicks into place in the holster on my dashboard as I try to shake off my nerves, flipping the radio on and cranking it all the way up.

I’m sure I didn’t cross a line, I tell myself as I roll my windows down and the sunroof slides open, letting the sounds from outside blend with the music pumping out of the speakers of my oversized truck.It’s almost enough to slow down my racing thoughts. Almost. Friends send winky emojis to each other all the time. Right?