Ashton

“You need to save me,” I plead through the phone, looking around the empty house.

“Girl, you’re going to be fine,” Teagan promises, sounding exasperated over my distress. What kind of friend is she? First she promises to stick around while Dylan and I sit down to share ideas for the song, then she has last minute plans she miraculously remembered.

“Teag, you told me you’d be home. Don’t make me remind you of the best friend contract we made in high school. We took an oath to never bail on each other when we needed it.”

She laughs. “We also promised to never give guys blowjobs, but look how quickly that changed. Oaths are meant to be broken under certain circumstances, my friend.”

I lean my head against the couch cushion, groaning loudly. “I can’t believe you brought that up.”

“I’m doing you a favor, babe.”

“By ditching me for plans that don’t even exist?” I doubt, frowning at how whiny my voice is.

Desperation is never a good look on anyone, but I’m wearing it like it’s in style, bold and flashy for the world to see.

“Please, bitch,” she scoffs in offense. “I’m using this time productively. I’m getting a full wax, because since the movie stopped filming I’ve been neglecting downtown. Ain’t no taxi going to want to drive down there without me touching up the city scape, if you catch my drift.”

I scrunch my face. “Thanks for the visual. Could have gone without it.”

“Anytime, girl. And if you need a wax, I can set you up with the girl that does mine. She is amazing, and she doesn’t charge LA prices. I mean, have you seen what people charge just to make sure their vaginas aren’t hairy? And don’t get me started on anal bleaching—”

“What?” I squeak, covering my face with a pillow. I take a moment to collect myself, but it’s hard to under the circumstances. “Teagan, how do you know about anal bleaching? Have you actually gotten that done?”

“I had a sex scene to shoot, and I wanted to make sure everything was pretty for the camera. I’d never done anything like that before, so I was covering all my bases just in case.”

I blink, too stunned to find something to say to that. I mean, what can I say to that? Ask how it turned out? If it was awkward? If you could go under a black light without risking your anus glowing?

Luckily, she doesn’t give me a chance to ask anything. “Anyway, I only did it that once and have no plans to do it again. But enough about me. You need to put on something pretty, brush your hair, smack on some lipstick, and get ready for Dylan.”

I peer down at my sweatpants and T-shirt, unsure of how she guessed I was still wearing them since she left.

As for my hair, it’s currently sitting in a messy knot on the top of my head. Frizzy strands are sticking out around me, looking like I just woke up and crawled out of bed. And makeup? Why bother putting any on when I’m not leaving the house.

“I’m not dressing up for him,” I inform her.

She sighs dramatically. “How else are you going to get him to de-cobweb your vag if you look like a hobo? Nobody wants to screw a hobo, Ash.”

My eyes widen. “Is that why you left the house? You think it’ll give us alone time. Teag! What did I tell you about Dylan and me?”

“Just think about—”

“No! No, no, no!” I quip, standing up and pacing around the music room. “I am not stooping down to his level. I’m not letting him use me, and I refuse to let myself use him like he’s the answer to my problems. Pointless sex may work for you, but I won’t be the girl that lets a dick fix her. Men can’t fix my problems. Only I can.”

I wince once the words are out, wishing I can take them back.

“Ash, you don’t have a problem,” she says quietly. “You’re just going through a rough patch. It’ll be over before you know it, but it’ll take some effort. You can’t move on if you don’t put yourself out there.”

“And I can’t heal if I let some asshole break me again,” I counter, gripping my phone so tightly in my hand it may break.

“You’re not broken!” she snaps back at me, voice edgier than mine. “What happened, Ash? You were fine after the breakup. You were more upset that you weren’t sadder about separating from him. What gives? Why the broken heart all the sudden?”

Rhys only took a small piece of my heart when our relationship ended. All the memories, the good and bad, are embedded in that tiny shard. It was trust that threatened to break us in the end, and it’s the reason that made me want to distance myself from the possibility of love.

Humans have an uncanny way of disappointing somebody and not even knowing it. Breaking somebody without seeing the darkness consume them. Music is the only thing that you can truly love without it breaking your heart. It’s what I want to focus on to make sure I don’t put myself in the wrong situation again.

