Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Asher

I step onto Sydney's tour bus, the warm, dim lights casting a cozy glow over the plush seats and scattered music sheets.

The hum of the engine underneath us provides a comforting background noise.

Sydney is already sprawled out on one of the couches, her guitar resting against her legs.

She looks up when I enter, a smile playing on her lips.

"Finally decided to join me, huh?" she teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Had to make sure you weren't planning any crazy pop tunes without me," I shoot back, dropping into the seat opposite her.

"Pop tunes? As if I'd let that happen," she laughs, running a hand through her long, dark hair. "So, what kind of songs are we thinking?"

"Well," I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, "we could do love songs. Something raw and real."

"Of course you'd suggest love songs," she smirks, but her expression softens. "What kind of love songs, though? What's the story?"

"Maybe about a couple drawn together but life keeps pulling them apart," I say, watching for her reaction.

Her eyes widen slightly, like she's picturing it in her mind. "That would be sad," she whispers, "but beautiful."

"Exactly. Something that tugs at the heartstrings."

She nods, her fingers idly strumming a few chords on her guitar. "That could be a good one. But we need more than just one song. I'm supposed to have one for my album, and you're supposed to have one for yours."

"True," I agree. "How about... a father struggling with addiction who wasn't there for his daughter? I could write from the father's perspective, you could write from the daughter's."

Her face lights up. "That's deep, Ash. And powerful. I love it."

"Great, let's start with that one then," I say, grabbing a notebook and pen from the table.

What she doesn't realize is that the inspiration behind this song is the relationship—or lack of relationship—that Polly has with her father.

"Okay," she says, shifting so she's sitting cross-legged. "Let's dig in."

Time seems to blur as we dive into the lyrics, bouncing ideas off each other, tweaking verses until they resonate perfectly.

Hours pass in a whirl of creativity and collaboration.

The lines flow seamlessly, each word heavy with emotion and meaning.

"Man, this is turning out amazing," I say, leaning back and stretching. "Can't wait to get into the studio and record this."

"Me neither," Sydney replies, her voice tinged with excitement. "We'll pitch it to Bellamy after we have it recorded. I've come to realize you have a better chance of getting the green light if she can hear it—hear the emotion in your voice."

"There's no way she's not gonna green light this, Sydney. It's brillian,." I say, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"By the way, what are your plans after the tour's over?" she asks, tilting her head curiously.

I suck in a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question settle on my shoulders. "Honestly? I'm not sure. Dealing with a custody battle with my ex-girlfriend right now."

"That sounds tough," she says softly.

"Yeah, it is," I admit. "But I'm also dating someone—Poison. Ideally, I'd like to be close to her."

"Poison would want you close," Sydney smiles gently.

"Yeah, I know," I nod. "But I need to get this custody stuff figured out and process all this biker life shit."

"What's there to process?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Just... it's taking some getting used to. I don't fully understand what the hype is about it," I confess.

"The club's a family," Sydney explains patiently. "A family most of them never had. They're people who will always be there for you."

And just like that, it clicks. It's the one thing she always wanted—a family.

"Want to grab a drink? There's a bar nearby," I ask, motioning toward the door.

"Sure," she says with a grin. "Let's celebrate, but we have to wait on the rest of them to come back before we go."

"Okay, got it," I reply, appreciating her words more than she knows. "What about you? Any big plans after the tour?"

"Well," she says with a mischievous grin, "I've got a few ideas, but nothing set in stone yet. Just taking it one day at a time."

"Sounds like a plan," I chuckle, feeling a little lighter. "One day at a time."

"Exactly," she agrees, her smile widening. "Now, let me text them and tell them I'm done, then we can go get a well earned drink."

"Sounds perfect." I stand up, extending a hand to help her off the couch.

My phone starts ringing and I notice it's a video call from Rachel.

I suck in a sharp breath and excuse myself, "Sorry, I have to take this."

I walk off the tour bus and click the accept button, surprised to see Rachel actually on the other end. "Is everything okay?"

Rachel licks her lips, looking more tired and worn down than usual. "Yeah, my attorney suggested I call you and let Tilly see you, so I'm just doing that."

I swallow hard, unsure where to go from here. "You don't think we can settle this out of court? Without all of the attorneys and mumbo jumbo?"

She cackles maliciously. "No, there's no way we're going to handle this without attorneys. I'm not playing these games with you anymore, Asher."

I look at my daughter, right into her eyes as she's sitting on her mother's lap, wishing things were different.

I wish she was here with me and not in Los Angeles with Rachel.

I shake my head, "I'm not playing any games with you. I just thought given our history the two of us could be adults about this whole thing and try to work it out, try to do what's best for Tilly."

"What's best for Tilly," Rachel repeats, "What's best for her is to be with her mother. Not with her father, who's a world renowned rockstar, traveling for the foreseeable future, and likely whoring it up with a whole bunch of random girls."

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, trying to maintain my cool. "Rachel," I start, being extremely careful. "I'm not doing anything you think I'm doing. I'm working things out with Polly and we're giving it another go."

Rachel forces a sour laugh. "Oh! Of course. Why didn't I think of that? It's not surprising, and this is exactly why I hired the best attorney in the city to represent me. Your home life isn't a stable enough environment for our daughter. So, it's best that she's with me."

My nostrils flare as I clench my fists in frustration. "My home life is more than stable, Rachel," I shoot back, trying to keep the venom out of my voice. "And denying Tilly the chance to know her father is not what's best for her."

"Save it, Asher," she interrupts, sneering at me through the screen. "We'll settle this in court."

With that, she ends the call, leaving a blank screen and an emptiness in its wake.

I stand there for a moment, staring blankly at my phone before turning it off and stuffing it back into my pocket.

I turn around and walk back inside the tour bus.

Sydney looks up at me, her gaze filled with concern.

"Everything okay?" she asks gently.

"It's fine," I lie, trying to force a smile on my face.

But I guess my eyes give me away because Sydney doesn't look convinced.

"It doesn't seem like it," she says.

Honestly, I'm not okay, but I don't have the option to let myself get depressed right now. It's not going to help me, and it certainly won't help my daughter.

"I think I just need a drink," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "How much longer until we can get out of here?"

Sydney nods, "I'd say maybe ten minutes."

I shift from one foot to the other. "Okay, that's not too bad."

Things are silent for a couple of minutes until she breaks the ice.

"You want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

"Not really, It's just..." I pause, struggling to articulate my thoughts. "It's just that I never thought I could feel so powerless. This custody battle shit isn't for the weak."

She nods, understanding. "I can't imagine what you're going through," she says softly. "But remember, you're not alone."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," I admit, running a hand through my hair.

Sydney offers a soft smile. "You have us... the band and Poison."

I manage a weak smile, grateful for her words. "I know, Sydney, thank you. That means a lot."

And it does.

Just then, the bus door bursts open as the rest of our group files in.

They're loud and cheerful. Stories of their day tumble out in a flurry of animated banter and laughter that seems to fill the small space with a lightness that is very much needed.

Now, all I want to do is go get a damn drink.