Okay. It's time to feel Ash. She's on a roller coaster in this chapter, thanks to Leed. This is an intense chapter.
The song...When the Party's Over by Billie Eilish. So appropriate from the title, all the way to the video. Listen to the lyrics, watch the video, and think about what Ashlynn reveals about her past in this chapter....it's very much Ashlynn in many of her relationships.
Ashlynn
As I try to peruse the gallery, my hand goes to my upswept hair for the hundredth time. I don't know why. When I'm nervous I play with my hair.
Mason is frowning slightly at me. His longish pale blonde locks fall forward as he bends toward me. "You seem nervous. Still. And we've been hanging out for two hours now."
Mason is absolutely right...I'm crawling out of my skin with anxiety, but it has nothing to do with him.
I can't find Leed and he hasn't been returning my texts. That is not like him. Something feels wrong.
When Trace and I spoke to him earlier, he seemed to get that what Kat overheard this morning was all just a big misunderstanding. He even texted a little later and said Kat was thinking straight on it, and they would see us at the show. Then all communication stopped. Did something change in his thinking? Did Kat somehow sway his opinion? Does he believe Trace and I were lying about the platonic state of our marriage?
Or is something else wrong?
It feels like something is going on behind the scenes at this event. Matt's limo left the rest of the caravan in the dust, and yet Matt, Trace and Street are nowhere to be seen. When we arrived, Marianne disappeared at once behind the door at the back of the gallery and hasn't returned. Most importantly, Kat is also MIA, and she should definitely be greeting the steady stream of swank patrons.
"Ashlynn?"
"Oh! I'm sorry, Mason. I'm not a very good company tonight..."
He smiles. "You're lovely and friendly, but you just seem..."
"Distracted," I sigh. "Look, the truth is..."
He grins good-naturedly, like he knows what's coming. "It's not me, it's you?"
The gallery doors swings open and the burning man who enters steals all the air in the room.
"More like...it's...him," I can't take my eyes off Leed. The man should never be allowed to wear a suit, he's causing an earthquake.
Oh wait. That's not the ground shaking. That's just my legs trembling.
His eyes meet mine. I smile.
He doesn't.
Instead, he swings around to Riley, who is following him through the door. To my surprise, they exchange what looks like tense words. Then he's making his way deliberately toward me, but getting apprehended by the official, sanctioned photographers. He stops automatically, giving them a photo op that will probably keep him crowned Sexiest Man Alive two years running, thanks to his smoldering look and tense jaw. After every couple of shots, his eyes flit to me. He's burning a hole straight through me with his consuming gaze, but he's not smiling.
Okay, I knew this wasn't going go smoothly. He's irritated that I'm here with Mason. Of course he is. This morning we told each other we loved each other and now I'm on a blind date. Which is the dumbest thing I've ever done.
And why, again? Because I'm too polite back out, or more accurately, too intimated by Matt to cancel?
This is stupid. So stupid. I should be here with Leed. I need to fix this, now, in the next half a second before he arrives. Because the man is on a mission. Namely me.
I think Mason had said, "What?" to my last statement.
"Leed," I say simply, gesturing to him stalking toward us. "He's my distraction."
Mason clears his throat. "Oh. So...you and Leed? A...casual thing? An over thing?"
"No, just the opposite. A very very new thing."
"Oh. Ok. Wow. Didn't see that coming. "
"I'm sorry Mason, I know that I'm very rude, I should have canceled this with you, but that also seemed rude..."
He shakes his head. "No, I get it. You're in the in-between. No worries..." Mason turns, putting on his own version of a rock star face as Leed arrives at my side. "Leed, hey man, good to see you again."
"Mason. Moran." Leed slaps hands easily with him. "Didn't put that one togetherâthat you were the Mason in question tonight. Is your dad coming tonight?"
Mason nods. "Yeah, I think so. Later."
"Fabulous," Leed mumbles under his breath. There's an awkward silence as he meets my eyes, and then his gaze travels slowly down my Asian style, very fitted, very feminine pink dress. The color he requested I wear, because I was wearing pink the night we met. The burn in his eyes dies down. The tenderness I see there lets me know he likes the dress, but there's some anger that's blocking him from enjoying that I dressed for him.
"You look beautiful, Ash." His words don't make me feel beautiful. The forced tightness makes me feel panicky. What the hell is wrong with us?
"She does," Mason agrees easily.
"Thank you," is all I can manage. I'm not sure it could get more awkward, but anything I say will probably prove me wrong and catapult us over the awkward line into disaster zone.
