Page 13 of Saving the Rockstar

A hushed ripple went through the crowd. For a moment, no one moved. But then, they began to disperse. One by one, they slunk off to find easier prey, the click and whir of shutters fading into blessed silence.

The second the last of them disappeared around the corner, I sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. Only Jared's lightning reflexes kept me from crumpling to the asphalt in a heap, his arms coming around me just as my knees turned to jelly.

"Whoa, easy," he murmured, catching me against the solid breadth of his chest. "I've got you, Ash."

I couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but cling to him, my face buried in the warm crook of his neck. He smelled like sandalwood and safety, the scent chasing the panicky tightness from my lungs.

He held me like that, his arms an unbreakable circle around my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head. I could feel his heart thumping strong and steady beneath my cheek, could hear the low rumble of his voice as he murmured soothing nonsense into my hair.

"You're alright," he rasped, one big hand rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades. "Just breathe for me, Ash. In and out, nice and slow. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

To my horror, I felt hot tears sting my eyes, clog the back of my throat. I squeezed them shut against the burn, pressing my face harder into Jared's neck to keep them contained.

God, hadn't I humiliated myself enough for one day? Now I had to go and weep all over him like a fucking damsel?

But he just held me tighter, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like he could anchor me by touch alone. "It's okay," he whispered fiercely, his lips brushing the shell of my ear and making me shiver. "You're okay, Ash. Let it out, I've got you."

And oh, in that moment I wanted so badly to believe him. To sink into the illusion that this was real, that I could have this - this warmth, this tenderness, this unconditional shelter - for keeps.

But I knew better, had been burned too many times to trust in pretty lies, no matter how desperately I wanted to. So I let myself cling to him for just a moment longer, just until the tremors wracking my frame subsided and I could breathe again.

Then, with a herculean effort of will, I pushed away, putting a careful hands-breadth of distance between us. Jared let me go without protest, but I didn't miss the way his fingers twitched against his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for me again.

"You good?" he asked gruffly, his eyes searching my face for any sign of distress.

"Yeah. Fuck, that was intense." I scrubbed a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted down to my bones. "Thank you. For..." I waved a hand vaguely, words tangling on my tongue.

"Anytime," he said simply. "You never have to thank me for looking out for you, Ash. It's my job." A wry quirk of lips. "In more ways than one, it seems."

Unbidden, my mouth curled in an answering smile. "Bet you didn't sign up for this level of crazy when you took the gig,huh? Probably regretting that particular career move right about now."

I'd meant it as a joke, a bit of self-deprecating humor to cut the tension. But Jared's eyes flashed, his expression hardening into something fierce and uncompromising.

"Never," he bit out, holding my gaze like he could will me into believing him through sheer stubborn intensity. "I'll never regret choosing to stand by your side, Ash. Through the calm and the crazy alike. I'm not going anywhere, so you can get that thought out of your head right now."

My breath caught at the naked conviction in his voice, the steady certainty blazing out of those bright eyes. He fell into step beside me as I started toward the mouth of the alley. We walked in silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in our own tangled thoughts. It wasn't until we were nearly at the car that I noticed the stinging pain in my right palm.

"Shit," I hissed, holding my hand up to the fading light for a better look. There was a deep gash bisecting my palm. I must have caught it on one of the cameras in my struggle to break free, the edges torn and raw.

Jared tsked when he caught sight of the blood. He caught my wrist in gentle fingers, bringing my palm up to eye level as he scanned the damage with a medic's brisk efficiency.

Then he was steering me toward the idling SUV with a hand at the small of my back, his touch searing through the thin cotton of my shirt. "C'mon, let's get you fixed up. Pretty sure I've got a first aid kit in the glove box."

"It's fine," I protested, even as I let him bundle me into the passenger seat. "It's just a scratch, it's not that b- ahh."

I yelped as he upended a water bottle over the cut, the cold sting shocking against my heated skin. He made an apologetic noise, but didn't pause as he rifled one-handed through the glove box, emerging with a metal tin.

"This might hurt a bit," he warned, fingers already unwrapping an antiseptic wipe. I hissed through my teeth as he cleaned the wound with deft, careful strokes, my fingers twitching involuntarily at the burn.

"Sorry," he murmured, squeezing my wrist in sympathy. "Almost done, promise."

True to his word, it only took a few more swipes before he was smoothing a bandage over the broken skin, his touch feather-light and soothing.

"There," he said softly, fingertips trailing over the edges of the tape. "All better."

I swallowed, my heart doing a strange little flutter behind my ribs. His hands on me were so gentle, his skin just slightly rough with gun calluses. It made me want to lean into the touch, to turn my hand over and twine our fingers together until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.

I carefully pulled my hand from his grasp, ignoring the way my palm suddenly felt cold, bereft without the heat of him bleeding into my bones.

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