Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 11 Asher

I poured it all into the music. Every longing glance, every charged moment, every word left unspoken. It was the only way I knew how to make sense of the riot in my chest, the ache in my bones.

In Bucharest, I debuted the song. Just me and my guitar, stripped down and raw. I could feel Jared's eyes on me from the wings, that laser focus that always seemed to zero in on my soul.

I closed my eyes, letting the words pour out of me. A confession, a prayer.

" I see you standing there,

Shadow in the light.

You chase away my nightmares,

Make everything alright… "

For a suspended moment, the arena was silent. A held breath, a collective pause.

Then, thunder. Applause crashing over me in waves, the roar of the crowd a physical thing. I blinked my eyes open, dazed, my heart pounding.

They liked it. They felt it, the truth of it.

I risked a glance offstage, to where I knew Jared stood. He met my gaze, and the look in his eyes... Proud. Hungry. Like he wanted to devour me whole, audience be damned.

I shivered under the weight of it, heat licking up my spine. I mumbled my thanks to the crowd, then stumbled offstage on wobbly legs.

Jared caught me before I could trip over a cable, his hands strong and steady on my hips. I sagged into him, the adrenaline rush giving way to boneless relief.

He swallowed hard, his eyes roving over my face like he'd never seen me before. "Asher, that was..."

"Awful?" I joked weakly. "Humiliating? The worst career move since the Macarena?"

Jared huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Try incredible. Breathtaking." His hands flexed on my hips, sending sparks skittering across my skin.

He pulled me into a hug then, tight and fierce. I melted into it, into him, relishing the solid heat of his body against mine.

It felt like coming home, like finding shelter in a storm. I never wanted to leave the circle of his arms.

But then someone cleared their throat pointedly, and we sprang apart like scalded cats. Dylan stood a few feet away, his eyebrows raised and a knowing smirk playing about his lips.

"Well, well, well. Don't you two look cozy."

I felt my face flame, my stomach swooping with embarrassment. Jared, though, just looked defiant. Unapologetic. Like he'd happily hug me in front of a thousand people and not give a single fuck. Something warm and sweet unfurled in my chest at the thought.

In the days that followed, that feeling only grew. The little things, the subtle shifts... they added up like lines in a melody, building to a crescendo.

The way Jared's hand would linger on my shoulder before a show, a gentle squeeze of reassurance. The snacks he'd slip me after long days of interviews and meet-and-greets, my favorite protein bars and fizzy water. The soft smiles across crowded rooms, the charged glances when no one else was looking.

And god, the casual touches. The way he'd guide me through throngs of fans with a hand on the small of my back, or brush a stray hair from my forehead in quiet moments backstage.

Each one sent a thrill through me, an almost painful awareness. I was hyper-attuned to him, to his presence, like a livewire seeking a ground.

It was maddening. Thrilling. The most exquisite torture I'd ever known.

Dylan, of course, noticed. He'd shoot me sly looks after every charged interaction. One night, as we lounged around the green room after a show, he finally broached the subject.

"So," he said casually, examining his nails. "You and the hunky bodyguard. That's new."

I choked on my water. "What? No, there's no me and Jared. Ever since the kiss, he’s made it clear he wants things to be professional."

Dylan gave me a flat look. "Babe. Come on. I haven't seen this much eye-fucking since Mason discovered leather pants."

As if summoned, Mason chose that moment to saunter into the room. He zeroed in on Dylan immediately, his eyes narrowing.

"Dylan. Care to explain why my guitar case smells like a Jamaican dispensary?"

Dylan blinked up at him innocently. "Why Mason, are you accusing me of something? I'm hurt, truly."

Mason chuckled. "Can it, buddy. I know you've been hotboxing in the equipment trailer again."

"Excuse you, I have done no such thing!" Dylan sniffed. "I'll have you know I only smoke the finest organic, ethically-sourced-"

"I swear to god, Dylan, if you finish that sentence, I will string you up by your nipple piercing."

