Chapter Five

Axel

The murmur of conversation on the other side of the grey door has my heart pounding. The meet-and-greet event is about to begin, and I can already feel the anxiety creeping up. I try to focus on my breathing—in through the mouth, out through the nose—but it does little to quell my nerves.

"All right, Zelman," Wren, the Cruise Director, says as they approach me with an enthusiastic smile. Five-foot five, with flowing long hair, and red fingernails to match, they're a bundle of energy. "You've certainly got some fans, don't you? They're in for a treat with the performance tomorrow and then the big concert in the auditorium theatre later in the cruise."

"Y-yeah," I stammer. My hands are clammy, and I'm sure my face must betray my unease. I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile. "I'm looking forward to it." It's only partly a lie. I love performing, getting lost in the music. It's just the enthusiasm and number of fans that sets me on edge, and events like these with so many people.

"Fantastic!" Wren says. "I just know everyone will love having you here." Their energy is electric, their colourful outfit only adding to their vibrant presence.

If only some of that confidence would rub off on me. "Yeah, I hope so."

"Ready?" Wren asks.

I nod, swallowing hard. As they lead me out of the side room and into the bustling Continental Drift bar, I muster a smile, trying to hide my anxiety from those around me. I know I look good—the tight black jeans, black T-shirt, and heavy boots, my hair out to my shoulders, and my smudged dark-lined eyes—a look that's become my uniform.

The atmosphere in the bar is a stark contrast to my own mood. People are in high spirits, laughing and clinking glasses together. If I wasn't about to be the centre of attention, maybe I'd be able to join in and enjoy myself too. But as it is, I feel the weight of their gazes upon me, inspecting every inch of me like I'm under a microscope. My fingers unconsciously move to the leather straps at my wrist, toying with the beads.

"Welcome, Zelman!" Wren announces into a microphone, drawing even more eyes towards me.

I've come to hate the stage name. It means it's showtime, time for me to perform for the masses. I like it when I'm plain Axel, not Zelman the rock singer, although Rick thinks it's awesome that I've made it to one-name status. Speaking of Rick, I wish he was here. He'd give me something to focus on. He'd make me laugh and cut through the tension, but he's hundreds of miles away dealing with his own demons.

I grab the drink being offered to me, hoping it will numb the gnawing tension in my chest. I grip the cocktail like a lifeline.

"Thanks," I say, forcing a grin when they shove the microphone into my face. "It's great to be here. Who's enjoying the cruise so far?"

I use my best stage voice and a cheer goes up.

"You'll all get a chance to meet with Zelman tonight and see him perform later in the cruise," Wren says to another cheer. "So have a great time tonight and don't forget the Pool Party tomorrow."

The crowd obviously love the idea of the pool party given their enthusiastic response.

Wren turns to me. "I'll leave you to mingle. I won't be going far and I'll check on you later. Enjoy meeting your fans."

"Yeah, thanks," I reply, trying to sound upbeat. But as I stand there, surrounded by people who expect so much from me, I know there's no way I'll be having a good time—most likely the complete opposite. I glance around and see Brian leaning on the far wall. He offers me a curt nod. I nod back. I take a deep breath as the first fan approaches, smiling hesitantly.

"Hi, I'm Sophie. Would you mind signing my T-shirt?" she asks.

"Sure thing," I reply, trying to sound friendly even though my heart is pounding. As I sign, more fans gather around, each one waiting for their turn to talk with me.

"Can I get a picture with you?" another fan asks, holding up their phone.

I nod, forcing a smile as we pose together. A camera flash makes me blink, and I feel a sudden surge of disorientation. I sip the fruity cocktail in my hand, wishing it was whiskey.

More fans. More signing. What feels like a hundred selfies.

"Thanks so much, Zelman," a guy says, "I love your music."

His words seem distant, like I'm hearing them through a thick fog. My mind races, and I struggle to stay present in the moment.

"I saw your concert last week. It was amazing!" someone else says as they push in next to me.

"Thanks," I manage to say.

I'm jostled and my drink spills over my hand. It's getting harder and harder to focus on the individual fans in front of me. Their voices blur together, and I find myself nodding and smiling on autopilot.

Feeling pushed into a corner, I move towards the centre of the room. As the event progresses, I overhear snippets of conversation that make me queasy. "I can't believe he did that." "Such a shame, really." "I wonder if it's true."