Suddenly, I am blind-sided by a torpedo in the shape of my sister. She comes out of nowhere and nearly knocks me over with the force of her hug.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Oh god, Ash, I'm so so sorry."
Is she about to cry? This is not like her. Not on a big night like this. I pat her back. "It's okay. I'm sorry. It was all just a misunderstanding..."
She jerks back and shoots Leed a glare full of unspoken things. He shakes his head at her.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask, looking between them.
"First things first," Leed growls, turning to Mason and taking my hand firmly in his. "I don't mean to be a douche, but Ash isn't single, okay? We're new, not official with the public, but definitely...together. She just didn't want to cancel on you, because Matt set it up and Matt gets what Matt wants..."
I say nothing. It might make some girls angry, how Leed is behaving, but I like being his, even if he is growly about it. Maybe especially when he is growly about it. It makes me feel safe, to know that even if he is irritated with me, nothing has changed. Everything we have said to each other, felt for each other in the last few days is still in the swirl of his emotions.
"Yeah, Ashlynn was just explaining how it is. It's all good, man."
"Okay, good. Well..." Leed looks at Mason expectantly, like he should just tuck tail and wander away.
Mason looks at Leed thoughtfully. I've been around Dawes and Riley and Marcy enough to know that's a business look. Mason works at the label, too, in A&R.
"Wow, you Soundcrush guys are fallin' like flies, huh? Adam and Mac married, Trace with an official girlfriend, and now you are following suit..." he frowns slightly.
Leed picks up on it immediately. "I know what you are about to say, man. I've already heard it from my manager just now. Soundcrush can't all grow up at once. The party life is sexy; the domestic life is not. Sex sells and I'm the...seller."
"Riley said all that?" I whisper. No wonder they looked tense walking in the door.
Leed glances at me and shrugs. "Not in those words, but that's basically what he meant. But... we were...talking about the next step," Leed says vaguely, and I can only assume he means confirming our relationship in the press since he's standing here with his fingers intertwined in mine and photographers are circling. "Look Mnson, I know you are in A&R at our label, but you're not our A&R guy, so leave the business advice for him or even your dad, okay?"
Mason holds up his hands in surrender. "It's a night off for us all. I feel ya, man." He turns to Kat. "You know, Kat, would you mind showing me the series of Matt and Lane? My dad has another engagement and might not make it before the auction closes. He asked me to make sure the label bids on one for the office..."
Kat agrees hastily. As she hustles Mason away, she shoots Leed looks over her shoulder, trying to communicate silently. He just nods at her and wraps an arm around my waist. He breathes in my hair, like he's trying to relax.
"I'm sorry, that's not the way I meant to greet you, but there's a lot of shit happening right now..."
"Band stuff? What Riley saidâ"
"Yes, but more than that..."
"Then what?"
"I'll tell you everything later. Right now...let's just get through this event." He pats me lightly on the back, steering me toward the hospitality tables. "I need a drink, baby. Badly. Hope you don't mind..."
I mind. Not that he wants a drink. More like, I mind that healthy people can have a drink to take the edge off, yet I feel so tightly wound right now that I might spring apart into pieces, but I can't find my relief in a bottle. A bottle of alcohol will likely give me a headache and bottle of pills will definitely send me down a path to a new rock bottom.
But Leed is not the one with a substance problem...that's me, so I say, "Of course not."
"Tequila. Make it a double. Straight up," he tells the guy, "And?" he prompts me.
"Seltzer with a splash of cranberry juice and lime, please."
Leed gulps his double during Matt's introduction and Marianne's speech, but he seems to pace himself after that, sipping the next as we roam the gallery. I think the photos and paintings Seb has done are amazing, but to my surprise Leed seems very unimpressed with the art and he doesn't care to engage with anyone to praise it-especially Seb.
Over the next two hours, Leed is less like himself than I have ever seen him. He is quiet. He drinks moroselyânot to point of drunkenness but into a haze. Worst of all, he...fades. He becomes background. He skirts the edges of the party, cutting short conversations he would normally enjoy, steering clear of groups, putting us in the corners of the room where he can watch people approach and ward them off with his sullen glare. He hardly ever engages me, except the occasional, "You okay? Need your drink refreshed?"
I can almost taste the bitter anger bleeding off him, but eventually my panic subsides. He's angry at something...it might even be me...but he's here, by my side, his touch hardly leaving me. So I'm not about to make it worse by demanding an explanation that he's not ready to give yet. He's been so patient with me. I can be patient with him.
I just...abide his mood.
