The gym in the Renaissance Raleigh North Hills Hotel was mercifully quiet when Mal had gone in there mid-morning. He’d hoped the early morning gym bunnies would have been and gone and he would be able to enjoy some peace. To be fair, he didn’t usually get recognized that much when he worked out. The type of people he saw use hotel gyms didn’t really look like the people who would come along to a Mal Colten gig. Of course, there were the exceptions to the rule, but they were few and far between.

As he pounded the treadmill, the thought of going home was becoming stronger and stronger. He just needed to know how to broach it with Boyd. After a good hour of running and weights, he headed back to his room, still without an answer. He pushed the card key into the slot and went into his room.

Sitting at the table were Boyd and Therese.

“Jesus, that’s some welcome party! How did you get in?” asked Mal.

“I’m your manager, Mal, perks of the job, I guess.”

There were three takeaway coffee cups on the table, along with muffins. Immediately, Mal knew it was serious. Therese usually didn’t do gluten.

“We need to talk,” said Boyd.

Mal looked down at his sweaty attire. “Can I at least get cleaned up first?”

They nodded without speaking. Mal headed into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He had the quickest shower in history and after less than five minutes, he reentered the main room and took his place at the table.

Therese was nibbling on one of the muffins, a look of pleasure on her face, which she soon replaced with a more serious expression. Boyd had his tablet open, showing an online news story on one of the more scurrilous gossip sites.

“I think you need to read this.” He pushed it towards Mal.

The headline screamed HAS MAL COLTEN LOST HIS GOLDEN TOUCH? Mal scanned the article, which appeared to be nothing more than speculation about how the recent shows on his tour had been lacklustre and Mal wasn’t interested in interacting with his fans; audiences had been left short as gigs had been curtailed; the most recent set had Mal forgetting words and basically the current tour was tanking. He got sucked into reading the comments on the article and there were some less-than-complimentary missives, in particular from people who had been at the most recent show.

He looked up at Boyd and Therese. “Pure fabrication, right?” He spotted the look that the pair of them exchanged, which made him question the truth of the piece. “How are sales for the remaining dates?”

His manager took the tablet back and consulted another document on it. “I can’t lie, Mal, they’re not good. A couple of the smaller venues have sold out, but the bigger places are struggling.”

Up until now, everything had been rosy: sold out tours, extra dates, requests to go to other towns. And Mal had always agreed to them. If he analyzed it, he knew he was struggling. The lure of Fortune’s Bay, particularly over the past few days, was growing even more compelling. Maybe it was time to stop fighting, head home, take a break, and regroup.

“Then we should cancel the rest of the tour.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized.

“What?” Both Boyd and Therese exclaimed at the same time. Boyd’s eyes looked as if they were going to explode out of his head, and Therese stuffed a huge piece of muffin into her mouth.

“I’m serious. I know this is just some story whipped up to make things look bad. If you’re telling me we’re struggling with ticket sales, then why push myself and make things worse? By the looks of it, no one really wants me to do it either.”

It was a massive step to even consider scrapping the tour. For Mal, it was the right thing to do.

“Have you thought this through?” Boyd was already scribbling a list of things that would need to be done.

“I don’t think I have really, Boyd, but I know it’s what I want to do. I’m done.” It was as if the fog had lifted. Mal felt a lot lighter than he had done in days, and the thought of going home was a huge boost. “I want to head home for a while, sort my head out, then we can work out what’s going to happen next.”

“Are you sure about this?” Boyd tried one last time. “The negative publicity around cancelling a whole run of shows could be damaging.”

“Versus the negative publicity around a bunch of shoddy shows that should never have taken place? I know which I’d prefer. We’ll refund anyone who has a ticket and they’ll be good for whenever I choose to reschedule.” Mal was more and more adamant that this was the right thing to do.

“What about the girl I’ve just hired to look after the house?” asked Therese. “She literally just moved in. It wouldn’t be fair to kick her out straight away. I can give her a week’s notice if you want?”

Mal shook his head. “No need to do that. If I were home, Alena would be there to cook for me. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me living on takeout and beer.”

Therese shrugged, admitting defeat. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“The refunds will wipe a lot of profit off the tour, not to mention the unhappy fans.” Boyd tried one last time to convince him to change his mind, but Mal wasn’t having any of it. The thought of heading home for an unscheduled break with no end date filled him with joy. He could take some real time out, write new stuff if he wanted to, do what he wanted, when he wanted and rest. Having no one to answer to would be refreshing.

Mal looked between the two of his team. “What’s better though? An unhappy star making people even more unhappy or a happy and refreshed star enjoying life? I know what you’re trying to do, Boyd, and it won’t work. I’m taking this break whether you like it or not. I’m going home.”