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Chapter Twenty-Two

Ashton

I have yet to bring myself to write about Khaos. Especially, after everything he’s confided in me. It feels... wrong. Somehow, even after all the risks I’ve taken on this tour, my morals still get the best of me.

My cell phone rings as I shut my laptop, the name on my caller ID eliciting a groan.

“Hi Blane.” I answer sweetly.

“Ashton.” He clips. “Remember that chat we had a couple months ago in Chicago?”

Acid sloshes around inside my empty stomach. I nod but realize he can’t see me. “Yes.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ll look unprofessional.” I try to explain again.

“Why do you think we had the paparazzi camping outside the venue in Chicago? It wasn’t to boost their fame.” He snarks.

“That was you?” I ask, thinking back to how he pretended to be upset.

“I was saving your project. You’ve exposed nothing substantial and now look, the lead singer has a mystery girlfriend.”

“He doesn’t have a -”

“Don’t care, Ashton. It’s not about the truth, it’s about what the people want, and they want more than just menial details on the band’s origin story. I’m starting to think you don’t really want this job.”

“I do! This is my dream job, but I just don’t think-” I stop mid-sentence as Khaos appears in the entry of the bedroom doorway on the bus. “I have to go.”

“We will discuss this further.” Blane disconnects, the threat lingering long after our call.

I smile uncomfortably up at Khaos, knowing that I could lose my job if I don’t betray this broken man in front of me. He hasn’t been able to trust in years, for reasons anyone can understand. The thought of outing him wouldn’t just jeopardize his band’s reputation, but it could destroy his life.

“The limo is outside waiting to take us to the city. Are you ready for New York?” He asks.

I nod, shoving down my recent conversation with Blane, swallowing it like accidental vomit. The taste is bitter and burns like acid.

We haven’t talked about last night, the things that he confessed.

Even though it haunts me, weighs me down, I still can’t help but see the boy he was.

Innocent, scared, lonely, hungry. He was the victim.

When I look at him now, I don’t see all the things he’s done, I see Khaos.

I see a broody man with demons that sometimes get the better of him.

I see a desperation for connection, for trust, for someone to rely on unconditionally.

Khaos pulls me into him, breaking me from my train of thought. With a rough kiss to my neck before tugging his mask back up over his nose, he ushers me out of the bus.