Page 31 of Saving the Rockstar

Chapter 10: Jared

The first week of the European leg of the tour was a whirlwind of jet lag, soundchecks, and sold-out shows. I hardly had a moment to breathe, let alone process the shift in my relationship with Asher.

But in the close quarters of the tour bus and hotel suites, it was impossible to ignore. Gone was the initial awkwardness that had followed our kiss, replaced by a growing sense of ease, of camaraderie.

Late one night, as the bus rumbled down a darkened highway somewhere between Berlin and Amsterdam, I found Asher in the tiny kitchenette, hunched over a cup of gas station coffee. He looked up as I entered, offering a tired smile.

"Hey. Couldn't sleep either?"

I shook my head, pouring myself a cup of the sludgy brew. "Too wired. The adrenaline from the show, you know?"

Asher hummed in agreement. "It's a rush, being up there. Like everything else just falls away. All the noise, all the bullshit. It's just me and the music."

There was something in his voice, a wistfulness edged with old pain. I leaned against the counter, studying his profile in the dim light.

"Has it always been like that for you?" I asked quietly. "The music?"

Asher was silent for a long moment, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his mug. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, lost in memory.

"When I was a kid, my parents fought. A lot. Like, screaming matches that shook the walls, you know? I used to hide in my room, put on my headphones and just drift. Let the music carry me away to somewhere safer."

My heart clenched. I could picture it all too clearly - a young Asher, scared and alone, finding solace in the only way he knew how.

"That's when the anxiety started," he continued, still not meeting my gaze. "The panic attacks, the constant feeling of dread. Music was my escape. My way of channeling all that fear and hurt into something beautiful."

I reached out, hesitated, then laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ash. That you had to go through that."

He shrugged, a brittle little motion. "It is what it is. I survived."

"More than survived," I murmured. "You thrived. Look at you now - living your dream, sharing your music with the world."

His smile was small but genuine. "Yeah. I guess I am." He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the taste. "What about you? What made you want to be a bodyguard?"

I blew out a long breath, considering my words. It wasn't a story I told often, the wounds still tender even years later.

"I joined the Marines straight out of high school," I said finally. "Thought I was invincible, you know? Like I could take on the whole damn world and come out on top."

He made a sound of understanding. "But it wasn't like that?"

"No, it wasn't." I swallowed hard. "I lost a lot of good friends over there. Saw things I can never unsee. And when Icame home, I was lost. Didn't know who I was anymore, without the uniform, the mission."

His hand found mine, his fingers curling around my own in a gesture of silent support. I clung to it like a lifeline.

"Becoming a bodyguard gave me a purpose again. A way to keep protecting people, even if it was in a different capacity." I shrugged, trying for a lightness I didn't feel. "Plus, the pay's not bad."

That startled a laugh out of Asher. "Well, I'm glad my ridiculous celebrity lifestyle could contribute to your bank account."

I grinned, the heaviness in my chest easing. "Just doing my part to stimulate the economy."

We lapsed into companionable silence, sipping our terrible coffee and listening to the rumble of the bus beneath us.

It struck me then, how easy this was. Talking to Asher, sharing pieces of myself I usually kept hidden. There was a growing intimacy between us, a connection that went far deeper than bodyguard and client.

It was terrifying. Exhilarating. Like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would either break me or set me free.

Before I could examine that thought too closely, the sound of raised voices shattered the quiet.

"I cannotbelieveyou, Mason!" Dylan's voice, high and indignant, echoed down the narrow hallway. "Of all the bone-headed, inconsiderate-"

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