"I hope you're right."

"I'm always right," he teases. "I'll have him home in a little while."

"Thank you, Storm, for looking out for him."

"Of course, he's my baby brother. I spent most of my life looking out for him. I'll see ya soon."

I end the call and run my hand through my hair, relief and frustration coursing through me. I really hope this is not a sign of habits to come because I do not want to be one of those women who is constantly worrying where her man is or what he's doing. That kind of stress will eat me alive, and I never would have married someone that I knew drank, did drugs, and didn't come home. Again, I want to have an epic freak-out on the team for setting me up with him. Why would they do this?

My feelings for him are definitely growing, but that just makes this even harder. I don't want to fall in love with someone who is eventually going to hurt me or has a substance abuse problem. I watched that kind of behavior destroy my family, my childhood, and almost my own life if I had let it.

Needing to keep my mind busy, I shut myself in my workroom and make a list of the soap orders I have to make next week. Then I sit on the floor and sort through all the random fabrics I have, trying to figure out what I can use to make some more cool stage clothes for the guys.

I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear the front door open and close and his heavy footsteps come down the hall, stopping in front of my closed door.

"Asia?" He knocks softly on the door. "Are you in there?"

"Yes."

"Can I come in?"

"It's your house."

He comes in and hesitates by the door, still wearing the same clothes, but looking pretty disheveled. "It's our house," he mumbles, his voice scratchy.

"Whatever." I start tossing my fabric back into the plastic storage boxes.

"I hate that word."

My hands still for a moment. "Let's not get started on what we each hate, Talon. I'm pretty sure my list is longer than yours right now."

"No doubt." He crosses the room and sits in the chair a few feet away from me. "Are you packing?" he asks.

"Should I be?"

"No."

Shaking my head, I shut the lids on the boxes a little too loudly. "No, I'm not packing. I was seeing what fabric I had in case you or anyone in your band really wanted me to make them some clothes."

"Of course we do."

"Great." Standing, I turn to leave the room, but he grabs my hand.

"Asia, please talk to me."

Pulling my hand out of his, I cross my arms and stare out the window, thinking how much it sucks to be so happy to see someone but also so pissed off at them at the same time. The struggle is real.

"What do you want me to say? Thanks for letting me come home alone? Thanks for letting me sit here and worry about you? Thanks for doing all the things I've worked so hard to get out of my life?"

"I'm sorry."

"I hate that word." I throw back at him.

He nods slowly, his head hanging down. "You have every right to be mad, baby—"

"Do not call me baby right now."

"Okay. I know I fucked up bad, and I'm sorry. The last thing I want to do is hurt you or make you mad at me. You do know that, right?"

"I think so."

"Don't think that, know that."

"Then show it."

He slowly lifts his head to meet my eyes, and he honestly looks like crap. Bloodshot eyes, messy hair, dark circles under his eyes. I quickly look away, not wanting to see him this way.

"I can't even look at you," I utter softly. "You look terrible."

"I feel terrible, but mostly about fucking things up between us. I didn't plan on that happening. It's just what I've always kinda done, ya know? We play, then we party after. I never had a reason not to, but now I do."

"And yet you still did it."

"You're right, and I know it was wrong. And I know sorry doesn't do shit right now, but I am sorry. I understand that drugs and alcohol are something I have to give up to make this work with you—and for me to be successful at anything, really. Storm is right. It's time for me to grow up and get away from that shit. I know I'm not perfect or in any way even fucking close, but I do care, and I am trying."

"I know that, Tal. I see it. I just can't have someone who uses drugs and alcohol in my life. I hate to say this, but if it's something you're going to continue, then we have to end this."

"I know, and I respect you for that."

I take a deep breath and exhale, my body shuddering. I don't want this to end already, not when we've only just started and have so far to go.

I drift toward the window and look out over our beautiful backyard where a squirrel is bouncing around among the shrubs. "I feel like every time we make some progress, we go back a step."

He rises and moves to stand behind me. "Isn't that normal?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is. I keep forgetting we've only been together about a month. It feels longer than that in some strange way."