Dylan grinned, shameless. "Don’t threaten me with a good time! Besides, you'll have to buy me dinner first, big boy."

Mason's face did something complicated, flitting between irritation and reluctant amusement. "You're an absolute fucking menace."

"Aw, you say the sweetest things." Dylan fluttered his lashes. "Be still my beating heart."

I watched the exchange with growing amusement, my own embarrassment momentarily forgotten. There was something there, a charged undercurrent to their bickering.

Like the bratty kid pulling his crush's pigtails on the playground, desperate for any scrap of attention.

And well, who was I to judge? My flirting style apparently involved pouring my soppy heart out onstage and mooning after my bodyguard like a lovesick puppy.

At least Dylan and Mason's dance had an edge of plausible deniability. The barbs, the snark... it was a thin veneer over the crackling tension, but a veneer all the same.

Not like me and Jared, laying ourselves bare with every heated look and lingering touch. Secrets whispered in lyrics, confessions made in the spaces between breaths.

I tuned back into the conversation just in time to catch Dylan mid-rant, gesticulating wildly.

"-and another thing, Mr. Tall, Dark and Disapproving! The next time you feel the need to criticize my rolling technique, maybe take a look in the mirror, huh? Because buddy, I've seen tighter joints on a GI Joe figure."

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. "My rolling technique is flawless, thank you very much. Precise. Efficient."

Dylan made an outraged sound. "Oh honey, no. Joints are an art, not a military operation. They require finesse, delicacy. Not ham-fisted brute force."

"I'll show you ham-fisted brute force," Mason growled, taking a menacing step forward.

Dylan, the reckless idiot, just grinned up at him sunnily. "Promise?"

I watched Mason's throat work as he swallowed, his eyes darkening. Torn between throttling Dylan and throwing him over the nearest flat surface, if I had to guess.

I decided to take pity on them both, clearing my throat pointedly. They jumped, having clearly forgotten I was there.

"You know," I said mildly, "for two people who claim to hate each other, you sure do flirt an awful lot."

Twin sputters of outrage.

"Flirt?!"

"With him? "

"-infuriating, glitter-huffing sprite -"

"-repressed, emotionally constipated Neanderthal -"

I held up my hands, fighting back a grin. "Alright. My mistake. Clearly there is no flirting happening here, no sir."

Dylan sniffed primly. "Thank you. As if I would ever stoop to making eyes at G.I. Jackass over here."

Mason glowered. "The feeling is entirely mutual, trust me."

I hummed, unconvinced. "If you say so."

They both shot me venomous looks, but I just smiled serenely.

The high of the final Poland show lingered under my skin. The crowd had been incredible, their energy palpable, lifting me up and carrying me through the set like a cresting wave.

But as I came down from the stage, the adrenaline slowly ebbing, reality began to creep back in. The aches and pains, the bone-deep exhaustion.

And the letter. Innocuous white envelope, slim and unassuming. Waiting for me on the dressing room table like a coiled snake.

I knew that handwriting. Carter.

With trembling fingers, I tore into the envelope. Scanned the words, each one hitting like a punch to the gut.

Asher,

Saw your show tonight. Not bad, kid. You've come a long way from that scrawny little brat I pulled out of the gutter. But let's be real. We both know you wouldn't be where you are without me. I made you. Molded you into something worthwhile.

And now it's time to pay the piper. I've got a new project brewing. Big things, groundbreaking stuff. And I need a frontman. That's where you come in. Think about it. You and me, together again. Making music, making history. Just like old times.

I'll be in touch. And trust me - you're gonna want to take my call. After all, you owe me. Don't ever forget that.

- C

The paper crumpled in my fist, my knuckles white. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears, a dull roar of static.

With a snarl, I ripped the letter to shreds. Let the pieces flutter to the floor like the meaningless trash they were. I was done. Carter was my past, and he could fucking stay there.

But if only it were that easy. In the following days, as we made our way to Hungary, I could feel my resolve crumbling. The anxiety, the fear, creeping back in.

