“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Travis recited. “That’s what my grams tells me.”
“You mean the little old gray-haired lady trying to marry off each of her grandchildren?” Nash’s arms shook. Pathetic. He should be stronger than this. “I can’t believe there are twenty-five of you Quinn cousins.”
“Must be something in the water,” Travis joked. “But given over half my cousins have said ‘I do’ or are planning their weddings, I’d say ‘the little old gray-haired lady’ knows something the rest of us don’t.”
“Or maybe she spikes your drinks or food with a magic love potion.” That sounded more likely a culprit.
“I wouldn’t put anything past Grams. She enjoys getting her way.” Travis picked up a white hand towel and a bottle of water. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Nash collapsed against the mat-covered floor. Only his face wasn’t touching. Though if his new scruffy beard was any longer, it would. His heart pounded so hard the office might be shaking. “You enjoy watching me suffer.”
“Heal. I enjoy watching you heal.” Travis tossed Nash the towel. “So you can be back on stage this fall and send me free tickets.”
“Pick a stop, and they’re yours.”
The second half of Nash’s tour had been postponed to give him time to recover from the injury, a tarnished reputation, and the exhaustion he’d been ignoring for months. Okay, maybe years.
But a guy didn’t get to the top of the charts by being a slacker or unsocial. Though here in Quinn Valley he was lying low so people wouldn’t leak his whereabouts. His PR firm wanted to keep him out of the media for as long as possible while they worked their magic to turn his image from a bad boy to a nice guy.
Nash wished his people would stop calling and asking if he was being good. He wasn’t twelve. But he was doing his best and would continue to do so, though…
Trying to be incognito wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. The bushy beard helped—he sometimes didn’t recognize his reflection in the mirror—but he missed his clean-shaven face or wearing just enough stubble to drive the woman crazy. His new wardrobe consisted of vintage graphic tees, shorts, and skinny jeans—more gamer or computer programmer attire than country superstar. Add in different beanies and sunglasses, and he didn’t look like himself at all. He sure missed his cowboy hat, button-downs, Henley shirts, and bootcut jeans.
Here, Nash was a nobody, which was the whole point. But he missed the adoration. He loved his fans and the attention they showered upon him, but he was under strict orders—no contact with the public. With his contract coming up for negotiations, his manager, R.J., said he couldn’t mess up or there would be serious consequences, such as being dropped by the record label. That had made Nash straighten up. Well, as much as he could because trouble seemed to follow him. Okay, that was partly his fault. He enjoyed yanking on people’s chains. R.J.’s especially. Travis’s, too, and the physical therapist didn’t seem to mind.
“What are you thinking?” Travis asked.
Nash wiped the sweat from his face. “If I’ll survive until the new tour gets scheduled.”
Travis’s forehead wrinkled. He leaned closer. “Sore?”
“I can take your workouts. I meant being bored. Not a lot going on in Quinn Valley.”
That brought a laugh. “Recovering and resting should be your priorities.”
“They are, but I’m not used to living like a hermit.”
An entourage usually followed Nash wherever he went. The names and faces often changed, which meant not one person was a consistent part of his life other than his manager. Still, he was never alone. Just like when he’d grown up in a foster home where he shared a bedroom with three other boys. He hadn’t minded because his final set of foster parents were good people and living like that was all he knew. Besides, it beat the alternative—being on his own.
Which was what he’d been since arriving in Quinn Valley.
“I only talk to you and your uncle Bob, who schedules my food delivery and makes sure housekeeping cleans my room while I’m at your office.”
Though for some reason, the man, who owned the hotel, didn’t seem impressed by or to like Nash much.
“You’ve been here what? Two weeks?”
“Almost three.” Not that Nash was counting. Okay, he totally was. But pleading with R.J. hadn’t lessened his sentence here. “Nothing against this place. The taco truck food is tasty, especially the sopapillas, but I could recover as well or better in Nashville.”
Nash missed his house, his bed, and the way the birds warbled in the morning from the tree outside his window.
“You don’t have the hot springs,” Travis said without missing a beat. “The waters have minerals and healing properties. You’ve made huge improvements since you arrived.”
Nash had read the pamphlet describing the water composition. Sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to him, but the tourists ate it up.
“The hot springs have helped. As has the PT.” He stretched his arms over his head. “I couldn’t walk without a limp or stop swearing like a sailor when I got here. The first week at the hotel was okay, but now cabin fever is setting in. I peek out my window and feel as if I’m stuck in a small-town theme park. Rides and characters in costumes are the only things missing.”
Travis handed him a bottle of water. “I can ask my cousins to dress up. I’m sure they’d be happy to oblige and entertain the mighty Nash Bennett.”
