*Trisha*

We arrive in Nashville by the skin of our teeth, barely skidding in before the final song of the opening act. Nate takes off toward the dressing room without a word, moving fast, while Leslie spews off instructions like a rapid-fire checklist. Mila is whisked off to her suite while the rest of the gang follows behind Me and Leslie.

"Jared's tuning the guitars. Make sure Nate gets a bite to eat. No time for hair and makeup. The last song is playing now."

She shoves my binder into my hands, and we weave through the packed backstage halls, dodging crew members, security, and last-minute tech adjustments.

"I assume he's fine without a soundcheck?" she asks, breathless.

"He has to be," I mutter. It's not often we're this rushed, but the storm that delayed us put us dead last in arrival...we had no choice but to move at breakneck speed.

We burst into the dressing room. Holly is already working her magic on Nate's hair as he fastens the buttons of his shirt. Someone else is tying his shoes while another runs a lint roller over the front of his pants.

There's no time to waste. The venue is full and the stage is waiting.

"Twenty minutes, Hollan! If you gotta piss, go now!" Leslie yells and runs back out of the room. Nate bolts to the bathroom while I rummage through his welcome basket for a protein bar.

"I'm all wound up, Jonah,"  Nate admits when he comes out of the bathroom and I hand him the protein bar to quickly inhale. Jonah nods, glances at Casey, who knows exactly what he's asking without words. She hands over the infamous black medical bag.

"Just half a dose," Nate warns "I still need the energy."

"Mila is all set with her team in the suite. Where do you want me, boss?" Evan asks.

"Stay backstage with Trish."

"Nate! Let's go!" Leslie runs into the room, shouts and runs out yet again.

"It's time, Playboy!" I yank Nate's hand, dragging him forward and out of the dressing room. Evan leads, cutting a clear path through the halls. The energy in the backstage corridors is electric...rushed voices, last-minute adjustments, the unmistakable hum of anticipation.

Nate keeps pace beside me, eyes sharp, shoulders tense. He pops the protein bar into his mouth, chewing fast, barely tasting it. The half-dose  of the Ativan kicks in quick enough to steady him, but I see the way his fingers flex, the way he fights the jitters from being too rushed.

 Crew members scatter, calling updates into their headsets, pushing equipment into final positions.

"Thirty seconds!" someone shouts.

We reach the wings of the stage, the roar of the crowd bleeding through the barricades.

Nate rolls his neck, shakes out his arms, eyes flicking toward the curtain. He doesn't hesitate.

"Give me my guitar," he mutters.

Tommy turns around and grabs Nate's dad's guitar while I grip Nate's  wrist for just a second. "Breathe, Nate."

He exhales sharply, nods, smacks a big obnoxious kiss right on my lips, then steps forward into the huddle with the band. I take a step back to stand next to Leslie and Evan, feeling my own heart pounding hard in my chest. I can't believe we actually made it on time. Barely but we did it.

Once Nate steps onto the stage, the energy in the room shifts. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead, exhaling in relief. The hard part...the mad rush, the last-minute chaos...is over.

I turn and spot Casey and Jonah on the couch, their heads close, whispering. Smirking, I make my way over. "I'm surprised you two aren't out in the crowd tonight. Getting tired of the show already?"

Jonah raises an eyebrow, but Casey is quicker to respond. "Not at all!" Her voice is sharp, a little defensive, even though I was only teasing. "Sometimes it's cool to watch it all from backstage."

I nod, understanding. There's something surreal about seeing the machine work from behind the scenes...watching the gears turn instead of just being swept up in the spectacle.

Before I can say anything else, Evan steps up beside me, holding a plate. "Miss Banks, you should eat something." He tilts his head toward the catered tables. He's more than just security these days, he notices things. Takes care of people.  From helping me conquer my fear of driving after the accident to making sure I'm eating, Evan is always on top of things and thinking ahead.

Leslie doesn't even hesitate. Instead of eating, she lines one up right on the counter next to us, sniffs her poison, then exhales like it's nothing. Evan furrows his brows, looking away, while I just roll my eyes. You see all kinds of things on tour. I'm used to Leslie's coke habit by now.

I lower my voice as I plate my food. "You wouldn't believe how many people are on that shit."

"Unreal," Evan murmurs, shaking his head. "Am I gonna see someone shoot up heroin next?"

I glance up, smirking slightly. "Brad...one of the soundcheck guys. And Kelly in wardrobe."

