It’s pitch black when I wake, but I know exactly where I am. I can feel it.

I’m in the old cabin by the water, once warm and cozy but now filled with a sense of creeping dread. I sit up in bed, my heart slamming hard within my chest as I realize that someone is in the house.

I haven’t heard them yet, nor seen them, but I know in the bottom of my heart that they’re out in the living room, waiting for me to confront them.

I stand, walking through the darkness of the bedroom towards the door, then stop when a spotlight appears before me, shining brilliant and illuminating an oar that leans propped up against the wall. I reach out and take the wooden paddle in my hand, recognizing it immediately. Jessica’s blood is still on it, only now the blood is fresh, glistening under the hot white light that shines down from above.

The spotlight shuts off with a loud clang and I continue on my way, brandishing the oar over my shoulder like a weapon as I slowly pull open the bedroom door with my other hand. I peer out into the living room, which has been flooded with luminous blue stage lighting.

Jessica is standing the before me, but she’s facing away, turned to gaze longingly out the windows and down towards the beach.

In the sky above this beautiful night landscape hangs an oversized yellow moon, but it’s flat and painted, the craters too large to be real. It sways ever so slightly in the air, as if dangling from a long strand of fishing wire.

“What the hell are you doing in here,” I demand to know, addressing this darkened figure directly.

Jessica says nothing, doesn’t even move as she realizes she’s been caught red handed. Instead, the woman just continues to stare out into the darkness of the quiet night before her.

“Get out of my house,” I command.

Still, Jessica does nothing.

My heart is pounding harder than ever now, completely taken aback by the bizarreness of this situation. The way that Jessica is acting is utterly surreal, as if in a trace.

Slowly, I begin to creep forward, lowing my oar and reaching out with a trembling hand. Closer and closer I drift, until eventually I’m standing right behind the silent figure.

I place my hand on Jessica’s shoulder.

Suddenly, the woman spins around, revealing an absolutely horrific visage. It’s Jessica alright, but her skin is paper white with hints of frozen blue. She’s wet and waterlogged, her eyes completely black while her mouth hangs agape and a small, deep sea crab crawls forth.

I scream, falling back a bit and instinctually swinging my oar at Jessica’s face as hard as I can.

Suddenly, I’m back in my own bedroom, not the one at the original cabin but up on the hill with Grant. I sit upright once more and gasp loudly, the movement sending a shockwave of pain across my bruised chest.

Confused and disoriented, I glance over and see Grant lying silently in the bed next to me, his bare shoulders exposed to reveal a colorful and intricate avalanche of tattoos.

Based on the light that’s beginning to stream through our windows, it’s dawn, and while I should definitely be getting as much rest as I possibly can, I also know that I won’t be able to get back to sleep to matter how long I lay here.

Careful not to wake Grant, I pull off the covers and climb out of bed, creeping to the kitchen and putting on a kettle for tea.

It only takes a moment before the water begins to simmer, and I pull the kettle off before it has a chance to wake up my sleeping partner.

My boyfriend, I remind myself.

I smile, excited by the way that it feels to think that, to officially recognize the connection we have with a real title.

The tea is nice and warm within my throat. It’s been two days since the accident, and I still feel as though my respiratory system is covered in dust and dirt from the inside out.

“You make enough for me?” Grant asks from the doorway.

He’s still shirtless, his glorious chest and abs rippling as he moves towards me. The man is so toned that looking at him is like admiring an anatomy book, every muscular connection making perfect sense within his body. I can see the way that his stomach flexes when he breathes, the swaying of his lower abdominals when he strolls forward.

“See something you like?” Grant jokes.

“You know it,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his body and tilting my head up to kiss him passionately on the mouth.

“Tastes good,” Grant says with a smile.

“English Breakfast,” I offer. “Right up your alley.”

Grant walks over and inspects the tea box, smirking a little. “Well, it’s a passing attempt at the real thing, but it’ll have to do.”

“You said it tasted good!” I retort.

“I said you taste good,” Grant replies.

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

I pull a cup down from the shelf and drop in a tea bag, then pour it full of the piping hot water as stream drifts up from the surface.

The forest around us continues to grow lighter and lighter with every passing second, the sound of chirping birds now drifting out across my ears.

For almost dying a few days ago, I’m feeling remarkably at ease now.

“You’re up early,” Grant observes, sipping from his teacup.

“I had a nightmare,” I inform him.

“Oh yeah?” Grant replies. “Well, it couldn’t be any more frightening than a stalker cutting your brakes, now could it?”

“Actually, yeah,” I reply. “Jessica was there, but she looked like she’d been floating under the ocean for weeks.”

“That is creepy,” Grant affirms. “What did she do?”

“Nothing really,” I continue, “but I hit her in the face with that oar.”

“That’s my girl,” Grant says with a laugh, putting his arm around me and pulling me close. Suddenly his expression gets serious. “Are you gonna be okay here while I’m at the concert?”

“If your bodyguard ever shows up,” I reply.

