Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 5 Jared

The change was subtle at first, a gradual lessening of the hateful rhetoric that had dogged Asher's every step for weeks. But as the days passed and the public's attention was inexorably drawn to the next shiny scandal, the flavor of the chatter surrounding him began to shift.

It started with that damn video, the one captured by a bystander's cellphone camera on that fateful day outside the recording studio. The footage was grainy and shaky - but there was no mistaking the panic and distress etched into every line of Asher’s body as he struggled against the crush of paparazzi.

Nor was there any ambiguity in my own response, the protective fury that had propelled me through that writhing mass of bodies like a heat-seeking missile. The clip had caught it all in unflinching detail - the way I'd planted myself in front of Asher like a human shield, the cold menace in my voice as I'd ordered the vultures to “back the fuck off” before I started breaking bones.

It had gone viral within hours of hitting the internet, shared and reposted and dissected ad nauseum by a public hungry for the next morsel of drama. But to my surprise, the reaction had been overwhelmingly positive.

Suddenly, the narrative was shifting, the focus moving from lurid speculation about Asher's sexuality to condemnation of the way he'd been treated. A-list celebrities began weighing in, offering messages of solidarity and sharing their own harrowing experiences with media harassment.

Asher himself remained largely silent throughout it all, his social media presence reduced to a few terse, carefully worded statements released through his publicist. But backstage and behind closed doors, I could see the toll it was taking.

It was there in the little things. The way his hands shook as he tuned his guitar before shows, the tremor only stilling once he lost himself in the music. The hollow ring to his laughter during interviews, the smiles that never quite reached his eyes. The dark circles and papery skin that spoke of too many sleepless nights.

I watched it all with a growing sense of helpless frustration, my protective instincts warring with the knowledge that there was only so much I could do. I was his bodyguard, his silent shadow. It wasn't my place to push, to demand he bare his soul to me just because I couldn't stand to see him hurting.

But god, there were moments when the urge was almost overwhelming. Moments when he would look at me with those haunted, exhausted eyes, a mute plea for something he wouldn't put into words. Moments when all I wanted to do was gather him into my arms and hold him until the tension bled from his muscles, until he finally let himself surrender to the raw vulnerability he kept locked away behind iron walls.

Moments when I caught myself wondering what it would feel like to have those clever, expressive hands tracing idle patterns on my skin. To have that hypnotic voice whispering secrets meant only for my ears, husky with sleep and sated pleasure. To wake up with his face pressed into the crook of my neck, his leg thrown carelessly over my hip as he breathed deep and even in the watery morning light.

Dangerous, reckless thoughts, the kind that had no place in a professional dynamic like ours. The kind that could only lead to heartache and disaster if I let them take root.

I was straight. And he was my client, for fuck's sake. It was my job to keep him safe. I couldn't afford to let my own messy, inconvenient feelings compromise that.

And yet, there were also moments - brief, electrifying flashes - when I could feel a spark kindling behind Asher's shuttered gaze. Charged instances when his eyes would snag on my mouth, his teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip like he was physically holding back words that wanted to spill free. When the air between us would turn thick and heavy, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with the professional and everything to do with raw, molten desire.

It was maddening, this push and pull between duty and desire. This constant, low-grade hum of awareness that prickled across my skin whenever he was near, an electric undercurrent I couldn't seem to shut off no matter how hard I tried.

It was there in the recording booth, in the tour bus, in the endless parade of generic hotel rooms and backstage green rooms. It made me hyperconscious of every breath he took, every shift of his lithe body.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore. I was slipping, losing my grip on the tidy compartments I'd spent a lifetime constructing. And the worst part was, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to stop it.

Because as much as I tried to maintain that professional distance, I was drawn to Asher in a way I'd never experienced before. Drawn to the glimpses of the real Asher I'd catch in rare, unguarded moments. The one who hid behind a thick layer of sarcasm and biting humor, who armored himself in wit and dizzying intellect. The one who felt things so deeply, so intensely, that sometimes I swore I could see him vibrating with the force of all the emotions he refused to let himself express.

