Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 24 Asher

The days following the disastrous press conference passed in a blur of misery. I barely left my bed, let alone my home, the weight of my guilt and despair pinning me in place like a physical force. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but replay those horrible moments over and over in my head.

I couldn't bear to face anyone, to see the pity or the judgement in their eyes. So I hid, I isolated myself, letting the calls from Dylan go unanswered, letting the outside world fade away until there was nothing left but the four walls of my bedroom and the endless, echoing silence of my own regret.

But in that silence, in the long, lonely hours of the night, the memories came. The memories of Jared, of the life we had built together, brief and beautiful and now, it seemed, forever lost.

I remembered the quiet mornings, waking up to the warmth of his naked body pressed against mine, to the soft, sleepy smile on his face as he pulled me closer. I remembered the evenings spent curled up on the couch, my head on his bare muscular chest, his heartbeat a steady, soothing rhythm beneath my ear.

The questions haunted me, chased me down into sleep and jolted me awake in the middle of the night, my heart racing, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The panic attacks, absent for so long in Jared's steadying presence, returned with a vengeance, leaving me shaking and sobbing on the bathroom floor, desperate for a reprieve, for a moment of peace in the chaos of my own mind.

On one of the days of my self-imposed exile, there was a pounding at my door, a familiar voice shouting my name over the sound of the lock being picked.

"Asher! I know you're in there, you brooding bastard. Open up before I break this door down!"

Of course it was Dylan, the one person who would never let me drown in my own misery.

I considered ignoring him, considered burrowing deeper into my blankets and pretending I wasn't home. But I knew Dylan, knew his stubbornness, his determination. He would camp out on my doorstep if he had to, would wait me out until I had no choice but to face him.

So, with a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled to the door, opening it to reveal a very irate, very concerned Dylan.

"Jesus, Ash," he said, his eyes widening as he took in my disheveled appearance, the dark circles under my eyes, the pallor of my skin. "You look like hell, man."

I tried to muster a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Thanks, Dyl. Always know I can count on you to boost my ego."

He chuckled, pushing past me into the living room. "Ego boosting later. Right now, we need to talk."

I followed him, sinking down onto the couch with a wince. "I appreciate you coming over, but I really don't..."

"Ah, ah!" He held up a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. "No buts, no excuses. You've been holed up in here for days, ignoring everyone who cares about you. That ends now."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he barreled on, undeterred.

"I get it, okay? We've all made mistakes, all done things we regret. Things that make us want to hide away and lick our wounds in private."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes intent on mine. "But that's not how you heal, man. You can't just shut yourself away and hope the pain will go away on its own. Because it won't."

I swallowed hard. "I don't know how to fix this, Dylan."

He smiled then, a small, sad thing. "But that doesn't mean you just give up."

I closed my eyes, the sting of tears burning behind my lids. "What if I've lost Jared forever?"

Dylan was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "You won't know until you talk to him. You can't let the fear control you, can't let it make your decisions for you. Not anymore."

He stood then, holding out a hand to me. "Come on. We're going out."

I blinked, confused. "Where?"

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Out of this place, for starters. You need sun, you need fresh air. You need to remember that there's a world outside of your own head."

I hesitated, the thought sending a spike of panic through me. But Dylan's hand was steady, his gaze unwavering.

"I'll be with you," he said, his voice low and sure. "You're not alone in this, Ash. You never were."

I reached out, gripping his hand tight, and let him pull me to my feet.

"Okay," I said.

He beamed at me, bright and blinding, and slung an arm around my shoulders as he steered me towards the door. "Atta boy. First stop, coffee. Then, we're going to have a little chat about a certain bodyguard who's been moping just as hard as you have."

I stumbled, my heart leaping into my throat. "Jared? You've talked to him?"

Dylan's expression turned sly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you'll have to wait and see."

I opened my mouth to protest, to demand answers, but he just laughed, tugging me out into the hallway. "Patience, young grasshopper. All will be revealed in due time."

I grumbled under my breath, but let him lead me towards the world beyond my self-imposed prison. We ended up at a small, quiet café, tucked away in a corner booth with steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of pastries between us. Dylan kept up a steady stream of chatter, filling me in on all the ridiculous antics I'd missed.

"...and then, I swear to god, Mason tried to do a backflip off the stage. A backflip, Ash! I thought Jared was going to have a stroke, he went so pale."