My hands start to shake, so I put down my empty glass and try to steady myself. The whispers are about me and Rick and the incident that landed me in the tabloids. It's not so much the drug charge that has made the headlines, it's the fact I was a spokesperson warning of the dangers of drugs—I'm now a hypocrite. My tarnished reputation follows me wherever I go, a dark cloud that only serves to amp up my anxiety. It pisses me off that I was just getting a handle on things when shit hit the fan again.

"Hey, Axel?" Brian appears at my side, his voice low. "Is everything okay? You look a little pale."

"Um, yeah," I say, my voice barely audible. "Just can't wait for this to be over." I force a tight smile to reassure him that I'm fine.

"I'll be over by the bar keeping an eye on things," he says. "I think things are dying down now anyway."

I nod in gratitude. It's true, the crowd around me is beginning to thin out as people spread through the room drinking, and laughing, and dancing to the music being piped through the speakers.

I'm handed another drink and force a smile. That's when a fan approaches with a lopsided grin.

"Hey, Zelman," he says, his voice wavering just slightly. "I was just wondering…is it true what they said about you in the press?"

"The press?" I ask, hoping he's talking about something other than the latest headline. Maybe the reviews on my last concert?

"Yeah, about being busted. And that you were dropped as a spokesperson for that support group?"

I know he's pissed but my cheeks burn. I aim for casual. "I wouldn't believe everything you read."

"No?" He raises a brow and taps the side of his nose. "Well, just in case there's any truth to the story and you're looking for a little fun, you know where to find me."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, that won't be happening."

"Your loss, man."

As soon as the guy moves on, I make my escape, slipping through the crowd and into an alcove hidden behind some potted palms. My hands shake as I put down my drink and pull out my phone to text Nigel.

Axel:

You owe me big time for making me do this angry face emoji

Nigel:

It"s only day 2

Axel:

Exactly

Nigel:

Stay strong. Remember why you're there

Axel:

Yeah, yeah. Repair my image, support a good cause

Nigel:

It IS a good cause

I feel like a dick for thinking about myself and not the money being raised for charity. His words help to ground me, reminding me of the bigger picture beyond my own personal struggles. It also helps not to feel so alone.

Axel:

You're right. Better get back out there

Nigel:

You've got this

With a deep breath, I pocket my phone and step out from the alcove. My feeling of determination doesn't last long. The noise in the room has amplified and even more people have arrived. The walls are closing in on me. Nigel's words of encouragement echo in my mind, but they're not enough to battle the rising tide of anxiety.

A group of laughing people walk past, one of them stumbling and knocking into me. I gasp a breath, my heart hammering. I need air, I need space.

"Are you okay?" someone asks.

"Excuse me," I mumble.

I weave through the sea of bodies until I find myself standing in front of the door I'd come out of earlier in the evening. I hesitate for only a moment before pushing it open and stepping inside.

The quiet of the side room instantly calms my nerves. I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths as I try to regain control over my racing thoughts. Is this what it's always going to be like? I've been through so much, and come so far, to get where I am today, but it's times like this I wonder if it's all worth it. The weight of the fame, the public scrutiny…

The door to the room pushes open. "Zelman?"

"Hey, Wren," I say, straightening and mustering a smile.

"Is everything okay in here?" Though the concern in their voice is unmistakable, the disappointment etched on Wren's face is equally clear.

"Sorry for disappearing like that. I needed a few minutes to myself." I rub my temple. "Actually, I've got a headache so I might call it now."

Wren gives me the once-over. "Sorry to hear that but it would be good if you could push through. We're counting on you. We're all here to support a good cause, and maintaining a positive image is crucial. The guests at this event tonight have paid a premium to spend some time with you."

I've got to admire Wren telling me how it is. Too many people pussyfoot around me, not wanting to upset me. Their words add to the guilt that has been gnawing at my insides since I stepped away from the crowd. I hate that I've let people down.

"Yeah. Okay. Just give me a minute and I'll head back out."

Wren nods and grabs a bottle of water from a table and hands it to me. "See you in five."

I chug the water then, with a renewed sense of purpose, follow them out the door.

The sounds of music, laughter, and clinking glasses fill my ears once more but I remind myself that no matter how difficult things may seem, I am stronger than my fears, and I have the power to rise above them.