Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Asher

The hot water cascades over my shoulders, steam filling the tiny shower on my tour bus.

I close my eyes and let the warmth soak into my muscles.

My thoughts drift, as they often do, to Polly—or Poison, whichever name she wants me to call her.

Polly. Poison. That woman with curves that drive me insane. Her silver blonde hair, and those deep eyes that seem to see right through me.

Memories of our time together flood my mind.

The way she used to look at me, like I was her whole world.

I lean against the tiled wall, the water pounding down.

Every detail of her comes back to me.

The way her skin felt under my fingers, soft yet firm, the heat between us undeniable.

Nights spent exploring every inch of each other's bodies, lost in a haze of passion.

"Fuck," I mutter, feeling myself getting hard just thinking about her.

It's been too long since I've touched her, since I've felt her body against mine.

The last few times we were together...man, those memories are enough to drive anyone wild.

I grip my cock, already stiff and aching.

Images of Polly dance before my eyes.

Her lips parting in a moan, her back arching as she rode me.

I can almost hear her voice, whispering my name with that sassy tone that always got me going.

"Polly..." I groan, stroking myself slowly at first, then faster.

My hand moves in rhythm with the thoughts racing through my head.

Her hands gripping my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.

The way she would bite her lip when she gets close to falling over the edge.

"Goddamn it," I breathe, tightening my grip.

I imagine her here with me, her body pressed up against the shower wall, water streaming down her perfect form.

Her breath hot against my ear, her hips grinding against mine.

"Yes, Ash," I hear her say in my mind. "Just like that."

I pump harder, faster. The pressure builds, the need for release overwhelming.

Polly's face, her body, everything about her consumes me.

I picture her beneath me, writhing in pleasure, calling out my name as she comes undone.

"Fuck, Polly!" I cry out, the tension snapping as I explode, release washing over me.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, the water still pouring down, mixing with the evidence of my desire.

Spent, I lean my forehead against the cool tile, letting the water rinse away the last traces of my release.

But even as the physical need subsides, the longing for her remains, gnawing at me, an ache that no amount of self-satisfaction can soothe.

God, Polly. What are you doing to me?

I step out of the shower, water dripping from my hair and onto the cold tile floor.

My mind's still tangled up in thoughts of Polly, her voice echoing in my head.

I grab a towel, rubbing it briskly over my skin, trying to shake off the lingering heat that thoughts of her always bring.

"Get a grip, Ash," I mutter to myself. "She's not here."

I pull on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, the fabric clinging to my damp skin.

The tour bus rocks slightly as someone moves around outside.

I can hear the distant hum of the highway, the occasional chirp of birds—definitely not L.A. anymore.

"Where the hell are we again?" I ask the empty space.

Oregon. Right. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere with nothing but trees and rain.

We've got a show tomorrow night in Portland, which means today's a rest day.

A whole day to kill with nothing planned.

As much as I love the road, these dead days drive me nuts.

I push open the door to the living area of the bus.

It's cluttered with the usual mess—empty beer cans, guitar picks, and bits of sheet music.

The smell of stale smoke and beer hangs in the air, familiar and oddly comforting.

"All right, what the hell am I gonna do today?" I ponder aloud, scratching my beard.

Maybe hit up a local bar, find some trouble to pass the time. But then, just as I'm about to formulate a plan, my phone buzzes angrily in my pocket.

"Who the fuck is calling this early?" I grumble, fishing it out.

The screen flashes a name that makes my stomach knot up. My attorney. Great.

"Yeah?" I say, answering the call.

"Asher, it's Mark. We've got a situation."

"What's new?" I reply, rolling my eyes.

There's always a situation when it comes to Rachel.

"She's going for sole full custody of Tilly."

"That's ridiculous!" I snap, pacing the length of the bus. "She can't do that. She won't get away with it."

"Any judge would see that too, Ash," Mark says, his tone calm and measured. "You haven't been ruled an unfit parent. We'll fight hard. Trust me."

With as much as I fucking pay him, damn straight he better fight hard.

"Yeah, well, you better," I growl. "I'm not losing my daughter because Rachel's on a goddamn witch hunt."

"Don't worry about it, Asher. I'll handle this."

"Do more than handle it, Mark. Win it." I hang up, my hand trembling with rage.

How could she? Sure, she might be mad at me, but she's using Tilly as a weapon against me.

Tilly's my world. There's no way in hell I'm giving her up without a fight.

I collapse onto the worn leather couch, running a hand through my buzzed hair.

The ache in my chest deepens, mingling with the frustration boiling inside me.

Rachel's always known how to push my buttons, but this... this is a new low.

"Goddamn it," I whisper, staring at the ceiling. "What else is gonna go wrong?"

As if on cue, the door to the bus swings open, but I don't bother looking up.

