30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Ace
I tossed and turned all night, barely catching any sleep. The thought of today’s interview weighed heavily on me, dragging me down a dark path. My fucked-up childhood kept resurfacing, haunting me. The only thing that kept me from spiraling was Scarlet, her back pressed against my chest as she slept. I held her close—no; I fucking clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from sinking into the abyss and losing myself entirely.
Even though it’s morning and sunlight is streaming through the curtains we forgot to close last night, my mind’s still a mess. The thought of facing that asshole Jerry Goldman today, digging into my dark past to clear up shit that was never my fault makes my stomach churn. How the hell is this considered entertainment? And why the fuck am I the one who has to fix it? It’s all because of the fame, the way the paparazzi twist the truth to make headlines.
Scarlet turns in my arms, her face just inches away from mine. She’s smiling, and seeing her like this—happy, content—wipes away every bit of dread that’s been clawing at me. She’s stunning, and every day, I’m still in awe that she’s mine—mine to love, mine to hold. I know the way guys look at her and every filthy fucking thought that goes through their heads. Even last night, when those fans were eyefucking her, I had to force myself not to walk over and lay them out for even thinking they had a shot. But I kept my cool, my fists clenched at my sides, because reacting would just feed into the bullshit rumors my mother started—painting me as some violent monster.
I reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You’re so beautiful, Scar. Beautiful in every way," I murmur, the words spilling out easier now like a truth I can’t keep inside.
The second my fingers graze her face, she closes her eyes and leans into my touch. I love that I have that effect on her, as if she’s drawing comfort from me. When she opens her eyes again, she leans in and presses a soft, caring kiss to my lips. It's brief but carries a tenderness that makes my chest tighten in a way I can't quite explain. As she pulls back, her brows furrow, and her gaze sharpens, like she’s trying to read me, to unravel the thoughts I haven’t shared.
“You’re worried about today, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I admit, still amazed at how she can see right through me. “I’ve been struggling with all of this… and now having to bring it all out in the open… it’s just something I’m not sure I’m ready for.”
She lifts her hand, cupping the side of my face with a touch that’s both gentle and firm. “You don’t have to justify anything, Ace. Not to anyone. If it’s too hard, then fuck it all. Screw what your mother said. She’s the one at fault here, not you. You’re the one left with all the scars because of her. If you can’t go through with this, then don’t.”
I nod, feeling the weight of her words settle in. “I know. But it’s something I need to do. I know that it’s going to be tough, diving back into that headspace. But I have to be there with Daisy.”
She snuggles into my chest, and I hold her tighter. “I can’t wait to show you around New York tomorrow, once we get there,” she murmurs against me.
I’m relieved by the change of subject. I’ve told her before that, despite touring all over the world, I’ve barely taken in the sights. That’s why she’s so keen to share all her favorite spots in New York. I’m already planning to take her out on a date, hoping that once this interview is behind me, I can organize something special just for us. It’s the least I can do after everything she’s done for me, and I want to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her and our time together.
Fuck, listen to me—I’ve turned into some sappy guy, but I can’t help it. I’m loving this openness between us. All the walls I spent years building around my vulnerability are gone, and for the first time, I’m not scared of her seeing the real me—the broken parts, the messed-up shit. The way she looks at me, like all my flaws and scars are just parts of who I am.
By mid-morning, we’re in a town car, heading toward the airport, and I can feel the tension tightening in my chest. Daisy’s agreed to meet us in L.A. at the studio for the interview, and after that, Scarlet and I will catch a flight back to New York to join the guys for the next five shows. But right now, all I can think about is the interview ahead, hanging over me like a storm cloud I can’t shake.
Six grueling hours later, we finally touch down, and the moment we step out of the airport, I’m barely holding it together. Scarlet’s warm grip on my hand calms the storm brewing inside me. It’s like this relentless worry is coursing through my veins, a dark energy pulsing under my skin. I can’t help but wonder after all these years why my mother still has this effect on me. Or maybe it’s not just her—it’s the thought of revisiting those painful memories, dredging up the past that left its mark. With each mile closer to the studio, my anxiety twists tighter, coiling like a knot in my gut.
