Point Of View 2 [*Do not read until you've read the same chapter of ATW]

Chapters 172 & 173 Medicate/ Comatose

*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.