My small touches and smiles seem to soothe him, or maybe it's the tequila, but eventually he relaxes a little. At one point he even gets a little flirtatious and hooks an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in as he whispers. "I really do love the dress. I hope I get to enjoy it in the most flattering light possible."
"Oh? Where's that?" I murmur.
"In the shadows on my bedroom floor."
A wave of excitement rolls down my spine and I shiver. I could let him take my dress off just like he wants. I would make love with him tonight, if he will only leave the pink corset I'm wearing in place. Maybe he will change his mind about waiting until I'm ready to get naked.
"That could be arranged. Maybe after you tell me what's bothering you," I say lightly.
It was the wrong thing to say. His sexy, hazy gaze goes blank then ices over. He nods tersely. "Yeah. Maybe." He snags two cocktails off the tray of a passing waiter, and tosses one back like it's water, putting the empty glass down before the server even has a chance to walk away.
"To you, my beautiful, sweet girlfriend who only thinks she wants to hear what's bothering me," he mutters and sips.
He's really worrying me now, and I don't think he needs to be here much longer. He's going to pass fuzzy haze into drunken recklessness, and Matt will probably kill him if he makes a scene at this event.
When I tell him I would like to go, but first I would like to bid on one of the photo's that Seb finally managed to get of Trace and Kat, feeding each other frosting off a spatula as they decorated Bridge and Row's birthday cake, he's dismissive. "You don't have to. I already made a donation for us."
That irritates me slightly. There is no "us" when it comes to the way I need to repay Trace the annulment settlement he insisted on. I've decided since Trace won't let me return the money to him, I'm going to pay it forward, in honor of him. Right now, Trace's money is in the hands of a good money manager, and I'm able to live off the interest while he grows a trust as wellâfor exactly this kind of stuff. Putting Trace's money to work in ways that support him.
"I want to," I tell Leed and I explain why. He smiles a little bleakly at me. "You are an angel," he touches my cheek, but something goes dark in his eyes and he gulps down the rest of his drink and escorts me over to the auction table, where I can place my bid in the silent auction.
Even though I'm busy registering my bid with one of Kat's WITCH colleagues, I hear Riley pass by and practically spit the words. "It's done. Everything you need, including the contract, is with Sawyer, at your place."
What the hell is done? What's going on? It is some endorsement Leed is negotiating that is troublesome? Is it something deeperâsome band contract? I've never known the Soundcrush members to bicker over business. But things are different now, I guess, with Mac's solo career and Adam branching out into producing and Bodie MIA. I guess I could see how Trace and Leed might be coming down on different sides of band matters.
I turn from the table, but Leed meets my look of question with a firm negative headshake. "Not now. Not yet."
I let out an exasperated breath. "Fine. Let me just tell Kat good-bye and we can go."
Despite the praise I heap on Kat for a wildly successful job well done, she's subdued. "Are you going home with Leed?"
When I nod, she nearly tears up again and hugs me fiercely. "I love you. Call me if you need me, okay?"
"Kat, you and Leed are scaring the shit out of me. Is something...wrong? More than the stupid misunderstanding today? Is it the band? They aren't in trouble, are they? It's not...oh god...it's not Leed? He's not...sick, or something, is he?"
Leed is twenty-seven and prime specimen of health, but I know how health can be ripped away unexpectedly.
"Kat," I grab her fiercely.
Her eyes go wide. "No, nothing like that. You should...you should talk to Leed. In private. Oh shit..." she mutters looking over my shoulder. I turn. Trace and Leed are arguing.
Kat and I rush over as fast as our four inch heels will allow.
"Don't do this, man. It's not gonna go down like you think, I promise you." Trace is hissing.
"You are such a goddamn hypocrite, you know that?" Leed snaps back. He has a steadying hand on the wall.
"Yes, but I'm still right, about this."
"We'll see, brother."
"Fuck," Trace mutters and turns to Kat, all irritation evaporating. "No worries, baby. Leed and I are just hashing some things out."
I don't ask what needs to be hashed out. Leed has already made it plain he will tell me, once we are alone. That's my only priority now...getting the hell out of here and finding out what has Leed so unbalanced.
I wrap my arms around his waist. "Ready?"
"Yeah." He leans forward and plants a kiss on Kat's cheek. "You did good, Ballard B. Tough as nails, heart of gold. I'd say Marianne has found her successor."
Trace seems a little less irritated at Leed as he praises Kat, but I turn to goo inside. Even drunk and upset, Leed's just about the sweetest man alive.
"Awww, Leed, stop making me like you so much. It's more fun when you are annoying and I get to roast you. Hey, don't worry about your Porsche. I'll park it safe and sound in Trace's garage, okay?"