It started with texts. Unknown numbers, all with the same message.

Tick tock, Asher. Clock's running out.

You can't ignore me forever.

I made you. And I can break you just as easily.

I blocked them, each and every one. But they kept coming, a relentless tide of threats and coercion. And with each one, I could feel myself slipping. Back into that dark place, that prison of self-doubt and loathing.

It affected my performances. I was distracted, sloppy. Missing cues, flubbing lyrics. The fans were forgiving, but I could see the concern in the crew’s eyes.

Jared pulled me aside after a particularly rough show in Budapest, his brow furrowed and his eyes searching. "Ash. Talk to me. What's going on with you?"

I tried to brush him off, to paste on a smile. "Nothing. Just tired, you know? Tour life, it's a grind."

Jared's frown deepened. "Bullshit. This is more than exhaustion. You're not yourself. Haven't been for days."

I felt my facade cracking, the brittle mask of nonchalance splintering. "Jared, please. Just drop it."

"I can't." He caught my arm, gentling me with a touch. Met my gaze head on, unwavering. "I'm worried about you. We all are. Please, just let me help."

And god, I wanted to. I wanted to spill my guts, to purge the poison coursing through me. But the words stuck in my throat. How could I make him understand? How could I explain the depths of my brokenness, the scars that would never fully heal?

Jared, though, didn't push. He just waited. Patient, steady. A port in the storm of my roiling emotions. And somehow, that broke me. That quiet acceptance, that undemanding support.

The words came then. Halting at first, then spilling out of me in a rush. A torrent of pain and fear, of secrets long buried.

I told him about Carter. About the way he'd swooped into my life when I was young and hungry and so goddamn naive. The way he'd promised me the world, promised to make all my dreams come true.

And at first. it had been everything I'd ever wanted. The music, the acclaim. Carter's approval, his praise.

But then, things changed. The praise turned barbed, the approval conditional. Carter became demanding, exacting. Nothing was ever good enough. I was never good enough.

He'd keep me in the studio for hours, days. Forcing me to practice until my fingers bled, my voice gave out. All while berating me, tearing me down.

“You're nothing without me”, he'd snarl . “Just a skinny little boy with a halfway decent voice. I'm the only one who sees your potential, the only one who can make you great. And if you can't cut it, I'll find someone who can.”

I'd believed him. Of course I had. I was young, desperate to make it. Desperate for someone, anyone , to tell me I was worth something.

And Carter had known that. Exploited it. He tied my worth to my talent, my obedience. Stripped me down to parts and rebuilt me in his image. The perfect little puppet, dancing on his strings.

It went on for months. The manipulation, the degradation. I'd pushed everyone away, isolated myself. Convinced I needed Carter, that I was nothing without him.

But Dylan hadn't given up on me. He'd seen what was happening, seen me drowning. And he'd thrown me a lifeline.

I remember the day it all came to a head. The day Dylan confronted Carter, threatened to go public with everything he'd seen, everything he knew.

And Carter had laughed. Cold and cruel, uncaring.

“You think anyone would believe you?” he'd sneered. “ Asher's mine. Body, mind and soul. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it.”

But he'd underestimated Dylan's resolve. His loyalty. His love for me.

Dylan had taken me away that day. Bundled me up and spirited me off to some remote cabin in the woods, far from Carter's clutches.

And there, he'd saved my life. With his patience, his unwavering support. His refusal to let me drown in my own self-loathing.

I remember one night, curled up on the ratty couch, my head in Dylan's lap as he stroked my hair. I'd been crying, harsh and ugly. Convinced I was broken, damaged beyond repair.

“I don't know who I am without him” , I'd choked out. “Without the music. It's all I've ever had.”

And Dylan had just held me tighter. Pressed a fierce kiss to my temple.

“Listen to me, Asher” , he had said, his voice rough with emotion. “You are so much more than your music. So much more than what that bastard tried to make you. You're kind. You're brave. You've got a heart as big as the fucking sun, and a soul that shines brighter than any star. Carter tried to break you. Tried to twist you into something small and obedient, something he could control. But he failed.