I chuckled despite myself, the image of my stoic, unflappable bodyguard losing his cool over Mason's antics too amusing to resist.

The bell over the café door chimed, heralding a new arrival.

"Mason?" I croaked, hastily wiping at my cheeks.

He crossed to our table in three long strides, his expression grim. "I'm here for the intervention," he said, his voice flat. "Dylan called me."

I whipped my head around to stare at Dylan, betrayal and confusion warring in my chest. "Intervention? Dylan, what the hell?"

But Dylan just shrugged, a small, sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Desperate times, desperate measures. You need all the help you can get, Ash. And that includes Tall, Dark, and Surly over here."

Mason scowled at the nickname, but didn't argue. Instead, he slid into the booth beside Dylan, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Dylan’s got a presentation," he said, as if that explained everything. "This was his idea, by the way."

I blinked, my confusion only growing. "A presentation on what?"

In answer, Dylan reached into his bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers, spreading them out on the table with a flourish.

"On why you and Jared belong together, of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've compiled a list of all the reasons why you two are perfect for each other, complete with photographic evidence and witness testimonies."

The title page read: " Why Jared is Good for Asher: A Comprehensive Analysis by Dylan (with reluctant assistance from Mason). ”

I gaped at him, my jaw hanging open. "You did what?"

But he was already off and running, pointing to the first page with a dramatic flair. "Reason number one: the way you look at each other. Seriously, Ash, the heart eyes are unreal. It's like watching the end of a rom-com, every single time."

He flipped to the next page, which featured a candid shot of Jared and I at a café, our heads bent close together, matching smiles on our faces. "Reason number two: the way you make each other laugh. I've never seen Jared smile as much as he does when he's with you. It's like you bring out this whole other side of him, this lightness and joy that he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world."

On and on he went, each page revealing another moment, another memory of Jared and I together. The quiet conversations, the stolen glances, the gentle touches when we thought no one was looking.

By the time he reached the end of the stack, I was openly crying, my vision blurred with tears. Because seeing it all laid out like that, seeing the evidence of our love, our connection, it hit me like a punch to the gut.

God, how could I have ever let my fear, my insecurity, overshadow something so pure, so real?

"Jared loves you, Asher," Dylan said softly, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "And I know you love him too. Just as deeply, just as fiercely."

Mason cleared his throat, drawing my attention. "I hate to interrupt this Hallmark moment," he said, his voice dry. "But can we talk about Dylan's flair for the dramatic? I mean, seriously, printout of a PowerPoint presentation? What are we, in middle school?"

I felt a laugh bubble up my throat, startled and watery. Because of course Mason would choose now, of all times, to needle Dylan. It was like a compulsion with him, an inability to let a single moment pass without getting a rise out of Dylan.

Dylan, predictably, bristled. "Excuse me for trying to inject a little creativity into this intervention. Not all of us are content with grunting and glowering our way through life, you overgrown Neanderthal."

Mason's eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's rich, coming from the guy who once spent an entire day speaking in nothing but Wookie noises because he lost a bet."

"That was one time!" Dylan squawked, his face flushing. "And it was a dare, not a bet. There's a difference."

"Oh? Then what about last week when you insisted on recreating the entire 'Circle of Life' scene from The Lion King just to announce that you'd successfully grown a tomato plant?"

I burst out laughing, remembering the ridiculous video Dylan had sent us all. "Oh God, I'd almost forgotten about that."

Dylan puffed up indignantly. "That tomato plant was a triumph of nature. It deserved a grand announcement."

Mason rolled his eyes. "You dressed your cat up as Simba and held him up on your balcony while blasting the soundtrack. Your neighbors threatened to call the police."

"It was art!" Dylan protested. "And Whiskers looked adorable in that little mane."

"Oh please," Mason scoffed. "Next you'll be telling us you need a marching band to announce when you've done the laundry."

Dylan's eyes lit up. "Ooh, that's not a bad idea actually. 'Hear ye, hear ye! The great Dylan has vanquished the mountain of dirty clothes!'"

"I was joking, you lunatic."

"Too late, it's happening. I'm thinking trumpets, maybe some drums..."

"Dylan, I swear to God-"

"Ooh, and confetti. Every laundry day needs confetti."

As I watched them, I felt something shift inside me. The heavy cloud of despair that had been hanging over me for days began to lift, if only slightly.

Mason's expression then turned serious. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze intent on mine.