"Thanks."
"Paparazzi outside," I whisper. "Try not to look so..."
"I'm never too drunk to perform," he says, his whole demeanor rising to alertness as he pushes open the door for me and takes a deep breath in the cool February night.
The paps call Leed's name and mine dozens of times as we walk the half block to his Ferrari. They pepper us with questions in between flashes. "Is it true that Tamara hates Ashlynn?" someone calls. "Leed, are you in a custody battle over your son?" "Ashlynn, how's your head? Tell us about rehab! Are you still one hundred percent sober? Ashlynn!!! Leed!! What is your status?"
Some people would freeze at the intrusive questions, but they only make me more determined to reach the car and escape. Leed is unhurried however, forcing me to keep a measured place. "Don't run from them. Never fucking run. It makes them ten times more aggressive if they know they get under your skin."
Leed opens the door to the driver's seat of his Ferrari and gestures for me to climb in. A bubble of tension pops inside me. Thank goodness he does realize he's too drunk to drive. He presses the keys into my hand and kisses it, and the paps go crazy. "Leed! Leed! Is it serious? Are you living together?"
Leed lounges against the car, his hand on my shoulder, giving the paps more shots. "Hell yes it's serious. I'm seriously drunk, and Ashlynn is sober as always." He turns to me. "You gonna take care of me, baby? Put me to bed, gimme that good medicine to fight off a hangover?"
"So much for keeping a low profile," I lean my head against the steering wheel.
"I've decided we're going a different direction than that," Leed growls and closes the door, wading through the paps to the passenger side. I ease the car out into the crowd of paparazzi, who are forced to make way.
Leed is quiet on the fifteen minute drive home, and I'm starting to worry that he'll pass out and I'll have to wait until morning to know what's bothering him, but when I pull into his garage he's suddenly more alert, climbing out of the car and walking straight into the house like I'm not even there.
"Oh-kay," I follow only to find him in muttered conversation with Sawyer. "In your office. Top left desk drawer. I'll be in the pool house." He melts away, leaving Leed and I alone.
Leed stares at me. "Fuck, Ash. I'm sorry about tonight. C'mere," he says. I go easily into his arms.
"It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong, please..." I whisper.
He delays. He insists on making espressoâfour little cups that he lines up on the kitchen table. He drinks one quickly, the second slowly, the third he only pretends to sip, while I nurse a mug of tea and exercise more patience than I knew I possessed.
When he suggests we go outside and have a cigarette together, I know it's really bad.
"I don't want a goddamn cigarette!" I practically yell, but then I try to control my irritation, "Leed, I want to know what's got you so torqued."
"You!" he snaps back. "You! I'm so in love with you, and that's a pretty fucking crazy place for me to be and before I can even get used to it, now I'm mad as hell at you and I'm trying to figure out how the fuck to work through that, okay?"
Oh God. It is about me and Traceâor what he thinks Trace and I were, at least.
I rise and stand in front of him. His kitchen table is bar height, so we are nearly even. "I swear to you, Leed. Trace...our marriage...it was exactly like I told you. He and I never slept together, never made out, never even kissed except briefly when we said our vows. We fell asleep together one night on the sofa and woke up holding each other and it sent us both into a tailspin because neither one of us wanted thatâjust to give up, give in to human nature and wind up in bed together by default. We cared about each other too much...to fake something that wasn't there. It hurt a little when Trace shut me out after that, but it wasn't because I was in love with him, it was only because I need his support, his friendship, and it was gone. That is the truth."
He nods solemnly, "I believe that, Ash. But what I need to know is...where did you turn, when Trace shut you out? He was in Portland, writing for our second album. Who were you with and what was happening to you?" He places a hand on my side, exactly where my secret scar is. "Did he make the first cut before you left LA? Was that why you ran?"
It's insane how fast my heart ramps up. In a few seconds I'm nearly gasping for the oxygen my out-of-control body needs.
Oh god. He knows. I don't know how, but somehow he knows.
"I don't know what you are talking about," I blurt, backing away from his hand. It's so obviously a lie, but I'm panicking now, reverting to my addiction behaviors. Deny, deny, deny.
I turn, and head to the living room.
He follows. "Don't," he says softly. "Don't pretend. Tell me the truth. I need to know."
He might need to know, but I need to not tell. It's so confusing and complicated in my brainâI thought I knew what I was doing back then, and the lines got so crossed. It went from helping to hurting and I don't know which shame is biggerâthat I needed what happened, or that I was so wrong about the person I was getting it from.
