Ashton

I never would have expected Dylan to be dedicated to a collaboration that he stayed so intent on hating from the start. Yet each day we meet at noon in my tiny homemade studio, playing next to each other. To each other. He showed up early every time, strumming his guitar. And every time, I would listen to him outside the door.

Maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t. It seems like we had an unspoken understanding with each other, letting ourselves get lost in the music—feeling anything that came from the words, the sounds, and everything in between.

We’d only known each other for three weeks, yet in those three weeks we’ve found solace in each other. Whenever I look at him from across the room, I see a piece of me in him, like I’m looking into a mirror instead of his eyes.

Kindred spirits.

Every day we would spend at least two hours in the studio, every night in the living room watching movies, and once in a while we’d even go out to grab something to eat or drink. Having him in my home made the ghosts that roamed around more bearable.

Despite making him sit through movies he looked like he hated, he never complained. Not when I made him watch Pretty Woman (he apparently had a crush on Julia Roberts), Burlesque (he thought pairing Cher and Christina Aguilera was entertaining) or even Fifty Shades of Grey (there was sex, so he was happy).

When I take him out to some of my favorite hangouts, I make him drink pink girly drinks called weird names, and order food that somebody like him wouldn’t be seen eating—seaweed wraps, raw fish, or caviar. He drank and ate everything I challenged him with, with a smirk on his face.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days, and he surprises me during almost every single one.

Today’s session seems to fly by, the song almost completely finished. The song pours from me, my body heating over the way Dylan watches me play it. The lyrics slip from my mouth, eyes closed, heart open, and I feel everything. The good, the bad, the truth, the lies.

You say that the world is hopeless.

You say that no one understands.

But the truth is out of focus.

That the lies are what make the man.

There’s a light that no one else can see.

But I know that everyone will disagree.

But we know …

Chorus

Even forever has a limit

Even always has to end.

When the world tells us to forgive it,

We show them the reasons that we can’t.

We never said that we were perfect,

But it’s time to take our stand.

Because even forever has a limit.

But maybe always has a plan.

You think that you’re a burden.

You think that you’re weak if you cry.

But we both know that you’re more than,

The pain that’s hiding in your eyes.

There’s a storm that, no one else fight.

But I know that you’ll survive …

Chorus

Even forever has a limit.

(Yeah my world, would not be the same without you in it.)

Even always has an end.

(But not for us, because, because…)

Even forever has a limit.

But maybe always has a plan.

Once the piano fades out, I finally open my eyes and take a deep breath, like a burden lifting from my soul. Suddenly, I feel lighter, and a small smile tips up my lips.

When I lift my gaze, lashes fluttering, I feel the small studio close in on us as Dylan stalks toward me, a predatory look in his hooded eyes. I try taking even breaths from where I sit on the bench, wanting to show him I’m not affected.

The space between us disappears and I’m suddenly surrounded by everything him. His smell, his heat, his intentions.

Swallowing, I ask, “What are you doing?”

He leans in, placing a hand on either side of me on the piano and trapping me in.

“Taking your advice and taking a stand.”

“It’s just a song.”

“Those lyrics were threaded with truth.”

I can’t argue with him—the only reason this song works is because of the truth behind each word … each analysis of the other person.

His lips graze my cheek first, his hot breath trailing toward my ear.

“Pretend you don’t feel anything for me all you want, Ash. But it takes a lot of passion to hate somebody as much as you’ve tried hating me.”

Tried. And failed.

My body shivers as his lips brush my ear, my eyes closing involuntarily. I absorb the feel of his lips grazing my skin, trailing slowly across cheek, jaw, and to my chin.

“Dylan,” I choke out. I’m too afraid to finish what I’m saying because his lips are dangerously close to mine.

If we kiss, I’d finally be giving in. Telling myself that he’s worth losing myself over. Is he? We’re alike, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. I’ve opened up to him more than he’s been willing to open to me. What does that say about us?

His lips hover just above mine, his breath tempting my lips to part. He’s testing me, teasing me, waiting for me to make a choice.

I’m acutely aware of how my legs widen to welcome him stepping closer. The idea of his hard body so close to me shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. And I try thinking of anything else. Comparing him to Rhys, how their bodies are different, their personalities. Dylan carries himself in a way that demands the world’s attention, and Rhys could only pretend like he had that kind of power.

“You can stop me,” he whispers in a low tone. His lips barely touching mine causes my heart to speed up and my hands to go clammy where they’re gripping the edge of the bench. “But we both know you won’t.”

That’s all he says before his lips are on mine for real, no ghost touch or tenderness. He’s taking what he wants in a possessive way, claiming my lips with his skilled ones. I find myself arching toward him, but force my hands to stay down.

Sometimes you end up losing yourself in somebody who doesn’t care about losing you. Rhys never cared, and the off-and-on roller coaster ride with Dylan sends off warning signals in my mind. Alarms that tell me it’s just another cycle I’m being sucked into.

