Staring at the keys, I reposition myself to the appropriate ones. Starting to play, I let the song play out for a ten second introduction before adding the new lyrics.
“You’re letting your emotions show,” Rhys says from behind me, startling me from my concentration. His reflection staring back at me with an unreadable expression on his face causes me to turn and face him.
“What are you doing here, Rhys?”
Running his hand against the guitar on the shelf, he asks, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? This is my studio.”
“It’s not yours yet,” I remind him, irritated he’s laying claim to Stella’s property. “Stella told me I could use it while I’m here.”
“Good ol’ Grandma,” he muses dryly. “Always helping the less fortunate.”
My eye twitches at the remark, but I don’t bother saying anything back. He shouldn’t get the opportunity to watch me react like he wants. I won’t let him get off knowing he got under my skin again. Like he always does.
“You haven’t called me. Where’s the song?”
“I told you what I felt about that before.”
Something in him shifts, like he’s not in control of himself. His hands shake, eyes twitch, and jaw is clenched so tight I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself.
“And I told you that it isn’t an option!”
I bolt up when he shoves the awards off the shelf and onto the floor. I stumble backward, heart racing in my chest as I stare at his reddening face.
“R-Rhys?”
He takes a deep breath, fisting his eyes. “I need the song, Ashton. Conner isn’t messing around. Don’t you get it?”
My eyes roam over the dented and broken awards scattered on the ground. Swallowing down my fear, my eyes travel back to his.
“What I get is that you still haven’t told me the whole story.”
He steps forward and stops when I flinch at his jerky movement. Lips parted, shock overpowering his anger, he stares at me.
“Ash …” His voice breaks as he watches my fear-filled eyes. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Do I?” I doubt in uncertainty. “You already did, Rhys. But this?” He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Not since he showed up at Teagan’s house. He’s got bags under his eyes, a thick dusting of stubble across his jaw, and his eyes are glazed over.
He takes another step forward, so I step back.
“Ash. Baby—”
“No!” I shake my head furiously. “No more. Tell me what’s going on, Rhys.”
He glances around the mess he made, eyes locking on the broken trophy at his feet.
“Is it drugs?” I ask quietly. Looking at him falling apart in front of me tells my gut what I don’t want to believe. “Even you’re better than that.”
He laughs like a madman. “Drugs? That’s what you think?”
“You’re not being rational. You’re angry.” I gulp. “Have you even slept? It makes sense. Just be honest.”
“I’m not on drugs,” he deadpans. “I just need the song. Where is it?”
I take a courageous step forward. “Not until you tell me why. You say you won’t hurt me, then prove it.”
A pained expression crosses his face. “I told you already. I can’t.”
Blinking, I quip, “Can’t or don’t want to? There’s a difference.”
His fists clench. “Dammit, Ashton!” he barks. His eyes snap to my notebook, and he snatches it before I can get it first.
“Give it back!” I demand.
I charge toward him, but he sidesteps me, keeping the notebook out of reach.
“Rhys!” I demand.
“Sorry,” he whispers, sounding genuine, something heavy weighing down his tone. “I can’t let him ruin me.”
Ruin him? What isn’t he telling me?
He bolts out before I can ask him, and as I’m trying to run after him I trip on a broken piece of award on the floor. I barely catch myself, the palm of my hand catching on the edge of the shelf but the skin being stabbed with a sharp piece of glass that must have flown up during his rampage.
Regaining my balance, I look down at my bleeding hand, tears welling in my eyes. The pain radiates up my arm, but fear is what causes the tears.
Disregarding the wound, I kneel to start cleaning up the mess Rhys left. It seems like that’s a hobby of mine lately.
There’s a gasp at the doorway followed by Stella pulling me up with concerned eyes.
“Stella—”
“Hush, now. We need to get this cleaned up.”
I think she means the broken awards everywhere, but her eyes are focused on my cut hand. She drags me to the bathroom, forcing me to sit on the closed toilet seat. She digs through the small wooden cabinet, taking out a first aid kit.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She tilts my head up. “What in the world do you have to be sorry for? I saw Rhys tear out of here like his house was on fire. Something tells me he made that mess. Not you.”
My eyes go to my palm, Stella getting tweezers to carefully remove the shard. I wince when I see the blood trickle out, but she quickly puts my hand under running water and helps wash it away.
“It doesn’t look deep,” she says softly. “I think cleaning it out and putting a bandage on it will be enough.”
I nod.
“Ashton, what happened?”
I blink, gathering my thoughts. Because even though I was there, I’m not sure I even knew.
“He was just so angry,” I murmur, lost in my thoughts. I shouldn’t worry about somebody like him, but it’s hard to act like I don’t care for someone that my heart used to cling to.
I cared, and I probably always would.
“Stella, I’m worried about him. He looked like he hasn’t slept, and he’s just … off. I think maybe drugs are involved.”
She pulls out an alcohol wipe next. “I really hope that’s not the case, but it’s better to be sure. I can get a test run on him.”
My brows go up. “You can do that?”
