She didn’t know who I was.

I glanced over my shoulder as I walked up the beach, the wind making my eyes water. Juniper was tugging on Ziggy’s lead, dragging him out of the surf. If she wasn’t so beautiful, I would’ve laughed.

She’d been direct, slightly sarcastic, and thoughtful. Her hair was the shade of copper, sparking as the wind tore through it. Emerald eyes had stared back at me with a hint of apprehension that dulled their shine. A small-town girl with zero interest in what Sebastian Hale was doing on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

I looked back one last time and wondered if I should go back. Na, it was reckless. Climbing the stairs, I breathed in the salt air, basking in the afterglow of my brush with anonymity.

It felt good. Really fucking good.

Up top, my car was the only one in the lot. A 1969 HT Monaro GTS 350, a classic Australian muscle car, painted back with two silver ‘go-faster’ stripes down the centre of the bonnet. I’d bought it at auction a year ago, had it repainted to suit my taste, then let it sit in a garage in Melbourne. I guess I could call it my one-hundred and sixty-five thousand dollar getaway car.

Unlocking the driver’s side door, I slid in behind the wheel and closed out the winter chill, my thoughts still swirling around the woman on the beach. Our encounter had felt normal, or at least what I thought normal was supposed to feel like. Was that what it felt like to be no one? A simple existence seemed the farthest thing from my grasp right now.

Movement on the stairs caught my gaze and I slumped behind the wheel as Juniper came into view. She crossed the road and walked towards town, Ziggy out in front with his tail wagging. I stared after her, wondering what was underneath her baggy coat.

Fuck, I was such a dumbarse. Going after the first pair of tits I came across wouldn’t solve anything. If she didn’t know who I was now, then it was only a matter of time. The tabloids had already started reporting my supposed disappearance, and when those vultures got a whiff of blood, it was game on.

Once she was gone, I turned the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. The engine purred despite the cold, and I shifted into first gear. Peeling out of the carpark, I turned away from the tiny blip of Point Mambie and made my way up to the bluff.

The beach house I was renting was five bedrooms, three bathrooms, two living spaces, an outdoor entertaining area, an open-plan kitchen, but at least it was an anonymous waste of money. No one knew I was here and the solitude was exactly what I wanted. It was just me, the sky, and the ocean beyond.

The garage door closed behind me just as the first raindrops began to fall. I hadn’t been up this early in a long time. Eight a.m. was a normal time for most people, but for a night owl like me, it was about the hour I fell into bed, but I didn’t feel tired.

The house was still unfamiliar. Finding my way into the kitchen, I picked up my mobile phone and checked the screen. The last thing I wanted was a direct line to the outside world, so I’d left it behind. Bad news was, the world wasn’t ready to let me have a little fucking peace and quiet just yet. While I’d been wandering on the beach, Josh had been blowing up my phone with messages.

Josh was the lead guitarist in the band I fronted, Beneath. The band that was the cause of all my current problems. Bad boy rock stars who were as shallow as a bottle of five-dollar vodka. We were known for getting blind drunk and trashing hotel rooms, getting stupid tattoos and pulling dangerous stunts—you name it, we’d probably done it. We’d been boys who’d had a bunch of money thrown at us and grew into men who didn’t know any different. Like that was an excuse.

Sebastian Hale was good for a night of wild times, fucking in public places, fucking in all kinds of positions, screwing with authority, paying for damages, paying for everyone’s booze and blow, getting my cock sucked for my trouble, but at the end of it all, I was alone. A year ago, I was all over it, revelling in the destruction and the quick fucks, but now... Shit, I didn’t even know.

Glancing at my phone, I scrolled, my mood growing worse and worse with each text.

You can’t just leave, man. What about the band?

We’ve got a fucking album to release, you arsehole.

There’s three other guys in this band, or have you forgotten?

You better be fucking dead.

You want to tank your career, fine. Don’t fuck with ours.

Gritting my teeth, I typed in a reply and hit send. I’m coming back.

A few seconds later, I got a reply. When?

Rage pooled in my gut and I flicked the phone onto silent and tossed it onto the counter. When? Fucked if I knew.

Striding into the living room, I draped myself over the couch and grabbed my laptop, but my email was in worse shape.

I scowled at the screen as image after image loaded. My face had been crudely Photoshopped into meme after meme by a bunch of callous keyboard warriors. There I was Beneath a rock, a hot girl, a sewer grate, a parked car, a drum kit... It kept going on and on.

The headlines on the gossip sites were worse. Is Beneath over? The rock star life finally catches up to wild child, Sebastian Hale.

Note to self, don’t set up a Google alert for your name when you want to disappear.

“Arseholes!” I slammed the laptop closed and glared out the windows at the storm that’d rolled in while I’d been dragged into the latest episode of Beneath chaos.

Rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling glass, arcing across the deck and obscuring the million-dollar view of the ocean beyond.

This was what I’d always dreamed of—playing music for millions of people, touring the world, my bank account etched with multiple zeros. I snorted and rubbed my eyes. Give a kid a million-dollar advance and watch him spiral out of control.

We could really fucking play some great music—I could play—but the fame had killed it. My life was empty. It wasn’t about the music or the message anymore. All people were interested in was what crazy stunt we were going to pull next. Sebastian Hale, bad boy. Mother’s, lock up your daughters.

The only person in the world who didn’t seem to know me was the mysterious Juniper. At least for now.

I didn’t know a thing about her, but if that was it, it was more than enough. She had zero expectations of who I was supposed to be. This was a clean slate; I could be real with her.

But she was just a random woman I’d crossed paths with on a beach, and I was just a guy passing through.

Reaching for the bottle of scotch on the coffee table, I curled my fingers around the neck, the glass cold against my skin. I hesitated, my lip curling. After a moment, I sat back on the couch and pushed my laptop aside. Getting drunk would only stall the inevitable. I’d forget for one night, then tomorrow my head would split open.

Shit, I was a mess. How the hell did I get here?