Chapter One

Sebastian

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the cluttered room. My fingers pluck the strings of my guitar idly, each note piercing loudly through the hotel suite. I have every intention of irritating the men sprawled around the room asleep, and my goal is achieved when a chorus of groans rises from every corner of the room.

“Shut that shit down, Foster!” croaks Mark, who is slouched on the couch with a hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “And can you draw the curtains? It’s so fucking bright in here!”

I do neither. Instead, my eyes shift to Alex, who lies sprawled on the floor, a tangle of limbs and blankets, his face scrunching in discomfort when I strum another note, pulling hard and letting it linger in the air. The fuckhead should be thanking the heavens that I don’t have a drum set nearby.

“Goddamnit, Foster! Are you trying to kill us?” cries out another voice, and this time, it’s Derrick. My eyes follow the sound to the back of the couch where the man sits up to reveal tousled hair and a stained, wrinkled shirt that are a testament to the wild night these three had.

Stupid.

How can they even get a wink of sleep after the storm they caused last night? Everyone is talking about it online, and I bet the news already made its way to the big bosses as these fucking assholes snore away.

Hangover pain? Oh, that is going to be the least of their worries. I strum the guitar again and start playing our hit song, mostly to calm myself, but the chorus of groans is an added bonus.

“I swear to God, Foster…”

“What?” I hiss for the first time since walking into the room, my eyes firmly on Derrick, who seems to be the only one capable of keeping his head up and eyes open for more than three seconds. “What the fuck will you do, Derrick?”

“What the hell is your problem, dude?”

My problem? My problem is that I want to sock every man in this room, but they are too hungover for it to really be satisfying. My fingers itch for a fight though, and that’s why I settled for punishing them by strumming the guitar without a pick. I know I’m going to feel the burn on my fingers later, but right now, I can’t bring myself to care. It’s either that or lose my temper, and since the latter is not an option, I force myself to sit still.

Alex, Mark, Derrick, and I have been in a band together for almost ten years, and our journey as a band has been anything but easy. Our relationship was a manufactured bond by the record label, complete with scripted interviews and media appearances that overplayed our closeness.

We are anything but close.

This is a business relationship, one that has been hanging by a thread for the last year and these three might have just put the final nail in the coffin of all of our careers with the shit they pulled last night.

The door to the suit flies open, bouncing off the wall with a loud bang, and another chorus of groans fills the room as our manager, Gary, walks in, face red and jaw clenched tightly. His hard eyes sweep over the room before settling on me, the only person not nursing a hangover.

“Get the hell up, everyone,” he roars, walking over to Alex and kicking his leg before doing the same Mark on the couch. “How the fuck can any of you sleep after the shit storm you just caused?”

My bandmates groan at the disturbance, but they straighten up, clutching their heads at what I imagine is a beast of a hangover. I’ve seen the videos making the rounds online of them at the club last night, and based on the bottles littered about the room, I can only assume they brought the party back here.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex asks, turning his bloodshot eyes to our manager.

Gary doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs the remote and turns on the TV, but he doesn’t need to search long as the news of these three is everywhere. We all watch as a celebrity gossip channel plays the viral video of my three bandmates at a club drinking, doing drugs, and dancing with scantily dressed girls, which in itself is not the biggest problem. The guys are known as party animals, but last night they went too far.

“So someone filmed a video of us partying. What’s the big deal?”

I watch Gary’s face turn a startling shade of red, and he glares at Alex. “The problem is that you fuckheads got drunk and started playing songs from the new album. An album we haven’t fucking released yet!” He starts pacing in the trashed hotel room. “For years, you bunch have done your best to sabotage this band, but I defended you to the label. I fed them some bullshit about how all the hot artists are doing drugs and sleeping with groupies. But you played a live fucking show in that club, and the entire thing has gone viral online!”

“Look, Gary, so we played one or two of our new songs.”

Gary stops, his hard eyes turning to Mark, who by the looks of it has not yet grasped the gravity of what they did. “It is not just one song. You three fuckheads sang all ten songs from the album. You got on stage at the club and played the entire goddamn album. The songs have been leaked all over social media. All of them!” The room falls silent as our manager’s words slowly filter through and they start to realize that, maybe this time, they have done irreparable damage. “And not only that, but all three of you ragged on Sebastian between songs. You said the band would be better off without him and that he’s a ‘zero talent stick-in-the-mud asshole’!”

