“Why didn’t he ask you to write any of the songs?”
Nash shrugged. “He did, but nothing was clicking for me. Then he holed up with Beanie back in February. Once they started, he never even invited me to the studio.”
Nash wasn’t a fan of Quantum’s drummer. I hadn’t met the guy yet, but from Nash’s stories, he sounded condescending. And that was his best quality.
“That’s okay. You said you’ve been hanging out with Cam, right? Didn’t his last album go gold or something?”
Nash laughed. “Platinum. His first single broke the daily download record for a week straight.”
“And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that song, would you?”
His blush was adorable. I wanted to press my cheek to his, have his embarrassment warm me.
“A little,” he mumbled.
“Well, I can see who has the talent in the family,” I teased.
Steve walked back into the room and Nash straightened away from me, eyeing his bodyguard.
“Nash, my boy!”
I turned to find a tall, lithe man—probably about twenty-five years older than Nash and me—striding forward, a huge smile on his face.
His blond hair appeared disheveled, as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and the dimples in his cheeks hinted at a sweetness I was sure he used to his advantage with the ladies, which probably accounted for the crazy hair.
“Beanie,” Nash said.
Nash pocketed his phone and fist bumped the other guy, who studied me like my father did—as if wondering if I had any worth. I blinked up at him, straightening my spine.
“Ay, this is Quantum’s drummer, Beanie. Beanie, this is Aya.”
“Welcome, Aya,” Beanie said. His eyes remained cool, assessing, as they slid over my body. He turned back to Nash. “Your girlfriend?”
“Thanks,” I said before Nash could respond. No need to tell the world he didn’t find me attractive enough to date. “I’ve never been to a concert before,” I added, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.
“Kinda hard when you’ve spent most of the past couple of years scaling the Himalayas,” Nash said, turning toward me.
“The Himalayas, huh?” Beanie asked, eyebrows raised. He considered me for a long moment. “Sounds daring.”
A small group of other people soon surrounded us, including Brad Porter, Nash’s dad. He had a beer in his hand and a glint of anger in his eye.
“My mother runs a nonprofit, and we spent time there, helping the local tribes build wells and improve their medical care,” I said.
“A veritable Mother Teresa,” Beanie noted.
I licked my lips, the excitement I’d felt moments before fizzling. I blinked back tears. The very world seemed to weigh on my shoulders. Nash eased closer to me, his body angled forward as if ready to spring into action against any threat. “That’s no way to talk to my friend.”
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his wrist, tugging him backward.
Steve stepped forward, his eyes narrowed at Beanie. “I’d say she’s more like Susan LaFlesche Picotte—” He dropped his gaze, taking in my hand wrapped around Nash’s wrist before his eyes flashed up to mine with a soft smile. “The first female Native American doctor,” he added. “Why don’t we get you kids a drink? Excuse us, Beanie, Brad.”
Beanie shuffled out of the way, seeming to realize his misstep as Nash continued to glare at him. My excitement faded as Steve cast another look at Nash and me, his gaze troubled. Had I ruined Nash’s time here with his father?
Would the rest of the band find me as nerdy and weird as this Beanie fellow?
Nash seemed so at home in this room, with these people. But I wasn’t comfortable, and I realized I’d been right to worry. I would never be comfortable with these people—in this room.
What had I gotten myself into?
It was just a week. I could do anything for a week… Then I’d be in Boston, with like-minded teens preparing for the next phase of their life.
And Nash… He fit here. This was his world.
But it would never be mine.
12
Nash
I didn’t like Aya’s silence or her attempts to fade into the background. So I came out swinging, like I always did in these situations.
I stormed up to Beanie. “Why did you upset Aya?”
Beanie sneered. “Why do you even care? She’s just some chick. I hope you’re banging that at least.”
“She’s my friend,” I stressed. “I invited her…”
Beanie narrowed his eyes. “And this is my band. If you’re going to continue to be a little shit, I’ll be sure you get sent home.”
I clenched my fists but kept my mouth shut. No way my dad would let Beanie talk to me like that. After their show, I’d tell him. He’d deal with Beanie.
He’d better.
Steve settled into the space nearby, waiting for me to calm down.
“What?” I snapped at him.
“Maybe Aya doesn’t belong here,” Steve said. “Maybe this simply won’t be her scene.”
“Bullshit,” I spat. “She likes hanging out with me.”
Steve rocked his head back, almost as if he couldn’t believe I’d yelled at him. I couldn’t believe it either, but I kept the concern that Beanie might throw us out locked down tight. Steve might be one of the few adults I could trust, but that didn’t give him the right to pick on Aya.
He sighed. “You really like her.”
“I do.”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re young, so you don’t see the dangers ahead. Just as you can’t see how much you mean to each other—how much you need each other. That girl… I get it, Nash. She’s special. Smart, caring, and beautiful.”
I growled, and Steve smirked. “She’s also seventeen, and I’m old enough to be her father.” He blanched.
I crossed my arms over my chest. What did that have to do with anything?
A little while later, I settled next to Aya as Quantum took the stage. She clasped her hands under her chin, and her eyes shone with excitement. When my dad started the opening chords for one of his most popular songs, Aya gasped, her eyes going wide.
I smiled, loving that I shared this first with her.
When my dad gave me the cue, Aya threw her arms around me and whispered good luck in my ear. I turned my head and pressed my lips to hers. The moment seemed to slow, then stop. Her lips were soft, plump, perfect. She pulled back, a shy smile teasing her mouth.
“Get out there,” she said.
I nearly stumbled as I made my way onto the stage. A roadie handed me my guitar, and I settled in next to my dad.
“Hey, Dallas. This is my son, Nash.”
Dad squeezed my shoulder and grinned as the crowd went wild. “He’s going to play this next song with me since he had a hand in crafting it.”
Dad continued the chords, and I kept up, just like we’d practiced. He began the song but backed off after the first chorus, letting me sing the last two verses. The crowd went nuts, their screams filling my head with joy.