Twenty-two years old

While there had been a few ups over the past two years, most of that time had been full of soul-crushing, heartbreaking downs.

Civil Corruption had burst onto the scene like a juggernaut. After their tour with Crossbones, life exploded for the guys. Doors burst open, record labels salivated over them, fighting each other tooth and nail to sign the hot new band that was taking the world by storm.

Their first album had blown to the top of the charts, and they’d become a sensation practically overnight. Things moved at a whirlwind pace after that: their own tour, another album, radio interviews, TV appearances, magazine spreads, award shows. Hell, a year back they’d taken the stage at the Grammy’s to claim their statues for Best Rock Album.

And I’d been present for all of it while simultaneously being shoved into the shadows by Chris.

I was background, wallpaper, that pointless artificial plant tucked into the corner that goes completely unnoticed until it eventually gathers too much dust to ignore.

“Excuse me. Excuse me, miss. You can’t stand there. You’re in the shot. Please get out of the way.”

I spun around, the red carpet area surrounding me in a flurry of activity. The handler for the celebrity coming up behind me was staring daggers as she tried to get the famous person she was escorting in front of a wall of photographers.

“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to move out of the way. Problem was I didn’t have the first fucking clue where to go.

Declan and the rest of the guys were currently standing on a little podium doing a quick interview with one of those entertainment news guys.

Their handler—because apparently grown-ass people weren’t allowed to walk down a long, blood red carpet without assistance—had shoved me back here in this corner and was currently standing by the band, drooling over each and every one of them.

A hand grabbed my elbow and pulled me further off to the side. When I looked over my shoulder, it took every bit of strength I had not to curl my lip in disgust at the sight of Chris.

“In the way again, I see.”

“It’s hardly my fault,” I grumbled, careful to keep a platonic expression on my face, lest I be photographed and put in a magazine or something as Declan Forrester’s guest. It had happened more times than I cared to admit. “This place is a freaking circus. It’d be easier to herd cats, for Christ’s sake.”

He gave me a sour look before wiping his face clean and staring back at the mayhem around us. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You don’t belong here, Tatum. You’re only holding him back.”

Pasting on a fake smile, I looked him right in the eyes and hissed, “Fuck you, Chris,” between my pearly teeth. Another piece of me died inside right then, because I knew he was right. My relationship with Declan had been going steadily downhill the past two years, and I had no idea how to get us back on track. I couldn’t put my troubles on Garrett’s, Killian’s, or Mace’s shoulders because they were just as wrapped up in the life as Declan.

The parties, the flashy people, the lights and cameras. The fame. My sweet, loving boyfriend had become consumed by all of it. He reveled in it. The Declan I’d known before was a distant memory, replaced by a rock star immersed in his celebrity status. I barely recognized the man slept beside on the nights he decided to actually come home from whatever party or club he was hanging at.

It wasn’t like he was treating me badly, at least not intentionally. Whenever I brought up the distance, or mentioned missing him since he’d been gone so much, he’d hold me like he used to. He’d whisper sweet words in my ear as he made love to me. It was as if he didn’t even realize how much he was changing, and I couldn’t help but start to resent him because of it.

Gone was the shitty apartment in the not-so-nice part of town. The second Declan had gotten his first paycheck from the label he’d splurged on a glamorous house in Hollywood Hills and planted me in it. He’d spoiled me with expensive clothes and jewelry, the occasional date to a restaurant we’d never been able to afford before. But I hated all of it.

“He’ll eventually get tired of having to hold your hand through all of this. He’s a star on the rise. They all are. He shouldn’t have to coddle you because of your insecurities.”

Telling Declan about the mean, spiteful things Chris had taken to saying to me would’ve been absolutely pointless. Declan thought the man walked on water. He made the band’s dreams come true. Chris Evers could do no wrong.

When the guys left the podium and started back toward me, Chris took a subtle step away, putting some much-needed distance between us.

“Hey, baby.” Declan looped his arm around my waist and started guiding me farther down the carpet toward the theater where the award ceremony was being held. “You having fun?”