When we arrive at the back entrance of the studio, I spot Daisy right away, nervously biting her nails as she waits. Her anxious energy radiates off her, and it’s clear this is hitting her just as hard as it’s hitting me. The urge to shield her kicks in—she’s doing all this for me, willing to step into the spotlight and dig up painful truths just to set things straight, to finally lay everything bare.
“Are you okay?” Scarlet asks, just as the driver steps out and approaches our door.
I shift my gaze from Daisy to Scarlet, and the worry etched on her face hits me hard. I know she’d rather I walk away if this is just going to open old wounds, and that makes me love her all the more. But the truth is, I’m already carrying the weight of this pain, whether I confront it or not. Facing it head-on might be brutal, but it’s something I need to do if I’m ever going to find some peace.
“Yes,” I say softly as I lean in to kiss her on the lips. Just the feel of her warmth makes everything a little less heavy. If she wasn’t right here beside me, I know this would be so much fucking harder.
Stepping out of the car, I automatically extend my hand to assist Scarlet, a gesture that has become second nature for me recently. Once she’s out, our fingers intertwine as we walk towards Daisy.
In the past two weeks since reconnecting with Daisy, we’ve been talking every couple of nights, and that old childhood bond is starting to resurface, bridging the years and distance between us. It’s like we’re slowly piecing together what we once had, finding familiarity in each other all over again.
Daisy flashes me a smile, and I can’t help but return it, even though my cheeks ache from the effort. That’s another thing I can’t quite wrap my head around—I’m actually smiling more these days. The grumpy asshole I used to be seems to be fading away, and I know it’s all because of the woman standing beside me. Scarlet. She’s broken down the walls I used to hide behind, and, somehow, I’m starting to believe it’s okay to let this happiness in.
I let go of Scarlet’s hand and stride over to Daisy. The moment I’m in front of her, I pull her into a tight hug, holding her close as if I can absorb some of her tension.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, trying to convince myself as much as her.
“Yeah, I know,” she replies, her voice steady. “We’ll get through it.”
With Daisy by my side and Scarlet right behind us, we enter the studio. The place has that all-too-familiar, clinical vibe—cold, bright lights glaring down and an overwhelming silence hanging in the air. A few crew members mill about, setting up equipment. A young girl clutching a clipboard approaches and asks us to follow her.
Once we’re ushered into a private room, the tension in the air thickens. I sink into a chair, and Scarlet sits beside me, her hand resting gently on my knee. But I can’t bring myself to look at her; the anxiety is gnawing at me, coiling tighter with each second, dragging me inward. It’s like there’s this restless beast clawing from the inside, making it harder to breathe.
Daisy sits in the chair opposite, her leg bouncing up and down like she’s trying to shake off the nerves. The room feels too small, too stuffy. Then, the door creaks open, and a woman walks in, holding two small microphone packs.
“Hey, I’ll get you both wired up,” she says, her smile practiced but failing to reach her eyes.
She starts with Daisy, clipping the mic to her blouse and adjusting it until it’s just right. Daisy shoots me a nervous glance, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
When the woman turns her attention to me, I force myself to sit still as she attaches the mic to my shirt. Her hands are quick and efficient, but she keeps talking, her voice fading into the background as my focus drifts elsewhere—on what’s about to happen and the messy reality we’re about to step into.
“There you go,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “You’re all set.”
I nod, afraid that if I speak, I'll lose control. My mind races with a million thoughts, and all I can do is hold onto the hope that I'll keep it together long enough to make it through this.
A few minutes later, a crew member pops into the room, giving us a quick nod. “Follow me, please.”
I take a deep breath and stand up, squeezing Scarlet’s hand one last time, needing that connection before we step into the unknown. Daisy falls in step beside me, while Scarlet hangs back, her worried gaze lingering on me as we begin to walk.
