Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 15 Asher

I stood frozen in the doorway of my hotel room, hardly daring to breathe. Jared was here. Actually here. All I could see was him - the nervous twitch of his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes darted around before finally settling on me.

"You came back," I whispered, my voice barely audible even in the hushed room.

Jared nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I couldn't stay away. Not anymore."

Those words broke the spell of stillness. We moved towards each other as if drawn by an invisible force, meeting in the middle of the room. My hands trembled as I reached up to cup his face, hardly believing this was real.

He leaned into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opened them again, there was an intensity in his gaze.

"Asher," he breathed, and then his lips were on mine.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant. But as the reality of the moment sank in, our passion ignited. My fingers tangled in his hair as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I parted my lips on a gasp and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with a reverence that made my knees weak.

We stumbled backwards, unwilling to break apart even for a moment. The back of my legs hit the bed and we tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs. Jared braced himself above me, his weight a delicious pressure.

"Is this okay?" he asked, searching my face.

I nodded fervently. "More than okay. I want this. I want you ."

A groan rumbled in his chest as he captured my lips again. His kisses trailed along my jaw, down my neck, igniting fires wherever they landed. I arched into him, desperate for more contact.

We took our time undressing each other, hands roaming newly exposed skin with wonder and hunger. Each touch felt electric, sending shivers cascading through my body. He lavished attention on every inch of me, as if committing my form to memory.

When we were finally stark naked before each other, we paused, drinking in the sight. Jared's eyes raked over me, darkened with desire but soft with something deeper.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, trailing his fingers down my chest.

I flushed under his scrutiny, but didn't look away. "So are you."

We came together again, skin on skin, and I gasped at the sensation. Jared's fingers and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once; my neck, my chest, my dick, and then my hole. He was mapping my body with reverent exploration. I gave as good as I got, determined to learn every plane and angle of him.

When he finally pushed his cock into me, it felt like coming home. Like finding a piece of myself I never knew was missing. We moved together in perfect rhythm, lost in the push and pull of our animalistic passion.

I clung to Jared's sweaty body, overwhelmed by the girth of his dick. He was drilling into me with an addictive rhythm. Every nerve ending in my body felt alive, sparking with pleasure. His handsome face was a study in ecstasy, his brow furrowed in concentration as he kept pushing his cock deeper.

"Jared," I gasped out. "I'm close, I-"

"Me too," he panted. "Together. Let go, Ash. I've got you."

With a few more well-angled deep thrusts of his strong hips, I tumbled over the edge, Jared's name a cry on my lips. He followed right after, burying his face in my neck as he shuddered through his release. I felt his seed shoot deep inside me, his lips laying synchronized kisses on my neck.

We lay tangled together afterwards, catching our breath as his cock shriveled inside me. I felt boneless, utterly sated. He gathered me close, arranging us so my head rested on his chest. I could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

"That was..." I trailed off, unable to find words adequate to describe what we'd just shared.

"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I traced idle patterns on his muscled pecs, marveling at how perfectly we fit together. It was as if we'd been designed as two halves of a whole, finally united.

"I can't believe you're really here," I murmured. “That a part of you is inside me.”

His arms tightened around me. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

We lapsed into comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow. The world outside our little bubble ceased to exist. All that mattered was this - Jared's warmth surrounding me, our hearts beating in tandem, the knowledge that everything had changed.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I tilted my head up for one more languid kiss. Jared obliged, his lips moving against mine with infinite tenderness.

"Stay," I whispered when we parted.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away," he promised.

When we woke up early afternoon, we parted ways. The hotel's lunch buffet was a welcome reprieve from the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me since last night. As I loaded my plate with an assortment of pastries and fruit, I couldn't help but feel a giddy lightness in my step, a sense that everything had somehow shifted into place.

But as I turned to find a table, I was confronted with the sight of Dylan, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked me up and down.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. And with a smile on his face, no less. What's got you in such a good mood, Ash?"

I felt my cheeks flush, my heart skipping a beat at the knowing glint in his eye. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled, trying to brush past him. "I'm just happy, that's all."

