Chapter 13 Asher
The stage lights were blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening as I took my place beside Dylan, my guitar slung low across my hips. It was just another show, another city, another sea of faceless fans screaming our names.
We launched into our first song, the familiar chords and lyrics flowing through me like a second heartbeat. And then, out of nowhere, something sailed through the air and landed at my feet with a dull thud. I looked down, my heart skipping a beat as I saw the crumpled beer can lying on the stage, its contents spilling out in a frothy puddle.
I tried to shake it off, to focus on the music and the energy of the crowd. But then it happened again, and again, a barrage of random objects hurled at me from the faceless mass of bodies. Flowers, stuffed animals, even a few pairs of underwear - it was like they were trying to bury me in a mountain of their adoration.
Or was it something else? As I scanned the crowd, my eyes landing on a few signs held aloft, my blood ran cold. A slur was scrawled on one in bold, black letters. "Go back in the closet," said another, adorned with a crudely drawn rainbow flag.
I felt my chest tighten, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the panic rose up inside me like a tidal wave. I could feel myself starting to unravel, my fingers fumbling on the strings as my vision blurred. But then, just as I was about to crumble, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the wings, a pair of warm eyes watching me with unwavering intensity.
Jared. Just the sight of him there, his gaze filled with love and support and fierce protectiveness, was enough to steady me, to give me the strength I needed to push through.
I closed my eyes, picturing his face in my mind as I poured everything I had into the music. And somehow, miraculously, I made it through. As the final notes of the last song faded away, I felt a rush of relief wash over me, my body sagging with exhaustion and pent-up emotion.
Once backstage, Dylan was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his face flushed with anger and indignation.
"I can't believe the nerve of some people," he ranted, his voice rising with each word. "Throwing shit at you like that, like you’re some kind of fucking zoo animal. And those signs? I swear to god, if I ever get my hands on the assholes who made those, I'll shove them so far up their own asses they'll be tasting cardboard for a week."
I smiled at his outrage, knowing that it was his way of showing how much he cared.
Just then, Mason appeared, his brow furrowed with concern as he took in the scene before him. "Everything alright here?" he asked, his eyes darting between me and Dylan.
Dylan whirled on him, his eyes flashing with mischief. "Oh, everything's just peachy, Mason. Just dealing with some grade-A douchebags who think it's okay to harass my best friend while he's trying to pour his fucking heart out on stage. But hey, I'm sure you're used to that kind of thing, right? Being the king of rude and all."
Mason's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to Dylan. "You're one to talk about being rude, after the stunt you pulled last night."
I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "What stunt?"
Mason smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "This asshole thought it would be hilarious to replace my toothpaste with wasabi. Nearly burned my fucking tongue off."
Dylan let out a cackle of laughter, his eyes sparkling with glee. "Oh man, the look on your face was priceless. I thought you were going to breathe fire like a fucking dragon."
"Ha ha, very funny," Mason deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "You're just lucky I didn't spike your precious hair gel with hot sauce in retaliation."
"You wouldn't dare," Dylan gasped, his hand flying to his perfectly coiffed locks. "This masterpiece takes hours of careful cultivation, I'll have you know."
"Oh, I'm sure it does," Mason retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just like that ego of yours."
"Hey, it's not ego if it's true," Dylan shot back, preening like a peacock. "I mean, have you seen me? I'm a fucking catch."
"A catch? More like a fucking disease," Mason chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear, sometimes I don't know whether to kiss you or kill you."
"Why not both?" Dylan purred, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you can't resist me, Mase. I'm like catnip for broody bodyguards."
"In your dreams," Mason scoffed, but I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on Dylan's lips, the faint blush creeping up his neck.
I watched their back-and-forth with a growing sense of amusement, the tension of the night slowly starting to drain away.
Later that night, after dinner at the hotel, I slipped out of my room, mumbling some excuse about needing fresh air. But instead of heading outside, I made my way to the bar nearby, my feet carrying me there almost of their own accord.
I began drowning my sorrows in cheap whiskey and self-pity, trying to forget the way Jared's lips had felt against mine, the way his touch had set my skin on fire. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't even notice when Jared slid onto the stool beside me.
"Fancy meeting you here," he said softly, his voice low and rough with concern.
I looked up at him, my eyes bleary and unfocused. "Are you following me?" I asked, my words slurring slightly.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Asher, you can't be doing this. Drinking alone, in a place like this? It's not safe. And it's not good for the band's image, either."
I felt a flare of anger rise up inside me, hot and irrational. "Oh, so that's all you're worried about? The band's image?"
He flinched as if I'd slapped him, his eyes flashing with hurt. "That's not fair, Ash. You know I care about you. I'm just trying to look out for you."
"Well, maybe I don't need you to look out for me," I snapped, my voice rising with each word. "Maybe I'm tired of being suffocated, of being told what I can and can't do. Maybe I just want to be left the fuck alone."
