Page 1 of Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 1: Asher

The chandeliers in the ballroom glittered like stars. I stood in the wings of the stage, my guitar a familiar weight in my hands, as I watched the people mingle.

Beside me, Dylan bounced on the balls of his feet, his fingers twitching in anticipation. I could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of him, his usual pre-show jitters amplified by the energy of the crowd tonight.

A familiar voice cut through the backstage bustle, snapping my attention front and center.

"There are my boys!"

I looked up to see Vivian, our manager.

"Are we ready to wow the one percent?" she purred, eyeing us critically. "You both look delicious, I could just eat you up. Or auction you off to the highest bidder."

She punctuated this with a playful hip check that nearly sent Dylan sprawling into a passing caterer.

"Viv, baby, you know I'm always ready for you," Dylan purred back, catching himself on the edge of an amp. "I'd be putty in your hands if you weren't tragically burdened with a vagina."

Vivian threw her head back and laughed, the sound as bright and sharp as the rest of her. "Oh, puppy. It's cute that you think what's between my legs would make a difference to what I could do to you."

She reached out and chucked him under the chin like an indulgent teacher with a prized student. Dylan, the shameless bastard, just grinned wider and waggled his eyebrows.

"Don't tease me with a good time, you stunning Amazon," he simpered. "My fragile heart can only take so much unfulfilled lust."

I rolled my eyes. "Can you two not flirt at a volume usually reserved for calling dogs? Some of us are trying not to barf from sheer nerves over here."

Vivian turned her Cheshire smile on me. "Asher, what have I told you about negative self-talk before a show? You're going to blow these rich bastards out of the water and you know it. Now chin up, shoulders back. You're fucking rock stars, Start acting like it."

She punctuated this little pep talk with a brisk swat to Dylan’s ass, ignoring his indecent wink.

"Knock 'em dead, boys," she called over her shoulder as she walked away. "And Asher, sweetie, try not to look like you're marching to your execution when you hit that stage."

"Duly noted," I muttered. Dylan, bouncing with even more manic energy now, gave a little shimmy of delight.

"You heard the lady," he crowed, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

And with that, we strode out onto the stage to the polite smattering of applause usually reserved for high school talent shows.

But the lukewarm reception evaporated the second Dylan struck the first shivering power chord. It was like flipping a switch - the bored, politely attentive expressions melting into awe as the sonic force of the music crashed over them. Dylan attacked his guitar with joyful brutality, his grin feral under the pulsing lights. And just like that, the anxiety strangling mythroat loosened, as I stepped up to the mic and let the first haunting notes spill from my lips.

We tore through one of our biggest hits. I could feel the crowd's energy coursing through me like an electrical current, the roar of the music crowding out everything else.

But as the final notes of the song echoed through the space, the old, familiar anxiety started to creep back in.

Suddenly, the ballroom felt suffocating. The applause felt deafening. I could hear the rush of my own blood, the sound of my pulse drowning out everything else.

It was too much, too close, too loud. Every instinct screamed at me to flee.

I must’ve made some sound, a whimper audible only to Dylan. He glanced over at me, his happy expression melting into one of concern when he saw my face, my grip on the mic stand.

"Ash?" he called over the dying roar of the crowd. "You good, man?"

I shook my head jerkily, not trusting myself to speak. He started to reach for me, but I flinched, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to get off the stage.

"I have to..." I managed to rasp out, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. Dylan opened his mouth to argue, but I was already shoving past him, stumbling blindly toward the wings.

I had just enough presence of mind to put on a smile and wave weakly to the few VIPs clustered backstage before I was off like a shot, barreling down the first deserted hallway I could find.

I had no destination in mind. I just knew I had to get away, had to find somewhere quiet, dark and empty before I experienced a full-on panic attack.

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