But Dylan wasn't having it. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path, his lips curled in a smirk. "Could it be because you finally got laid last night? And not just by anyone, but by a certain tall, dark, and brooding bodyguard?"

I gasped, my eyes widening in shock. "How did you... I mean, what makes you think...?"

Dylan rolled his eyes, his grin widening. "Oh, please. I know you, Ash. I can read you like a book. And right now, you've got 'I just had mind-blowing sex' written all over your face."

I sputtered, my mind racing for a denial, an excuse, anything to wipe that smug look off his face. But before I could come up with a response, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Honestly, it's about damn time. I was starting to think you were eligible for your virginity card again, it's been so long. I mean, seriously. You could have started a cobweb collection down there."

I groaned, my face burning with embarrassment. "Jesus, Dylan. Could you be any cruder?"

He shrugged, unrepentant. "Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it. And right now, I see a man who's finally gotten some action after months of pining and sexual frustration. Congratulations, my friend. You've officially joined the ranks of the well-fucked."

I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Impossibly charming, you mean," he quipped, waggling his eyebrows. "But enough about me. I want details, Ash. How was it? Was it everything you'd been dreaming of? Did he make you see stars?"

I hesitated, the memories of last night flooding back in a rush of heat and sensation. The feel of Jared's strong hands on my ass, the taste of his cock, the way he had looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world...

"It was perfect," I said softly. " He was perfect."

Dylan's expression softened, his teasing smile fading into something more genuine. "I'm happy for you. Really. Of course, this means I'm the only one left in the band who's not getting any. Well, unless you count Mason's right hand, which I'm pretty sure he's on a first-name basis with by now."

I giggled. "Oh, please. As if you're not secretly pining after him yourself. I've seen the way you look at him."

To my surprise, Dylan actually blushed, his eyes darting away from mine. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

I raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across my face. "Oh, really? So you're telling me you don't have a thing for tall, dark, and grumpy? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're just as smitten as I am."

Dylan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, first of all, I am not smitten. And second of all, even if I was, which I'm not, it would never work out. The man is a walking disaster, Ash. He's got the emotional intelligence of a rock and the social skills of a feral cat."

I bit back a laugh, my eyebrows rising even higher. "Is that so? Do tell."

And with that, Dylan was off, launching into a rant.

"Just the other day, I asked him to pass me a water bottle during rehearsal. You know what he did? He chucked it at my head like a fucking baseball. Nearly gave me a concussion, the asshole. Some head of security he is, putting the talent in danger like that."

I tried to picture it, the image of Dylan ducking and cursing as Mason hurled projectiles at him. It was almost too perfect.

"And then, last night, I made the mistake of asking him to help me pick out an outfit for the show. I figured, hey, he's always got that whole 'brooding bad boy' look going on, maybe he could give me some tips. You know what he said? He said, and I quote, 'Just wear whatever won't make you look like a complete tool. So, basically, nothing you own.' Can you believe that? The nerve of that man, insulting my fashion sense. I'll have you know, I'm a style icon, Ash. A fucking trendsetter."

By now, I was practically wheezing with laughter as I imagined Dylan's outraged expression.

"Oh my god, Dyl. You've got it bad," I managed to choke out, my voice breathless with mirth. "Just admit it, you're into him. Grumpy attitude and all."

But Dylan just shook his head, his lips pressed into a stubborn line. "Nope. Not happening. I would rather dress in head-to-toe neon and perform a strip tease on stage than admit to having feelings for that overgrown man-child."

I held up my hands in surrender, still grinning from ear to ear. "Alright. Whatever you say. But just so you know, I think you two would be great together. You know what they say about opposites attracting and all that."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, they also say that if you love something, set it free. And in this case, I'm pretty sure 'setting it free' means 'throwing it off a cliff.' So, thanks but no thanks. I'll stick to my one-night stands, thank you very much."

I shrugged, picking up my plate of food. "Suit yourself, man. But don't come crying to me when you're old and alone, wondering what might have been."

Dylan flipped me off, his lips twitching with a barely-suppressed smile. "Fuck off. Go bother your boyfriend or something. I've got important shit to do, like practicing my autograph for all the jockstraps that are going to be thrown at me tonight."

