*Trisha*

We wait for Paul's call, an update...any update. Paul isn't great with that stuff though. Nate is trying to keep it together but I can tell this shit with Julia is weighing him down.  I could hear him tossing and turning for awhile last night and this morning is no better. Of course, it doesn't help the weather is gonna be a factor in getting to our next stop on time.

"Nashville is preparing for severe storms expected to bring various weather conditions, including heavy rain and strong winds." I hear Nate and Jonah watching the morning news on TV.

"Fucking great. Anything else, oh holy one?" The British accent asks.

"Bite your tongue Hollan, or Locusts will be next." I roll out of bed, not caring about my early morning appearance.

"Trish, you look like the before picture in a sleep-deprivation ad." Nate teases.

"Am I the only one hearing the freight train disguised as Mila's snoring?" I scoff, low enough for just Jonah and Nate to hear. Casey, Evan, and "Freight Train Mila" are still dead to the world.

"Like a chainsaw and a foghorn had a baby," Nate adds, making Jonah nearly spit out his coffee.

"She's hitting three different octaves...are we sure this isn't a warning siren?" I continue.

"You two are awful. What do you say about ME behind my back?"

"Nothing. We say it to your face, Tapeworm." I raise my brows at the nurse.

"I think Rotisserie Chicken is on the menu for dinner tonight. Lemme see that chest of yours again, Scarface?" Nate goes one step too far as always.

"Brutal. Listen, you walking STD..."

"Hey now, that's how rumors start. I'm clean as a whistle, my man." Nate whistles and I roll my eyes.

"How is beyond me, Playboy." I snort, ending our banter when Freight Train climbs down from her castle and sleep walks her way to the bathroom.

"I hear you... Non sono un treno merci." Mila mutters, shutting the bathroom door with a little more force than necessary.

Oh my gosh. I burst into laughter. Full blown laugher, tears and all for a good minutes before I can pull it together. "She said she's not a freight train."

Jonah and Nate exchange looks and Nate points at me. "You started it."

The air thickens as Nate's phone rings...Paul's name glaring on the screen like a warning.

"Go ahead," Nate says, voice clipped. "On it." He hangs up and redials, switching to FaceTime. I watch him, unsure if Jonah and I should stay, but something in his posture keeps us rooted.

"Jule, please talk to me. Tell me what happened."

Silence. Nate stares at the screen, breath shallow, waiting.

"You look happy with Mila Giovanni."

The words land like a bullet, clean and cruel. Nate flinches, his face contorting with a pain so sharp it's unbearable to witness. My stomach knots, my pulse quickens.

"I love you, Jule." His voice wavers, tight with emotion. "I haven't been with anyone. I haven't done anything. You may never believe me, but it's the truth. And I'm worried about you."

"You should be."

The call cuts out. My throat constricts. Nate's eyes brim with tears, and something inside me hurts for my best friend.

"She's still coming down off her high. You need to remember that, Nate." Jonah's gaze softens. "Don't read into it too much." Jonah murmurs, his voice softer now. "Don't read too much into it." He nudges the clear cup toward Nate, ensuring he takes his morning meds.

"I can't believe this is going on." Nate's words barely escape his lips.

"She has a lot going on in that head of hers. There will ALWAYS be something going on, Nate. You know that just from your sister. This will continue to be an issue. And Ativan will continue to be the one thing to calm her. She's an addict. Being on a low dose just doesn't work for her. She will always want more. It's unfortunate, yes. But this is her reality. Until someone invents something else to help, this is it."

Nate exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. ""I know, but... I was just hoping.... shit, I don't know. I was hoping it wouldn't get as bad as it gets with Cara. If anything, Julia is worse. She's lived more life and been through a lot of trauma which only makes it all so much worse." His voice breaks.

Outside, the storm moves in fast. The sky bruises into deep grays, then black. The Weather Channel warned of chaos, and now, it delivers. Rain hurls itself against the bus in violent sheets, lightning splitting the horizon. The tour bus slows, creeping through near blindness. I glance at my phone, calculating how far we still have to go.

Nashville is slipping further away. And Nate's show is set for eight.

****

Casey and Jonah are perfectly content, curled up in Jonah's bunk, absorbed in whatever's playing on the small TV screen. Evan has found himself lost in one of the novels from the bookshelf, flipping pages at a steady pace. I sit across from Nate, purposely doing my nails knowing the fumes piss Nate off, smirking all the while.

Mila, though....Mila looks ready to tear a hole through the fabric of time just to escape the monotony. She sits on the couch, eyes fixed on the rain streaking against the window, her posture stiff with barely restrained frustration.

Touring can be really busy and chaotic some days and others really fucking boring. Today is one of the really fucking boring days. And it's eating her alive.

"You really need to turn your phone off for a while." I watch Nate look down at his phone for the hundredth time. "There is absolutely nothing you can do from here."