“Because Ash, you're unbreakable. You're a goddamn supernova, and no one can dim your light. You're going to rise from these ashes. You're going to prove him wrong, prove to the world that Asher fucking Roth is a force to be reckoned with. And I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way. Cheering you on, picking you up when you stumble.

“Because that's what family does. That's what love is. You're my brother, Ash. In every way that matters. And I will never, ever let you forget how incredible you are. Carter doesn't get to win this. He doesn't get to define you, to put limits on what you can be.

“Only you can do that. And I know, with every fiber of my being, that you are capable of amazing things. So cry, and rage. Feel every fucking feeling, as hard and as long as you need to. And then, you're going to pick yourself up. Dust yourself off. And show the world exactly what you're made of. Because you're made of stardust and steel. And nothing, no one, can take that away from you.”

I'd cried then. Great, heaving sobs that felt like they were tearing me apart. But for the first time, they were tears of relief. Of healing.

Dylan had held me through it. Rocked me, soothed me. Loved me, in the purest, truest sense of the word.

And slowly, I'd started to believe him. Started to see myself the way he saw me. As someone worthy. Someone strong. Someone who could survive this, and come out the other side brighter than before.

It had been a long road. The healing, the rebuilding of my shattered sense of self. And even now, years later, the scars remained. The doubts, the fears.

As I now finished recalling that period of my life, my voice was hoarse and my cheeks damp. Jared was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. Like I was something precious, something to be treasured.

"Asher," he breathed, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."

I shrugged, a jerky motion. "It is what it is. I survived. I got out."

"You did." Jared caught my hand, tangled our fingers together. Squeezed, gentle but firm. "You're so fucking strong, Ash. Walking away and starting over takes incredible courage."

I ducked my head, feeling heat crawl up the back of my neck. "I had help. Dylan, he saved me. In every way a person can be saved."

Jared smiled then. "He's a good man. A good friend. And you've got me now, too. I hope you know that."

He pulled me in then. Wrapped me up in strong arms, warm skin and the scent of safety. And I let him. I burrowed into the shelter of him, pressed my face to the steady thrum of his pulse. Let him hold me, shield me.

The text glared up at me from my phone screen, the words stark and damning.

Time's up, Ash. You've had your fun playing rock star, but now it's time to come home. Back to the studio, back to me.

And if you don't? Well, I'm sure the tabloids would love to know all about your little secret. Who their precious, squeaky-clean pop idol really is behind closed doors.

Imagine the headlines. The hate, the disgust. Your career, your reputation, all gone in a flash. Is that what you want? To lose everything you've worked so hard for?

I didn't think so. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to come to the studio. You're going to record the songs I tell you to, the way I tell you to. And you're going to smile while you do it. Act like the grateful little protégé you are.

In return, I'll keep your secret. Let you maintain the illusion of a normal life, a successful career. But don't forget, Ash. I own you. I made you, and I can break you just as easily.

See you soon, superstar.

I felt sick. Physically, violently ill. The words swam before my eyes, blurred by the hot sting of tears.

I retreated into myself. Drew away from the others, from Jared. Avoided his eyes, his touch. The concern, the care in his gaze... it was too much. Too pure, too good for the tainted, broken thing I was.

I could see the hurt in him, the confusion. But he didn't push. Didn't demand answers I couldn't give. He just let me be. Gave me space, even as I could feel his worry like a physical thing.

It came to a head in Prague, after a performance I barely remembered. I was too caught up in my own spiraling thoughts. I found myself in the hotel bar. Nursing a whiskey, staring into the amber depths like they held the answers to the universe.

I sensed Jared before I saw him. Felt the heat of his presence, the weight of his gaze on the back of my neck. He slid onto the stool next to me, his bulk making the wood creak. He signaled the bartender for a beer, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Asher." His voice was low and urgent. Threaded through with concern, with a desperate kind of worry. "Talk to me. Please."

