Chapter 1

I stoodthere on the stage, my arms spread wide before taking a bow. The sound of the crowd was vibrating through me; whistles, cheers, thousands chanting my name. This was the only drug I would need from now on, my only future fix. It was intense and breathtaking, and worth every second of the hard work I had put in to get here.

When I walked off the stage, I felt as though I was floating on a soft cloud, the sounds of adulation carrying me weightlessly towards the backstage crew. There I was met with pats on the back all until I reached the tour manager Carl.

"Jesus Christ, Lennox, that was off the charts amazing!"

I beamed at his words, feeling a heady mix of pride and humility. I wasn't so cocky to believe I couldn't fall from these lofty heights at any given moment.

"Come on, fella." Carl grinned and ushered me in the direction of the stage door where a car waited to take me back to the hotel. This was what I lived for—sharing my lyrics with people, having the music inspire emotions in them. I felt like I was being the truest version of myself I could be, and that feeling was priceless.

When I finally got back tothe hotel my head was still spinning. The crowd had been amazing; they had been warm, welcoming, and seemed to love my new songs even more than they ever did when I was in the boy band. It had been fifteen years since I had last been on tour, and a lot had changed in that time. I had changed in that time.

Back then I was riding high on the crest of a wave made from boy band fame and fortune. And I crashed lower than the pits of hell on the other side of it. I might have only been seventeen and very na?ve when I joined the band, but I was old enough to know I was bisexual. Even as that inexperienced teenager, I had still had a couple of boyfriends and a girlfriend.

My background had been vetted by the PR team for the record label, and they had decided since I had a girlfriend when I joined the band, it would make more sense if I didn't mention I was bi. Instead, they pushed the heteronormative version of myself ‘for the fans.'

My immaturity was proven because I agreed; the fame and the band were more important. Until I discovered very quickly it wasn't. I was utterly fucking miserable and took to self-medicating those feeling away.

Initially, it didn't seem that bad. I was the life and soul of every party – and I went to a lot of parties. But that made it so much easier to dismiss. It wasn't that I was downing as much alcohol as I could in a night and trying to convince myself I didn't actually have a problem; I was only drinking to be social. I was only drinking because it was fun. At least it was only booze and not something actually dangerous like drugs.

That was until I crashed and burned. I had been skirting the edges of a breakdown for months. Not being able to be myself was just too much. The alcohol wasn't doing what it was meant to anymore, and I signed myself into rehab.

Mickie, the manager of the band, had insisted I didn't actually have any problems with alcohol. He was intent on the lie that I was merely burned out from the pressures of being on tour for so long. The official story was that I was suffering from stress and exhaustion. The management tried so hard to cover up the actual problem, all in the name of ‘protecting the band'.

As well as teaching me how to break free from the demon booze, one of the other things rehab taught us was to remove the toxicity in our lives because it would only hinder our recovery and could make us more prone to a relapse. A lightbulb moment occurred one counselling session when my psychologist questioned why I had started to drink as heavily as I had.

Knowing that I had to be honest, I came out to him as bisexual. I explained what had been said to me, all for the sake of looking out for the band's image. He looked at me and said, "And who was looking out for you, Lennox? Don't respond to that now, take some time to really think about the answer, and we can discuss it in your next session."

His question started me thinking about everyone who had ever told me to go against being myself. Thinking about who had been looking out for me, and the conclusion I came to was no one – not even myself.

I left the band the next day and vowed I was done with the music industry and all its fakery. It was a trauma so great for our fans, the record label had to set up a helpline to support them through their grief. That cemented it had been the right move for me; while the fans got a helpline, I had zero contact from anyone in the band, the management team, or the record label. Apparently, there wasn't an ounce of concern for me. I'd been written off as a selfish wanker who walked away from them.

But here I was fifteen years later, sober for the last twelve and bouncing off the walls because of the love, respect, and energy amplified at me when I was on stage. I pulled out my key card, opened the door to my suite and walked in.

The second I turned on the light, something felt off. As soon as I walked into the bedroom that feeling was validated. Instantly the joy and love I felt after the concert was replaced with a sense of fear and dread. My mouth dried, my stomach sank, and a cold sweat broke out over me.

