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I’m no longer mad at Lizette, because what happened to her was horrible, and she was a victim in all of it. All she did was fall in love with the wrong person. I still feel awful about what I said to her last night, but at the time, I didn’t know what else to say or do. As she lashed out, the feelings that I’d shoved down for years came to the surface and I lost control.
Trish had been left in the dark accidentally—along with our bodyguards and sound crew. Spilling the beans to Sean and then Mike and Brian had taken enough of a toll on Ash, and we all forgot to keep the others in the loop amidst the pandemonium of our last Cali show and Lizette’s visit.
After we all get buckled into our respective seats, Trish’s eyes dart from her phone screen over to where Ash and I sit across from her.
“What the fuck?” Trish asks under her breath.
Ash blows out a nervous sigh and leans over to put his head in his hands. I pat his back sympathetically and wordlessly motion for Brian, who’s sitting next to Trish, to update her on everything because he’s closest to her, and there’s no way I’m leaving Ash’s side.
Sean makes a hilarious facial expression of regret as Brian leads Trish as far away from where we’re seated as possible. It isn’t long before we hear Trish exclaim, “What?!” into the space surrounding us. Mike, who sits next to our two bodyguards nearby, rubs his temples with meaty fingers. If our guards, Jim and Evan, know anything, they don’t make a big deal out of it. Jim’s already asleep, and Evan reads something on his tablet, unconcerned.
Though I want to respect Ash’s space, I can’t help but ask him what it is they wrote in their breakup posts. Less than a minute after the posts went live, my mom texted me several of the dancing girl emojis and then the gif of Jennifer Aniston and Lisa Kudrow fromFriendsbouncing up and down excitedly. I rolled my eyes at her texts, but on the inside, I was all sunshine and rainbows about it.
“I don’t care if you look at it,” Ash groans.
Despite my best efforts, I cave and look at Lizette’s post on Twitter and Ash’s post on Instagram before we lift off. Both announcements are cordial but come across as cold from the lack of emotion on both ends. It’s like someone instructed them on exactly what to say, how to write it out, and to keep it professional. It makes sense given their situation, but I know it will leave a lot of fans speculating.
There’s no getting around the fact that the internet is blowing up with the news. I don’t bother looking into what’s being said about them after I read their respective posts. Instead, I put my phone on airplane mode.
It’s killing me not to touch Ash more intimately, but for now, I keep a hand on his sweaty back and hope it grounds him.I want to pull him onto my lap, but eyes are watching, and no one knows about us yet. Except for Mike, I guess. When Ash told me that Mike had his suspicions all along, I wasn’t remotely surprised. If anyone was to figure us out, it’d be him. Like my mother, not much goes on without Mike knowing about it.
Trish and Brian take their seats before the jet starts moving. Trish leans down over Ash and gives him an awkward half-hug. I can’t help but notice a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Is it because he’s gay? Probably. I’ve seen the way she ogles him when we’re rehearsing and hanging around together in between shows. I can’t really blame her.Ash is undeniably attractive and talented as hell. And he’s all mine.Finally.
It’s a nice, long flight to Washington. At some point, I’m the only one awake. The lights are off in the cabin, and I sneak a light kiss to Ash’s temple from where he snoozes next to me, thankful that he’s able to escape the confines of his consciousness for a bit.
When we land on the East Coast, it’s dark, and I’m grateful for it. I think the emotional rollercoaster we’ve been riding on is starting to take a toll on me, too. All I want is a chance to lay in bed with Ash on my chest, in a private space away from everyone online and their unsolicited opinions.
The great thing about playing in D.C. is that we get to stay in Mike’s Tudor-style house in the city. When we aren’t on tour, Mike is home in Alabama with his wife. He rents out real estate all over the country as a side gig, mostly for fun. He was raised by a realtor and an architect, and his passion for houses is nice when we’ve all been on the road a little too long, and we need the sense of a home away from home.
From the airport, we (the main band members, along with Mike, Evan, and Jim) get into a couple of SUVs that escort us through the city of crazy drivers to the house, which is in a side neighborhood somewhere off of H Street. For the next two days, we will leave the outside world at the door as much as possible while we rest and recharge.
As soon as the SUVs pull up on the side of the house, the outside light by the front door comes to life. Mike, who sits next to me, shoots out of the car and bounds up to the door like his life depends on it, and as soon as we get out behind him, I understand why.
Miranda, Mike’s wife, opens the door. Mike hauls her off her feet and engulfs her in a giant bear hug. We lean against the cars, snickering to ourselves as we let them have their moment. Even though they saw each other a few weeks ago, being on the road more often than not can take its toll on the strongest relationships.
From the road, I can hear them laughing in between kisses.
“Alright!” Miranda calls after a long, passionate kiss. “Come on, you heathens! Dinner and fresh cookies await!”
God, I’ve missed Miranda.
We rush up to the house—well, most of us do. Trish hangs back with her thumbs hooked around the belt loops of her jeans. I realize that she's never been here or met Miranda before. Wanting to give Brian a chance to help her out, I meet his gaze and nod behind me to Trish as nonchalantly as possible. It takes him a moment to get the hint, but by the time we’re halfway to the door, he’s explained who Miranda is and what to expect. By the time we make our way inside, Trish is beaming at Brian and has her arm looped through his.
Miranda beams at each one of us as we walk through the threshold. She kisses Sean’s cheek and holds onto Brian as tight as she can. When she releases Brian, she takes Trish’s hands in her own and beams at her. Trish devours the attention and whatever tension she had when we arrived disappears. Miranda makes Jim spin in a circle so she can get a full view of him, as he’s gained a lot of muscle since the last time we were here. She exclaims how gorgeous Evan’s girlfriend is—because we’re all friends on our secretive social media accounts, of course. And when she reaches Ash, she runs her fingers through his hair in the most maternal way, then hangs on to him. She whispers something in his ear before diverting her attention to me.
Miranda is a little younger than Mike, with bright blue eyes, a pale complexion that makes her light dusting of freckles stick out, and long, natural, red hair that reaches the top of her butt. She’s only ten years older than us, but she acts like we’re all her kids.
The rest of the crew walks through the foyer and into the kitchen, where the savory smell of homemade chicken Alfredo and garlic bread wafts through the open doorway.
I wrap my arms around Miranda and force myself to bend down a little bit to accommodate our height difference.
“Andrew!” Miranda squeals into my ear, her voice laced with a thick Alabama accent. My name is pronounced more likeAyin-drewwhen she says it. I grin as her hair brushes against my face. “Is our Ash gonna be okay, darlin’? I sure hope so. I didn’t want to pry, but I was awful worried when I saw the news this mornin’.”
I squeeze Miranda in a tight hug until she protests and swats playfully at my arm.
“He’s not okay right now,” I say. “But he will be.”
We walk into the dining room where Miranda has the long table set up with everything we’ll need for our home-cooked meal. I could cry at the cloth napkins she folded, the baskets of warm bread bundled up in towels to keep warm, and the vase of fresh flowers in the center.