Evan's eyes widen. "Seriously??"

He wasn't around for most of this during the first leg of the tour. We were overseas then, with an entirely different crew. This group...well, they're rougher around the edges. More like truckers than polished industry professionals. But they get the job done, and as long as they don't push their habits on Nate, I couldn't care less.

Evan hesitates, then ticks his chin toward Leslie, who's now on the phone, her back turned to us. "Have you? Ever... you know."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Me? You're kidding, right? No, Scofield." I roll my eyes as I take a bite of my food. "I can get the job done without being high. I don't need to medicate."

"She doesn't look like a druggie," he mutters, more to himself than to me.

I glance at Leslie...flawless skin, toned body, the picture of health aside from the occasional coke binge. He's not wrong. It's always baffled me. But after all these years, I've learned not to question it.

*****

Towards the end of the concert I notice Jonah and Casey squeak out of the Rec Room and have a pretty good idea of what they are planning on doing. One thing about being on tour if you are  a couple....there's no privacy...anywhere. 

One time I caught Nate in the woman's room with some girl! Another time behind one of the tour busses. I've caught Paul a time or two as well over the years but never told him. I think I was more traumatized than anything because Nate and I were so young and Paul was our "adult" figure. When I was 19 Paul was like...30 or 31 or something like that. Nate's age and we all know Nate can't keep his dick in his pants so it was only bound to happen to run into Paul doing the same at that age. 

 I don't even know where they found some of their hookups. Fans, staff, who knows. Again, I've learned not to question anything. So good for Jonah and Casey if that's what they are going to do. Using their time wisely I guess.

"One more song after this one." Leslie announces and I give her a nod. "He did excellent tonight- even under pressure like that with no time before the show."

"Yeah, he's good like that." I peek from behind the concert and once again, notice Nate turn around for a split second and put his hand on his chest. I'm not sure if he is out of breath or in pain but know we need to have a discussion about it because it's about the fourth time during this concert alone I've noticed it.

When the concert is over and the band makes their way backstage for the afterparty, I throw my arms around my best friend. Leslie passes Nate a water bottle and throws him a complement, something she doesn't do often. "Why does every one of your concerts seem better than the one before?"

Nate laughs lightheartedly. "It's you guys," he answers. His voice is raw from singing so much which means he is going to have to rest his vocal cords more. "All the hard work you put into making this happen for me. And, of course. The fans. I'm nothing without them." 

Leslie smiles bright and proud. Tonight in Nashville was unbelievable. Sure it was hectic when we first arrived due to the weather delaying shit but it all fell into place.  But the pain I saw in Nate on stage weighs heavily and I quickly pull him aside. "Don't think I didn't notice, Nate."

"Notice what? The concert was amazing!" 

"You had chest pains. Halfway through. And again towards the end of the second to the last song." I study his face and his shoulders drop seeing I noticed.

"I was just a little out of breath. That's all it was." Nate pecks my lips with a smile to distract me. "I'm fine. Really."

"Bullshit."

The afterparty starts immediately, ending our conversation as people filter in. 

"I'm gonna go shower so I can enjoy all this. Evan..." Nate signals the bodyguard to escort him to his dressing room and I inhale sharply at how quickly he keeps dismissing his health like that. As they leave, people filter in for the afterparty, including Mila, looking flushed and elated from dancing and singing along to Nate's songs in her suite. Her bodyguards and entourage surround her as she grabs a glass of wine. I don't mind wine. I don't mind beer. But the rest of the stuff needs to go.

Once again, I need to be the bad guy before Nate comes back. The room is filling fast, a steady stream of people dragging in their drinks, passing bottles, joints, pills, among other things to celebrate another successful night. The air is thick with the unmistakable scent of weed, the clink of glass against metal.

I sigh, already irritated.

With zero hesitation, Once again I have to climb onto a chair, miniskirt and all...and shove two fingers into my mouth, sending out a sharp, piercing whistle. Heads snap in my direction. Conversations cut off mid-sentence.

"Alright, listen up!" I call out, hands planted firmly on my hips. "You know the drill...if you want to party hard like this do it somewhere else.  Outside in the back lot. Nate's coming back, and we're not turning this room into a damn pharmacy."

A few groans ripple through the group, followed by exaggerated eye rolls.

"Come on," someone answers. "We've done this a million times."

I arch a brow. "Exactly. Which means you already know I'm not messing around. I don't care what you do but you know Nate is a recovering addict, so don't do that shit around him. He's the whole reason you all are even fucking employed so if you're gonna do it- go outside."

