Chapter 90 Part 90

Chapter 90 Part 90
Axl

He wasn’t looking forward to the interview. The thought of it sat heavy in his chest, a low, constant tension that refused to loosen no matter how many times he reminded himself that he’d faced worse. He had no problem standing on a stage in front of thousands of people and singing, letting the music carry him, letting the lights blind him to everything else. But talking to reporters made him uneasy in a way nothing else did.
The problem with fame was that everyone wanted a piece of it, wanted to tear something off and keep it for themselves. They rarely saw the person beneath the headlines, the flesh-and-blood man behind the name. They wanted a story, a version that fit neatly into a box. It was one of the reasons he loved Aspen so much. She was real in a way the world wasn’t, grounded and unfiltered, and she saw him—not the singer, not the symbol, but the man standing barefoot on a beach, trying to breathe.
“You can’t wear that,” Aspen said.
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, sunlight spilling across her bare legs, her hair still slightly damp from the shower. He’d just finished getting dressed, tugging on a soft T-shirt and lightweight pants, clothes chosen for comfort rather than presentation.
“Why not?” he asked, glancing down at himself.
“You look too casual,” she said, tilting her head as she assessed him, her lips twitching as if she were fighting a smile.
“We’re on our honeymoon. It’s not like I packed a suit for the beach.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe if they see you as casual and relaxed, it might show that you’re not bothered by the interview.”
“I’m not going to change who I am for one interview,” he said. “Besides, they’re just going to see the top part of me.”
“Fine,” she said, grinning now. “At least, brush your hair.”
“I washed my armpits, I’m not brushing my hair, too,” he said, laughing as she grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head.
He caught it easily, the sound of their laughter echoing softly through the villa. For a moment, the weight lifted. For a moment, it was just them.
He had his laptop set up on the dining room table, the camera angled carefully so the wide sweep of the ocean filled the background. It would look peaceful, neutral—nothing that would give his location away. He still planned on spending at least another week here with Aspen, maybe two.
The producer from a morning show in Los Angeles called the video link, one he’d created specifically for the interview. Axl pulled out the chair, sat down, and clicked to accept the call, rolling his shoulders once to loosen the tension settling there.
“Good morning, Mr. Reynolds. We’re set to go live in seven minutes,” a man said.
“Great,” Axl replied, his voice steady despite the thrum of adrenaline under his skin.
Lindy’s instructions echoed in his head. She’d told him to drag his hand through his hair during the interview, to let the camera catch the silver band on his finger. Let them notice it naturally. Let them ask. And then answer—briefly. After the interview, Lindy would upload a picture to social media and confirm that he had, indeed, tied the knot.
Aspen sat across from him at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, watching him with quiet encouragement. They’d spoken about everything for hours the previous night as they lay tangled together in bed.
The producer’s face appeared on the laptop again, and Axl shifted in his seat, rolling his neck once. In seconds, his face would be on a massive screen, broadcast into living rooms and kitchens and offices across the country.
“Welcome back, everyone. Today we have Axl Reynolds, the lead singer of Blunt Pain, with us via a live video link.”
Applause filled the studio, a distant sound through the speakers, followed by a few sharp cheers. The woman smiled brightly and looked into the camera.
“Thank you for joining us, Axl.”
“You’re welcome, Alyssa. Thank you for having me,” he said, keeping his tone polite and even.
“According to a recent article, you grew up in a trailer park in Esperton. Certain allegations were made in that same article. Would you care to elaborate?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I will not be answering any questions today,” he said calmly. “I know you thought this would be an interview. I’ll tell my story once, and that will be the end of it.”
Aspen held her breath.
“When I was nine, Vivian Reynolds, my biological mother, left me with my grandmother. I lived in Esperton’s trailer park until I graduated high school. The baby I raised for six months is my sister. Being a minor, I had no rights, and when Vivian relinquished hers, my sister was adopted. Her new parents are good people, and I still have contact with them.” He felt the familiar ache tighten behind his ribs but kept his voice steady.
“I was involved in an altercation with Jackson Cathwell, but due to a signed NDA—one his father insisted on, and one we both signed—I can’t elaborate on the details of that day. My school records speak for themselves, so anyone can get a court order to view them, my disciplinary record too.”
He paused to take another breath and glanced at Aspen.
“Merit Rossini was at the concert in Florida, and she was pregnant. She had a backstage pass and was part of a group of fifteen people who entered our backstage room. We parted ways amicably. I’ve had no reason to talk to her again, and I haven’t since that day.”
Alyssa blinked slowly, taking it all in.
“There’s no mystery to my life or about where I come from. It doesn’t matter where I lived or what work I did. I left Esperton behind, and I never looked back. I don’t plan on starting now.”
Alyssa nodded slowly. “Thank you for that statement. You were recently spotted in a Los Angeles hotel kissing a woman. Rumors have it that the woman in question is Lyla Spark. Can you confirm this?”
Axl threw his head back and laughed, the sound genuine, before dragging his hand through his hair, the wedding band catching the light. “I’ve never met Lyla Sparks. Where do you guys even get this information from?”
Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Is that a wedding band?”
He glanced down at his hand and smiled, something soft and private crossing his face. “My private life is private, but I can confirm I am currently on my honeymoon. Thank you, Alyssa, but that is all the time I have now.”
He ended the call. The moment the screen went dark, the smile fell away. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders in uneven waves.
“So… Lyla Sparks,” Aspen said lightly.
He huffed out a laugh. “I’ve never met her.”
Aspen laughed as she got to her feet and straddled his lap. “I’m just teasing you. That went well. Your statement was short and true. You should call North before he sees this interview.”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I should.”
The call was brief. North congratulated them, his voice distracted, tight beneath the forced warmth.
“You should come back,” North said finally. “We need to talk face to face. This is important, Axl. Very important.”
A chill crept up Axl’s spine. “Yeah,” he replied slowly. “I’ll call you when we’re close.”
He ended the call, unease settling deep in his chest, heavier than the interview had ever been.