“For once in my life, I’m trying to be guarded, Teagan. You know that my fatal flaw is trusting people too easily. I can’t keep doing that, especially in this type of society. I’ll get eaten alive.”

She’s silent for a long moment, contemplating what I’m saying. But as an actor, she must get it. We’re put in the spotlight and studied like a lab experiment. Everyone waits for you to make a mistake, and even the smallest ones get televised and torn apart.

“Babe, the only person who can hurt you is yourself. And that’s only if you let it. Don’t you think that putting your guard up all the time will be lonely?”

“I spent six years in a relationship.”

“What does that prove?” she doubts. “You even admitted that you stopped loving him long before the end of it. Don’t tell me you weren’t lonely the second things shifted for you.”

I close my eyes, not admitting anything. Justifying those six years as a way to embrace my new single status isn’t going to work when there’s somebody like Teagan around to call me out on the bullshit. It was lonely, even when I pretended it wasn’t.

“I’ll let you go,” she says after a while. “But can I just offer one little piece of advice, Ash? You don’t have to trust Dylan. Trust yourself. At the end of the day you’re the only person you can count on. Depend on. Nobody can destroy you if you know what you’re worth.”

She hangs up.

Throat closed off, I stare at the black screen, blinking back tears. What if my worth isn’t what everyone thinks it is? We’re our own worst enemy, our judgment worse on ourselves compared to how the world views us. The press can say whatever they want about me, but they can’t make me hate myself more than I already do.

As I’m turning to my room, my phone buzzes in my hand.

Without looking at the screen to see who it is, I say, “Teagan, you don’t need to apologize or tell me more about anal bleaching.”

“Try again, sweetheart,” a husky voice greets in amusement.

I freeze mid-step, realizing that is certainly not my best friend’s voice. Unless Teagan somehow turned into a walking testosterone fest that now sounds like sex on a stick.

“Uh …” I’m at a loss for words. Pulling back my phone, I examine the unknown number across the screen.

“You sound confused,” he states. “How many guys do you have calling your phone, Boots?”

Boots.

“Dylan.”

My tone isn’t exactly filled with enthusiasm, and there’s no doubt he hears that.

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” he snorts drily, offense licking his voice. “Since we never exchanged numbers, I got yours from Tom. I wanted to let you know I’m on my way over.”

Anxiety ripples through my body like somebody throwing a rock into a body of water. Shoulders slumping as I walk into my bedroom, my eyes catch movement from outside.

“Um, do you mean you’re already here?”

As I pull back the sheer curtain in my room to get a better look, he retorts, “That eager to see me? I knew you really liked me, Boots. But no. I haven’t even left the hotel yet.”

When my eyes connect with a familiar cherry red Dodge pickup parked in the driveway, my body tenses.

Blinking slowly as I search for the body that owns it, my heart picking up a little in my chest.

“Boots?” Dylan calls slowly into the phone.

I let out a shaky breath.

“Ashton?” Dylan’s voice is uncharacteristically softer, something I didn’t know he’s capable of being.

“I, uh …” Clearing my throat, I shake myself out of it. Collecting myself, I take a deep breath and back away from the curtain, letting it fall back into place. “Sorry. I’ve got a visitor. Can you maybe …” Get here sooner? “Come by a little later? Just give me some extra time to get rid of him.”

“Him, huh?” His tone is edgy again, like I just insulted his entire lifeline.

I don’t reply or egg on whatever is making him so irritated before hanging up. Passing myself in the mirror, I cringe at the homeless-looking person staring back at me. Teagan is right, I look like a hobo.

And with Dylan, it doesn’t matter, because my interest in impressing him is in a bottomless abyss somewhere. But seeing Rhys’ truck parked outside like it used to be whenever we’d visit Teagan changed everything.

I shoot her an anxious text.

Ashton: Rhys is here!

Her reply is instant, which makes relief sweep through me that she isn’t upset over our conversation.

Teagan: No way! What is he doing there?

Ashton: I’m hiding in my room, so I don’t know!

Teagan: Need me to come home? If you need me,

I’m there.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps my attention from the screen. My sweaty palm runs across the soft material of my sweatpants. Running my tongue over my dry lips, I take a deep breath.

Ashton: I’ll survive.

Teagan: You’ve got this, babe.