The harsh lights hit me the moment we step onto the set. Everything is blindingly bright, and the layout is typical of every talk show—simple, pristine, crafted to make you feel utterly exposed. My eyes settle on Jerry Goldman, already perched at the big desk with that smug expression glued to his face. But then I look to the side—and freeze.
Sitting to Jerry’s left is the woman responsible for all my pain—my mother, with her wannabe biker husband beside her. She’s perched there like she belongs, and my breath snags in my throat. No one warned me she’d be here. No one mentioned she’d be part of this. The thought of facing her through all this twists something deep inside me.
A crew member guides Scarlet to the side where she can watch the shit that's about to unfold.
“Go ahead and take a seat,” the same crew member says, approaching Daisy and me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He gestures to the two empty chairs on Jerry’s right, and I feel Daisy’s hand slip into mine.
She gives me a gentle tug, guiding me toward the seats. I let her lead, my eyes still darting between my mother and the man beside her. Each glance only heightens the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
When we finally reach the chairs, I sink into the one closest to Jerry, while Daisy takes the seat next to me. I can’t tear my gaze away from my mother, the questions and raw anger churning violently inside me like a storm ready to erupt. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen—this wasn’t the moment I envisioned. But here we are, trapped in this nightmare, and there’s no turning back now.
She sits there with a chilling casualness, that smug smile etched on her face as if she’s relishing every second of my torment. It’s a smile that twists my insides, igniting a deep, consuming rage that threatens to break free. Just seeing her makes my skin crawl, every beat of my heart pounding with fury and betrayal I’ve kept buried for far too long.
The studio lights are blinding, and the noise around me fades into a low hum as the crew finishes setting up. I try to focus on anything but the fact that she’s right there, watching me. My fingers dig into the armrest, gripping it tight as I fight to stay grounded. I feel Daisy shift beside me, her discomfort palpable as she glances at our so-called mother.
The crew moves around us, barking quick instructions and adjusting equipment as they prep for the show. A producer steps into my line of sight, holding up a hand and counting down with their fingers—five, four, three, two, one. The countdown looms like a dark cloud, and I brace myself for the shitstorm about to hit.
The red light on the camera flicks on, and Jerry Goldman’s voice slices through my thoughts.
"Ace Roberts is a name millions around the world recognize, not only as the guitarist and founding member of Broken Oasis, the biggest band on the planet, but also as the man who has recently dominated headlines for a very different reason. With their latest album hitting number one worldwide, Broken Oasis continues to take over the music scene, but Ace has found himself in the spotlight for reasons that go beyond his music. Many of you have seen the footage—Ace stepping out of his car, visibly frustrated, grabbing a paparazzi’s camera, and throwing it to the ground when they refused to move out of the way. It was a moment of anger that sparked widespread debate. Adding to the controversy, Ace's mother, Gloria Fletcher, recently gave an eye-opening account of what life was like with her son, describing it as ‘living with a ticking time bomb,’ which has led to many difficult questions about the pressures and challenges behind his rockstar persona. Tonight, for the first time on television, Ace Roberts sits down with us to tell his side of the story. Joining him is his sister, Daisy, to provide her own perspective on the man behind the headlines and what it’s really like to grow up alongside one of music’s most iconic figures.” He turns his head to look over at me. “Ace, Daisy, welcome, and thank you for being here.”
I force myself to meet Jerry’s gaze, but I can’t resist glancing back at my mother one last time. The way she sits there, so damn confident, just pisses me off. Her husband sits next to her, silent and smug, like he’s got a front-row seat to a fucking train wreck.
“Well first of all why did you decide to go public,” he says, his tone oozing with that slick, rehearsed charm.
Is this asshole for fucking real. His people have been hounding Kit, day in and day out for this interview. I take a deep breath, ignoring what I really want to say to this fucker, and keep my tone casual.
“I want to set the record straight.”
"Have you seen the footage of you throwing that camera?" Jerry’s voice is sharp.