The first thing that caught my eye was the bottle of champagne sitting on the bedside table. The rose petals all over the bed were next, and lastly, the photo frame – a picture of me and a fan from what must have been seventeen years ago. I see the card sitting in front of it and I don't need to lift it to know who it is from.

My disgusted curiosity got the better of me, though, and I grabbed the card she had placed in front of the picture of us. I let out a long puff of air in an attempt to give myself time to change my mind about opening the card. Biting my lip, I turned the envelope over and pulled at the overlapped section of paper.

The card itself was harmless enough, a cheerful ‘congratulations' message across the front with bright, bold writing and shiny foil embossed balloons and streamers. Inside there was something just that little more intimidating. When I opened the card a folded-up note fell onto the floor. Stooping to pick it up, I could feel the bile start to rise.

This wasn't the first time I had heard from Natasha. She had been getting more and more daring in her contact, but I never believed she would go to this extreme. Thinking of her here in the room where I was meant to be sleeping made my blood run cold. Carefully, I unfolded the note and sat on the arm of the sofa by the bed to read what was inside.

My darling Lennox,

I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you for getting back on the road again and starting touring. It's where you belong; on stage, shining like the beacon of perfection that you are. You have an amazing gift, and I am so glad to see you finally sharing it with the world again. It's where you belong, out in the spotlight with all of your adoring fans there to cheer you on.

And I want to be cheering you on, my darlin'. I will be in the audience tonight watching you, waiting for the moment when you sing me our song. I know that you said in an interview that you wrote it for someone who was incredibly special to you, and that you lost them because of your drinking, but I just wanted you to know that you haven't lost me. I'm still here. I'm always here waiting for you, my love.

I know that the day we can be together is getting closer and closer and I'm looking forward to it so much. When a love is as strong and beautiful as ours, you know it can never be denied. We are made for each other. Soulmates. I know you feel the same way about me as I do about you, it's all there in our song.

It won't be long, my love.

All my love, now and always,

Your Natasha xox

The letter was trembling. Realisation hit me; it wasn't the letter quaking, it was me. I didn't know how to react to her words. She had always been a little over the top, but it had never been like this. If I was honest, in the past she didn't seem the type to go to this extreme.

My thoughts focused on the song she was talking about. It wasn't our song. Hell, it wasn't even about a romantic relationship, or even about a relationship with a woman. I wrote the song about a close friend I made in rehab, a friend who, after several years of being sober, relapsed.

We had bonded over fame, self-medicating, and being stuck in the closet. When he fell off the wagon, he never got back on it, and despite pleading with him to get help, he didn't. He was dead within a year, his liver just couldn't take it, and I lost one of the few people in this world that really understood just what I had been through. That's what ‘our' song was.

Doing the only thing that I could think of in that moment, I pulled out my phone and called Alex. "Umm, I'm honestly not sure how to deal with this, but I think we need to call the police," I blurted out the second he answered the phone.

"Lennox? What's happened?"

"Someone has broken into my hotel room." I sighed and licked my lips, attempting to get some moisture back into my mouth.

"Lennox, are you okay? Are you in danger?"

My cheeks puffed out as I thought about how to tell Alex exactly what had been happening lately. "This isn't the first time something has happened, but until today, I didn't think it was anything serious. But this…it seems like it's escalating, and it's kinda fucking scary, mate."

There was a muffled call for Johnny, Alex's partner, bandmate, and the co-owner of the record label I was signed with.

The next voice I heard was Johnny's. "Don't touch anything, okay?" While he phrased it as a question, I knew from his tone it was more of a command. "I'm going to call Carl now, and you're going to go to his room and stay there until Alex tells you that it's all good, okay? I'm going to pass you back to him now."

"Uh huh," I murmured, unable to really take in everything that had been happening this evening.

While Alex spoke, I could hear Johnny on his phone in the background, making calls, barking orders and generally taking control. "Why didn't you tell us there was stuff happening? We're here to look out for you, Lennox."