I put Leed's low, modern couch between us. "You already know. I slept with men I didn't care about, men that didn't care about me, so they would share their lifestyle. Their drugs. Some of them turned out to be nasty people."
"Some of them? Or...one of them? Ashlynn..."
Agression is also one of my addict behavoirs. I strike hard.
"What does it matter, Leed? You say you love me. Love is about acceptance. Just...accept...that I want to leave it in the past, okay? In fact, just accept, that I don't like to be naked, how about that? We can still have sex...I can give you everything you need and keep a damn shirt on. If you can't accept that...maybe this is isn't love. Maybe this is...an egomaniac caught up in wanting what he can't have..."
Leed looks exceptionally wounded. He runs the back of his hand across his lips. "That's what you think? That I just want to bend you to my will? That I'm playing games with you? That I don't love you?"
I don't think that, but I'm not ready for confession and the only way to keep Leed from getting inside is to push back at himâhard. "I think...if you love me, then you need to give what I need. You need to accept that my past is out-of-bounds. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to talk about it. I damn sure don't want to see it reflected in your eyes when we are in bed, which is why I need to keep clothes on. I just want my past...to stay in the past. Can you accept that?"
Leed is perfectly still for a moment. "No."
He turns and walks out of the room. I watch him go. I grip the couch.
It's okay, I tell myself.
This scene has repeated so many times. So many "relationships" gone sour. So many hopeful beginnings cut short by my problems. It's okay. I will survive. I survived brain trauma and drug addiction and life on the run. I survived him.
I can survive Leed Lawson.
But why am I sinking slowly to my knees, holding onto the back of this couch? Why do I feel like my despair is rising rapidly around me and that I might drown?
Breathe, Ashlynn. You can't drown if you breathe.
That's all I can do. With one denial, Leed has reduced me to clinging to life's breath. So many men I walked away from. So many times I fled him for my survival. I can't flee Leed. I can only cling to his furniture like a life raft and try to keep my head above water.
Suddenly, his arms are around me, collapsing around me on the floor, pulling my death grip away from the back of the couch and pulling my arms around his neck. He gathers me to him. We don't say anything for a long moment, he just holds me and I cling to him. Slowly, my breath comes back to me. It's no longer running away from me. When he feels me relax in his arms, he scoots us against the wall, and puts my back to his chest, just like last night in bed when he edged my orgasm for an hour.
He makes no move to touch me intimately, however. He just sits with his head thrown back against the wall, like he's seeking a direction. I rest against him, but my head is bowed forward.
"I knew you wouldn't tell me," he murmurs. "That's the only reason I'm doing what I'm about to do, okay? I never want to hurt you, or shame you, but you have to understand...I can't accept that your past is in the past, because it's not. It's in our present."
He shifts forward and pulls something out of the back of his pants. A manila envelope. He hands it to me. "Baby, I fucking hate that you need to see this. But you need to understand."
Despite all the alcohol, he rises effortlessly behind me and steps away. He paces the room while I hold the envelope, a cold fear creeping over me. "What's in here?" I ask.
He doesn't answer. He just stops in front of the glass wall and stares down at his lighted pool and the dark canyon beyond.
My hands shaking, I open the envelope. Thirteen pictures spill out. Slightly poor quality phone photos processed into print. Photos of paintings. Of me.
It's hard to describe what I feel. The first twelve pictures are surreal because they are things that happened to me, but twisted by artistry. The last is a thing that happened to Kat, but I guess the artist's point is that she feels what I feel when I look in the mirror.
Like a whore.
I trace the letters on the last painting. They are more accurate than the preceding twelve. Seb must have seen them when he took my pictures. I scatter the pictures and find the first one, on the settee, and close my eyes, remembering the first trail of the blunt knife blade, barely scraping my skin, leaving no more than a scratch. He was right, it made me feel something, and I hadn't felt anything in months. I cried and cried, like that one simple scratch had opened a vein of sorrow. I look at the tourniquet, the track marks on my arm. My oblivion. My reward.
I look at the last picture, that is actually Kat's memoryâthe word WHORE spelled on my skin. It didn't start out that wayâan ugly open wound. It started out as an experiment. I thought he was helping me, but to him it was only ever a game. He was not what he portrayed himself to be. He was only an abuser in disguise.
For a moment, I'm lost in all the confusing memories, but then Leed's slow footfalls recall me to the present. He walks over to me, stops in front of me, doesn't say a word. I'm on my hands and knees, my head bowed, looking at paintings of a me I never want to be again, and Leed is standing over me. I can't raise my gaze beyond his shoes. His presence is more powerful than the man I used to serve.
