I’d met him through mutual friends. Nobody famous, of course. But we’d hit it off right away and over time, he became my best friend. He attended every show I worked, showed up for every shoot I did. He was always around. The tabloids knew we hung out all the time, yet nobody suspected we were ever dating.
Granted, we weren’t. I honestly didn’t think Ash had it in him to be committed to one person. I was often the one to put some hungover chick in a taxi and send her on her way the morning after their… activities, I guess you could call them. Considering he never wanted them to know where he lived, I let him use the guest bedroom at my place. While I slept at his house. Because there was no way I was going home to hear that.
I couldn’t tell you when my feelings went from friendship to more than that. Probably on my 21st birthday when my mom called and said my dad was gone. He’d just up and left. Didn’t leave a note or take anything. Except some clothes. His wedding ring had been left on the bathroom counter. I was devastated and had called everyone and cancelled my party. Even though, half a year later, he'd come back.
Ash being Ash, he’d shown up at my house unannounced and barged into my bedroom. Where he found me curled in a ball, eyes red and swollen. I fell asleep in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder, and his chin on top. He’d hummed one of BVB’s songs and was still there the next morning.
Now, he’s been on tour for what feels like forever. Except for the short break between legs, but I didn’t get to see him then because I was out of town. I got back the day he left. Two days later, he texted me and said he’d paid for a plane ticket. Apparently, I was going to meet him in Omaha and stay for a while.
If someone had told me that this trip would be an absolute whirlwind, I would’ve called them crazy. But I didn’t know what would happen while I was there.
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