Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Asher

"Missoula, Montana," I mutter to myself as I step off the bus.

The cool air bites at my skin, a sharp contrast to the heated atmosphere inside.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Bellamy's name flashes on the screen and I'm about to hear one of two things—something that will irritate the ever loving shit out of me, or she has good news.

Bellamy is my boss, and the owner of the record label I'm signed to.

"Hey, Bellamy," I answer, leaning against the side of the bus.

"How are you doing, Asher?" Her voice is smooth, professional, yet there's always a hint of warmth.

"Good, just getting ready to hit the road and head back home."

"Great to hear. I was hoping I'd catch you at a good time. So listen, I have a proposition for you." Oh boy, here we go.

"Yeah? What's up?" I furrow my brows, curious as all hell.

She takes a few moments before she finally speaks up, carefully wording what she's asking me. "How do you feel about co-writing a couple of songs with Sydney Monroe? One for her album, one for yours."

"Sydney Monroe? Hell yeah, she's got a killer sound. Like Halsey but with more edge." I can almost see Bellamy's smile through the phone.

"Exactly. She's on tour right now. You know, I was thinking of a way to tease the songs you two are working on, maybe you could join her for a few shows as a surprise guest? Especially since your tour is wrapped up."

"Yeah, I'm on board for it. Where's her next gig?" If I'm lucky, it's in a few days and I can at least head back home for a small break.

She sighs, "That's the kicker. It's tonight, in Three Forks, Montana."

"Tonight? I was about to get on my tour bus and head home."

"I'd apologize, but I think this is a really good opportunity for the two of you. Would you mind altering your plans just for a day?"

She's right. It would be a good idea to do this. "Yeah, I can do that."

Bellamy speaks sincerely, "Amazing. I appreciate that so much. Where are you right now?"

"I'm in Missoula."

"Perfect. Three Forks isn't far from there. Can you make it before the show starts?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Thanks, Asher. This will be great for your career."

"Yeah, I know it will be."

I hang up and step onto the bus. My boots thud against the metal steps as I enter.

The familiar scent of bourbon and vanilla fills my nostrils, grounding me in a way only this life can.

"Hey," I say, my eyes immediately finding Tilly in her pack and play.

Her tiny fists wave in the air, and she lets out a giggle that tugs at something deep inside me. There's no better sound in the world.

"Hi," Rachel says from the recliner next to Tilly's makeshift crib.

Her eyes dart up the second she sees me, a mix of hope and anxiety swirling in their depths. She sits up straighter, as if bracing for impact.

"How's she been?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

All my focus is on Tilly now, her innocent eyes locking onto mine.

"Good," Rachel replies softly. "She's been good."

I nod, picking up a toy from the floor and handing it to Tilly, who grabs it with an excited squeal.

Seeing my daughter fills me with a warmth I can't describe, a love so pure it almost hurts. But seeing Rachel? That's another story.

"Glad to hear it," I say, straightening up and finally meeting Rachel's gaze.

Internally, I brace myself. Being near her is like navigating a minefield, one wrong step and everything could blow up.

"Thanks for waiting for me to get finished," I add, trying to keep things civil. For Tilly's sake. Always for Tilly.

"Of course, you had to work, and I just wanted to help." Rachel says, her voice tinged with something I don't want to name.

She shifts in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on the armrest.

Rachel licks her lips nervously, "Can we talk about things, Ash?"

"Unless it's about Tilly, then no." My tone is flat, final. I can't go through this again. I can't keep fucking fighting with her.

Rachel's face crumples, her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I'm not ready to give up on us," she whispers, voice cracking. "I still love you."

"Rachel," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We haven't been together since Tilly was born. Almost nine months now. It's over. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. We can't keep having this conversation."

Rachel's tears begin slowly escaping through the corners of her eyes. "But it doesn't have to be! We can work through this. We've been through so much worse, and we have a daughter to think about."

"Have we?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm standing, all we've done is hurt each other. We're good friends, but romantically? We're a disaster."

"Please," she begs, reaching out a hand toward me. "Just give us another chance."

"Stop," I snap, louder than I intended. "I can't stand this shit, Rachel. All I want is for us to get along for Tilly's sake. That's it."

Tilly gurgles in her pack and play, oblivious to the tension between her parents.

I glance her way, my heart aching. She deserves better than this constant tug-of-war.

"Do you really mean that?" Rachel's voice is small, broken.

"Yes, I do," I say, steeling myself against the pain in her eyes. "For Tilly's sake, we need to move on. Both of us."

"Wow. You really want this to be done. Rachel's voice cuts through the thick tension like a knife. Her eyes are wide, desperate, and praying for me to change my mind.

"Yes," I say, my tone as firm as I can muster. "I want this to be done and over with."

She flinches at my words, like each one is a physical blow. But she needs to hear this. We both do.

"You're a good friend, Rachel," I continue, trying to soften the edges of my harshness. "But we can't be together—it's too toxic."

Her shoulders slump, and the fight drains out of her. She looks at me, a mixture of heartbreak and resignation in her gaze.

For a moment, there's silence between us, just the low hum of the bus engine and Tilly's soft breathing filling the space.

"Okay," Rachel whispers, barely audible.

She stands up and picks up Tilly from her pack-and-play, cradling our daughter against her chest.

The sight of Tilly's tiny fingers clutching at Rachel's shirt tugs at something deep inside me.

It's not like I didn't want this to work between us. I did. I wanted it so badly.

"What's the plan?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.

Rachel swallows hard before answering. "We were just here for a visit while you were in Missoula anyway. We'll head back home to Los Angeles."

"All right." I nod, running a hand over my freshly cut head. "I'll see you there in a couple of weeks. Potentially, depends on how shit goes."

"Why a couple of weeks? I thought you were done?" She narrows her brows, suspicion lining her features.

"I'm going on tour with another artist," I say, meeting her gaze head-on.

"Another tour?" Her eyes widen slightly, processing the information. "Who's the artist?"

"Sydney Monroe," I reply, keeping my tone casual. "Bellamy thinks it'll be good for both our careers."

"She's sending you out with some hot young thing, of course she thinks it'll be great for your career," she murmurs, looking away.

There's a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe resignation—in her eyes, but she doesn't press any further. Instead, she adjusts Tilly in her arms and walks toward the door.

I don't bother replying to what she said, because why would I? It would only cause a fight and I don't want that.

"Safe travels," I call out as she reaches the exit.

"Yeah," Rachel mutters, not looking back.

The bus door swings shut behind her, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the echoes of our conversation.

I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to process everything.

This is the right decision. For me, for Rachel, and most importantly, for Tilly.

But damn if it doesn't sting.