But I let him kiss me. I let his tongue run the seam of my lips and slip in my mouth. I let our mouths play a song of their own, moving to a melody that can’t possibly work in the long run.

When he steps into me and his erection presses against my stomach, I break away with reality snapping me out of my lapse of judgement.

“Stop,” I rasp. I rub my bottom lip, pulling on it, remembering how his lips felt against mine. “You need to stop. Just … please.”

He’s not breathing as ruggedly as I am, and I have a feeling it’s because of the mild panic attack I’m having over what just happened.

Again.

I push him away and stand up, my legs feeling weak beneath me. After getting a breath of fresh air, I turn around, scowling when I see the smug smirk on his face.

“It was just a song,” I repeat coldly, making myself believe it. Needing to believe it this time.

He winks. “And it was just a kiss.”

That wasn’t just a kiss. It was a challenge, and we both know it. The dare is whether another move will be made, and if I’ll let it.

Or who will make it.

And it won’t be me.

I shake my head, determined to show the same resistance I know I need. “If you ever kiss me again, I’ll cut your balls off, and I’m pretty sure your bandmates wouldn’t bat an eye.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “You’re probably right.”

I grab my cell phone from where it sets by the door, annoyed with his smug expression.

“And for the record,” he calls after me, “I won’t have to kiss you before you’re begging me to do it again. Count on it, Boots.”

Jaw locked, I turn on my heels and walk out before I really do keep my word. Dylan Hilton is playing a very dangerous game, yet I keep letting him play it.

Shutting myself in my room, I feel my heart race in my chest, thumping in an uneven rhythm. Even distancing myself from him, I still feel him everywhere.

Rolling my shoulders back, I think about anything else. Yet, he invades my thoughts and memories, the ghost of him still caressing me, claiming me, possessing me. My lips, my skin, all tingle from where he touched, letting me know that this game is bigger than the both of us.

When will it end?

I’ve never been one for playing games, especially not with other people. All I want is for this one to end, and I don’t know if I can make it happen if Dylan is still determined to play until he wins.

But will he?

I send a quick text to Teagan, but before I can send it, a new text comes through.

Rhys: Conner won’t go to the press.

Gaping at the text, I reread it. Once, twice, a third time. Because I may not know Conner Mason well, but I know he isn’t the type to back down until he gets what he wants. He’s like a sleazier version of Dylan that way.

Blinking, I force a reply.

Ashton: Why?

Rhys: Ask your boyfriend. He’s the reason for all

of this.

Ashton: You know I’m not dating anyone. Are we

back to that? Blaming everyone else?

Rhys: I do when Dylan Hilton is involved.

Ashton: I don’t have time for this, Rhys.

Throwing my phone on my bed, I shake my head, ideas swarming in confusion. Rhys’ name pops up on my screen, but I ignore the call. He calls again, but I hit the red button to make him disappear.

However, the problem with ignoring him is that I’ll never get the closure I need. So when he calls again, I pick up.

“You’re pathetic,” I inform him coldly. “I knew that you were willing to do anything for yourself, but never hurt me. And you say that you never would, yet you let your best friend blackmail me! Who does that, Rhys?”

There’s a pregnant pause. “I won’t tell you that you’re wrong.” My eyes widen at the reply. “Stella made me take a drug test.”

I knew she was going to, but haven’t talked to her in a few days. “And?”

“I failed.”

I gulp. “So it is drugs,” I confirm.

“They help.”

Help? “Help what, Rhys? You never used to turn to anything but music when you had bad days. Why turn to drugs?”

He murmurs something under his breath. “I saw how they helped calm Conner down. He offered me some and I took them. Honestly, it was just supposed to be for a few days. Help me get over my writer’s block and out of my head enough to go back and accomplish something. But it didn’t end like that.”

He became addicted. “So this whole thing was because you didn’t want Conner ratting you out,” I conclude, nodding. It made sense. From the start, I knew it was more than just some reputation being teetered off its track. Rhys was afraid that something big would destroy him.

What he didn’t know is that it was himself.

“You need help, Rhys,” I finally tell him quietly, sitting on the edge of my bed. “You need to get your life together, because I know for a fact that you’re better than this. Even when you wanted the world to believe you weren’t.”

He doesn’t answer right away. “She’s sending me away. Stella, I mean. Making me and Conner both go to rehab if we ever want to record again.”

Go Stella, I think.

“Good. Sounds like you both could use it.”

“Ashton …” His voice is rough. “I was crashing when I saw you last. Conner got us into some heavy shit, and it took over. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

The words I never thought I’d hear echo in my head. And for once, it sounds like he actually means it.

Somehow, it triggers my mind to remember what Dylan told me the other day.

We only let ourselves cry over the people who are worth our tears.

“You know something?” I ask, lost in the possibilities of what officially letting him go could bring me. “It took me this long to figure out, but I finally see that the reason I never cried over you is because my heart knows you’re not worth my tears.”