My mind's too clouded, too focused on how to keep my daughter safe, how to make sure Rachel doesn't win this time.

"Hey," a familiar voice calls out, breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

I look up, and there she is—Polly.

"Not now, babe," I mutter, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside me.

But even as I say it, I know there's no escaping this conversation.

Not with her standing right here, demanding answers with those piercing eyes of hers.

"Too bad," she shoots back. "What's going on? You seem really stressed out. I can see it all over your face."

"My attorney just called me," I reply, my voice weary. "Rachel's trying to get full custody of Tilly."

Polly's eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't say anything right away.

Instead, she takes a step closer, her gaze searching mine. "Tilly?"

Fuck. I don't think I've told her about Tilly yet. I was waiting for the right time while we figured our shit out. But, I guess there isn't really a right time.

I take a deep breath, feeling the sting of old wounds reopening. "After you and I broke up, Rachel moved to Los Angeles. We started dating. She got pregnant. I have a daughter, Tilly."

Polly blinks, processing the information.

The silence is deafening, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, she lets out a slow exhale, shaking her head slightly.

"Rachel...of all people," she murmurs, almost to herself. Then those piercing eyes lock onto mine again. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was waiting for the right time," I admit. "I was done with her."

"Yeah, and I get that," Polly says, her tone softer now, though still laced with that familiar sass. "But a heads-up would've been nice."

"Yeah, well," I say, running a hand through my hair again. "Life's complicated."

"Isn't it always," she replies, a hint of a sass in her voice. "You don't have to be a dick about it though."

"Look, Polly," I start, standing up from the couch. "I didn't plan any of this. But Tilly—she's everything to me. And now Rachel's trying to take her away."

"Sounds like a real mess," Polly says, her voice carrying that edge of sarcasm she's so good at.

"Yeah," I nod, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "It is."

Polly blinks a few times, her silver blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the bus windows.

She's silent, processing what I just told her.

The way her pale skin flushes slightly tells me this news is hitting her harder than she's letting on.

"Spit it out. I can tell something's on your mind," I urge, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's just funny," Polly finally says, her tone sharp and bitter. "You played right into Rachel's hand." She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to accentuate her curves in that tight crop top she loves so much. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"Polly, I didn't know what she was doing," I protest, feeling my frustration rise.

Her words sting, but I can't blame her for how she feels.

"Of course you didn't," she retorts, rolling her eyes. There's that sass, that fire I both love and hate. It's what makes her, well, her .

We stand here, the tension between us growing by every moment.

The hum of the tour bus engine and the distant sounds of the crew moving around outside are the only noises breaking the silence.

I want to close the distance between us, to touch her, to make her understand.

"Polly—" I start, but she cuts me off with a raised hand.

"Save it, Asher," she snaps, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "This is classic you. Jumping into things without thinking them through. And now look where it's gotten you."

"Yeah, well, Tilly is the best thing that's ever happened to me," I say firmly, standing my ground. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep her."

"Good," she replies, her voice softening slightly. "You should."

For a moment, we just stare at each other, our past and present colliding in ways neither of us could have anticipated.

My heart pounds in my chest, torn between the memories of what we once had and the reality of what stands before us now.

"Can we... can we just sit down and talk?" I ask, taking a step toward her.

She hesitates, then nods. "Fine. But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you off easy for not telling me about this."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," I say with a small smile, gesturing toward the couch.

As we sit down, the space between us feeling both vast and intimate, I take a deep breath.

This conversation is far from over, but for now, it's a start. And maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to navigate the twisted paths our lives have taken.

"Polly," I start, but she cuts me off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Don't, Asher," she says, her voice trembling with barely contained frustration. "I tried to warn you so many times about what she was doing."

Her words hit me like a sucker punch. I can see the pain in her eyes, feel the weight of the years between us pressing down on my chest.

"You're right," I admit quietly. The admission tastes bitter on my tongue. "I didn't listen. I should have. But, Tilly has made me a better man."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" she snaps, her tone a mix of anger and something else—something more vulnerable.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It's not about making it better. It's just the truth. Because of her, I've grown up. I had to. She's made me mature in ways I never knew I could."

Polly's eyes soften just a fraction as she processes my words.

It's a small change, but it's there. I can feel the tension between us shifting, evolving into something less volatile but no less charged.

"She's lucky to have you," Polly finally says, her voice low. "But it doesn't change what happened."

"I know," I reply, reaching out to touch her hand. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean into the touch either. "I know."

We sit here, the silence stretching around us like a taut wire, ready to snap at any moment.

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Do you ever think about what could've been?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"All the time," she admits, her eyes locking onto mine.

And just like that, the space between us feels smaller, more intimate.

The past is still there, a ghost haunting the edges of our conversation, but for now, there's a sliver of hope.