I laughed, shaking my head as I watched him saunter off. But as I made my way to an empty table, I couldn't shake the feeling that Dylan's bravado was just a mask, a way to hide the vulnerability that lay beneath.

And I knew, with a sudden certainty, that I would do whatever it took to help my friend find the same happiness that I had found, even if he was too stubborn to admit that he wanted it.

But as I sat down and pulled out my phone, intending to send Jared a quick message, I felt my blood run cold at the sight of an email from a name I had hoped never to see again.

Carter.

With shaking fingers, I clicked on the message, my heart pounding in my throat as I scanned the contents. And there, laid out in stark black and white, was a threat that made my stomach turn and my palms sweat with fear.

Attached to the email were links to videos, footage from my early days of training with Carter. Videos that showed me young and terrified, being berated and manipulated by a man who had promised to make all my dreams come true.

And along with the videos came a demand, an ultimatum that made my blood boil with rage and helplessness.

"Work with me again, Asher. Let me produce your next album, or these videos go public. They'll destroy you. Reveal you as the weak, pathetic thing you really are. The world will see you for what you are - a scared little boy, so easily controlled by those who know how to pull your strings. Is that what you want? Is that the legacy you want to leave behind?"

I stared at the screen, my vision blurring, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I stumbled back to my room, my mind reeling with the implications of Carter's threat. As I closed the door behind me, the memories I had tried so hard to suppress came flooding back, engulfing me in a wave of fear and despair.

I remembered the countless nights I had spent in that studio, hunched over my guitar until my fingers bled, desperate to please Carter, to earn the scraps of approval and affection he would toss my way.

And then there was the first time he hit me, the shock and pain of it, the sickening realization that this was the price of my dreams. I had been working on a particularly challenging riff, my fingers fumbling over the strings, when suddenly he was there, his hand cracking across my face with enough force to send me stumbling backwards.

"You useless piece of shit," he had snarled, his eyes blazing with a fury that made my blood run cold. "You think you're going to make it in this business with sloppy work like that? You're nothing but a waste of my time and talent."

I had stared up at him, my cheek throbbing, my eyes stinging with tears of pain and humiliation. And in that moment, I had truly believed him. Believed that I was worthless, that I deserved every bit of the abuse he heaped upon me.

And then, when we were back home, he would turn on the charm, pulling me into his arms and whispering sweet nothings in my ear, telling me that he only pushed me so hard because he loved me, because he wanted me to be the best I could be.

"You know I only do this because I care about you, right?" he would murmur, his fingers stroking through my hair in a twisted parody of tenderness. "I just want you to succeed, Asher. I want the world to see how talented you are, how special. And sometimes, that means being tough on you, even if it hurts. But it's all for your own good, baby. It's all because I love you."

And like a fool, I had believed him. Believed that the pain and the fear and the constant, gnawing sense of inadequacy were all just part of the price I had to pay for his love, for the chance to live out my dreams.

Now, as I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, I felt that same sense of helplessness wash over me, the same sickening realization that I was trapped, that there was no way out of this nightmare.

Over the next few days, as we continued our tour through France, I found myself withdrawing from Jared and Dylan, my smiles forced and my laughter hollow. I could see the worry in their eyes, the unspoken questions that hung in the air between us, but I couldn't bring myself to confide in them, to admit the depths of my weakness and my shame.

It wasn't until Jared finally cornered me one night, his eyes soft with concern and his voice gentle with understanding, that I found the courage to open up, to share the burden that had been crushing me for days.

"Asher, please," he murmured, his hand warm on my cheek. "I know something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you've been pulling away from me. From everyone. Let me help you, baby. Let me be there for you."

And so, with a shaking voice and tears streaming down my face, I told him everything. Told him about Carter's threat, about the videos and the memories that haunted me, about the fear that consumed me every waking moment.

And to my surprise, Jared didn't recoil in disgust or pity, didn't look at me like I was some broken, damaged thing. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, his embrace fierce and protective, his voice a low, soothing murmur in my ear.