It terrified me, this fierce, unruly want. This bone-deep need to know him, all of him, in a way that went far beyond the physical. I'd never been a fanciful man, never put much stock in romantic notions of destiny or soulmates.

But with Asher, it was like some vital piece of myself I hadn't even known was missing had suddenly clicked into place. Like I'd spent my entire life searching for something I couldn't name, and now that I'd found it, I would go to war with heaven and earth to keep it safe. To keep him safe.

It was that protective instinct, that constant need to shield him from harm, that had me accompanying Asher on an unscheduled detour one hazy afternoon. We slipped away from the arena after soundcheck, just the two of us, my curiosity piqued when he directed me to an unfamiliar address on the outskirts of the city.

When we arrived at the nondescript brick building, I was surprised to see a small rainbow flag hanging above the door, the words "Safe Haven Youth Shelter" stenciled beneath it in neat block letters. Asher flashed me an unreadable look as he slid out of the car, his shoulders squared like he was bracing for a blow.

"Not what you expected, huh?" he asked, a wry twist to his lips. "Let me guess. You thought I was sneaking off for a clandestine hookup or a back-alley drug deal."

I frowned at that. "Of course not, Ash."

His eyes widened slightly at the nickname, a fleeting vulnerability that was quickly shuttered behind a mask of nonchalance. "Right. Well, welcome to my dirty little secret, I guess."

He gestured vaguely at the building, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I come here sometimes, when I'm in town. Try to help out where I can, do what I wish..." he trailed off, swallowing hard. "What I wish someone had done for me. When I was young and scared and so alone, I couldn't breathe."

My heart cracked down the middle at the wealth of old pain in those words. I fought the urge to reach for him, to pull him into the shelter of my body and hold him until that lost, haunted look faded from his eyes.

But I simply nodded instead, hoping my expression conveyed even a fraction of the fierce protectiveness.

"That's incredible," I managed, my voice rough with suppressed emotion. "What you're doing here, the way you're showing up for these kids is amazing. You're amazing."

A dull flush crept up his neck at the praise, his gaze skittering away from mine. "It's not a big deal," he muttered, scuffing the toe of his boot against the cracked sidewalk. "Just some cash here and there, some care packages. Stuff I would have killed for when I was their age and thought..." he cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head, his throat working as he swallowed. "Anyway. It's the least I can do."

The visit itself was a revelation, a glimpse into a side of Asher I'd only ever caught in brief flashes. He was different here, softer, the jagged edges of his stage persona slipping away to reveal the gentle, empathetic soul beneath.

I watched as he moved among the residents, doling out hugs and fist bumps and words of encouragement.

It was his interaction with one boy in particular that caught my attention. The kid was scrawny and skittish, all jutting elbows and wary eyes that darted to the exits like he was scoping escape routes. There was a feral edge to him, that spoke of too many hard lessons learned at too tender an age.

Asher approached him slowly, telegraphing his movements, his body language open and unthreatening. He crouched down to put himself at eye level, his voice pitched low and soothing as he asked the kid his name, how long he'd been on the streets.

The boy - Ethan, he said in a mumble, gaze fixed on his battered sneakers - was reticent at first, his arms wrapped tight around his middle like he was physically holding himself together. But gradually, he began to open up, the longing for connection winning out over the ingrained distrust.

He told Asher how he'd been kicked out by his strict parents when they'd found out he was gay. How he'd been living rough for the better part of a year, surviving by his wits and whatever kindness he could scrounge from strangers. How he'd been beaten up, spit on, degraded in every way imaginable just for having the audacity to exist as he was.

By the end of it, there were tears coursing silently down Asher's cheeks, his hands clenched into bloodless fists at his sides. But his voice was steady, shot through with a fiery conviction, as he looked Ethan dead in the eyes and told him that he was perfect exactly as he was. That he was loved, that he was worthy, that he had so much goodness and light to offer the world.

That he was a miracle just for waking up every day and choosing to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep being brave in the face of a hostile, unforgiving world.

Ethan was crying too by that point, his thin shoulders hitching with the force of it. And when Asher opened his arms in silent offering, the kid practically fell into them, clinging to him as great, wracking sobs shook his narrow frame.

