The truth of the matter was nothing really did it for me since I’d discovered depression. My moods were more low than high, and I couldn’t really remember the last time I'd felt truly happy. All I know was it was before all the shit went down with my ex-girlfriend.

Whenever I thought of Andrea, my chest instantly tightened. Just the memory of what I went through always made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Andrea was quite a bit older than me and when I first began dating her, I felt like the camel’s nuts when I’d hooked a hot sophisticated woman. All that changed the minute she began to force our relationship and expected more.

Even after more than a decade in the charts, people still judged me for being young and impetuous at the beginning, but they had no real idea about how much the publicists and my management were behind all of that. I’d been on the road for most of the previous four years by the time I met Andrea, and I’d crammed in a lifestyle to rival the most seasoned of rockers.

Being in a band had given me a shitload of opportunities to have sex with beautiful girls and I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t taken advantage of that. If I’m honest I’d say in the early days our band were hellraisers and lived a true rock and roll lifestyle, but eventually it began to grow old—at least for me. My brothers said they thought I was overexposed to sex, if there was such a thing as that. The more I had, the more routine it felt, and the more women I did, the less connected I became with any of them.

Being more mature, Andrea kept my interest longer than most. Even with the age difference, my manager approved and thought she was good publicity for the band. In the beginning I had thought so too… then I learned she was only good to herself.

While on tour ten weeks into what I felt was a growing relationship, Andrea’s heartbroken ex-boyfriend showed up one night and challenged her for just never coming back. Turned out she hadn’t even told the dude he had passed his sell-by date, and she’d certainly never mentioned him to me.

The callous way she treated the guy she’d abandoned, left me questioning whether I really knew her at all. Even when she tried to appease me by trying to argue her case, she couldn’t hide the self-centered attitude she’d demonstrated toward someone she had at one time been in love with.

Seeing how manipulative she was during that incident, turned me off in a heartbeat. Until then I’d been oblivious to her manipulative ways, but when I saw how callously she’d dismissed a man who obviously loved her dearly, I was done.

No matter what I’d begun to feel for her, after witnessing the scene between them, there was no way I wanted her around. Watching that poor dude standing out in the rain with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets looking utterly destroyed ended anything I had felt for her.

Unfortunately, two months later she bounced back into my life, three months pregnant with my child. Since then the contact between us was cordial at best, fractious at worst, but we were forever tied together because of our five-year old son. I guess I wasn’t very mature when Rudi was born, but thanks to the shit she and the press put me through, I was now a much wiser person to the one she once knew.

No matter how my personal life had affected me, I still had a job to do. One that, with the eyes of the world watching, I couldn’t afford to mess up. Our fans stood by us no matter what happened off-stage, but I was smart enough to know they gave us that grace because each and every time we walked out to perform they could always count on a gig that would never be less than the best we could give them.

That night when I walked out on stage our fans were oblivious as to what had taken place in my dressing room between Samantha and me, and I still played my part in the band, by giving the fans the time of their lives.

Once the gig was done, I smiled and grinned through the ‘meet and greet’, but the incident earlier in the day still weighed heavily on my mind. Eamon had obviously filled in Steve about it because I noted they both stayed close to me during the after party.

It was the last night of the tour and the booze flowed like water. Somehow, I got through the constant offers of drink and women, and Eamon dragged me back to the hotel at the first opportunity we had, citing the long haul flight I had the following day as my excuse.

That part was true, and I dreaded the thought of it because I had a genuine fear of flying ever since I’d witnessed a light aircraft crashing into one of our fields near my family home as a child.

Steve knew the flight back to New York was playing on my mind and although I hated their intervention I had gotten used to their support in keeping an eye on me during my times of stress.

Without the emotional crutch of alcohol some nights were rougher than others, and there were times I suffered from insomnia. It was one of those restless nights I endured the night before we flew back to the USA. I tried to look at it philosophically and thought because I was tired and mentally drained I was sure to sleep during the flight home.

* * *

Transferring to the airport was uneventful once I was in the car and away from the marauding fans and as it was an evening flight the VIP lounge was fairly deserted. After being escorted to my seat on the plane I became aware of a cold blast of air from the small round air conditioning vent directly above. I reached up and closed it just as the cabin attendant dressed in her smart red uniform and white blouse, held out a small silver tray with glasses of champagne on it.

