Page 39 of When the Stars Rise
Who the fuck does he think he is?
He calls after me, “I wish I could believe you, Noah, but history proves otherwise.”
On that note, his door slams shut, and I take deep breaths through my nose.
I hate that he’s right. Maybe Dean and I aren’t so different. It’s only our drug of choice that differentiates us.
But no, I’m nothing like Dean. I’m not an addict. Unlike Dean, I can walk away whenever I want. Besides, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone.
When this tour is over and we’re back in California, I’ll talk to Hayley. I’ll tell her the truth. Explain how important the Norway trip is to me and how I need to check a few final items off my bucket list, and then I’ll be done.
I just need a little more time to do the things I’ve planned, that’s all.
In the meantime, I’m going to focus on what matters—protecting Hayley and letting her know I’m there for her.
I shoot off a quick text and get a reply almost instantly. Dean might think he’s in charge of this tour, but Zoe runs the show.
Zoe: I want a 30% commission from that Armani campaign I got for you.
Me: 20% and I’ll throw in a bottle of champagne.
Armed with the information I need, I head back down to the lobby and walk out the front door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hayley
“Let’s do this, babe.”Asher is giving me that half-smirk half-smile that all the bad boys have perfected, but I’m shaking my head, no.
I was heading out the door when Ash Tuesday’s super fans requested that Asher and I sing together. All I want to do is return to the hotel and spend time with Noah, but Asher slings his arm around my shoulders and leans in close. “It’s for the fans. They’re gonna eat this shit up.”
Ash Tuesday finished their set earlier, and now their indie rock music is pouring from the speakers as videos of the band play out on screens behind the stage of the warehouse converted into a club.
Purple lasers light the stage, pulsing to the backbeat, and the graffitied brick walls wrap around the crowded dance floor.
The fans are here for the band, not for me.
I scan the roomful of industry execs, journalists, some A-listers, and superfans before focusing on Asher. He’s dressed all in black, from his button-down to the combat boots on hisfeet, his dark hair even messier and more disheveled than usual, thanks to the blonde he was making out with earlier.
When I walked out of the ladies' room and saw them together, I felt absolutely nothing. Not even a single twinge of jealousy. That’s how I knew that I’d never gotten emotionally attached to Asher.
“I’m not here to perform,” I tell him. “I’m only here because Bastian asked me to be here.” Bastian signed Ash Tuesday to his label, so I showed up, did my part, and now I’m ready to leave. “I have an early wakeup call tomorrow,” I add.
“Come on,” Asher says, not taking no for an answer as he ushers me through the crowd sipping cocktails and doing tequila shots.
The other band members are mingling, so it’s just the two of us up here. When Ash shoulders his guitar, the music cuts out, and a hush falls over the room.
There’s no going back now.
“We’ll do one of Bastian’s songs,” he says. “The one we covered in Berlin.”
Without waiting for me to agree, he launches right into Bastian Cox’s “Blue Ghost” and moves close, making the guitar scream and shiver in his hands.
Unless I want to make a total fool of myself, I have no choice but to follow his lead, so I lean into the mic and sing along, and despite my reservations, I get swept up in the music.
Music is so powerful that I forget how he dragged me onto the stage against my will.
I give him a little smile and a shake of my head that says,Look what you made me do. Happy now?