"Well aware, Trish." He rolls his head, feeling the tension building at the base of his neck. I'd rub his shoulder but my nails are wet.

Mila notices. She slides off the couch, padding over to stand behind him. Oh boy.

"I help," she says, matter-of-fact. "I give good massages."

Before Nate can answer, her hands find his shoulders, fingers pressing firmly into the knots. I smirk watching him tense out of habit.

"I'm sure you do, princess. But I'm ok."

But Mila doesn't pull back. "Relax," she murmurs. "Sei avvolto strettament."

"I think she said you're wound tight." I answer Nate when he looks up at me for help.

"Ok, well you have fun with that, I'm taking a nap." I slide out of the booth and head to my bunk when I see a text come through from Paul.

It's rare for him to reach out to me first, especially after everything that happened....the whole confessing his love to Julia while we were still dating thing. But I don't hold a grudge against him. I can't. I've known him for so long, and it's so unlike Paul to do something so bold like that. Honestly, it's unheard of. He obviously feels something strong for Moretti. It was really the timing of it all that hurt me the most.

[Hey.]

Classic Paul...man of few words.

[Hey, hotstuff. Any bathroom remodeling yet?]

I keep it light, not knowing where his head is at or what's happening over there.

[I know phone calls aren't private on a tour bus, but I wanted to reach out to you specifically.]

I hesitate, unsure where this is going. Instead of responding, I listen to the rain hammering against the roof and wait for Paul to continue.

[I never apologized for everything that went down, Trish. I'm sorry.]

[Are you tapping into Moretti's meds, Paulie? Where is this coming from?]

[No. I won't touch that stuff. I'm serious, though. I was just sitting here thinking. I never meant to hurt you, Banks. You know that, right?]

I close my eyes for a second before answering. God, we've been through so much together. I try not to dwell on how quickly I was pushed aside once Julia became an option, but I also know Paul. He waits for the perfect timing, for the right moment. Who knows how long he had feelings for Julia or how long he waited? He's a patient man. I can't hold that against him.

I do want to see him happy. He deserves that much. But I don't think Julia is the one who can give him the kind of happiness he needs. I keep that thought to myself.

[Yeah, I know. Like they say- you can't help who you fall in love with, right? We're good, Paul.]

[I do miss being on the road with you guys.]

[Getting sick of The Avalon already?]

I chuckle a little, but the reality is this....everything is getting to Paul. The stress of Julia. The Avalon. The weight of it all. I think he misses the group, the familiarity of his friends, me...someone to vent to when he needs it. He sure as hell can't talk to Nate about Julia. And James... well...

[We miss you too, you big bag of muscles. How is she?]

[Sedated. Very sedated. It was bad, Trish.]

Paul answers immediately, making it clear he could use a friend right now.

[Like Cara bad?]

[Worse.]

I inhale sharply. I've seen Cara spiral before. But hearing that Julia's episodes are worse? God, I didn't even think that was possible.

[Do you think you bit off more than you can chew?]

I ask sincerely, no jokes, no sarcasm. And I think Paul can sense that, even through texts.

[Some days. But-] He pauses. Starts typing. Stops. Then finally [I gave up on my mother. I'll be damned if I give up on Julia.]

My chest tightens, an ache settling deep in my ribs. Paul isn't one for grand declarations, and yet, there it is....a promise buried in pixels.

Of course this is where it stems from. How did I not see the signs before? The guilt he carries but never talks about. His mom is in a place just like Julia...because Paul couldn't handle it. He lost his dad and brothers in the horror of 9/11. And his mom only got worse after that nightmare of a day. That much I do know.

Of course Paul won't give up on Julia now. He feels obligated to take care of her.

[Paul... are you okay?]

[Sorry. Yeah. I'm good. Gotta go though. Tell Hollan she's fine and not to stress out. I've got it handled.]

And just like that, the door that cracked open slams shut before things get too deep. I get it. There's a lot happening.

I just hate that Paul has to bear the weight of it all. Then again, if anyone can handle this, it's him. He knows what to expect, he's been through it before.

With a sigh, I lower my phone and stare at the top of my bunk, searching for something...anything...to distract myself from everything unraveling around me. Think of something positive, Trisha. 

I smile with pride thinking about Nate's success. His first solo concert is a vivid memory, a milestone that came after the band parted ways and each of the guys pursued their own paths. There's always a moment when a teen pop boy band outgrows its name...when youth fades, and they step into something uniquely theirs. For Nate, that moment was standing alone onstage, proving to the world he wasn't just a part of something great-he was great all on his own.

****

"Hollan, you good?" Paul's deep voice echoed from the other side of the bathroom door.

"He'll be out in a sec!" I hollered but Nate was anything but ready. 