I flinch at the reminder of how vitriolic my bandmates were about me during their impromptu performance last night. Gary’s words are the least of what they said to say. Derrick runs a hand over his tousled hair, shaking his head before chuckling nervously. “There has to be something we can do, right? Maybe we can sue everyone who leaked the music. And we didn’t mean anything by what we said about Seb.” He turns to me with a sheepish shrug. “We were just messing around since you bailed on coming out with us.”

“Sue?” Gary scoffs, “If anyone is getting sued, it’s you. You have not only made unauthorized leaks but breached the trust of the label. A year of hard work down the drain. Maybe if it was a song or two, they could have used it as a marketing strategy to cover up your fuckup, but this cannot be salvaged.”

“W-what do you mean?”

My eyes shift back to my guitar, not bothering to follow the conversation anymore. I already know what Gary is going to say. It’s an expected outcome of what these fuckheads did. My only hope is they don’t burn down my career along with theirs.

Music has always been my life, and for fifteen years, I’ve worked my ass off to be the Sebastian Foster the world knows and loves. I have the money, the fame, and the fans, but…I never thought that a failed band would be an ugly stain on my legacy in the music world.

“The label is terminating your contracts!”

Outcries of “What?” and “That’s not fair” and “They can’t do that” are quick to follow. The hangovers seem to be a non-issue now as they argue with our manager about how unfair it is before switching to anger and threatening to sue everyone involved. I don’t listen to any of it, too busy trying to talk myself out of murdering these three assholes. My gut burns with anger at all three of them for ruining a career we worked so hard to build.

We could have achieved so much together.

These three might be party animals with no sense of direction, but they are so goddamned talented. They know how to set the stage ablaze and get the fans screaming their lungs out, and to think that this is the end…

“What happens to Foster?”

I look up at the mention of my name, pushing back my furious thoughts, but I am sure they show on my face. Angry does not begin to cover what I am feeling. I wrote and co-wrote at least four of the songs on that damn album, and all that effort just went down the drain.

“The label hasn’t decided,” Gary says. “Foster was not with you last night or filmed in any of the videos. He did not breach his contract with the label, and he is the only one with any grounds to sue if his contract is terminated early. There’s a code of conduct clause in all of your contracts, or did you idiots forget?”

Four sets of eyes stare at me with varied degrees of envy and hate.. I can see they want to say something, but they must read the fury in my face because none of them says a word, which I find disappointing. I would love to for one of them to start something so I have an excuse to act on the rage bubbling under my skin.

But they don’t dare. Among our fans, I am known as the quiet and mysterious one, but I am no mystery to my bandmates. They all know that I am not one to mess with if they don’t want to end up with a broken nose or worse.

Right now, I am pissed.

“Fine, if the label wants to kick us, they can try. We’ll sue their asses until they go bankrupt,” Alex threatens after a while before storming out of the room. The other two follow behind him, leaving me and our manager behind.

The room falls into an awkward silence before Gary finally speaks. “Look…” he starts, his words trailing off when he realizes the door is open. He walks toward it and shuts it before running his fingers through his white-streaked hair, his brown eyes deeply troubled. “The label can’t terminate your contract because you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know.”

“But if the label keeps you on, they’ll have to decide whether they want to put you with another band or promote you as a solo act. You know the boys will not be happy and the fans might also protest the decision.”

“Yeah.”

“Dammit, Foster, doesn’t this bother you? I know you are a man of few words, but does this not bother you?”

Of course, it fucking bothers me, but raging will do little to help the fury burning inside of me. “There is nothing I can do about it. We just have to wait for the big bosses to make a decision.”

Gary walks over to me and settles on the seat across from mine. His eyes are firmly on me when he speaks next, and I can tell he has already cooked up a plan. “I think there’s a way to convince the label and the fans that you as a solo act would be the best thing for everyone. If we work hard and fast, we might even convince them that the tour planned for the next album should be your solo debut instead.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“By elevating your image,” he says. “You need to put it out there that you are nothing like those three drug addicts and back stabbers. Show the fans and the label that you don’t need a band. Get everyone talking about you in a positive way, but also a way that distracts the fans and the label from this latest fiasco. Make everyone want to defend you!”

“That sounds great, but I have no idea what to do to make that happen.”

“Find a girlfriend.”

I wait for the punchline. This is not the time to be making jokes, but even so, I wait for Gary to get to the funny part. Maybe he’s trying to make me feel better about everything, and if that’s the case, he’s gone about it all wrong.