I clench my jaw and force myself to nod. "Yeah, I’ve seen it. I’m not proud of how I acted that day. I—"
He doesn’t let me finish, his voice barrelling right over mine. "There’s been a lot of talk lately, especially concerning your mother, Ace. I think it’s only fair we address some of those rumors head-on, don’t you?”
My pulse quickens, and I feel all eyes in the room turn toward me, waiting.
Daisy’s hand slips under the desk and finds mine, her fingers gripping tight, a lifeline in the middle of this storm. I focus on that small connection, trying to ground myself as the weight of the moment presses down hard.
Across from me, my mother leans back in her chair, that same damn smile plastered on her face—like she’s already won, like she’s waiting for the cracks to show.
“Ace, your mother has made some serious accusations about you being a violent and abusive person. Can you tell us your side of the story?”
I take a deep breath, fighting to keep my hands steady even though every nerve in my body is screaming. “These allegations are completely unfounded,” I begin, my tone more controlled as I push through the anxiety. “My mother’s claims are nothing but a desperate attempt to cash in on my success. She’s always had her own issues, and now she’s trying to use a mistake I’m ashamed of—the camera I threw—as a way to turn that narrative against me. I shouldn’t have done it, I know that. But it wasn’t out of violence, it was out of everything piling up—Nate’s accident, the tour, the pressure. I snapped in a moment of stress, not in violence or to hurt anyone.”
My eyes lock onto Jerry’s, daring him to challenge the truth in my words. The studio lights burn against my skin, making everything feel more intense, more suffocating. I wait for him to interrupt me but he doesn’t so I continue. “Throughout my childhood, my mother had her own problems with drug abuse. I’ve never been abusive or violent to her or anyone for that matter. Not once.” I pause, the words choking in my throat because I know what I have to say next will tear open old wounds. “The truth is… I endured the abuse—cruel, relentless abuse—from the men she brought home. And she never cared enough to protect me. Or my sister, Daisy, for that matter.” I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Now, she’s seen an opportunity—a platform—to twist the narrative, to turn my pain into her payday. And that’s what this is. It’s a quick money grab, nothing more.”
The words hang heavy in the air, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Ace, Daisy,” Jerry says, his eyes flicking between the two of us, “I just want to play a little clip.” He glances off to the side, signaling someone.
My eyes follow his, and a screen flickers to life. A second later, my mother’s face appears, and I know it’s from her interview. Her voice echoes through the studio. “Even Ace’s father and his sister Daisy left, because they had to get out of the house—it was too toxic.”
The clip ends, and the room is silent for a beat, before Jerry’s voice fills the space. “Daisy, what do you think about that statement? What’s your perspective on these accusations?”
Daisy stiffens beside me, and I can see her struggling to hold it together. “Well, our childhood was far from normal,” she begins, her voice steady but strained. “It’s true—our mother was a drug addict, and the men she brought home were abusive.”
Jerry, of course, cuts in before she can say more. “How long did you put up with this abuse?” His tone is clinical, detached, like we’re nothing but just another story.
Daisy swallows hard, her grip tightening around my hand. “I remember being the one to look after Ace when he was just a baby—”
“Where was his father?” Jerry interrupts again, leaning forward with that annoying glint in his eyes.
“He was never around,” Daisy says, her voice firm. “He left when Ace was only a year old.”
Jerry seizes on that immediately, a hint of triumph in his voice. “Let me get this straight—so Ace’s father didn’t leave because of these so-called violent outbursts?”
“No,” she says sharply. “He left because he didn’t want the responsibility. Not because of anything Ace did, and not because of any ‘toxic environment’ my mother claims.”
The weight of her words hangs in the air, and for the first time in this whole mess, I feel like we’re finally pushing back.
“Ace was just a baby,” Daisy continues. “None of what she’s saying has any truth to it. Like Ace already stated, it’s just a desperate attempt to cash in on his fame.” Her gaze shifts toward our mother, a fierce intensity in her eyes. “And that’s all she’s doing now. She never cared about us, never bothered to protect us from what the guys she brought home did.”