I shook my head. I didn't know how to answer that one. I guess it was because I thought there was nothing to actually be worried about. I was familiar with love-crazed fans, because twenty years ago it would have been played off as nothing, and any suggestion of anything else would have been dismissed as an overreaction.

"I didn't think it was anything to really tell you about. You know how fans can be," I admitted.

I heard the tone of Alex's voice change. "Oh yeah, I know exactly how they can be," he acknowledged softly.

"It's been silly cards and notes. They were all sent to the post office box I have set up. The closer it got to the tour, the worse it seemed to get, but all still fairly innocuous. Bunches of flowers, boxes of chocolates, things like that, but they were showing up in places I didn't think people knew I was at."

There was a muffled conversation at the other end of the phone and Alex came back to me to tell me everything was sorted and to go to the room of Carl, the tour manager.

"Come in, come in."Carl ushered me in the second I knocked on his door. "Johnny called me. He's handling it all for you. There's a private investigator on the case, and he's going to liaise between us and the police. He's been talking about a bodyguard too."

I scoffed at the notion of needing someone to babysit me. "It's not that bad is it? Do I really need a babysitter?"

Carl looked at me blankly. "You've had notes, gifts, and now they've been in your actual hotel room. Is that something that you think you should be risking, mate?"

Admitting defeat, I flopped onto the sofa in his room, my shoulders sagging, my head down. "No, probably not," I conceded.

"Order yourself some room service, and I'll get back on the phone with Johnny and Alex. We'll get all this figured out, okay?"

Food was the furthest thing from my mind, but my stomach growled at the mention of it. I had to acknowledge that, perhaps, it was something I needed.

When the policefinally knocked on the door two hours later, I had worn a track in the carpet pacing back and forth, feeling like a caged tiger, wondering what the hell was going to happen next.

The officer strode in and outstretched their hand to me. "Mr Love." He nodded. "So, we have been to your room and it seems as though it was just the items that you had seen that were left in the room and nothing else. No one was still in there, and there wasn't anything we would term as particularly sinister."

I nodded blankly. Had they expected to find more? Could there have been someone in my room I hadn't noticed? Would there be the next time? A chill ran through me and goosebumps pebbled all over my skin as I tried to concentrate on what the policeman was saying.

"Now, I've been made aware this isn't the first thing you've experienced from this person, is that correct?"

I nodded my head. "Uh, yes, there have been other things, but honestly, it's show business, isn't it? I didn't think much of it. When I was in a boy band when I was younger, we had so many things sent to us. Some of them were pretty out there, so I foolishly just dismissed it at first."

"I understand. If you have any examples of that prior contact, it could be helpful in locating the person, or persons, involved."

Something about his comment struck me more than anything else and made me feel even more on edge. "You think there could be more than one person? Really?"

The officer shook his head and held up his hand. "I didn't mean to alarm you, Mr Love. In our experience, more than one suspect can be the case."

I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled as I started to pace up and down the floor again. "Right." I nodded in a daze. "Can I go back to my room now?"

Carl interrupted before the officer had a chance to speak. "It's okay. you're going to take my suite here and I'm going to get another room. Johnny thought it would be better given the circumstances."

The words washed over me, but I wasn't sure I was actually taking any of them in. Had I really been ignoring something that was this much of a threat? Was this really happening? This was the first night of a life changing tour for me, and the high I had felt from it had come crashing down in a heartbeat. This wasn't how I thought things would be when I started my return to the music industry.

As I continued to try and process all of this, Carl took over. He talked to the officer and arranged everything that needed to be organised and handed over to them as evidence. I heard him thank them for their help on the matter.

"I know that this probably isn't what you want to hear, Mr Love, but it might be a good idea if you perhaps arranged yourself some personal protection. Maybe think about getting a bodyguard or something."

I stared at the police officer and they winced at my expression. He nodded in acknowledgement of my fears. Not at any time in the twelve years I had been sober had I ever wanted a drink more than I did at this moment. I was in hell.

Maybe this wasn't the best move for me after all. Maybe I should be cancelling the tour until this was all sorted out.