“The long term.” Nash smiles. “I know.”
I shake my head. “There are months left on this tour.”
“I know,” he says sadly. “And I know that I love you. That I’d love to try and make something real out of this. Out of us. But I also know that I need to see you more than five minutes in a hallway before and after rehearsal.”
I drop my gaze. “I’m sorry it’s like that.”
He reaches across the table to lift my chin, his eyes so soft, so gentle, so understanding, it almost breaks me. “I know how crazy your schedule is and was in no way trying to lay guilt at your feet. I can stay awake until the concert ends. Set alarms even, so we can talk once you’re on the bus. I can fly out to see you when you have a couple days between shows, like this. Or fly you home. It’ll be easier the next couple weeks as you head east and our time zones align.”
“And it’ll get complicated again once we leave the country.”
“Then we’ll iterate and adjust. I’m all in with you, Lucy. Even if it’s hard. Even if I have to wait. Hell, I took a desk job on the off chance you’d still want me when this tour is over.” Nash takes my hand. “It won’t be perfect, but we’ll figure out how to make this work. I have faith in that. In us.”
We finish breakfast, feeling both better and still uncertain about our future. But I know we’ll try, andthat’s what counts. The rest of the morning, we spend in bed, enjoying each other. The evening we spend seeing everything Phoenix has to offer, then fall into bed together at the end of the day.
The next morning, he drives me to the airport. Rather than following the signs that lead to passenger drop off, he veers towards rental car returns.
“I think you missed the turn,” I say, twisting in my seat to point out the window, then turning back to Nash with a question in my brow and ridiculous hope in my heart. Hope about what, I can’t be sure.
“I know where I’m going,” he replies cryptically, then with a wry smile says, “Houston. I’m going to Houston with you.”
His gray eyes glint with happiness. I used to compare them to a storm, churning and boiling with rain clouds. Now? There’s a warmth inside that reminds me of silver, of precious strength, of love.
“You’re flying with me to Houston?”
“Figured I’d stick around until the very last minute,” he says, casual like he didn’t just detonate my heart. “Then I’ll head home. Assuming that’s okay with you.”
I wiggle in my seat, too excited to stay still. “Of course it’s okay with me! I want to spend every minute with you that I can.”
Nash smiles, placing his hand on mine. My grin widens until it feels like my entire body is smiling and I settle back into my seat with a happy sigh. We turn in the rental, then find our way to Departures. I slip my hand in his while my mind shifts into overdrive.
After a few moments, an idea strikes. “Okay,” I say, slowly as I’m still working through the thought, “so… this is a long shot, but if I can pull off what I’m thinking, would you stay in Houston one more night?”
He quirks a brow. “Hospital’s already mad I’m using vacation days. What’s one more?”
My grin breaks free. “Hang on, then. I need to make some calls.”
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at my phone in disbelief. If me getting the call to come back to the tour after Trish bailed was a miracle, this must be divine intervention. Somehow, some way, I just got permission for Nash to be backstage during the Houston show. These are the kinds of things that don’t happen—just like everything that’s happened to me since I’ve met Nash Kincaid.
“I don’t know how this all worked out,” I say, “but I’m not gonna question it. You have permission to hang out during load in, rehearsal, and to be backstage during the show. Assuming you want to spend your whole day surrounded by sweaty dancers, grumpy stage managers, and be forced to listen to hours of Sandro René.
I look up, and Nash is watching me like I hung the moon. Which is hilarious, considering he’s the one who just made my week, my month—maybe my whole year.
He cups my cheeks, tilting my face towards his, then presses a kiss to my lips. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Sweaty dancers, grumpy stage managers, bad music, and all.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Nash
I thought I had a good picture of how challenging Lucy’s life is.
I did not.
I respected her work ethic from the moment we met. Turns out, I’d never really seen it in action until today. Watching her now, the amount of energy and discipline she’s expended is extraordinary. And the show hasn’t even started yet. My respect for her doubles. Triples.
Sandro René is no slouch either. While I still find his music lacking soul, his energy, his attention to detail, it’s fascinating to watch. He’s exhausted. I can see it in the sweat on his brow, the heaving of his chest, but he’s determined to give the show what it requires of him… even in rehearsal.
Lucy grins as she rushes past me in the wings. I lift my hand and return the smile when?—
