Six years later

Kendall reached for the guitar. His arm was tan and muscular, with a tattoo of a coiled snake winding around the top of his arm, just below his shoulder.

It was just one of many tattoos. The sort of thing that had been forbidden when he was under contract. The sort of thing that meant freedom to him now.

He'd taught himself to play years ago on a guitar that Bruce had given him. It had been a secret. He hadn’t had the benefit of lessons. He’d learned on his own, in the back of tour buses, in hotel rooms, airports. It had all been on the down-low. Something the label would have frowned on for a good little boy bander.

Almost as bad as smoking in public or getting caught in a strip club, not that that had been his thing either.

They hadn't wanted him to play an instrument back then, or to write, just to perform what they put in front of him.

He'd hated it.

From day one, he'd had his own ideas about songs and dance moves. What to wear. The rest of the band had been much happier to go along. But for the five years of his contract, his hands were tied.

Not until the end. The day he’d walked out after giving the best concert of his life, and never looked back.

The lawsuits that followed had meant he couldn’t release his own music. Not right away. Morey had thrown up every roadblock he could for Kendall’s success.

But it hadn’t worked.

The fans had been more than happy to wait. And he’d grabbed more fans in the interim.

The waiting had just built up expectations.

When he finally dropped his first solo album, everything had exploded. He was the new it guy. The former pop star with a hot edge and grooves that wouldn’t quit.

And that was just the beginning.

Now he was free. He'd been writing and recording his own music for six years now. At first in underground studios, then with his new label. Now he had his own set up, right here in his house.

He’d converted the pool house to a recording studio and spent a good part of most days there, experimenting and messing around with new songs.

Some of his stuff sounded like classic rock. Others sounded more like the blues. But it all had one thing in common. It was authentic.

It was real.

He walked out to the deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He'd done this on his own. All of it. The gold records, the magazine covers, the world tours.

He knew he owed a lot of his success to his family. His mom and sister. Maybe even more to Bruce and Nick.

But it had started with them.

In Tempo.

It had been a cheesy boy band put together to churn out hits. Almost immediately he'd chaffed against the restrictions put on them. They weren't allowed creative input, or girls, or drinking. They weren't even allowed to pick out their own clothes. Try telling that to a bunch of teenage boys. Especially those with millions of fans.

Billions of fans.

It had been a fluke that made them the group that stood out above the rest. Well, maybe not a fluke. Most people said it was him, though it made him uncomfortable to hear.

Kendall's looks, talent and charisma had made him the natural choice for front man. But he was the one who had ended the roller coaster ride for the rest of them when he quit abruptly after his eighteenth birthday.

He owed those guys. He was the one who had walked away with a viable career. He still loved the fuck out of them too.

Now he was twenty-six and an A-list recording artist in his own right. The rest of the band had floundered, making club appearances for cash, starting clothing lines, you name it.

They knew Kendall was the star of the show, even though he denied it.

They'd begged him to come back, year after year.

Every year he said no. Until now.

His guilt had gotten the better of him.

Guilt and love for the guys he’d grown up with under extraordinary circumstances.

Davie had called him telling him about the birth of his first born. About how hard it was to pay for the hospital, the doctors, everything. Kendall had immediately offered him money, a gift with no strings attached. But Davie still had his pride, unlike the rest of the guys. He'd asked for one thing only: to do what they did best.

Like he said, he knew he owed them. He knew it in his gut. So tonight, he was taking the stage with the band that had started him on his meteoric rise to fame eleven years ago.

He sighed, staring out over the ocean.

Just a few concerts to get the guys back on their feet. Then never again. He'd just go back to his life, whatever that meant.

As long as there was good music involved, he knew he’d make it work.