Page 72 of Saving the Rockstar

Finally, chest heaving, I fell silent, the echoes of my tirade ringing in the sudden stillness. Jared stared at me, his expression a mask of hurt and resignation.

"I'll give you some space," he said quietly, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "I can see that's what you need right now."

I stood frozen, mute, as he slipped out the door. I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, and buried my face in my hands. What had I done?

The morning of the press conference dawned bright and clear, a cruel contrast to the turmoil roiling inside me. I had barely slept, my mind and heart in tatters from the devastating argument with Jared the night before. His absence was a physical ache, a hollow space in my chest where his warmth and love should’ve been.

But the show, as they say, had to go on. And so I dragged myself out of bed, going through the motions of showering, dressing, preparing for the performance of a lifetime.

In the green room, as stylists fussed with my hair and makeup artists concealed the dark circles under my eyes, I practiced my lines, the carefully crafted script we had prepared to share our love story with the world.

"Jared is my rock, my safe haven," I recited, my voice hollow to my own ears. "He has been by my side through every challenge, every trial. His love and support have been the guiding light in my darkest moments. I am blessed beyond measure to call him my boyfriend, my soulmate."

How could I stand up there and profess my love, my devotion, when just hours ago I had pushed Jared away, had wounded him with my careless cruelty?

With a heavy heart and a leaden step, I made my way to the podium, the flashing cameras and murmuring crowd a dizzying blur.

As I took my place, my palms slick with sweat, my heart racing in my chest, I scanned the room, searching for the oneface I needed to see. And there he was, sitting at the back, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, our eyes met, and I saw a flicker of something - love, encouragement, a silent plea for me to be brave. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of cool professionalism.

I gripped the sides of the podium, my knuckles white, and began to speak. But the words I had practiced, the declaration of love and commitment, stuck in my throat, choking me.

Instead, what came out was a jumble of half-truths and evasions, a desperate attempt to deflect the probing questions and prying eyes. I spoke of friendship, of mutual respect and admiration. But the word "love," the confirmation they were all waiting for, never passed my lips.

And then, in a moment of sheer panic, the question I had been dreading most: "Asher, are you and Jared romantically involved?"

The room fell silent, every eye, every camera trained on me. I could feel the weight of expectation, the pressure to be brave, to be true.

"No," I heard myself say, my voice sounding distant, foreign to my own ears. "Jared and I are just friends, colleagues."

The words sounded like betrayal. In the back of the room, I saw Jared go still, his face draining of color. For a moment, our eyes locked, and the pain, the disbelief I saw there cut me to the core.

And then he was moving, standing abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, without a backwardsglance, he turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a finality that shattered my heart.

The room erupted into chaos, reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing. But I was oblivious, my eyes fixed on the spot where Jared had been, the space he had left behind.

What had I done?

I don't remember much of what happened next. I know Dylan rushed to my side, his face tight with worry and confusion. I know he whispered something to the crowd, something about ending the conference early. And then he was guiding me off stage, his arm around my shoulders, shielding me from the clamoring masses.

Backstage, in the relative quiet of the green room, he turned to me, his eyes searching my face. "Ash, what happened out there?"

I shook my head, my throat tight, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "I don't know," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I panicked and I..."

Dylan's expression softened, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. "It's okay," he soothed, though the worry never left his eyes. "We'll figure it out, alright?"

But I could feel the panic rising. As Dylan left to find Vivian, to try to do damage control, I stumbled to my dressing room, locking the door behind me.

And then, in the privacy of that small space, I fell apart. Sobs tore from my throat, raw and wrenching, as I sank to the floor.

I thought of Jared’s face, the shock and hurt and betrayal etched into every line. The way he had walked away, hisshoulders hunched, his head bowed. As if I had struck him, as if I had driven a knife into his heart.

And hadn't I? With my cowardice, my weakness, I had shattered the trust between us, had thrown away the most precious thing in my life.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers shaking as I dialed Jared's number. It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail. I tried again, and again, each unanswered call a twist of the knife in my gut.

He wasn't going to pick up. Why would he, after what I had done? I had proven myself unworthy of his love, his trust. I had betrayed him in the most public, most humiliating way possible.

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