Smiling sweetly, she asked, “Would you like an aperitif, Mr. Haxby?”

“No thanks, I’m a recovering alcoholic,” I stated flatly and distracted myself by attempting to plump up the inadequate excuse for a pillow behind my head. When I glanced back at her my eyes met her sympathetic ones and I felt more than a little annoyed at myself for biting the way I had.

It wasn’t easy trying to take responsibility for my addiction and even though I’d been on the wagon for a long time it never felt any easier. Still, it wasn’t the flight attendant’s problem I lost control of myself to bourbon whiskey, she was only doing her job.

Most would call me weak-willed and I guess they’d be right. I ignored the signs and drank excessively for a couple of years, but by the time I accepted my dependency on it to get me through the day, I was a train wreck of a guy who needed it to function.

I’d been dry of alcohol for almost three years, yet it was still one painful day at a time. My sponsor from the support group, Jason, travelled with us after losing his job through alcohol dependency, instead he found support with my awesome band, as one of the road crew. He was also a reformed man, a strong man, and sometimes he was my saving grace during the times when I felt I’d hit a wall.

Blushing with embarrassment, the poor stewardess appeared both shocked and in a state of flux about what to do after my declaration, so I decided to ignore her altogether and pull the inflight entertainment magazine from the small magazine slot situated under the window. I willed her to keep moving because the tempting drinks tray she held up to my face wasn’t doing me any favors.

I used to get drunk to carry me through most things: travelling, being away from home, hours of hanging around, to be sociable, feeling homesick when I missed my awesome family, but the biggest reason I drank was because I was forbidden from seeing my son. As time went on, the injustice became my main excuse for my ever-increasing drinking habit.

The ordeal of flying long haul was only one more example of when I’d normally hit the bottle to get me through. Apart from when I was both bored and nervous onboard a jumbo jet plane for hours on end. In all the years of travel I’d never managed to conquer my nerves when flying.

As the cabin staff moved away, my eyes were drawn to an elegant, beautiful woman being seated two rows in front of me on the opposite side. Dressed demurely in black flowing, high-waisted pants and a pale-blue silk blouse she was striking. The color of her blouse contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and her delicate bone structure.

She was exquisite and something about her was vaguely familiar. I racked my brain and came up wanting, but with curiosity piqued I continued to watch her even after she sat down with her back to me.

Even from behind she still appealed to me and I sat staring at the purity of her long, platinum-blonde colored hair. Don’t ask me why I felt happy that she was the polar opposite in appearance to how Andrea looked. My ex had short, dark-brown hair and was almost as tall as me at six feet. She had a slender, boyish frame; unlike this woman who looked a bit older than me; was of medium height, no more than five eight I’d guess; and her curvaceous figure was knockout gorgeous.

Pushing any thoughts of Andrea to one side I began to speculate what the blonde woman did for a living. I couldn’t guess but from the way she carried herself with confidence, I would have said she was in a position of power.

I began to speculate that she may have been behind a powerful man, or even was a successful business woman in her own right. I don’t know why, but I felt as if when she spoke she’d silence a room. Traveling first class wasn’t cheap and that gave me another reason to suspect she was successful or well connected.

For the first time in a long time, I stared down at my usual attire of shabby jeans and felt less than well turned out. A cabin attendant spoke to her and I watched her turn toward them. Her profile came into view as she listened intently to what he said. Nodding slowly, she stared attentively as her nimble fingers tucked some silky loose strands of hair behind her ear.

For some reason I sensed an air of desperation in the seriousness of the cabin attendant’s information. I couldn’t put my finger on it and I couldn’t hear what was said because the general atmosphere in the cabin as people continued to settle was too distracting.

I found myself straining in my effort to hear the conversation when she replied but her voice was barely above a low murmur in the drone of the sterile air-conditioned environment. I glanced to her fingers looking for rings and felt oddly pleased that she didn’t appear to have been taken.