"I won't let him hurt you again. Not now, not ever."

When we told Dylan about the situation, his reaction was predictable - a string of creative insults that would have made a sailor blush.

"That fucking bastard," he seethed, his fists clenched at his sides. "I swear to god, Ash, I'm going to rip his balls off and feed them to him. No, scratch that. I'm going to shove them so far up his ass he'll be coughing up pubes for a week."

Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but let out a choked laugh at Dylan's outrage, at the sheer ridiculousness of his threats.

"And then," he continued, his eyes gleaming with a manic light, "I'm going to hire a skywriter to spell out 'Carter is a limp-dicked shit stain' over every major city in the world. I'm talking New York, London, Tokyo - the works. Let's see how he likes having his dirty laundry aired out for everyone to see."

I shook my head, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips. "We need to be smart about this, to find a way to neutralize his threat without stooping to his level."

Dylan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. But I still reserve the right to kick his ass if I ever see him in person. Or at least, you know, hire someone to do it for me. I hear Mason's pretty handy with his fists."

I glanced over at Jared, expecting to see him rolling his eyes at Dylan's antics. But to my surprise, he was nodding thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Dylan's not wrong," he said slowly, his gaze meeting mine. "Carter's the type of man who responds to power, to shows of force. But if we confront him directly, it might just provoke him into releasing those videos, into lashing out in ways we can't predict."

I felt my stomach clench at the thought, at the idea of my deepest, darkest moments being splashed across the tabloids for all the world to see.

"So what do we do?" I asked, my voice small and uncertain.

"We gather evidence," he said firmly, his eyes blazing with determination. "We build a case against him, one so airtight that he won't have a leg to stand on. And then, when the time is right, we take him down. Once and for all."

The hotel room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the muffled noise of the city outside. Dylan sat across from me, his normally jovial face uncharacteristically serious as he studied me, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and regret.

"Ash, I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I knew Carter was bad news, knew he was using you. I should have done more to save you from that monster back then."

I shook my head, a lump rising in my throat at the memory of those dark days, of the way I had initially pushed Dylan away in favor of Carter's lies and manipulations.

"No, Dyl, I'm the one who should be apologizing," I said, my voice cracking with the weight of my guilt. "You tried to warn me, tried to make me see what he was doing to me, but I was too blind, too caught up in his web of bullshit to listen."

I remembered the last fight we had, the way I had screamed at Dylan, my face twisted with a rage that wasn't my own.

"You're just jealous!" I had spat, my finger jabbing at his chest. "Jealous that I'm finally making it, that people are starting to notice me. You can't stand the thought of me being more successful than you, can you?"

Dylan had stared at me, his eyes wide with hurt and disbelief. "That's not true. I'm just worried about you. Can't you see what he's doing to you? How he's changing you, making you into someone you're not?"

But I had been too far gone, too consumed by the poison Carter had been dripping into my ear for months.

"You don't know anything about him," I had snarled, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "You don't know how much he loves me, how much he believes in me. He's the only one who understands me, the only one who sees how special I am."

Dylan had shaken his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Asher, please. You have to listen to me. He's using you, he's manipulating you. He doesn't care about you, not really. All he cares about is what you can do for him, how he can use your talent to make himself rich and famous."

But I had been too blinded by my own delusions to hear the truth in his words.

"Fuck you, Dylan," I had spat, my voice dripping with venom. "You're just a jealous, pathetic loser who can't stand to see me succeed. Well, guess what? I don't need you anymore. I have Carter now, and he's all I need. So why don't you just stay the hell away from me, and let me live my life the way I want to?"

The memory of those words, of the look of devastation on Dylan's face as I turned my back on him, still haunted me to this day.

But now, as we sat together in the quiet of the hotel room, I knew that I had to make things right.

"I never should have said those things to you, never should have pushed you away like that."

Dylan reached out and took my hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I know how hard it is to see the truth when you're in the middle of something like that, when you're being manipulated and gaslit by someone who's supposed to love you."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "I just wish I had listened to you sooner," I said softly. "Maybe if I had, I could have saved myself a lot of pain and heartache."