His arms come around me from behind, and he holds me against his broad chest. "It does." He presses his lips against my ear. "I'm sorry. I'll be better, I promise," he whispers.

I close my eyes and try to let his words seep into me, to convince me that they're true.

Clasping my hands over his arms, I sink back into him and turn my head into his chest. "I hope so. I need you to be the one I can trust, no matter what," I say softly and then slowly unravel myself from him. "You should go take a shower. I'm going to finish this up."

He takes a few steps toward the door and then pauses. "For what it's worth, I loved having you there last night. I've never had someone who was mine there to see me play. And you looked gorgeous, Aze. Even now, standing there in just a T-shirt and sweats and no makeup, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Yeah, I still think you're cute, but you're beautiful too, which is a really fucked-up combination. And even more than any of that, you're amazing on the inside, and that's something I've never had. If that makes any fucking sense."

With that painfully honest confession, he leaves the room.

* * *

Later when I check my email and social media accounts, I'm bombarded with over a hundred new likes on my soap-making page, over two hundred new likes on my clothes-making page, and eighty-nine new friend requests on my personal profile.

"What the…?" I say to myself, trying to process why I suddenly have this monstrous interest in my itty-bitty business ventures. Then I realize the photos of Talon and me from the show last night were posted on the Ashes & Embers pages and also tagged on Talon's fan page. Also, the guy who asked me the questions typed up a brief article about our recent marriage, my name, and what I do. It seems like fans of the band have jumped over to my page and, holy shit…they are messaging me for orders for soap and clothes.

Oh my God.

I've never had so many orders. Ever.

I can't scan the emails and private messages fast enough—most of them raving about how much they loved Talon's clothes and have checked my photos of past designs and want to order something similar or entirely new.

I navigate over to Talon's page and click on the photo of us together, first saving it to my laptop because it's actually a great photo, and then reading the comments, which are mostly sweet and supportive, congratulating us. Just as Evie warned, there are also a few nasty comments, mostly from women saying I'm a gold digger, I'm ugly, he can do better, this won't last, I'm ruining him, and offering sexual favors. Terrific.

I have no idea how I'll ever get through all these emails and messages, let alone process all these orders. A mixture of fear and excitement comes over me as I read a few of the messages, shocked that they really seem to genuinely like my designs. This is like another dream come true for me. People actually want to buy my fashion designs and wear them. And my bath products!

Pixie jumps up on my desk and rubs on my arm, which prompts me to check her little blog page, and I'm blown away again. There are even more comments and page likes for her!

I pick her up and kiss her head. "Pixie, you're even more famous!"

Carrying the cat, I go upstairs to find Talon sitting on the love seat in the bedroom, writing in his journal.

"Tal, I have a zillion new likes on my pages and more orders than I can count."

He looks up at me, his wet hair hanging over his face, confusion in his eyes. "Huh?"

"That photographer from the club last night posted our photo and my info, and now I have over a hundred new likes and friend requests and a bunch of new orders for clothes and bath products."

"Baby, that's great."

"The cat even has more followers!"

He smiles but rolls his eyes. "Don't even get me going on the cat having more fans."

I sit on the love seat next to him and Pixie crawls onto his lap, nudging the journal out of her way like cats do.

"It kinda makes me feel weird, though, that these people are only ordering my designs because of you."

He puts the cap on his pen and closes his journal, putting it on the end table next to the love seat.

"Here's the thing, Aze…" He takes a puff of his e-cig. "Most music fans are really loyal and supportive. They try to come to as many shows as they can, they comment on all of our posts online, they send us real mail, they buy all our music and all our stuff, like our band shirts. A huge percentage of them, especially the girls, will also become fans of the girlfriends and wives of any member in any band. I'm not just talking about Ashes & Embers. I'm talking about in general for all bands." He rubs Pixie's head absently as he talks. "A lot of them will become fascinated with you, too, and want to support you or follow you online. It makes them feel close to us. Evie went through this too. She started to get a ton of emails and her own little fan club of sorts when she and Storm went public."