Asher just held him through it, one hand cupping the back of Ethan's head as he rocked him gently back and forth. His own tears were still flowing freely, but there was a fierce, protective love blazing in his eyes, a bone-deep tenderness.

Watching him cradle that lost, broken boy like he was something impossibly precious, I saw the Asher I was coming to know and cherish stripped down to his essential core. The nurturer, the guardian, the great, bleeding heart that felt the pain of the world and transmuted it into beauty and light.

The man I was beginning to suspect I would tear myself to pieces for, if only to see him smile that soft, unguarded smile, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit him up from the inside out.

As I stood there, watching him pour love and strength into Ethan's broken places like water into the cracked earth, I knew down to my bones that there would be no coming back from this. No stuffing the genie back into the bottle.

I now stood off to the side, trying to give Asher space as he sat with Ethan.

"When I first realized I was gay, I was terrified," Asher was saying, his voice low and heavy with old pain. "I grew up in a really strict family, you know? My dad's a pastor. And the way he talked about gay people, I knew I could never tell them the truth about me."

"How did you deal with it? Hiding who you were?" Ethan asked tentatively.

A wry smile twisted Asher's lips. "Not well. I threw myself into music, writing songs about my feelings but changing the pronouns. I dated girls, tried to convince myself I could make it work. But inside, I was drowning."

I felt a pang in my chest at the desolation in Asher's voice.

"So what changed?" Ethan leaned forward, desperate for some scrap of hope.

"Honestly? I met someone. My best friend, Dylan." Asher's expression softened. "He was the first person I ever came out to. And he just accepted me, fully and without question. It made me realize that I wasn't alone. That there were people who would love me for exactly who I was."

Ethan sat back, something wistful in his eyes. "I hope I find that someday. A friend like that."

"You will," Asher said firmly. "I promise, Ethan. There's a whole community out there ready to embrace you. You just have to be brave enough to find them."

Just then, Asher's phone chimed with an incoming video call. He glanced at the screen and smiled. "Speak of the devil. Sorry, I have to take this. But think about what I said, okay?"

Ethan nodded, looking a bit lighter than when we'd first arrived. "Yeah, thanks."

"Anytime." Asher clapped him on the shoulder before stepping away to answer his phone.

I tried to focus my attention elsewhere, give Asher privacy. But I couldn't help sneaking a glance at his face, noticing how his eyes crinkled at the corners as he talked to Dylan. He looked relaxed, unguarded. Like he could fully be himself.

After a few minutes, Asher said his goodbyes and hung up, sliding his phone into his pocket. When he turned, he caught me watching him.

"You and Dylan are very close, huh?" I said.

"The closest. Dylan and I met freshman year of college." Asher's smile was fond, nostalgic. "He was the first person who made me feel like there wasn't something wrong with me."

I frowned. "There's nothing wrong with you, Ash."

The nickname slipped out without thought again. But Asher didn't seem to mind. His smile widened fractionally.

"I'm starting to believe that," he said softly. "But back then? I was so far in the closet I was finding Christmas presents."

Surprised laughter bubbled out of me. "Sounds like Dylan was a good friend to have in your corner."

"The best." Asher huffed a quiet laugh. "God, I remember this one time, sophomore year. I'd stupidly agreed to go on a date with this girl, Becca. Thought maybe I could force myself to feel something for her. Anyway, it was a disaster."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"I was so nervous I spilled red wine all over her white dress. Then I started rambling about the homoerotic subtext of Shakespeare's sonnets. Needless to say, she didn't ask for a second date. I was pretty torn up about it. Not because I liked her, but because it felt like proof that I would never be normal ." He made air quotes, rolling his eyes.

Sobering, I nodded. I could only imagine how much that would mess with his head.

"So Dylan, bless him, decided to cheer me up with a guys' night. We got way too drunk off cheap vodka and played Mario Kart until the sun came up. And at some point, I just broke down. Told him everything. How I hated myself for not being able to change. How scared I was all the time."

Asher swallowed hard, lost in the memory. "You know what he said to me? He said, ' Ash, you're my best friend. And you're perfect, just as you are. I wouldn't change a single thing about you. ' Then he hugged me while I cried like a baby. He's always had my back."