He lets out a heavy breath, which sounds more like a gargled noise. In hurt? I don’t care enough to ask, to worry.

Because for once, the truth sets me free. From him. The past. What I thought I lost when I broke it off with him. He was my safety net because I was too afraid of what else the world could offer me. But he was never worth being caught up in.

“I hope rehab helps, Rhys.” And I mean it.

“Ash?” I stay quiet, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

After a long moment, he murmurs, “Thanks.”

Ending the call, I let it all soak in. I should call Stella and thank her for what she did. Even if Rhys and I are estranged, were estranged, I’m glad she’s getting him the help he needs.

Throwing my hair up in a messy ponytail, I can’t help but wonder what Dylan did to get Conner off my back. I should have asked, but it didn’t seem as important as finally telling him what I really felt. What I was afraid to admit I felt.

Dylan doesn’t know what happened between Rhys and me, and there’s no way he’d willingly deal with Rhys because of how much he dislikes him.

Hearing the front door open downstairs, I listen as Dylan walks around the house. I could confront him and demand he tell me what his game is. Why bother intruding in business that isn’t his? It doesn’t make any sense why he’s getting involved.

Then again, Dylan doesn’t make any sense. He’s proven that time and time again when he does the exact opposite of what anyone expects. He tells me he doesn’t help people, but he comes to my rescue whenever I need it. He says he’s hard to figure out, yet I can read him better than anyone.

He’s an anomaly. An annoying one at that.

Calling up Teagan is the only thing I think to do, because she knows how to deal with guys. Well, for the most part. Since I already slept with Dylan, there goes her first suggestion. It can only mean she’d have better advice now.

“What up, bitch? I miss you!”

I roll my eyes at her greeting. “I miss you, too … but I need some help.”

“What happened?”

“Dylan.”

Silence.

I sigh loudly. “He’s everywhere, Teagan! It’s like I can’t shake him. He’s suffocating me and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well you did invite him into your home,” she points out slowly, as if I’d forgotten that.

I flop onto my bed. “But not into my whole life!”

“What’s this really about?” she questions knowingly.

I shift onto my stomach, holding my pillow to my chest. “I don’t know how, but he stopped Conner and Rhys from blackmailing me.”

More silence. Coming from Teagan, it’s deafening, and drives me crazy.

Throwing the pillow away from me, I say, “You’re killing me, Teag! I need words.”

“Talk to him.”

My brows draw in. “Talk to him?”

She laughs. “Why do you sound so shocked that I suggested communication?”

“Usually you tell me to sleep with him.”

“Yeah but you already got a taste of that.” She pauses. “Or, a piece of him. I suppose you could explore that more. You know, actually taste him if you catch my drift.”

“Ugh, stop. The last thing I need is more kissing or … that. I already let him assault my mouth earlier. It’s like he’s a drug I’m addicted to.”

I cringe at the comparison given what just happened.

She giggles. “Could be worse.”

“How?” I doubt.

“You could actually be addicted to drugs,” she replies nonchalantly. “While meth does wonders for weight loss, it’s not really what I’d suggest.”

I can’t come up with a reply to that.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say too quickly.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay. Try again.”

I stare at the ceiling in silence, trying to figure out what I’m scared of. Dylan has proven himself to be way different than I pegged him for, and if anything, I should be thanking him.

“If you think you’re going to play tonsil hockey with him rather than talk, just keep a few feet between you guys.”

There’s the Teagan I know. “It’s not that.” I don’t think. “I mean, maybe it’s part of it. He has a way of letting my defenses down when he’s around, and that could be dangerous.”

“Not really,” she disagrees. “Letting somebody in again isn’t such a bad idea. Even if it’s just on a friendly level. You know, if friends screw each other.”

I cover my face with the crook of my arm. “I let him in two weeks after breaking up with my long-term boyfriend.”

“That relationship ended a long time ago,” she reminds me sternly. “Everything that you and Rhys had was long over before the actual breakup. We both know that, and even you two knew that. Sure, how the final split happened sucks, but it was a good thing. You were set free, able to make your choices. And a part of you, whether your mind, body, or heart, chose Dylan to experience your fresh start with.”

A pang of dread fills my chest, freezing my body where it lays on the bed.

“Maybe you need his kind of chaos in your life right now,” she tells me softly.

“Why would I need that?”

Her reply is instant. “To take you out of your own. To help you fight it. Stepping back from your own shit might make you see that it isn’t so bad from a new perspective.”

I blink, wondering if Dylan’s chaos is worse than mine. He’s set on keeping it to himself, closing himself off to the world. To me. Even though I can see his torture, he won’t let me feel it. Experience it. Help him.

If I’m going to let myself move on to a fresh start, I’m doing it my own way. I can’t keep walking down a narrow path fit for one person. The next time I let somebody in completely, they need to walk beside me, or not at all.

The worst part of opening yourself up to somebody else is wondering if they’ll ever care enough about you to do the same.

And with Dylan, I have too many doubts.