Dylan

Nashville isn’t the type of place I expected it to be, but I’m not complaining. Not like Ashton seems to think I will every time she downplays her home or something that she likes from her childhood.

Even the studio, which I can tell is her safe haven, she pretends is nothing special. Yet, her eyes give her away. The small, log-cabin styled space is everything to her.

And sure, it’s no five-star hotel that I’m staying at, but better. Unlike those hotels, her house is full of valuable memories. The best I get while staying elsewhere is ghosts of cheap regrets and dark secrets.

Ash has a home.

After our studio session, I find myself back in my room, lounging across the oddly comfortable guest bed. Despite the girly ruffles that the room’s theme has, it’s a relaxing space.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I assume it’s the guys asking how things are going. Just like they do every day, probably waiting for me to admit I fucked something up.

But it’s been almost a week since I’ve stayed here, and somehow, we’re making it work. Their surprise doesn’t even bother me, because I had no idea what I was walking into when I agreed to stay here. I just knew that Ashton needed to come home, and I wasn’t going to stop her from healing.

Because that’s what this trip is about. And if I want her to finally see some light again, why would I stop her? We may be eerily similar, but that doesn’t mean she can’t change. At least she’s willing to.

When I pull out the phone, I see it’s from Tom, and I mentally groan when I hit accept.

“Yes, boss man?” I greet, with a fake level of enthusiasm thick in my words.

“Something rather troubling has come to my attention,” he states, voice oddly level for statement as alarming as that one.

I rack my brain for something that I’ve done, but come up blank. My life has become increasingly boring since working with Ashton. Not that it’s a bad thing, considering my previous altercations brought a little too much excitement in my life.

“What’d I do?” I finally ask, sighing.

“Surprisingly, nothing.”

I snort. “Okay then, so what’s the trouble you’re talking about?”

“It involves Conner Mason.” I sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard, trying to figure out why the name sounds familiar.

“Okay …” I drawl. “Care to elaborate?”

“Conner Mason is a country singer, good friends with Rhys Alden. He’s seen quite a bit of action himself, a milder version of you in the media.” I take it as a compliment despite Tom probably not seeing it as one. “And Mr. Mason has chosen to alienate himself unintentionally by trying to pass off your song lyrics as his own.”

Any pride swarming my chest dissipates, filling with fear. My body goes rigid, jaw clenches, and heart picks up with an adrenaline rush.

“Excuse me?” I demand.

Tom clears his throat. “His manager found your notebook in his possession, and he claims Rhys gave it to him. Since Ian told me your notebook was missing, I’m going to assume you didn’t give it to him willingly.”

“Hell no,” I bark. “Where the fuck is it?”

“It is now with me. Stella Banks shipped it to me here in New York.”

Stella? “Rhys’s grandmother?”

“She owns part of the company, therefore handles some of the drama. And this mess has stirred quite a bit of it.”

That piques my interest. “Go on,” I press.

As far as I’m concerned, my notebook is in safe hands, which means whatever comes next will be a lot easier to deal with. Like punching Conner and Rhys in their faces for one.

Tom explains the situation with as little detail as possible, barely giving me any useful information. Besides Rhys stealing my notebook from Stella’s studio thinking it was Ashton’s, I didn’t know much.

“Stella has both of them under probation of sorts,” Tom concludes. “And we informed them that we would press charges for theft if they decided to act out again.”

“Press charges,” I scoff, thinking it’s not a good enough punishment. “Tell them we’ll sue. Scare them.”

“Suing wouldn’t do any good,” he tries telling me. But I won’t have it.

“Make them believe it will. If this Conner Mason guy is anything like Rhys, then the idea of having everything taken from him will scare him enough to get his shit straight.”

“Believe me,” Tom insists, “those two are more alike than we’d all like to hear. And I’ll talk to Stella about what you said. I’m sure she’d be interested in the tactic. Especially coming from you.”

From me?

Tom seems to guess what I’m thinking. “I don’t know what you did, but she likes you. And for somebody as hard-headed as that woman, that’s no easy feat.”

I can’t think of what I would have done, but don’t let it consume me as much as the anger does.

“Why did they do it?”

He sighs. “I really shouldn’t say.”

“They tried stealing something very important from me, Tom. I’d say that justifies an explanation, don’t you agree?”

I’m met by silence for a long while as he contemplates my argument. But he knows I’m right, and that I won’t stop until I get a reason.

“Drugs were involved,” he finally spills. “I don’t know the whole scoop, but I do know that Conner was blackmailing Rhys for a song in trade of keeping his drug use quiet.”

My eyes narrow. “But Ashton was involved. If they thought it was her notebook, that means they have dirt on her, too.”

My worry shifts to her before I can stop it.

“No need to worry yourself,” he assures. “I hear Stella is taking care of it. Neither you nor Ms. King have anything to concern yourself with. Besides the song, that is.”

I can hear the impending question in his tone, so I tell him it’s going fine. And considering there hasn’t been any bad pictures or stories in the press about me, he believes me.

After we hang up, I run my palms down my face. In relief mostly. Ian called me the night I arrived here to tell me that my notebook wasn’t there. And dread had attached itself to me since.

Yet knowing that those idiots were trying to use it didn’t help, knowing they saw a part of me that I liked kept hidden in the pages.

But because I’ve been them, I know their fear. They won’t risk their careers any more than they already have. The scare tactic would work, because it would work on me. When you’ve built your life around being on the top, your biggest terror becomes watching it all crumble until you’re back at the bottom.

I’d like to say my fears have changed, that I’m not like them anymore because I found something else, someone else, to feel fear for. But they haven’t, and I’m not.

And I hold onto that knowing how much it says about me.