Dylan squeezed my hand, his eyes soft with understanding. "You can't blame yourself. Carter was a master manipulator, a narcissist of the highest order. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to play on your insecurities and your dreams to keep you under his thumb."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I know. But still, I can't help but feel like I should have been stronger, like I should have seen through his bullshit sooner."

Dylan shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I was willing to lose your friendship, if it meant saving you from his clutches," Dylan said softly, his eyes distant with memory. "I could see what he was doing to you, how he was wearing you down, making your anxiety worse with every passing day. And I knew that if I didn't do something, if I didn't at least try to get through to you, that I would regret it for the rest of my life."

I felt a rush of gratitude wash over me at his words, at the depth of his loyalty and his love.

A week later, I was on stage in Madrid, the roar of the crowd washing over me like a tidal wave. I looked out over the sea of faces, at the tears and the smiles and the shining eyes.

From the wings, I could feel Jared's gaze on me, could sense the pride and the love that radiated from him like a physical force.

But as the last notes of the final song faded away, as the crowd erupted into a deafening roar of applause and cheers, I felt a sudden shift in the air.

And then I saw them. The protesters, their faces twisted with hate and disgust, their signs brandishing slurs and insults that made my stomach turn.

"Go back in the closet, fruitcake!" one of them screamed, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

"You're a disgrace to the music industry!" another one yelled, his fist pumping in the air.

As I watched the crowd begin to turn, as I saw the barriers that separated them from the stage start to buckle and sway under the weight of their anger and their fear, I knew that we were in trouble.

Before I could even react, before I could even begin to process the danger that we were in, Jared was there, his body a solid wall of muscle and determination as he placed himself between me and the seething mass of humanity that threatened to engulf us both.

"We need to get you out of here," he said, his voice low and urgent in my ear. "Now, Asher. It's not safe."

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as I let him lead me offstage, his hand warm and reassuring in mine.

I could feel the panic rising up in me like a tidal wave, threatening to pull me under.

My chest was tight, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I stumbled along beside Jared, his hand a vice grip on my arm as he led me through the winding corridors of the arena.

Just as I thought I might shatter into a million pieces, Jared was there, his arms wrapping around me like a shield, his body solid and warm against my own.

"I've got you, Ash," he murmured, his voice low and soothing in my ear. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

I clung to him like a lifeline, my face buried in the crook of his neck as I tried to steady my breathing, to slow the racing of my heart.

When I finally pulled back, my cheeks damp with tears and my breath still shaky, he cupped my face in his hands. And then, in a gesture of pure instinct and care, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips warm and soft against my skin.

It was a simple thing, a fleeting moment of intimacy in the midst of chaos. But our moment of peace was short-lived. For unbeknownst to us, hidden in the shadows of the arena, a paparazzo had captured that intimate exchange, his camera lens trained on us like a sniper's scope.

And within minutes, the image was splashed across social media, accompanied by rampant speculation and lurid headlines that made my stomach churn with dread.

Asher Roth Caught in Intimate Embrace with Bodyguard.

Secret Gay Affair Rocks Novocaine Dreams Tour.

In the dressing room, our manager Vivian was in full crisis mode, her phone glued to her ear as she fielded calls from the record label, from media outlets demanding a statement, an explanation for the bombshell that had just been dropped on the music industry.

"No comment," she barked into the phone, her free hand massaging her temple as if to ward off an impending migraine. "Yes, we will be releasing a statement in due course. No, I will not put Asher on the phone."

I watched her from my perch on the couch, my knees drawn up to my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if to hold the broken pieces of my psyche together. I felt like a ghost, a spectator in my own life, watching helplessly as everything I had fought so hard for crumbled around me like a house of cards.

Beside me, Jared sat in stoic silence, his jaw clenched as he listened to Vivian's increasingly frantic conversations. I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves, the barely contained anger and frustration that simmered just beneath the surface of his skin.

With a shaky breath and a trembling hand, I reached out and laced my fingers with Jared's, my grip tight and desperate as I clung to the one thing that felt real, the one thing that felt true in the midst of all the chaos and the noise.