Jerry raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “But your mother claims you left because you couldn’t stand it there due to Ace’s violent behavior?” He glances briefly at my mother before redirecting his focus to Daisy.
Daisy lets out a bitter laugh that echoes in the tense air. “Yeah, I suppose she would say that, given the kind of stories she’s been spinning.” Her expression hardens as she presses on, her voice steady yet layered with emotion. “The truth is, I had to leave because of the men who tried to come into my room. It was a nightmare, and it broke my heart to leave Ace behind, for him to face that cruelty all alone.” She turns to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s my biggest regret—that I left him there to endure all of that by himself. I wish I could’ve done more to protect him.”
Jerry’s gaze shifts back to my mother, his expression scrutinizing. “Gloria, we’ve heard Ace and Daisy’s side of the story. Can you clarify the specific incidents they’re referring to? The men you would bring home. The conditions in which your children were living? Daisy raising Ace when she was just a child herself?”
Each question hangs heavily in the air, amplifying the scrutiny directed at her.
Gloria’s smile falters, and she clears her throat, her discomfort palpable. “It’s not easy to recall exact specifics…”
Jerry leans forward, his tone sharp and probing. “Come on, Gloria, you’ve made some serious accusations here. Surely you can remember the incidents Daisy and Ace are talking about. Or are you suggesting that they’re both fabricating their stories?”
Gloria stammers, her confidence visibly crumbling. “It’s just… I recall some incidents where Ace was… aggressive.”
Jerry doesn’t relent, pressing harder. “And yet, you can’t provide specifics or any evidence to support these claims? We’re talking about some serious allegations here.”
The studio lights seem to intensify, making Gloria’s discomfort more obvious as her face pales. She starts fidgeting, glancing away like she’s searching for an escape. The silence stretches, her growing hesitation speaking volumes, highlighting the fragility of her accusations. Each passing second adds weight to the tension in the room, and I can feel the momentum slowly shifting in our favor.
Jerry shifts his focus, his tone sharp and probing. "There's one more crucial detail in these allegations—take a look."
He turns back to the screen, and I follow his gaze, to see my mother’s face reappear on the monitor. “There was an incident when he was seventeen. His stepfather, Larry,” she glances at the scumbag sitting next to her, “tried to protect me, and Ace didn’t take it well. There was this moment when he grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. That was the day I genuinely feared for my life, truly believing it could be my last. A boy should never lay a hand on his mother like that. I just can’t understand where I went wrong, raising a son with so much hatred in his heart. If Larry hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
The clip ends abruptly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Jerry faces my mother, his tone shifting. “Gloria, you claimed that Ace’s stepfather—”
“He was never my stepfather,” I interject firmly, cutting Jerry off.
Jerry glances at me briefly, then redirects his attention back to my mother. “Gloria, you’ve stated that Ace was violent towards your boyfriend. You even made that claim right here on this very show. Can you explain that?”
The man beside Gloria looks uneasy, shifting in his seat as if he’s trying to shrink away from the scrutiny. “I—well, there were incidents…”
Jerry presses on, shifting his questions to the dickhead beside my mother. “Incidents? Can you be more specific? What exactly happened? And where’s the evidence to back up these claims?”
The man’s face reddens as he glances nervously at Gloria, who seems to be struggling to hold it together under the mounting pressure. The tension in the room thickens, the truth becoming harder and harder to mask.
The old biker wannabe shifts again, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I—he was always aggressive. I was attacked by Ace, and it was unprovoked.”
Jerry’s attention snaps back to me, his gaze intense and expectant. “Ace, what’s your take on these claims?”
“That’s not true at all. He came at me first. I was just seventeen, and he had me pinned to the wall with his hands around my throat. Xander Williams was there-”
“Xander Williams, the lead singer of Broken Oasis, was there?” Jerry cuts in, his curiosity piqued.
“Yes, he was there. He can confirm I was not the aggressor.” I feel the fire in my chest blaze hotter as I recount the truth, knowing it’s my only weapon against the lies being spun.