I swallowed hard. Kept my gaze fixed on the bar top.

"There's nothing to talk about." I aimed for casual, unbothered, but missed by a mile.

Jared made a frustrated sound. "Bullshit. You've been avoiding me for days. Flinching away from me like I'm something to be afraid of."

The hurt in his voice was poorly concealed. It cleaved at me, tearing at my heart and resolve. But I couldn't drag him into this. Couldn't let Carter's poison touch him, taint him.

Jared was good. He was pure, in a way I never could be. And I'd sooner cut out my own heart than see that light in him dimmed. Even if it meant breaking my own in the process.

So I pasted on a smirk, cold and brittle. Finally met his gaze, let him see the ice in my eyes.

"Maybe I just needed some space. Ever think of that?" I tossed back the last of my drink, the burn of it grounding me. Giving me strength for what I had to do. "Maybe I'm tired of you always hovering, always watching me."

He blinked, rocking back like I'd slapped him. "I'm just trying to keep you safe, and do my job."

I scoffed, the sound harsh and ugly to my own ears. "Right. Your job. That's what this is about."

Anger sparked in Jared's eyes, bright and hot. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"You know damn well it's more than that," he bit out, his voice tight. Barely controlled. "What we have, it hasn't been just a job in a long fucking time."

I nearly flinched at that, but I couldn't let myself weaken. So I doubled down.

"There is no ‘ we ', Jared." I stepped into his space, let my lip curl in a sneer. "You're my bodyguard. I pay you to protect me, to keep the crazies away. That's it."

Something flickered in Jared's eyes. Hurt, quickly replaced by a simmering rage.

"That's funny," he said slowly. "Because I seem to remember you spilling your guts to me. Telling me your deepest, darkest secrets."

He stepped closer, crowding me. Forcing me to crane my neck to meet his gaze, to hold strong under the intensity of it.

"I remember holding you while you cried," he continued, his voice a low rumble. "Promising you that I wouldn't let anything hurt you, that I would always be there."

I swallowed hard, felt my resolve waver. Because he was right. He'd seen me, all of me. The broken pieces, the ugly scars. And he'd accepted them. Cherished them, even.

But that was why I had to do this. Had to push him away, keep him safe from Carter.

"Things change," I managed, my voice thin. "People change."

Jared's eyes narrowed. "No. I don't believe you.” He caught my chin, forced my gaze to his. Let me see the fire in him, the conviction.

"Something's going on, Ash. Something you're not telling me." His thumb swept over my jaw, gentle despite the steel in his words. "And I'm not letting you push me away. Not like this."

I trembled under his touch. God, I wanted to tell him. Wanted to let the words pour out of me, let him lance the poison from my veins. But I couldn't. Not if I wanted to keep him whole, keep him untouched by the filth and rot of my past.

I opened my mouth, a rejection rising to my lips. A final, killing blow to sever this tie, this bond between us.

But before I could speak, my phone buzzed. Loud and jarring in the charged air. I jerked away from Jared's touch. I fumbled the device from my pocket, my hands shaking.

And there, glowing up at me like an accusation was a text from Carter.

Tick tock, Ash. Clock's running out. Last chance. You know what you have to do. See you soon, superstar.

I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked up at Jared, met his eyes, and let him see the terror, the anguish, the resignation.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, broken and aching.

And then, I ran. Bolted from the bar like the hounds of hell were on my heels. Ran from Jared, from the warmth and light and promise of him.

I ended up in a park, deserted and dark. The air felt cold and sharp in my lungs, the stars distant and unfeeling above. With shaking hands, I typed out a response.

Where do I meet you?

Who was I in the end, to deny my fate? A shattered star, falling back to earth. It was time to go back to the darkness, where I'd always belonged.

I closed my eyes and let the tears come, hot and stinging. But it was worth it. Because Jared would be safe. Untouched by the rot, the ruin. Free to walk in the light, while I sank back into the shadows.