"Look, Asher," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I know I give Jared a hard time, but the truth is, he's a good man."

Beside him, Dylan was nodding, his expression earnest. "He's right, Ash. You start by being honest with him. By letting him in, really in, in a way you never have before. You show him your fears, your scars, and you trust him to love you anyway."

I felt a shudder run through me, the thought of being so vulnerable, so exposed, sending a spike of terror down my spine. But beneath the fear, there was a flicker of hope.

Mason, perhaps sensing the shift in my energy, sat back with a small, satisfied smile. "Of course, that's easier said than done. Jared's not exactly the easiest person to crack. Man's got a stubborn streak a mile wide. Like that time in the marines, when he got into an argument with Sarge over the proper way to clean a rifle. Jared refused to apologize for three whole days, even though he knew he was wrong."

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Because that was Jared, through and through. Stubborn and proud and so principled.

Dylan, perhaps sensing the lightening mood, leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. "But you know, sometimes that stubbornness can be a good thing. Like when he's fighting for something he believes in. Something, or someone."

Across the table, Mason was watching Dylan with a strange expression, a mix of fondness, exasperation and something else. And suddenly, it hit me.

Just like Jared and I, they were both too stubborn, too proud, to admit what was right in front of them. Too scared of getting hurt, of being vulnerable, to take that final leap.

I watched the way Dylan's gaze softened as it landed on Mason, the way Mason's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. I knew I had to say something.

"You know," I said slowly, my voice casual but my eyes intent on Dylan's face. "Sometimes people avoid what's right in front of them because they're scared. Scared of getting hurt, of being rejected. But the thing is, if you never take that risk, you'll never know what could be. You'll never get the chance to experience something amazing, something life-changing."

Dylan's eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. But beneath it, I saw a glimmer of recognition.

Beside him, Mason had gone very still, his gaze fixed on the table. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if he were physically holding back the words that wanted to spill out.

For a long, charged moment, no one spoke. The air between us felt heavy, thick with long-buried truths.

It was like watching a dance, a push and pull of unspoken emotions and unacknowledged desires. And for a moment, I forgot about my own heartache.

But then Dylan was turning to Mason, a playful smirk on his face as he changed the subject abruptly.

"You've been awfully quiet over there, Mase. Cat got your tongue?"

Mason startled, his eyes widening as he realized he was being addressed. "What? No, I was just thinking."

Dylan's smirk only grew wider. "Thinking, huh? That's a dangerous pastime for you. Wouldn't want you to strain something."

Mason scowled, but I could see the hint of a blush creeping up his neck. "I'll have you know I'm capable of deep thought on occasion."

Dylan laughed, the sound bright and joyful in the heavy atmosphere of the room. "Sure you are, buddy. And I'm capable of going five minutes without cracking a joke."

We all headed back to my place. The moment we stepped in, Mason’s expression shifting abruptly as a rare vulnerability crossed his face. He looked between Dylan and me, then let out a sigh. "I can't keep doing this," he said.

Dylan blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Can't do what? Are you talking about yesterday's shenanigan at Jared's place? Because I told you, that wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that the dog would go crazy over the squeaky toy I bought?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What happened at Jared's place?"

Dylan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, I bought this squeaky toy for Jared's dog, right? And I thought it would be funny to hide it under Mason's jacket while he was sitting on the couch. But when the dog found it, he went absolutely ballistic. Started jumping all over Mason, trying to get to the toy. And Mason, being the big tough guy he is, started screaming like a little girl. I swear, I've never seen him move so fast in my life. He was up on that couch, trying to fend off the dog with a pillow, yelling at me to do something. It was priceless."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the image, picturing Mason's usually stoic face contorted in terror as he tried to escape the overeager dog.

But Mason wasn't laughing. In fact, he looked more serious than I had ever seen him.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said quietly, his gaze finally settling on Dylan. "I'm talking about us, Dylan. We've been sitting here, telling Jared and Asher to be honest about their feelings, to stop denying what's right in front of them. And the whole time, we've been doing the exact same thing."

Dylan's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, might deflect with a joke or a snarky comment. But then, slowly, he closed his mouth, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Mase," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "What are you saying?"

Mason took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Then, in a rush of words, "I'm saying that I've been thinking about you since the day we met. I'm saying that every time we bicker, every time we tease each other, it's just a way to deflect from what I'm really feeling. Because I'm scared, Dylan. I'm scared of how much I want you, of how much I need you."