Putting my phone on my bed, I make my way toward the front door. Seeing Rhys’s silhouette through the blurred glass has my lungs constricting, like I don’t know which side of him I’ll get when I open the door.

Biting my lip, I undo the locks and open it slowly, putting a small smile on my face as I see the familiar six-three frame of tan, broad muscle grinning down at me. There’s light stubble on his sharp jaw, peach fuzz above his full pair of lips that I always used to tease him about. He always wanted a mustache, but could never grow one.

It’s when I finally look into the sea of familiar warmth that his mint eyes protrude like they’re piercing me that causes too many emotions to rise inside of me, not all of them good and homely.

“Rhys,” I greet, forcing civility.

He’s sporting his usual Teag and jean combo, and if I were to guess the designer jeans he has on are probably Diesel, which cost normal people a kidney to afford. But that’s Rhys—wearing only the best to show off his status.

He leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, the sleeves of his T-shirt stretching around his massive biceps. He told everyone he gained the muscles from helping at his family’s farm. Anything to look like a true country boy. Really, he spent most of his free time in his home gym, and only stepped onto his family’s farm when it benefited him.

Yet, when my eyes rake over the muscles I know he had hidden under his clothes, I’m pulled back into his web. Reminiscing of how familiar I’ve been with every inch of him in the past, how I loved him before his ripped body and inflated ego.

“You’re looking … comfortable,” he notes, lips wavering as he sees my attire.

I blink, teeth grinding back and forth. Yet my body has the nerve to be embarrassed by his disapproval, cheeks flushing. “I’m staying in. Unlike some people, I don’t dress up every second of every day.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing off the doorjamb and waltzing in past me with his shoulder brushing mine. Eye twitching, I turn to face him, arms crossing over my chest.

“You can’t just walk in here, Rhys.”

He looks around, probably noticing how little things changed. He hasn’t been here in over a year. We were supposed to make an appearance on Thanksgiving to spend time with friends. He bailed last minute, leaving me traveling alone.

“I came by to see you,” he states, turning his attention from the knickknacks on the mantel. “Is that so wrong? You can’t pretend you didn’t miss me, babe.”

Gaping at him in disbelief, I shake my head, absorbing his ego like it’s radiation out to kill me. Eventually, it’ll kill him, too.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I accuse, staying planted to the floor where I stand. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d miss you after what you did.”

“It was one—”

“Don’t lie to me!” I yell. “Don’t tell me it was one mistake. Or one girl. Or one time. We both know that isn’t the truth. After six years, I know you better than that. The great Rhys Alden doesn’t do things half-assed. If you’re going to cheat, you’re not going to do it with just one woman.”

He shoves his hands in his fancy pants. “I deserved that, Ash. I know I do. And I came here to apologize, not piss you off more.”

I snort unattractively. “Apologize? You don’t know how to be sorry, Rhys. No matter what happened, it was never your fault.”

“Well I’m accepting the blame now.”

“Only because I saw your dick in the girl,” I hiss at him. “If I hadn’t caught you in a compromising position, you wouldn’t have owned up to it. But it’s kind of hard to explain that like it’s not your fault.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen—”

I hold up my hand. stopping him. “I’m sure it wasn’t, Rhys. In fact, I’m sure that your dick accidentally fell into her on our bed. It was probably a strong gust of wind that led you two there, because Mother Nature can be such a bitch, right? And all this time I thought you’d done it on purpose. Maybe if you told me it was an accident before, I would still be kissing your ass and catering to your ridiculous needs.”

He stares at me, brows arched, eyes wide. Scrubbing his palm across his jaw, he shakes his head like he can’t believe I’d have the nerve to raise my voice at him or be sarcastic.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here, Rhys? Because we both know it’s not to apologize for something you’re not sorry for.”

I can see his façade drop, the warmth in his eyes drain and turn into ice in a heartbeat.

This Rhys, the one full of hard edges and hidden agendas, is the one I came to know more than the soft side of him that I fell in love with. It’s this version of him that glowers at me like I’m just an obstacle for him to get past that made me fall out of love.

Being in love used to be the best feeling in the world, but falling out of it is just forgetting how charming the person can be. As soon as I saw the side of Rhys that parted from his old self, it wasn’t hard to question what I was still doing with him.

