Page 41 of Saving the Rockstar

Asher was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on our intertwined hands. "I know," he said finally, his voice soft but steady. "But it's hard not to feel like I brought this on myself somehow. Like I should have been stronger, or smarter, or..."

I squeezed his hand gently. "Ash, listen to me. Sometimes, the people who are supposed to love us and protect us are the ones who end up hurting us the most. And when that happens, it's easy to blame ourselves, to think that we must have done something to deserve it. But the truth is, no one deserves to be treated like that, no matter what."

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "How do you know all this?" he asked softly, his voice filled with wonder.

I smiled sadly, my heart heavy with the weight of my own past. "Because I've been there," I said quietly, my voice rough with emotion. "I know what it's like to feel like you're trapped, like you're powerless against someone who's supposed to care about you. But I also know that there's a way out, that there are people who will stand by your side and help you find your way back to the light."

Asher was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. And then, slowly, he leaned in and rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

"Thank you for being one of those people. For being my light in the darkness."

I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of his skin against mine, the warmth of his breath mingling with my own.

Chapter 13: Asher

The stage lights were blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening as I took my place beside Dylan, my guitar slung low across my hips. It was just another show, another city, another sea of faceless fans screaming our names.

We launched into our first song, the familiar chords and lyrics flowing through me like a second heartbeat. And then, out of nowhere, something sailed through the air and landed at my feet with a dull thud. I looked down, my heart skipping a beat as I saw the crumpled beer can lying on the stage, its contents spilling out in a frothy puddle.

I tried to shake it off, to focus on the music and the energy of the crowd. But then it happened again, and again, a barrage of random objects hurled at me from the faceless mass of bodies. Flowers, stuffed animals, even a few pairs of underwear - it was like they were trying to bury me in a mountain of their adoration.

Or was it something else? As I scanned the crowd, my eyes landing on a few signs held aloft, my blood ran cold. A slur was scrawled on one in bold, black letters. "Go back in the closet," said another, adorned with a crudely drawn rainbow flag.

I felt my chest tighten, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the panic rose up inside me like a tidal wave. I could feel myself starting to unravel, my fingers fumbling on the strings as my vision blurred. But then, just as I was about to crumble, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the wings, a pair of warm eyes watching me with unwavering intensity.

Jared. Just the sight of him there, his gaze filled with love and support and fierce protectiveness, was enough to steady me, to give me the strength I needed to push through.

I closed my eyes, picturing his face in my mind as I poured everything I had into the music. And somehow, miraculously, I made it through. As the final notes of the last song faded away, I felt a rush of relief wash over me, my body sagging with exhaustion and pent-up emotion.

Once backstage, Dylan was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his face flushed with anger and indignation.

"I can't believe the nerve of some people," he ranted, his voice rising with each word. "Throwing shit at you like that, like you’re some kind of fucking zoo animal. And those signs? I swear to god, if I ever get my hands on the assholes who made those, I'll shove them so far up their own asses they'll be tasting cardboard for a week."

I smiled at his outrage, knowing that it was his way of showing how much he cared.

Just then, Mason appeared, his brow furrowed with concern as he took in the scene before him. "Everything alright here?" he asked, his eyes darting between me and Dylan.

Dylan whirled on him, his eyes flashing with mischief. "Oh, everything's just peachy, Mason. Just dealing with some grade-A douchebags who think it's okay to harass my best friend while he's trying to pour his fucking heart out on stage. But hey, I'm sure you're used to that kind of thing, right? Being the king of rude and all."

Mason's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to Dylan. "You're one to talk about being rude, after the stunt you pulled last night."

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "What stunt?"

Mason smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "This asshole thought it would be hilarious to replace my toothpaste with wasabi. Nearly burned my fucking tongue off."

Dylan let out a cackle of laughter, his eyes sparkling with glee. "Oh man, the look on your face was priceless. I thought you were going to breathe fire like a fucking dragon."

"Ha ha, very funny," Mason deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "You're just lucky I didn't spike your precious hair gel with hot sauce in retaliation."

"You wouldn't dare," Dylan gasped, his hand flying to his perfectly coiffed locks. "This masterpiece takes hours of careful cultivation, I'll have you know."

"Oh, I'm sure it does," Mason retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just like that ego of yours."

"Hey, it's not ego if it's true," Dylan shot back, preening like a peacock. "I mean, have you seen me? I'm a fucking catch."

"A catch? More like a fucking disease," Mason chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear, sometimes I don't know whether to kiss you or kill you."

"Why not both?" Dylan purred, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you can't resist me, Mase. I'm like catnip for broody bodyguards."

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