“A blast,” I lied, grinning up at my handsome man. Well, not so much mine anymore. Declan Forrester, front man for Civil Corruption, was no longer just mine. He now belonged to the world. I hadn’t realized it was possible to be jealous of every single person on an entire planet, but I was.

We took a few steps, him waving at the crowd of screaming, adoring fans while I kept my head down, my hair forming a curtain that shielded me from the voyeurs.

“You know, I was thinking maybe we could fly home this weekend,” I suggested quietly as we walked in perfect synchronicity.

Declan’s cloudy blues pointed down at me. “Baby, LA is our home now, not San Francisco.”

Pushing that to the back of my mind—because he was so very wrong about that—I continued. “You know what I mean. Anyway, we haven’t seen our families in forever. I thought it would be nice to get away for a few days. What do you say?”

Hope swelled in my chest that, if I could just get Declan out of this poisonous city and away from that snake Chris, I could get my Declan back. Then he went and burst that hope like a spoiled little boy jabbing at a balloon with a stick.

“Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you, our tour starts in a week. I’d love to take you back to see your folks, but we’re gonna be slammed until we leave for New Zealand.”

My heels caught on the plush carpet when I came to a screeching halt. “Wait, another tour? New Zealand?”

“Please, miss. You can’t stop here,” a man with a very official-looking headset commanded. Declan took my hand and pulled me back into motion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but this is huge, Tate. I know it hasn’t been all that long since the last tour, but this one is a huge fucking deal. This is a World. Fucking. Tour!” He exclaimed with excitement. “You name a country, we’re going there. On a private fucking jet, baby.” He squeezed my hand. “I finally get to take my girl to see the world.”

It was neither the time nor the place for the conversation I needed to have with him, but something told me that when we finally did, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as excited as he was right then.

* * *

“You fucking promised me, Tatum.”

It was the same freaking song and dance we’d been having the past four years. And I was so sick of it. I was exhausted, it was the middle of the night, and Declan had only just gotten home from some bullshit party. It had been five days since the award ceremony, and I’d only now found the courage to tell him that I wouldn’t be going with him on this latest tour.

“You’re not being fair, Deck. I have a job, and school. You can’t just expect me to pick up and fly around the world.”

“You take classes online!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide as he paced around our bedroom, pulling at his hair. “And I told you to quit that fucking job! I make more than enough money to support us. You shouldn’t be a goddamn waitress, for Christ’s sake.”

“I like my job!” I snapped, standing from my place on the edge of the bed. “At least there I have a purpose.”

“You have a purpose here! Your purpose is to be with me.”

My head snapped back. “Are you kidding me?” I asked on an ominous whisper. “You think my sole purpose is to be at your beck and call, catering to your every need? That’s how you see me, as something you can tuck away in a closet until you have a use for me?”

“Goddamn it, Tatum. No,” he growled. “I didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

“Well that’s sure as hell what it sounded like!”

He rushed me, worry painted on his face as he took my cheeks in his big callused hands and tried to kiss me. But I saw his pinpoint pupils and lost my mind.

“Oh my god!” I yelled, wrenching from his hold and taking a step back. “Are you high again?” That was yet another way Declan had changed recently. The old Declan never would’ve touched drugs.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed, looking at the ceiling in frustration. “It’s not a big goddamn deal, Tate. Will you stop riding my ass about it already?”

“Not a big deal?” I asked incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

“It was just a couple lines of coke! Will you get off my back about it?”

I crossed my arms over my chest in an attempt to hold myself together as my insides threatened to shrivel up and fall apart. “I’m not going with you,” I whispered. “Not this time. And maybe you should use this tour to think about what you really want from me.”

Something in him changed. Standing right there in front of me, a mask of bitterness slammed into place.

“Fine,” he gritted. “You don’t want to go? Fuck it, don’t go. See if I fuckin’ care.”

With that, he turned and stormed out of the room. I listened with tears building in my eyes as his footsteps took him down the stairs. A second later, the front door slammed shut, causing my heart to splinter into a million pieces.