God knows why I did that because I figured we probably had nothing in common… and she’d probably have balked at being hit on by someone like me anyway. Then I became distracted when other members of the cabin crew began to prepare us for take-off.

With nothing else to see apart from the back of her head, my attention flitted to the window before I tried to settle down and read the inflight magazine. Looking through the list of inflight movies was one of the distractions I used to take my mind off impending air disasters.

A couple of short bell chimes rang throughout the cabin followed by the voice of the cabin manager who reminded us of the cabin safety leaflet before the cabin crew launched into their exaggerated safety demonstration. I looked out of the small oval window to distract myself from learning how to throw myself out of the cabin at thirty thousand feet in the case of an emergency.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a strange looking man dressed in a solemn black suit standing almost under the wing of the plane and I wondered what he was doing there until I became distracted by the wire caged luggage truck leaving.

Settling back into my seat I closed my tired eyes and felt the plane engine as it gently hummed; the cabin vibrated before the aircraft slowly maneuvered backwards to taxi toward the runway.

The drugs the physician gave me to make me sleep must have kicked in at that point because I dozed off until a pleasant alluring smell dragged me from my sleeping state and I inhaled the sweet smell of perfume deeply as the air shifted around me. Opening my eyes in search of the person who wore it I noticed the blonde I’d been watching earlier retake her seat. Once again, I fixed my gaze on her for a few minutes until I figured I was way too into her and I didn’t even know her.

Suddenly my peace was shattered when I was interrupted by someone who made a high-pitched squealing noise, attracting the attention of most of the small section of the cabin.

“Oh, my, God. It’s you. It really is you, isn’t it? Oh my God, Noah Haxby! I’ve been a super fan of yours since… forever,” she rolled her eyes then grinned widely. “I tweet you every day, stalk your pages, and follow you everywhere on social media. I’ve done it for years wishing one day you’d see one of my questions and answer me.”

Suddenly she began breathing rapidly and reached over plucking a sick bag from the seat across from mine. Covering her mouth, she began sucking and blowing, the bag inflating and collapsing with every breath. She stopped after a few seconds and inhaled deeply.

“Sorry. Look, I’m shaking,” she advised me, holding her hand out to show me. “I can’t believe you’re in my cabin. Jesus, pinch me.” As she looked like she was beginning to hyperventilate again I plastered on my best sexy smile and spoke in a calm, seductive tone. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Sandie,” she said, giggling through her name like she was suddenly a shy eleven-year-old talking to a boy she was sweet on for the first time.

“Well, Sandie. I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance, honey. Thank you for saying, 'hello'. Glad to have you as a follower." I was determined not to open a conversation too much and went with a statement instead. For one thing, I was trying to respect the other passengers who were huffing and puffing at the disturbance.

Sandie took my statement as an opening for her to take charge of the conversation and I could have kicked myself for not being more abrupt. When she realized I wasn’t going to take it any further, she fished into her pocket and brought out her cell.

“I’m sure I can switch this on now we’re well into the flight. Can I have a picture with you?”

Before I could answer, she’d dropped her ass on my lap with her arm around my neck like we were old friends and took a picture of us both. She was grinning from ear to ear, and as soon as I saw the picture she’d taken I pushed her off into the aisle again and thanked her again for connecting, then told her I was exhausted and if she didn’t mind I needed to rest. Even though I knew it was a shitty thing to do, I had to think of the others around me.

Sandie gushed how grateful she was toward me for allowing her to take our picture then turned and made her way back to her seat. I glanced behind me to make sure she wasn’t coming back, and when I turned and looked ahead again, the blonde woman I’d been so engrossed in before scowled angrily at me. From her look I thought she found it distasteful to share the same air with someone like me.

For the remainder of the journey, even though I felt desperately tired, I was too pissed off and restless to catch any quality sleep. I must have dozed off six or seven times only to wake up and found it was only ten minutes after I’d gone to sleep before. I was also disturbed by two further passengers and a flight attendant offering me their phone numbers, which I declined.

By the time we finally landed in Dubai, I was relieved to get off the plane, but cranky and desperate for a proper bed on firm ground. Steve and the team knew me very well because I’d have probably gone insane if it had been a non-stop flight home.