Silence.

A couple of people glance at each other, then, reluctantly, start shuffling their contraband away. A few bottles disappear into bags, joints stubbed out in makeshift ashtrays. They know better than to push their luck with me.

*****

It's been three days.

Three relentless days of city-hopping, meet-and-greets, interviews, performances. The routine is grueling, and I see it...hear it...in Nate. His voice strains, his energy dips, but still, night after night, he steps onto that stage and gives everything he has.

We've made it through Nashville, Charlotte, Raleigh. Bristow and Philly are next. And then, the big one. Madison Square Garden. Leslie and I worked tirelessly to make it happen, expanding the schedule when the first shows sold out in minutes. It felt like a win then. Now? Now, I regret it. Nate needs a break. His voice, his body... hell, his heart. He's running on fumes, and I know it won't last forever. 

On top of it all, Nate is stressed out about shit back home with Julia. To the point Nate isn't getting adequate sleep and it's noticed. I don't know what time he finally fell asleep in his bunk last night but it must have been late because it's eight in the morning and he is still wiped out. While on the tour bus during breakfast, Jonah decides to approach me about working Nate too hard.

"I noticed it and you noticed it, Trisha. His heart can't handle the stress of all this." Jonah stops eating his bowl of cereal which means he is not fooling around right now. "Julia's only getting worse right now. How much more do you think Nate can take?"

"He....eh.. no sleep last night. Don't wake him." Mila's Italian accent cuts through. I turn around in the booth of the small table to look over at her.

"What do you mean no sleep?" I ask. 

"He said.. He.." Mila becomes a little flustered not having the correct English words to express what she's trying to say so unplugs her phone that's on the counter and speaks into some translation app. "He said he hadn't slept yet. He is worried about Julia."

I inhale sharply holding my breath for a moment before letting it out. "Christ. He has two interviews today. We'll be in Virginia in an hour."

"Cancel them, Trisha. Let him sleep." Jonah demands, putting me on the spot. If only it were that easy. I have to report to both Leslie and Richard, and honestly, rather not deal Richard. He doesn't respect me at all, thinks my job is a joke, and assumes everything magically works out without any effort on my part.

"He shouldn't be touring right now. His fans will understand. Nate's health comes first and he is too worried about her." Mila's phone translates and she glares at me.

"I can't deal with this right now." I leave the "room," if that's what you want to call it, crawl up into my bunk and pull my privacy divider closed. 

Jesus. Do they really think I don't want Nate to catch a break? Like I don't see how drained he is, hear the strain in his voice, watch him push through when his body is screaming for rest? Of course I do. If I could fix it...if there were an easy way...I'd do it in a heartbeat.

But every damn day, my phone lights up with a hundred reminders from Leslie and Richard, rattling off the next thing on the agenda like I don't already know. And then there's the Safe Haven music video-the cherry on top of this chaos, another obligation piled onto an already impossible schedule. God, do they think I'm not overwhelmed? Because I am. I'm exhausted. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm completely alone in this. Nate is too wrapped up in Julia. Paul is gone. I have no one to vent to. Evan? He's still the new kid on the block to some extent. He doesn't know the history dealing with Richard nor does he understand the weight of it all. No, it's just me.

Tears well up in my eyes while I lay here having my pity party for one until I hear my privacy divider open and feel a warm body slide in against mine.

"Hey, angel." Nate's voice is low and hoarse as he presses himself close to me in the spoon position. I don't turn around and do try to hide my tears but my shoulders start shaking from suppressing my emotions. "Don't cancel anything, ok? I'm fine."

"But you're not." I sniff. "This is why I wanted to take you home to London for a week before tour."

"That wouldn't solve anything. I'd still worry about Julia." He replies. "And James." 

"I don't know how to fix this, Nate. And I can tell all this running around and stress is wearing your heart down." I turn around and bury my face in Nate's bare chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me. 

"I'll figure it out, ok? You don't have to do anything. I'll talk to Jonah and come up with a plan and then I will be the one to talk to Leslie and Richard. That's not your job. You do enough."

If only it were that easy. Richard isn't going to listen and Leslie...well ...she's pretty understanding but the label and management have the final say. She's in charge of coordinating tour shit but can't just start canceling things because Nate isn't "feeling well."  We're already on borrowed time from cutting back the tour and taking the breaks we've taken already.

This is a battle with Richard I just can't see us winning.

******