18 year old Nate Hollan may have seemed cocky and fearless but I knew he was a ball of nerves backstage. Sure, he had performed thousands of times in front of thousands of fans but now? Now he's gonna stand on that stage all alone. With his songs. His music. His words. The comfort of his bandmates around him was gone.

I knelt down beside him with a wet paper towel on the back of his neck while his lunch floated around in the water. He groaned and flushed the toilet then sat back on his heels.

"It's just your nerves. You're gonna do great." I rummage through my bag and pull out an unopened travel toothbrush and paste. The things personal assistants have on hand for their bosses. Granted Nate was 18 and I was barely 21. We were just kids pretending to be adults.

"C'mon, before Paul barges in sees you like this. He'll tell Mr. Benson you can't handle it." I pulled shaky Nate up and hand him the toothbrush.

"Mr. Benson already thinks I can't handle it, doesn't he? Maybe he's right. Maybe-"

"Stop." I stared at Nate through the mirror and watched him brush his teeth. "You belong up on that stage and you know it."

Once done he looked down at me with sad eyes. "I heard him talking on the phone the other day. He doesn't think I have what it takes, Trish. He thinks I'm a bad investment or some fucking shit not worth his time."

My stomach tightened at the words. I watched Nate, saw the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw tensed like he was trying not to let it hurt as much as it did. But I knew him too well. He was always bad at hiding his emotions from me.

"Nate," I searched his face. "Who was he talking to?"

He exhaled sharply, shook his head as if saying it out loud might make it worse. "Someone from the label. Apparently, I'm a risk. A gamble that may not pay off."

My chest burned with frustration. I wrapped my arms around his waist, our eyes still locked through the mirror. "That's ridiculous. You have more talent in your little finger than half the industry combined. They're just scared of something new. Scared of someone who doesn't fit the mold they want."

Nate let out a bitter laugh and rubbed a hand over his face. "Tell that to the execs."

"Forget them, You don't need their approval to be great. You already are."

His eyes flickered with something. Hope. He didn't speak right away, just studied me  like he was trying to gauge if I really meant it.  And I did. Deep down I knew Nate Hollan was going to make it big on his own. Bigger than life.

"Lets go playboy. Time so shine." I smirked.

"Playboy, eh?" He raised an eyebrow and turned to me.

"Yep." I smoothed his hair, something I'd done a hundred times before. But this time, my fingers lingered just a beat too long.

That was when I really felt it.

Right there, under the harsh fluorescent glow of that dingy venue bathroom, something clicked. Something undeniable. I wasn't just looking out for him like I always had, I wanted to take his worry away, to be whatever he needed in that moment. And for the first time, I knew I'd do anything for Nate. Anything to make him happy.

No matter what.

I watched Nate get up on that massive stage. He stood there like he belonged. Like he was always meant to be on stage. Holding his dad's guitar. His dad who just passed away a few years ago. I watched the crowd go crazy for him. I saw the exact moment his nerves settled, the confidence that spread as he sang the first few words. His voice filled the space, stronger than ever, raw in a way I don't think the world had ever truly heard from him before. The audience felt it too. You could always tell when a crowd was just watching versus when they were actually experiencing something. This was the latter. 

And when he played the final song, with the crowd singing every word back to him, it hit me...Nate wasn't chasing validation anymore. He wasn't proving himself, fighting to belong, or searching for acceptance. He was exactly where he was meant to be, and for the first time, it felt like he finally knew it too.

*****

"Hey Angel," There's a tap on the side of the bunk. Everyone knows not to open another person's privacy curtain so Nate waits for a response. I pull the curtain aside and back myself up so I'm against the wall. "Can I lay with you?" Nate sees I made room so climbs into my bunk without me needing to verbally tell him it's ok.

"Enjoy your massage?" I roll my eyes and decide to keep my conversation with Paul private so Nate doesn't have anything else to worry about.

"God, she's so handsy. All the time." He whispers and chuckles, lying on his side facing me. "What's gonna happen if we don't get to the venue in time?"

Nate's worrying about things out of his control. He's ALWAYS worrying about things out of his control.

"We'll make it on time."

"Richard will have my head if I fuck this up, Trish." His blue eyes hold so much stress I'm surprised he hasn't had some major explosive meltdown yet.

"Screw Richard. He's not your tour manager. Leslie is and I've already talked to her. She's already talked to the production team and the venue management. You have two openers tonight. So they play an extra song or two until we get there. It will all fall into place, ok Playboy?"

Nate leans his forehead so it touches mine and closes his eyes when I run my fingers through his hair.

"Ok." he sighs. "Thanks, Trish."

I watch his face as he sinks into my bunk, his eyes shut, his expression easing. With every slow breath, the tension unwinds from his body, worry slipping away like it was never there to begin with. If I can do even that much for him...relieve a little of the stress and strain on his heart, I would do it a million times over.

******