Dylan stared at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "Mason, if this is a joke..."

But Mason was already moving, crossing the distance between them in two long strides. And then, before any of us could react, he was kissing Dylan, his hands cupping Dylan's face with tenderness.

For a moment, Dylan stood frozen, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. But then, with a soft, desperate sound, he was kissing Mason back, his fingers tangling in Mason's hair, pulling him closer.

I watched, feeling like an intruder in my own home, as the two men I loved most in the world poured out months of pent-up emotion, of longing and desperate, aching need.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard, their faces flushed and their eyes bright. Dylan, usually so composed, so quick with a quip or a comeback, looked utterly shattered, his lips parted and his gaze dazed.

For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, with a nervous laugh, Mason said, "So, uh. Do you maybe want to go on a date with me sometime?"

Dylan blinked, as if coming out of a trance. Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face, his blush deepening. "Yeah," he said softly. "I really do."

I cleared my throat, feeling awkward and out of place. "Well, I guess I'll just third wheel in my own home, then."

Dylan startled, as if he'd forgotten I was there. Then, with a sheepish grin, he said, "Sorry, Ash. I guess we got a little carried away."

Mason, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, smirked. "Speak for yourself. I've been waiting to do that for months. If anything, I showed remarkable restraint."

Dylan scoffed, some of his usual bravado returning. "Please. If you'd made a move months ago, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time and sexual tension."

Mason raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Oh, so it's my fault? I seem to recall a certain someone flirting with anything with a pulse, just to get a rise out of me."

Dylan grinned, unrepentant. "Had to get your attention somehow, didn't I? And besides, it's not like you were any better. ' Dylan, your taste in music is trash. ' ' Dylan, you're going to break your neck if you keep stage diving like that. ' ' Dylan, stop leaving your dirty socks on my side of the tour bus. ' Sound familiar?"

Mason scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "I stand by every one of those statements. Especially the socks. Seriously, it's like living with a teenager."

Dylan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. "You wound me. Here I thought you liked my youthful charm and boyish good looks."

"I like your ass in those jeans," Mason shot back, his eyes glinting with mischief. "The rest is just a bonus."

Dylan sputtered, his face flaming, and I couldn't help but laugh. It was just so them, this push and pull, this electric back-and-forth that had always simmered just beneath the surface of their every interaction.

Mason, looking entirely too pleased with himself, stood and stretched. "As much as I'd love to continue this riveting discussion, I should probably head out. Let you two have your brotherly bonding time, or whatever."

He paused, his expression softening as his gaze landed on Dylan. "I'll pick you up at eight on Friday, yeah? Wear something nice."

Dylan, still blushing, nodded. "Yeah, okay."

With a final wink and a nod in my direction, Mason sauntered out, leaving Dylan and I alone in the sudden, ringing silence.

With a rueful chuckle, Dylan said, "Okay, fine. You were right. I was in denial. Happy now?"

I reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "Very. You two have been dancing around each other for long enough. You're good for each other. Even if you're both too stubborn to admit it sometimes."

He grinned, his eyes soft. "Yeah, well. We got there in the end, didn't we?"

Then, as if a thought had just occurred to him, his expression turned panicked. "Oh god. I'm going on a date with Mason. Like, an actual date. What if it's a disaster? What if we run out of things to talk about? What if he realizes he's not actually into me and this was all just a heat of the moment thing?"

I stared at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. "Dylan, breathe. It's going to be fine."

But he was on a roll now, his hands gesticulating wildly. "But what if it's not? What if I spill wine all over myself and ruin my shirt? Or worse, what if I spill wine all over him? You know how particular he is about his clothes. He'd probably dump me on the spot."

I bit back a smile, shaking my head. "Oh, come on. You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" he demanded, his eyes wide and slightly manic. "Am I, Ash? Because I seem to recall a certain incident involving you, Jared, and a wayward lobster claw that almost ended in bloodshed."

I winced, the memory of that disastrous first date still fresh in my mind. "Okay, fair point. But that was different. Jared and I were still getting to know each other. You and Mason have been dancing around this for months."

Dylan sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "I know. It's just Mason, you know? I don't want to screw this up."

My expression softened, my heart clenching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. "You won't, Dyl. Trust me. That man is crazy about you, even if he shows it by mercilessly roasting you at every opportunity."