Yet, I let him put a ring on my finger.

Maybe I was just confusing safety with love, like spending six years with one person made me forget everything else the world had to offer because I was afraid to discover it.

Rhys had become my safety net up until the day he yanked it away and watched as I fell.

Fell out of love.

Fell into hate.

I could taste the hatred like a bitterness that couldn’t be washed away with anything. Water was too weak, alcohol was too strong, and there was nothing in between that could make me forget everything Rhys had done to me.

“Fine, you win.” His voice is grating on the soul, and I prepare myself to take whatever he’s about to lay down.

“Spit it out, Rhys. I don’t have time for this.”

Something glimmers in his eyes, but it isn’t a soft glow that lightens his tight expression. It’s dry, humorless. Like he’s about to peel the Band-Aid off slowly and let the pain settle in.

“Conner Mason is threatening to go to the press about the after-party incident.”

The sentence isn’t what I expect him to say, and it throws me backwards like a blast into an old memory that I’ve refrained from having since it happened over a year ago.

I can feel a panic attack creep into my chest, leaving my lungs constricting. I’m choking on nothing, suffocating on the past, and Rhys just stands there with disgust on his face like I’m the problem.

But it’s Conner Mason who he should hate, not that he seems to want to doubt his only close friend. Because it’s obvious that no matter how long we spent together, he never saw me on that level.

I blink back sudden tears, adrenaline rushing through me. “C-Conner?”

“Yes,” he barks. “Conner. You know, the guy you kept flirting with at the party? The one you kept doing shots with? There are pictures of you two getting awfully friendly. If he goes to the press, we’re both done for.”

That snaps me out of it. “We? If Teagan hadn’t of come into the room, the room you left me alone in, he would have taken advantage of me. How many times do I have to tell you that I kept telling him to get away from me?” Anger bubbles up until there’s too much pressure for it to keep form. “How the hell does that impact you anyway? If anything, he’s got ammunition against me because of pictures that don’t even tell the truth.”

His face darkens. “Don’t you get it, Ashton? I’m always part of it. I’m always involved. People go after celebrities like me!”

Like him.

I force myself to take a deep breath before I go off like a ticking time bomb. Rhys is being Rhys, thinking about himself instead of others. He won’t change, and I won’t try to make him.

“What Conner did to me, what he wanted to do to me despite us being together back then, has nothing to do with your reputation. So what is this about?”

He averts his eyes, focusing on a picture of some abstract form on the wall. “He wants the song we wrote together. Compensation to keep quiet.”

“Compensation?” I sputter. “Rhys! You’re not honestly going to let him have that song? It’s not meant for him!”

He scoffs. “It’s not like we’re going to record it. We broke up, remember?”

I finally step forward, fists clenched tightly at my side, nails digging into my palms. If I’m not careful, I’ll draw blood. But right now, I don’t care.

“Of course I remember, Rhys. I’m the one who ended things with you. Clearly one of my better decisions.”

I glare at his casual stance, like it doesn’t affect him. Like it doesn’t matter. And that pisses me off more than anything, because everything we had together just seemed so pointless to hold onto when he clearly had no intentions of cherishing their memories.

It makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs—ask questions that my soul needed answered. Did those moments mean anything to him? Because even the smallest ones I shared with him meant the world to me.

Licking my lips, I state, “If you came here to ask for permission to give him the song, you’re out of luck.”

He steps forward, eyes hardening. “Don’t you fucking get it? You’re already in hot water with the media. If he talks, truth or not, you won’t come out of it unscathed. You’ll go from Ashton King the girl people think was cheated on to the girl who cheated on her loving boyfriend. You think working with Relentless will help you come back from that shit show? Think again, princess.”

I cringe at the nickname, which is anything but endearing.

Another step forward. “That band is already fucked, Ashton. Do you really want to go down with them if Conner goes to the press about the party?”

I take a step back, my body practically heaving with anxiety over what could happen. It wouldn’t matter what the truth is, because it’d turn into a he-said-she-said case. The press would play it up, and as much as I hate to admit it, Rhys is right.

I’m already barely treading water, but one more hit to my reputation would hold me under.