One thought grips me like a live current.
I can't get lost in another man's will. I have to get out of here.
I snap to my feet and spring to the side, but Leed has cat-like reflexes. He grasps my arms and gently but firmly puts me against the wall. He bows his head to mine. "Don't run," he whispers hoarsely. "Please. Not from me."
He tilts my head up to his, but I squeeze my eyes shutâmy version of an ostrich hiding her head in the sand. "Now you know, okay? I am so fucked up, Leed. Just let me go."
"We are all fucked up at some time or another, by one thing or another. You are healing. You've decided who you want to be and you claimed the best version of yourself. You are growing into that person more and more everyday and it's the most fucking beautiful thing I have ever seen," Leed whispers. "You are not a whore."
"I was, many times." I was because he turned me into that. "But that's not how it started. That's not what I was in those pictures. You are the sex-savviest person I know. Surely...you see. You can see what I was."
His breath comes in frustrated snort. "Look at me," he growls fiercely. "I know what you think you were, or what you agreed to be. But you were not that man's Sub. That man was an abuser, you know that, right?"
I nod slowly, tears sliding down my face. "I know that now. I didn't, then."
"Who is he?" Leed asks softly.
"Doesn't matter," I whisper hoarsely.
He pushes away from me, still holding me against the wall. He knows me. If he didn't keep hold of me, I would walk right out. There is no way I am telling Leed who he is. There's too much at risk, and not just for me.
He reaches down and pics up one of the photographs. "Seb painted these on commission, Sweetheart. The minute you got back to LA, you were on his radar. He paid Seb to finish dozens of photographs of you before the paintings even started. This guy is obsessed with you."
"He's not. We had a final, awful ending. He knows I'm completely done with him. He could have contacted me any time in the last nine months and he hasn't."
"Bullshit. He's not contacting you because he's stalking you. It's only a matter of time before he..."
My eyes snap to his. "Before he what? I'm not that girl anymore. The one that runs, gets hunted like prey, and submits again. I'm not going to kneel at his feet if he tells me to." I shove Leed a little. "I'm not going to kneel at your feet, either. You don't get to...command me."
Leed cocks his head in disbelief. "You think that's what I want? A submissive? Christ, when have I ever given you that idea?"
"Last night. Orgasm denial. A pretty standard form of BDSM play," I whisper.
Not that it ever worked on me before. It only served the opposite purpose...to make me unable to come when he commanded it. I would fake it, but he would know I was performing. Then I would get punished for "disobeying" and that pain would be my path to release, because if I didn't cry out, eventually he would give me the pleasure I really cravedâdrugs. It was all a sick game. A sick place. A place I'm never going back to.
Leed releases me, paces in front of me. "Okay, so I like to play in bed. I like to draw things out, to tease, to tempt, because it makes the whole thing sweeter. I like to be in charge. I want to make you wild because you don't know what I'm going to do to you next. But I'm not into rules and forced roles and punishment. I don't like to inflict real pain or cause injury. I'm not into whips and paddles and..." he swallows. "Knives. That's not my gig and you damn well know me well enough by now to sense that about me. And it's not your gig either, if some asshole used all that shit on you and only gave you pain and you could get no pleasure from it. So don't even make this about that. This is not about me and you. This is about someone that hurt you. This is about a name. His. Tell me."
"There you go again," I hiss. "Commanding."
"I'm not commanding, Ashlynn. I'm fucking begging you." He scrambles among the scattered pictures and picks one up, seemingly disregarding the fact that I am on my knees, naked, my hands bound behind my back, my face uplifted, my mouth open in preparation to service him. Instead, Leed is pointing to the orange, green and yellow sound absorption panels and the faded, oriental rug I'm kneeling on, the leg of a sound equipment stand in the left corner of the picture. "I don't know if this is a real place, but I damn sure know what kind of place it is. It's a sound booth. This fucker that hurt you is in the music industry. He's part of our worldâthe world that you only came to through usâthrough Soundcrush. You have to tell me who he is, baby. A sound engineer? An A&R guy? An artist?"
If I tell Leed, I know what he will do. I won't let it happen. I have to keep some dignity. I shake my head. "No. Just let it go. It's past."
"It's not in the fucking past if he's having people around us paint sick fucking fantasies of you!!!"
I jump.
That's the first time the Lion has ever roared at me.
He tugs at his hair with both hands. "Shit. Ash...I'm not trying to be an asshole. I'm sorry for yelling. I just...I'm going crazy right now, okay? The idea that some sick fucker is stalking you? Do you not know what that does to me? Especially after Mac..." he trails off and goes back to pacing.
