Page 60 of Saving the Rockstar

Dylan let out a wordless shriek of frustration, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair as if he were about to tear it out by the roots. And then, before anyone could react, he was launching himself at Mason, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the taller man's shirt as he tried to shake him like a rag doll.

"You take that back!" he screeched, his voice rising to a pitch that could shatter glass. "You take it back right now, or I swear to god, I'll..."

But whatever threat he was about to make was cut off abruptly as Mason wrapped his arms around Dylan's waist, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around in a dizzying circle.

"You'll what?" he taunted, his voice breathless with laughter. "Talk me to death? Bore me into submission with your endless prattle?"

Dylan let out a yelp of outrage, his legs kicking frantically in the air as he tried to wriggle out of Mason's strong grasp.

"Put me down, you overgrown Neanderthal!" he cried, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I am not a sack of potatoes to be manhandled at your leisure."

But Mason just grinned, his arms tightening around Dylan's waist as he continued to spin him in circles, his laughter ringing out through the hallway like a joyful bell.

And as I watched them, their bodies pressed close together and their faces alight with a mixture of annoyance and affection, I couldn't help but feel a swell of warmth in my chest.

Because this, right here? This was my family. My crazy, dysfunctional, wonderfully imperfect family. And I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

Over the next few days, as Jared and I began to explore the new facets of our relationship, the beach house became a cocoon of intimacy and discovery, a place where we could let down our guards and simply be ourselves.

We found joy in sharing our passions, in teaching each other the things that brought us happiness and fulfillment.

I showed him the basics of guitar, guiding his fingers over the strings and teaching him the chords to some of my favorite songs. Jared, in turn, shared his love of physical fitness, dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn for beach workouts that left us both exhilarated and exhausted. He taught me the proper form for push-ups and squats, the right way to stretch and cool down after a long run.

But perhaps the most profound moments were the ones we spent in silence, simply drinking in the beauty of our surroundings and the comfort of each other's presence.

One evening, as we stood hand in hand on the beach, watching the sun sink into the sea in a blaze of orange and pink and gold, I felt a sudden sense of peace and contentment.

"You know," I said softly, my voice almost lost beneath the gentle crashing of the waves, "I never thought I could feel like this. So calm, so centered. Like the world isn't quite so scary anymore, now that I have you by my side."

Jared smiled, his fingers tightening around mine in a gesture of silent understanding.

"I know what you mean," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I've spent so much of my life searching for purpose, for meaning. But with you, it's like everything just falls into place. Like loving you, and being loved by you, is the only thing that really matters."

Chapter 19: Asher

As the plane touched down in Tokyo, I felt a flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach. It had been days since Jared and I had left the sanctuary of the beach house, days since we had stepped back into the glaring spotlight of public scrutiny and media attention.

The tour bus pulled away from the airport, the city lights blurring past the windows in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and motion. Beside me, Jared sat with his head bent over his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration as he typed out a message to his sister.

But as the minutes ticked by and Jared's phone remained silent, I could sense a change in his demeanor, a tension that seemed to radiate from every pore. And then, just as I was about to reach out and take his hand, his phone buzzed to life, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

Jared snatched it up, his fingers trembling slightly as he swiped to answer.

"Hello?" he said, his voice tight with worry. "Jenna? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

I watched as the color drained from his face, as his free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist against his thigh. He listened intently, his eyes growing wider and more desperate with every passing second.

"What do you mean, she's in the hospital?" he asked, his voice rising with each word.

My heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice, at the way his words seemed to catch and stumble in his throat.I reached out instinctively, my hand finding his and gripping tight, trying to anchor him in the present.

Jared barely seemed to register my touch, his expression growing more and more stricken with each passing second. And then, with a shaky exhale, he ended the call, his phone falling from his hand to land with a dull thud on the seat beside him.

"Jared?" I asked softly. "What's wrong?"

"It's my mom," he said, his voice cracking on the words. "She's in the hospital. They don't know if she's going to make it."

I felt my heart break at the pain in his voice, at the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his sorrow. I knew how much his family meant to him, how hard he had worked to rebuild those relationships after years of estrangement and turmoil.

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