“He’s under his father’s label,” she explains calmly, focused on the task at hand. “I own my fair share of the company, therefore I’m just as much boss as his daddy. If I think there’s reason to make him take one, then he has to.”
I’m surprised by the news, not knowing she owned the company. Which means that his whole family’s fame was passed down.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he? He didn’t do this?” She gestures toward the clean cut, fear of my answer in her eyes.
I shake my head. “No. I cut myself on the broken glass. He got upset over … It’s not important. He broke some stuff and I’m clumsy.”
“Intentional or not, be caused this.”
“He’s …”
Stressed? Upset? Nervous? Why am I defending somebody who is so willing to go behind my back? To go against me?
“I’ll make sure he gets help,” she promises. “For whatever is causing this. But if you know something, it’s time to ’fess up, girly. Can’t help if I’m left in the dark.”
Pressing my lips together, I watch silently as she applies the bandage to my palm.
I haven’t told anyone about the night of the after party. Not even Teagan, and she was there. She came as my plus one since Rhys was invited separately. But the truth is, I blame myself for that night. I lead Conner Mason on, gave him witty banter, flirtatious nudges.
He tried taking advantage of me and I freaked out, but it’s my fault he got the signals mixed up. I just wanted Rhys to be jealous, to show that he cared about me. He stopped long before then, so I needed validation. Something that made me feel a connection to him. Jealousy was my game.
But it backfired. People took pictures of Conner and me. They joked about us getting together. And when he dragged me to the media room, I should have guessed what his intentions were—that I’d taken it too far. But it was too late and the damage had been done.
Even though nothing happened that night between us, what did tra
nspire was all because of me. And if those pictures leaked to the press, then I’d have nobody to blame but myself. All because I craved my boyfriend’s affection.
The guilt eating me up inside makes me tell Stella everything. The whole truth. What Conner is threatening to do. How Rhys is in on it somehow. It’s a mess, like my life is a domino effect of bad luck.
After spilling my guts, I expect the weight on my shoulders to lessen, but it doesn’t. It eases, but there’s something still there weighing me down.
Stella sighs, cleaning up the counter and putting the kit away. “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Ash. It may not have been smart playing with fire like that, but you’re human. You were hurt and lonely and wanted to feel validated. It doesn’t make what Rhys and Conner are doing right.”
“It doesn’t make what I did right either.”
“We’re human, kiddo. We make mistakes.”
“I don’t know how to fix it,” I admit defeatedly. “I messed up and have no clue what it’ll take to make it better. Rhys is hiding something from me, but he won’t tell me what.”
She pats my good hand. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. You need to keep your head in the game for now. You’ve got a good opportunity to build yourself up. Don’t waste it.”
“I don’t think I can focus right now.”
“Find a way to. You can’t keep letting Rhys hold you back. You’re free of him now. You’re your own person. Live your life.”
I don’t know how …
The admission crashes down on me, realization sputtering like a plane out of control. This whole time I know that music is my life, that writing and singing makes me happy. That making Rhys happy made me feel good. But outside of those things, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Maybe the problem the whole time is the fact I lost myself a long time ago. Lost sight of who I am when I tried gaining a career. Conformed to what my label wanted. What the press did. I could wear leather pants and cowboy boots to make a conundrum for reporters, but it’d take more than my style to show them who I really am.
Is that what happened between Rhys and me? All this time I saw a change in him, but maybe he saw one in me, too. Laying the blame on him isn’t fair when I’m just as much part of the problem.
“You should go home,” she suggests, breaking away my string of silent worries.
I stand up, my good palm running down my thigh. “Yeah, Teagan is probably expecting me. I was supposed to be home an hour ago.”
“I don’t mean back to her house. Go back to Tennessee, Ashton. Go home to Nashville.”
Eyes wide, I stare at her. “I can’t just up and leave, Stella!”
“Who says? Does your contract tell you that you have to write a song in Los Angeles? Just because you met them here doesn’t mean any of you have to stay. None of you live here.”
“It’s not fair to Dylan. He doesn’t live in Nashville. His home is in New York. I can’t just drag him with me. There’s no reason to.”
“Mental health is a good reason.”
Mental health?
“Kid, you need a break from here. This has never been your scene. You need a familiar perspective. Your roots are the only way you’ll find that again.”
The idea of going back to Nashville does bring a serene feeling into my bones. I’ve been homesick since I left, but my job is the reason I can afford to keep my childhood home.
“And what about Dylan?”
“Best you can do is ask him,” she tells me. “I know he’s seen as a sporadic kid, but something tells me he’s a reasonable one underneath all that war paint.”
There’s a small smile playing on her lips that I can’t figure out.
“I guess,” I relent slowly, studying her brazen expression.
She rubs my back. “I’ll clean up after my grandson and then make some calls. Don’t you worry, Ashton. This will work out in the end. It always does.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, hoping that she’s right. Stella usually is, but when it comes to me I can never tell when the luck will run out.
Teagan soaks up the news about as well as I think she will. Her eyes are tear-rimmed and blurry, and her jaw quivers even though she’s trying to remain calm.
“Teagan,” I plea, feeling my own tears come center stage. I hate seeing her get emotional over me.