I smiled. "I'm glad you have him." And I meant it, even as some small, unexamined part of me whispered that I wished I could be that person for Asher. The one he turned to, confided in. Trusted.

We lapsed into silence as I drove us back into the city. I felt like I was seeing Asher more clearly now, the man behind the rock star mask. And I liked him more with each layer that peeled away.

"I wish I could be open about supporting causes like this," Asher said abruptly, waving a hand back toward the youth center as it receded from view. "Using my platform to help kids like Ethan... it's important to me."

I frowned. "So why don't you? Your fans would probably love to see you involved in charity work."

Asher sighed heavily. "My label has made it clear they think it would hurt my image to be too vocal about LGBT stuff. They've strongly 'encouraged' me to keep a low profile when it comes to activism."

Anger simmered in my blood. "That's bullshit. They just don't want people to think you’re gay."

"Bingo," Asher said grimly. "I've tried to push back, but my career, my music. It's all in their hands."

"For now," I said, catching his gaze in the rearview mirror. "But that won't always be true. Someday, you'll be running the show. And then you can be as loud about this stuff as you want."

Slowly, a smile broke over his face, brighter than the goddamn sun. "I like the way you think."

"That's what you pay me for. Sage advice and a pretty face." I flashed him a crooked grin. It was a risk, flirting like that. But I couldn't regret it. Not when it made Asher laugh like he'd never tasted anything so sweet.

That laugh danced in my head for the rest of the day, popping up at odd moments. When I was standing against the wall at the meet and greet that night, scanning the crowd for potential threats. When I watched Asher charm a long line of eager fans. And especially when I noticed the way one fan, a tall drink of water with biceps that strained his shirt sleeves, leaned in a little too close as Asher signed his copy.

"I'm a huge fan," the beefcake purred, smiling in a way I could only describe as sultry. "I'd love to get to know you better. Any chance you'd want to get dinner with me sometime?"

Asher blinked, clearly taken aback by the overt flirtation. It was a line he didn't let fans cross.

"That's so sweet of you to ask," he stammered. "But I'm afraid my schedule is just crazy right now. This tour is pretty much my whole life."

His eyes met mine briefly over the fan's shoulder. Without thinking, I stepped forward, placing a firm hand on the guy's elbow.

"Asher appreciates the support," I said coolly. "But like he said, he's got a lot on his plate. I'm sure you understand."

I let a level of steel seep into my tone. A warning. The message was clear - back off.

The fan glanced between us, something knowing in his gaze. "Right. Of course. Well, it was great to meet you, Asher." He flashed one last hopeful smile before I steered him away from the table.

When I turned back, Asher was watching me with an unreadable expression. "My hero," he murmured, just low enough for me to hear.

I felt heat prickle up the back of my neck. "Just doing my job."

But I knew it was more than that. The tightness in my chest, the sudden urge to drag Asher away from all those covetous eyes... it wasn't strictly professional. Somewhere along the way, my feelings for Asher had shifted, grown into something new and terrifying. Something I wasn't sure I was ready to face.

In the following days, I caught myself watching Asher with new awareness. Noticing the way his hips moved as he walked. The elegant taper of his fingers wrapped around a microphone. The intoxicating scent of his cologne when he brushed past me.

It was like a dam had broken inside me, letting loose a flood of confusing, exhilarating want. I'd never felt this way about a man before. Never even let myself entertain the possibility. But now, with Asher, I couldn't seem to shove those feelings back in their box.

Late at night, lying in another anonymous hotel room, I stared at the ceiling and tried to untangle the snarl of my own desires. Was I gay? Bisexual? Something else entirely? The labels seemed ill-fitting, too simplistic to encompass the complexity of what I felt for Asher.

All I knew was that I craved his presence like a drug. That his smile made my heart trip over itself. That the trust he placed in me, letting me see behind his carefully constructed walls, was both a gift and a torment.

I was attracted to Asher. And it scared the hell out of me. Because the one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I could never act on it. He was my client. My responsibility. And I had to be a professional. I had to keep him safe, even from myself.

No matter how much it felt like ripping out my own heart.