“Tell me you are joking.”

He shakes his head. “I am serious. This band is known for more bad than good. This could be a fresh start for you where you show everyone that you’re different. But I’m not going to lie to you; it’ll be an uphill battle. You don’t have the fan base that the other guys do. You’re too quiet, too reclusive. We need to find you a loveable girl and give the fans a romance to root for.”

A romance, really? I do not do relationships they are messy, and my life is chaotic enough as it is. I respect myself too much to be in a fake, contracted relationship. Heck, I thought he was going to suggest I do a few private shows or something, but a girlfriend? No, that is out of the question.

“How is a fake relationship going to help with anything?” I ask him.

“It establishes your image,” Gary says. “The label will see that you’re settled, stable, and the fans will get to see another side to you. We’ll play up the relationship for social media and establish you as America’s next pair of sweethearts. If you are to succeed, you need to distance yourself from the band and its image before it’s too late. We’ll tell the fans that you were with her to explain why you were not partying with your bandmates last night.”

“I could always just say I was writing music, since that’s what I was actually doing.”

“That’s boring, and there’s no one to corroborate it. No one will believe that after the hatred the guys spewed about you last night. Everyone will think you actually hate each other. But imagine how the fans will react when they learn that the mysterious Sebastian Foster is dating someone,” he says, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Your news will overshadow this bad publicity, which will make the label happy. Everyone will want to know who this girl you are dating is. How did you meet? How long have you been together? Who serious is it? Every gossip news site will be talking about it about you.”

This is insanity.

I fall back against the chair, lowering my guitar to its stand. It’s true that no one has ever seen me with a woman before. I have been involved discreetly with women, but I always let them know beforehand that I don’t do relationships and I intentionally chose women who weren’t interested in the spotlight.

This would be huge news, no doubt.

My phone pings in my pocket, and I imagine it’s another person texting me about last night. I reach into my leather jacket and dig out my phone, hoping for a distraction when I realize it’s an Instagram notification about a post from my private account the one fans do not know about. I use the account to follow people from back home and to keep up with what’s happening in Valor Springs.

The notification is for a post from my mother posing at brunch with a bunch of her friends. I sigh and go to exit the app when another post under my mother’s catches my eye. I scroll to it, my heartbeat racing as I look at the picture. My eyes focus on a familiar blonde-haired girl looking into the camera and smiling around a forkful of cake.

Elizabeth Fae Anthony.

It has been years since I last saw her, but I would recognize that pretty face anywhere. Her light blonde hair is styled in loose waves that brush her bare shoulders. Her beautiful blue eyes are like sapphires, slowly drawing me into their depths, and I am helpless to look away. My eyes trace to the gentle curve of her smile, so radiant it lights up her delicate features.

I quickly click on her profile, and soon, I am scrolling through her page, taking in the girl I haven’t seen in so long. My eyes linger on her most recent photo. She is rocking a casual outfit of a cozy, oversized sweater paired with high waist jeans and holding a mug of coffee, and fuck…the way the sunlight dances on her delicate features tugs at my heart in a way no one ever has before.

Elizabeth, who is fondly known as Lizzie back in Valor Springs, is my parents’ neighbor. Her family lived next to mine for as long as I can remember. Our age difference meant I never paid Lizzie much attention growing up. I was friends with her older cousins, James and Jax, and she’d try to tag along whenever they came around. I never minded because she was mostly a quiet kid and easily unnoticed. I’m noticing her now though.

“Yes! That’s exactly the kind of girl I’m talking about. Who is she?”

I realize with a start that I’m smiling and quickly lock my phone screen before looking up at Gary. “No one,” I say, not wanting to share her with him for some reason. Despite having known each other for a decade, Gary and I aren’t close. He works for the label and his loyalty is to them. Telling him about Lizzie feels wrong.

Gary looks at me with narrowed eyes, but lets the subject drop. “If you say so. Anyway, I need to get back to the office and deal with this shitstorm. Stay off social media and keep your head down until you hear from me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. But I’m still not convinced a fake girlfriend is the way to go. It could backfire if it’s exposed as a lie.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Foster,” Gary says, clapping me on the shoulder as he makes his way to the door. “In ten years, I’ve never steered you wrong, have I? Just leave it to me.”

I wave him out, but something about his words and the way he looked at me as he left have me on edge. I pick up my guitar again to distract myself, feeling suddenly inspired by a pair of beautiful blue eyes.