He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Is that really what you think?" he asked finally, his voice quiet and strained. "That I'm only in this for the paycheck, for the fame? That I don't actually give a damn about you?"
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like I was going to be sick. Because the truth was, I didn't know what to think anymore. I was so confused, so lost, so fucking scared of the feelings that were growing inside me, the ones that I couldn't seem to control.
"I don't know," I whispered, my voice cracking on the words. "I don't know anything anymore."
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. And when he spoke again, his voice was hard, almost cold. "You think you know me so well, don't you? Think you have me all figured out. But you're so damn afraid of letting anyone in, you can't see what's right in front of you."
My heart raced at the proximity, at the raw emotion in Jared's voice. I wanted to pull away, to retreat into my usual defensive snark. But something in Jared's gaze held me captive, a glimmer of vulnerability that mirrored my own.
"And what's that?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
Jared's eyes searched my face, a war of conflicting emotions playing out in their depths. For a moment, it seemed like he might close the distance between us with a kiss, might say the words I both longed for and dreaded. But then the spell was broken by the sound of cruel laughter from a nearby table.
I could feel the eyes of the other bar patrons on us, their whispers and curious glances making my skin crawl. And then, out of nowhere, a slurred voice cut through.
"Hey, isn't that Asher Roth? The homo from Novocaine Dreams ?"
I flinched, my stomach churning with anger. But before I could even react, Jared was there, his body coiled tight with barely contained rage.
"What the fuck did you just say?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The man smirked, his eyes glassy with alcohol and malice. "You heard me. Your boy there is a queer. Shouldn't be allowed on stage, if you ask me."
That was all it took. With a roar of fury, Jared launched himself at the man, his fist connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack. The man stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock, before retaliating with a clumsy swing of his own.
The fight quickly escalated, drawing in other patrons who seemed all too eager to join in the fray. Fists flew and bottles shattered, the air thick with the stench of sweat and spilled beer. And through it all, Jared fought like a man possessed, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness.
It wasn't until the bartender threatened to call the cops that we were finally kicked out, stumbling into the cool night air with bleeding knuckles and racing hearts. Jared was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he turned to face me, his expression a mix of defiance and regret.
"Asher, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. But when he said those things about you, I just couldn't stand it."
I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him that it was okay, that I understood. But instead, I just nodded and we made a hasty retreat back to the hotel.
The next morning, the incident was all over the news, the headlines painting Jared as a hotheaded loose cannon who had put the band's reputation at risk. Our manager, Vivian, was livid, her face tight with anger as she paced the conference room of the hotel.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" she hissed, jabbing a finger at Jared. "You've endangered Asher, tarnished the band's image, and given the tabloids enough fodder to last for weeks. I should have you fired on the spot."
Jared flinched at her words, his head bowed in shame. But to my surprise, I found myself stepping forward, my voice steady and calm.
"It wasn't his fault, Viv. That guy was harassing me, saying horrible things. Jared was just trying to protect me."
Vivian's eyes narrowed, her gaze darting between us. "By starting a brawl in a seedy bar? Asher, I know you're going through a lot right now, but you can't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment. Jared is your bodyguard, nothing more."
I felt a flush of anger rise in my cheeks, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "He's more than that," I said quietly, my voice trembling with emotion. "He's been there for me in ways that no one else has. Not just physically, but emotionally too."
Over the next few days, Jared and I danced around each other like skittish animals, our interactions stilted and awkward. I could feel him pulling away, retreating back into the role of the stoic bodyguard, and it killed me to know that I was the reason why.
I couldn't seem to bridge the gap between us, to find the words to express the tangled mess of feelings that had taken root in my heart. And so, I did what I always did when things got too hard, too painful. I leaned on Dylan.
We were sitting in his hotel room one night, a bottle of whiskey between us, when I finally found the courage to speak the truth that had been weighing on my soul.
"I think I'm in love with him, Dyl. With Jared."
Dylan looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "Holy shit, Ash."
"I know. And it scares the shit out of me. I've never felt this way about anyone before. But when I'm with him, it's like everything makes sense. Like I'm finally whole."
Dylan was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. And then, with a mischievous grin, he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with humor.
"Well, if you want my advice, I say you go for it. Grand gesture style. Like, hire a skywriter to spell out 'Jared, I love you ' in the clouds. Or better yet, stage a fake abduction and have him rescue you, all damsel in distress like. Men love being the hero."
I giggled, shaking my head at his ridiculousness. "Dylan, this is serious. I'm talking about risking everything - my career, my friendship with Jared, my own fucking sanity. I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle it if it all goes to shit. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I'm just setting myself up for heartbreak?"
"Then I'll be here to pick up the pieces," Dylan said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Just like I always have been. But something tells me that won't be necessary. Because I've seen the way Jared looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. Like he’s always ready to catch you when you fall. That's not just a job to him. That's love, plain and simple."