Knowing Stella had a good idea, I couldn’t just ignore it. So as soon as Teagan got home from meeting up with her agent I broke the news and asked for her advice. And of course she wants what’s best for me, because she knows that going home will help me in ways that staying in LA can’t.
But it doesn’t make leaving her behind any easier, knowing she’s the only original thing in my life.
She sniffs. “I’m sorry, Ash. Ignore the bumbling idiot. I’ll just miss my best friend. Having you around makes me homesick.”
“So come with me!”
She frowns, which makes me mirror hers. “I can’t. My agent has auditions lined up for me around the premiere schedule. I think this is my moment.”
“Oh, Teagan!” I pull her into a hug, squeezing her in comfort. “I’m so happy for you. You’ve worked so hard to get here. You’re going places.”
We’re both crying now, holding each other and not wanting to let go.
“Whoa,” a new voice intervenes in our moment. We pull away, looking at an intrigued Dylan standing at the door, stroking his jaw and staring between us.
“Don’t stop on my account. Think I saw a porn that started this way once.”
Teagan laughs and brushes away tears. “I hate to disappoint you, but unless I’m paid to kiss a girl for the big screen, it ain’t happening.”
Dylan shoots us a crooked smile. “I’ve got a few hundreds I’d be willing to give to the cause.”
I scoff just as Teagan pinches my butt, causing me to yelp. “Although if we’re both old and single I’d go gay for that. Just saying.”
I smack her hand away. “Oh, please. Like you’re staying single your whole life. If either of us is destined to be the crazy cat lady it’s me.”
Dylan snorts. “You ladies don’t want cats, believe me. Plus, neither of you will be single long.”
Teagan crosses her arms. “Is that a promise?”
He grins. “Guys would be stupid not to snatch you up.” He may be telling us both that, but he’s only looking at me, and those eyes pierce through me.
“Question,” Teagan prompts, body shifting toward his. “Hypothetically, if you were to choose one of us lovely ladies to date, who would it be?”
My jaw drops. “Teagan!”
I want to tell her that there’s no way he’d pick either of us, because dating isn’t his thing.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he says, and I think, here it is, “but it’d be Boots.”
My eyes snap to him. “Um. Excuse me?”
Teagan has a smug expression on her face, like she just won the lottery of all assumptions.
“You’re a spitfire, Ashton. You’re feisty. You don’t take people’s shit. And you’re beautiful. Any guy would be stupid not to acknowledge that if he’s got it.”
Teagan makes a sound of admiration.
I laugh a little, hiding my face so he can’t see my reddening cheeks. His admission makes my limbs fire up and heart skip.
I manage to clear my throat. “Okay, Romeo.”
Teagan squeezes my arm. “I’ll let you two talk,” she murmurs, giving me a comforting smile.
Dylan’s brows pinch together when she leaves us alone. He walks into the living room, hesitantly sitting down on the couch and looking at me from across the room.
“What’s up, Boots?”
I rub my palms together nervously, forgetting about the mild flesh wound. I wince when the friction rubs against it, and Dylan quickly notices the source, eyes darting to the bandage.
“What the hell happened?” he demands icily, shoving off the couch and sauntering over to me with intent in his eyes. He grabs m
y arm and holds out my hand palm-up.
His eyes burn into the bandage like he’s trying to melt it away and assess the damage. It’s alarming to see him so stricken over something so little, and if he’s not careful it may be mistaken for him caring.
Pulling my hand away, I assure, “It’s nothing, Dylan. I had a minor accident at the studio after you left.”
His eyes flare with anger. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
His eyes tell me to stop arguing. Pressing my lips together, I watch as a hundred emotions cross over his face. Anger. Guilt. Sadness. I let him go through the phases, even though I want to cup his cheek and whisper for him to stop.
But I don’t. I don’t because I can see that the pain he puts himself in makes him feel alive somehow, like the raw emotions wake him up. Clear the fog. And once they all pass, his eyes return to their usual endearing color, with just an edge of hardness in the chocolate puddles.
I walk over to the window and sit on the edge of the sill. “I wanted to ask you something in person, because I thought texting it would be pathetic.”
His crooked grin reappears. “If you’re finally asking for a piece of me, I told you the day would come.”
If I had something in close range to throw at him, I would. Instead, I give him a mock glare and shake my head. “Nice try, but that’s not it. I want to go back home. I’m planning on leaving tomorrow, but it’ll all depend on you.”
“Home …” He stares at me inquisitively. “As in Tennessee?”
I’m only able to nod.
He blows out a breath. “And you want me to go with you.”
Another nod.
“Going to need words, Boots.”
After a moment, I sigh. “I need to get a clear head, and I can’t do that here. I’ve got a private studio on my property back in Nashville. If you’re willing—”
“It’s not that I’m not willing,” he cuts me off abruptly, offended I’d think so. “I just want to know why. That’s all.”
I wet my lips. “I think I’d be better off there,” I admit, shrugging. “And Stella seems to think so, too. In fact, she mentioned that Rhys is going on tour, so he won’t be there.”
The Moments We Share Page 13