ASHER'S POV

I forget how much I loathe the paparazzi sometimes. You'd think that because there's a higher volume of celebrities and famous people lurking around in LA that the paparazzi would be less invasive there, but you'd be wrong. Even a simple stroll down to a cafe will warrant me hiding behind my usual get-up of black hoodie, shades (and sometimes a mask to cover up my mouth). But even then, they're so used to you trying so hard to blend into the shadows that they'll still be able to spot you from a mile away.

Today, I'm reminded of how bad they can get, even out of the state.

About a dozen of them that'd been waiting outside the neighborhood gates run up the car as we pull in, with security trying to push them back so we can get in but with little to no avail. A few of them bang their fists against the bulletproof windows, trying to get my attention, and I retreat further into my hoodie, looking anywhere but at them. It takes us a few more minutes to get through because at least five of them are blocking our route to the house.

"I'm sorry it's taking a while, Mr. Reed." The driver mumbles apologetically.

"It's fine," I say. "It's beyond your control."

Eventually, the security manages to hold them back long enough for the car to slip through the gates. Both the driver and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. When we reach the house, I make sure I'm out of view from the paps before shrugging out of my hoodie and shades, and head to the living room where I know everyone has gathered. As soon as I walk in, Freddie's eyes are on me, glaring daggers at me, as if I'd committed some kind of murder.

"Where were you off to? I specifically told everyone not to leave the house until we've figured this out," Freddie scowls at me when I join the rest of the band on the couch.

Grayson has a pillow over his head, Sam is on his phone and Sebastian is balancing a plate of bacon on his legs. He pops a thick strip into his mouth, unfazed by the tension in the room, as he watches me take the empty space beside him.

"That's why I was out," I say, glancing at Freddie. "I was figuring it out."

"Well, there's no point. Because we found out who it was that ratted your location," Freddie says, laying an arm on the edge of the couch.

"Who?" The four of us ask in unison.

"It was Dr. Zeus," Freddie mutters.

No fucking way.

"What?" Grayson rises from the couch, throwing the pillow aside. Even Sebastian is shocked, a piece of bacon still dangling on the edge of his mouth as he tries to process the information.

"You gotta be kidding me," I groan. "How?"

"Well, you know how we all thought he got held up by a recording session with the Getaways?" Freddie says and we all nod. "Well, he lied. He's actually in prison."

Sebastian scoffs, making a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. "Now's not the fucking time to run sit-com lines with us, Freddie."

"I'm being serious!" Freddie says, exasperated. "There was a police raid in some club and he was caught doing meth, so he needed the bail money. TMZ got a tip about him working with us for the album and persuaded him to give up our location."

"That snitch," Grayson sneers.

"That blows," Sam adds a more sympathetic note. "But I hope he's alright."

"Don't worry - I assure you guys that our PR team will be on top of this," our manager says with smooth confidence. "And we hired some extra security so no press will be able to sneak past the main gates. You'll be safe. For now. You'll still be able to roam around this neighborhood, but always make sure you've got security on you while you do. And try not to leave this neighborhood. It's a small island. And we can't control everything that happens out there."

Grayson lets out a dry laugh. "So our paradise has now become a prison."

"Oh god, this blows," Sam moans, squeezing his eyes shut briefly.

"So, I think we all know that this is a sign that it's the end of the road for our time here at Coral Cove," Freddie says, gaze jumping from one member to the other until they land on me. "I'll be booking us tickets to LA for tomorrow morning."

I clench my jaw. I suppose this is what's meant to happen all along. I'd just been too big of a fool to try something different.

"Well?" Freddie asks, searching the room for the answer he wants. Instead, the entire room falls silent, unsure of what to do.

"Asher?" Sebastian looks over at me, with Grayson and Sam's gaze following his. "What do you think?"

"I don't know..." I say with a loud sigh. "I just want what's best for the band."

And if the right decision is to get out of here, then we gotta do it. For everyone's sake.

But looking around, I'm not sure if that's what any of the guys want.

Sebastian's gaze connect with mine again. This time, I can hear the silent question in his eyes. You sure you want this?

I don't answer him. I don't know how to answer him.

He knows my dilemma. He knows what's waiting for me if we go back home.

But I can't be selfish.

Sebastian inhales a sharp breath, like he heard everything just went through my mind, and returns his gaze back to Grayson and Sam. They both nod at him, agreeing with Sebastian's decision.

Looks like we're going home.

"No," Sebastian says to Freddie.

Wait, what?

"No?" Freddie echoes, baffled.

"No. We're not leaving," Sebastian says firmly.

"Not this again," Freddie groans.

"We just got here," Sebastian explains. "Our equipment's here. We just got properly settled."

"Come on! This is ridiculous! You can't stay here," Freddie snaps, slamming his hands against the neck of the couch. "It was a bad idea then and it's a worse idea now. Be fucking serious, guys! Equipment isn't an issue. Yes, it's gonna be tedious to fly everything back, but it can be done."

"Look, we still got a private beach," Sebastian says, gesturing outside. "And a country club. And the media will go away eventually. Plus, it's not like we're gonna be out and about town every single day. And when we do, we'll make sure we've got backup with us. It won't be any different than how we deal with crowds everywhere else in the country. Right, Ash?"

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "We can handle it."

Freddie lets out the loudest groan he can muster. The vein in his head is seconds away from bursting.

"Look, we just flew in yesterday and spent the whole day unpacking. I don't know about you guys but the thought of being back on a plane right now makes me so fucking nauseous it makes me wanna throw up," Grayson adds, uncrossing and crossing his leg lazily.

"Maybe it's the hangover from the liquor you stole from my room last night," I chime in.

Grayson ignores me, keeping his gaze straight on Freddie. "The point is: I'm not fucking moving," he states firmly.

"I'm with Gray on this one. We're used to this kind of attention, right? It might just blow over," Sam adds helpfully. "And then we can finally focus on finally having fun."

"You mean doing work," Freddie glares at him.

"Right. That's what I meant."

"You guys are forgetting one thing: we don't have a producer," Freddie hisses. "We can't fly any one of our in-house producers in on this short notice. I've checked with the team and there's no one available. So, unless we've got one, I'm sorry but we're leaving. End of discussion."

Sebastian cuts a desperate look at me. Grayson and Sam shrug uneasily. They probably think the fight is over.

I lift a casual hand up. I'm smiling so hard it might just break my face.

"Actually..." I say with such calmness. "We already have a producer."

***

A/N: Yay for a double update! Things are starting to pick up now :) what are your predictions on what's gonna happen next?