As I sit here, facing my mother, I think about all the years of fear and intimidation my mother instilled in me now seems misplaced. I’ve been haunted by this woman who, in reality, is nothing more than a sad, desperate figure clinging to whatever she can get. The anger and hurt I’ve carried for so long feels almost laughable against her pitiful attempts to cash in on my fame.
“Will Xander Williams confirm the truth of this story?” Jerry asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I reply firmly. “He was there. He knows exactly what happened.” I can feel the weight of the moment, each word cutting through years of silence and fear. I won’t let her spin this narrative anymore. I won’t let her control my life.
The fucker beside my mother looks increasingly uncomfortable, his earlier smugness now replaced by unease. My mother drops her gaze, her facade cracking. The shaky foundation of her accusations is now crumbling under Jerry’s relentless questioning.
Jerry turns his attention to Daisy. “And was this man one of the men who tried to get into your room, Daisy?”
“No,” Daisy shakes her head firmly. “I’ve never met him. I didn’t see him until he started spreading lies about my brother.”
Jerry’s expression grows skeptical as he looks at Gloria. “It seems there’s a significant discrepancy between the claims being made and the evidence provided. Gloria, are you sure you have a solid basis for these accusations?”
Gloria shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier confidence now wavering under Jerry's intense scrutiny. “I... I just know what I’ve seen over the years,” she stammers, her voice losing its edge. “Ace has always had a temper. He’s always been violent.”
“Violent?” Jerry interjects, his tone sharper. “You keep using that word without providing any proof. You’ve made serious claims about your son, but when pressed for specifics, you falter. Are you suggesting that Ace is lying, or are you simply using his fame to push your own agenda?”
The spotlight on her grows harsher, exposing the cracks in her story. She fidgets, avoiding Jerry’s sharp gaze, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she scrambles to craft a response that might save her claims.
“I… I don’t know. It’s just—” Gloria’s voice trails off. She can’t even muster the strength to defend herself against the truth, and I feel a surge of vindication as those watching witness her unraveling.
Jerry then turns back to me and Daisy, his tone shifting to a more conclusive note. “It appears there’s a clear gap between the accusations and the evidence. Ace, Daisy, thank you for sharing your side of the story and clarifying the situation.”
He leans forward, talking to me. “But people will watch this who have seen you lose your temper, Ace. They’ll be trying to work out where the truth lies. I think, at the very least, you’ve been portrayed as someone who doesn’t care—someone painted as a crazy person who could explode at any given moment. So, to those watching us now, to those who still doubt you, what do you want to say to them?”
I turn my head to the camera, my heart racing as I meet its gaze. “I am not a violent man. I never have been. This is just a twisted attempt to exploit me for money.” My voice steadies as I speak, each word a declaration of my truth.
“Ace, Daisy, thank you very much,” Jerry says, then faces the camera with an authoritative nod. “Believe it or not, but from what it appears, the real story here seems to not be about Ace Roberts but maybe the issues within Gloria’s life.”
The camera’s cut off and Jerry stands up, stepping away from us. I glance at Daisy, who meets my gaze with a smile. Despite the lingering pain, I’m grateful for her support and for this chance to finally set things right.
To the side, our mother and that wannabe biker fucker are already yanking off their mics, eager to make their escape. The tension between them is palpable as they move swiftly toward the exit. They don’t spare me a glance, and I don’t care. I have no words left for them, and their retreat only reinforces my resolve to leave the past behind.
As a crew member comes over to remove the microphone from me, I barely register the movement. My focus is entirely on Scarlet as she walks toward me. Every glance at her during the interview felt like a breath of fresh air, cutting through the weight that’s been pressing on me for so long. Confronting my mother and reliving those painful memories has drained me, but having Scarlet here makes it feel a little more bearable.
It’s as if she’s the missing piece that makes my world fall into place. For the first time in ages, the world feels like it’s tilting in a better direction, and the burden of the past is beginning to recede.