I go to him. I can't help myself. I hate to see him anguished.
He stills beneath my touch.
"The painting aren't fantasies, Leed," I whisper. "They are trophies. He got what he wanted from me. He broke me. Now he justs want to put me on his wall of victories. I won't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence ever again. If you love me, you have to respect my feelings on this, okay?"
Leed looks to the ceiling. I feel sorry for him. This is exactly why I didn't want to be with him in the first place. I have too much baggage and he feels too easily. He's overwhelmed. He's furious. He's rightâhe's going crazy and I'm causing it.
"I'm sorry, Leed. I'm so sorry for how this makes you feel. I won't seek retribution for a past I'm trying to put behind me. I will do...anything...to help you feel better about. It's not necessary, but if want me to hire a security guy? I'll talk to John about helping me recruit someone."
He snorts. "I've already taken care of that. Your detail starts as soon as we get back from Nashville."
I sigh. "It's not your place to pay for my security..."
"It is. Especially if you mean what you say...if you'll do anything to assuage my concerns," he bites his lip and looks hesitant, but then he wraps me in his arms and strokes through my hair.
I smile up at him, just glad that the fury seems to be fading. "What can I do, Leed?"
He bounces on his toes slightly. I can't tell if he's nervous or just psyching himself up. He slides his hands down to take mine.
"You can marry me."
My instinct is to laugh, but the ferocious stare quells me.
He presses on. "If you won't let me go after this guy, marry me. Let's go big and splashy and public so this fucker knows you are mine to protect and maybe that will be enough." He pulls a box from his pocket. It has a blinding ring in it. "I've got a contract in my desk drawer too. Not a pre-up, not in the traditional sense. Really, it's more of a...marriage contract. Like...a trial marriage, for a year. That should be long enough for this guy to understand you are under my protection. If we want to stay married, we can renew the contract...if not...well you can look at the settlement. It's generous."
"Oh my god," I say blankly, staring at the ring.
He bends, trying to catch my gaze. His lips are curled, but it is not the smile of a man pledging his eternal love. More like the nervous, slightly excited, mostly terrified grimace of a man about to jump out of plane, hoping like hell his parachute is working. "Is that an oh-my-god, Leed, of course I'll marry you?"
"No, it's an oh-my-god, you weren't kidding when you said you would fuck up in the worst ways."
His face drops in disappointment. "I knew there was a risk you might feel like you've been there, done this...it's not the same as you and Trace."
"How is it not the same? You want to get married for all the wrong reasons. You've come up with this crazy idea after one bad night, and you've got the ring, the pre-nup. If I were to say yes, what's your next move? Vegas by midnight?"
He looks hurt. "Naw. I was thinking of something way more romantic than that. I figured we could do it next week in Tennessee. Up in the mountains...find a gorgeous overlook, have a small, intimate ceremony, a nice party afterwards. Everybody would already be there. You could invite your parents to come. It's not exactly a fake marriage I have in mind. It not the same as you and Trace. I love you. Like crazy. You say you love me. It would be real...just..."
"With a one-year expiration date."
He tugs his hair in exasperation. "I told you, baby, I don't know if believe in forever. Maybe things might look different after a year together, I don't know. All I know is I'm trying here. So fucking hard. Trying to figure out a way to take care of you. To make sure you are safe and..."
"And make sure I'm yours. Yours, until you decide you don't want me anymore. By contract." I laugh. In all this craziness, I find myself laughing. "Leed, you are such a Dom, you just don't know it."
He snaps the ring box shut, correctly assessing that his proposal isn't going to be accepted. "That's not fair or true."
"You know what's not fair? Youâpulling this stupid, reckless shit, just because you found out some pretty bad news today and you can't deal. This is my life," I sling a hand at the photos of the floor. "I've been living with this for nearly two years now. Trying to find the normal me, after being...that girl, in those scenes. I'm finally building a life, and I want you to be a part of it, but you don't just get to come in and...take it all over!"
I'm headed to the kitchen. He follows me. "I'm not trying to take you over. I'm asking you to be my partner, my companion to go through the next year with, and maybe longer. I'm asking you to take care of me, to let me take care of you, and to see how things go for awhile. Maybe our love will grow and things will look different. Maybe we'll renew our contract. Maybe we'll be together for years. Or maybe our love will fade and if it does, then we can still part as friends who didn't make unrealistic promises."
"You're asking me to be your married friend with benefits. You've got it so ass-backwards, Leed. This is the one thing I'm absolutely sure of, after one fake-marriage. Marriage is not an experiment, a trial, a means to an end. Marriage is the leap of faith you take when your love is so strong you can see forever."