“Tell me what he has on you,” I croak. “You aren’t doing this for me and my reputation, Rhys. You never did. So what did you do that he’s blackmailing you over?”

His jaw clenches. “Nothing! I get that I screwed up, Ash. But do you have to see the worst in me?”

There’s no other way I can see you now.

He takes one last step forward, which is more like a leap considering he’s in my personal space. Space I would have never second-guessed sharing with him before.

His eyes blaze down at me, narrowed, accusing. The way his body towers over mine overloads my senses, and a fear I never felt before with him fills in the cracks he left behind. “He’s going to the media about it in a month. That’s how long you have to let me know your answer. My number hasn’t changed. Let me know.”

He walks around me without another word or glance my way. The front door slams shut, and I’m left standing in the middle of the hallway with another burden sitting on my shoulders.

Unable to think straight, my brain jumbled with the possibilities of what can happen if I don’t agree, there’s only one way that I can clear the fog and anxiety.

Ashton: Can’t meet today. We’ll start tomorrow.

I don’t wait for Dylan to respond before changing into my running shorts and sports bra, putting my ear buds in, and blasting music as I walk out the door.

My shoes hit the ground, the worn soles ricocheting off the pavement as I propel myself forward down the street.

One small moment in a chain of many.

I push myself to run faster, like I’m flying—light enough to soar away from everything I can’t seem to sort out as they circle above me like hungry vultures.

Life is full of tiny moments that paint a bigger picture. It’s like we’re constructed of pieces that seem so small until the camera pans out to reveal the truth that’s been there all along. And the cracks that the light glimmers down on shows just how unfixable some moments are. How humans aren’t always able to fathom what makes them broken to begin with, because there are so many moments that overlap the darkest ones in our pasts.

My brain needs to shut off, and the only way I know how to do that is by letting the elements consume me—let the air kiss my skin, the sun engulf me body. I just need to be taken away for a while, before reality slaps me in the face again.

The slick sweat dripping down my body from the extensive exercise is my first warning of what’s to come. The way my skin overheats and starts burning like I’m on fire is the second. But it isn’t until my feet start dragging and knees buckle when I know that I’ve gone too far this time.

Before I can correct myself, my hands are catching myself on the hot pavement, stinging pain coursing through my arms as the shock of impact hits me. And when my cheek and chin bounce off the curb, dizziness sweeps my skull, my vision becoming blurry with the world spinning around me.

The taste of blood fills my mouth, but when I try pulling myself up my arms give out and I crash back down onto the ground again.

I hear people calling out to me. Flashes of light. Questions ringing. But nobody helps me up or offers to call assistance.

I try blinking away the blurriness, but it keeps clouding my surroundings, my ears ringing and eyes looking around, disoriented.

Then I hear a familiar voice in the crowd. The massive gathering parts forcefully as a tall, demanding figure shoves them out of his way.

Dylan.

He kneels to my level, hand cupping my cheek like his single touch can help assess all the damage. But I know that the damage isn’t above the surface. It’s skin deep.

I blink a few times and groan as he helps me sit up.

“How you feeling, Boots?” His voice is low and gruff as he scopes over my face, like he wants this to be between the two of us rather than with the crowd circling my epic fail.

Not wanting to lie, I opt for the truth. “Like I ate pavement, pretty boy.”

He eyes rake over the right side of my face, wincing. I can only image what it looks like. It burns like hell, and I know it’s from road rash.

“Come on,” he murmurs quietly, helping me to my feet. “I’m parked over there. I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

“Dylan—”

“Don’t argue with me, Ashton,” he vexes, like it’s taking everything out of him to show the side of him that cares. “I don’t like … fuck. Watching those fucktards take pictures of you laying there makes me want to start fucking throwing punches.”

I try walking on my own but standing leaves me wobbly, my whole body feeling like it’s weighing me down. I want to tell him to calm down—that I’ll be fine.

But instead my body gives out, and the last thing I hear is his loud cursing as I go down. Luckily, before my body reunites with the pavement, I’m caught and suspended in the air, floating. A breeze kisses my overheated body as we move, and my eyes close as I give into the pain. Something I refused to do before, but had no choice to now.

My hair is brushed behind my ear, and right before I black out, I hear, “Who the fuck broke you, Boots?