He stares at me, like he can't comprehend.
I pick up my purse, realizing automatically that I don't have my car here.
"Shit," I change course, and stalk out the side kitchen door. Leed follows me.
"You are leaving, in the middle of this? We are so not done talking about this, Ashlynn!"
"I am done talking tonight, because you must be way more drunk than I thought you were," I sling over my shoulder.
I head down the gate and punch in the code. He follows, because he understands where I'm going now. "This is some shit, Ashlynn. You know that, right? We have a fight and you are running to Trace's house?"
I turn around on the sidewalk and walk at him, poking him in the chest. "This is not a fight, Leed! This is insanity! This is too much. We were supposed to be...fun. Light. This is not fun, you throwing pictures in my face of the darkness I'm trying to leave behind. This is not light...you proposing crazy marriage contracts when we've been dating less than a week!"
He grabs my hand and flattens it on his chest. Above his pounding heart.
"I could have given you fun months ago. You wanted love, Sunshine. And now you've got it. Maybe you should have been careful what you wished for. I love you, okay? I love you, and I don't give a shit about your past except that we need to deal with it. But you won't. You think you are running from me, but you are still running from it. So go to Trace's. That's cool. But I'll still love you in the morning."
"You sure about that? How do you know your love won't expire overnight?" I hiss at him.
"Jesus Christ," he growls back and grabs my head, kissing me fiercely.
His kiss makes me want to give in to whatever he says, to melt against him, to let him draw me back into his house and into his bed so that I forget the real memories behind the stylized paintings. But then I see myself on my knees in front of Leed, looking at his shoes and all my old fears about him return. He's the kind of man that gets what he wants. He's the kind of man I could lose myself in. And I'll be damned if I'm going to be his wife-by-contract. I am done with contracts and rules.
I break the kiss, so he understands I mean this. "Good-night Leed. I'll see you on the plane tomorrow."
"Ashlynn," he growls.
I just shake my head and sprint down the sidewalk, pulling up the security app on my phone, praying that Trace hasn't changed the code to the gate. He hasn't. Leed follows me up Trace's drive.
"Ashlynn," he says more calmly. "You're right. I'm drunk and it's been a helluva of a day. I know this is all a blind side for you. Your anger is just the surface. You've got be...reeling. If you need me...need my safety...we don't have to talk about any of this anymore tonight. You can just come back home and we can sleep, baby. Things will be better in the morning."
I slow on the steps to Trace's front door, bowing my head. Leed sounds so...sad. I'm the one making him mad and sad, and he doesn't deserve any of this. I'm wavering on the edge of giving in to him, but at the same time thinking I should end this altogether so he doesn't have suffer all my baggage.
The front door opens. Trace leans against it casually, hands in the pockets of his tux pants. He looks rueful as he takes us both in, and that's when I realize, he knew what Leed was planning.
That's what he and Leedâand Rileyâwere all arguing about earlier. I still don't know the whole story, but obviously Leed found out about the paintings accidentally while at the gallery today and called in the calvary. That explains why Matt, Trace, Leed, Street, Dev and Marianne were all huddled in Seb's studio and why Marianne and Seb seemed so tense.
I think about Kat's tearful hugs tonight. Great, she knows, too.
They all know.
I look up at Trace and shrug, helplessly, lost in my shame. He sighs.
"Leed, I told you this was a bad fucking idea."
"Yeah. You did." Leed says, resigned.
"You need some space away from this maniac, hon?" Trace says mildly.
I nod, but I'm frozen. Wanting Leed at the same time I want to hide from him. Trace comes down the steps and pushes me up them, and I have never felt more like he was my brother than in this moment.
I let him push me through the entrance. "Kat is making cookies. She's wired as hell, just like I always am after a show. Why don't you go binge on the first batch with her? You can stay in your old room. Kat won't mind, I promise you. It's all good now."
Then his gentle, shoving encouragement is gone and he's sitting on his top front step and Leed is sprawling gracefully below with a groan of frustration.
I close the front door on them, with just another reason to be grateful for Trace. I am too mixed up to be there for Leed right now, but Trace might be exactly what he needs.
Thoughts? Is Leed overreacting? Is Ashlynn running scared?
Will they get married in Tennesse? Remember, this is exactly where the timeline for Urgent ended, so we don't really know, do we?
What happens next? Ooooh, I know! I know! A ride on a private jet to Nashville! Are we finally going to see the Mile High Action? Seems doubtful, doesn't it?