The second that I say this, two headlights come slicing up through the soft light of the morning. A black sedan soon pulls up to the side of the cabin.

“There you go,” Grant continues with a laugh, strolling past me and heading out into the cool morning air.

A huge man climbs out of the car and greets Grant with a powerful hug. His head is shaved and he’s slightly more massive than my rock and roll boyfriend, which is a truly impressive feet. Of course, he’s also not built entirely of muscle.

They exchange and few words before Grant returns through the front door of the cabin, bringing our guest along with him.

“Riley, this is Pete,” Grant informs me.

Pete reaches out an enormous hand and I give him a firm shake. I like this guy already. While plenty of men Pete’s size can be imposing and downright scary, Pete carries himself like a gentle giant. The expressions on his face are deeply concerned, almost frightened, betraying his enormous and powerful body. I have no question, however, that he’s got what it takes to defend me, especially when I notice the gun-sized bulge tucked safely within the side of his leather jacket.

“So you’re the girl that finally made him settle down, huh?” Pete asks me, his voice shockingly deep.

“I guess so,” I confirm with a nod.

“He needed it,” Pete confirms, then glances over at Grant. “I hope that doesn’t mean you can’t crack open a cold one with me for old time’s sake.”

Grant freezes, suddenly blindsided by his first true test of will. He looks to me for guidance but I give him none, not interested in playing the babysitter. If he’s gonna learn to make the right choices, he needs to do it on his own.

“I don’t think so,” Grant finally says, “At least, not yet. I’m still sorting through some stuff right now.”

“Fair enough,” Pete replies. “I’ll keep my beer in the trunk.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I interject. “There’s plenty of room in the fridge.”

Pete shakes his head. “I know better than to tempt him when he’s like this,” the bodyguard explains. “When Grant swings back, he swings back hard.”

I can’t help letting this comment slice deep into my heart, sending an icy chill of fear surging out through my veins. I hadn’t considered how many other times Grant might’ve tried to change his ways, that all of the progress we’d made together wasn’t yet beyond a relapse.

For the last few weeks, I’d assumed we were well past the finish line, celebrating together after a hard won victory over his asshole tendencies. Now, I realize that we’re still in the race.

Pete excuses himself, heading back out to the car to gather his bags.

“What did he mean by that?” I question, turning to Grant.

“By what?” the rockstar replies, genuinely confused.

“About you swinging back hard,” I question. “I thought we were done with all that.”

A wave of deep emotional weight suddenly crosses my boyfriend’s face as he turns to me, staring deep into my eyes. “I’m never done with this stuff. It’s a part of me, and the second that I tell myself I’m done trying is the second it all comes back. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes with great sincerity.

I shake my head. “It’s fine, I just didn’t know.”
I realize now the incredible feat that Grant has been performing for me.

I’ve been well aware of the effort this man has put in, and without it he wouldn’t have won me back. What I didn’t really consider, however, is how well Grant has kept his internal struggles to himself, not wanting to burden me with the daily cravings that he will forever keep at bay. His attitude is in check, and his choices are positive, but that doesn’t mean he’s not fighting with every ounce of his soul to keep it that way.

This weekend, Grant is heading to Seattle for a concert and some meetings, while I’m stuck back here at the cabin with a strict order from my doctor to rest and recuperate. With all the drama and danger surrounding Jessica’s return, we’ve been worried about my safety in the forest. Now, however, I’m starting to worry about Grant’s safety in the big city.

Pete comes back inside and walks his bag over to the couch. “This seems like a good place for me,” he announces. “I’ve got a view of the front door and I’m just a few feet from the bedroom.”

“Perfect,” Grant confirms with a nod.

Pete thinks to himself for a moment, then smiles wide. “It’s good to be back,” he finally says. “When was the last tour, six years ago? Damn.”

“Just about,” Grant replies.

“The new single is really good,” Pete continues. “I mean, you know I don’t go for that soft shit, but it’s good. It’s all over the radio now, man.”

Grant laughs. “Yeah, it kinda came outta nowhere.”

“And now you’re back on top!” Pete cries. “Just like the good old days!”

“Not quite,” my boyfriend assures him.

“Fair enough,” Pete replies with a wink and a nod, then turns his attention to me. “You inspired a hell of a song. You saved this man’s carrier.”

I laugh. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

“It’s true,” Grant confirms, putting his arm around me and kissing me gently on the side of the head.

Pete takes a deep breath, looking around the room and getting the lay of the land. “I’m gonna take a walk around to property,” he finally announces. “I’ve got a few motion cameras I’d like to set up, too.”

Grant gives him an affirmative nod. “Sounds good.”

“What time are you headed to the airport?” Pete questions.

Grant pulls out his phone to check the time. “Soon,” he replies. “Early flight.”

“Well, I’ll be back in time to say goodbye,” Pete continues, standing up again and strolling past us. He pushes out the front door and starts to make his way around the house, scouting things out in a militaristic way that I can only barely begin to understand.

“See, you’ll be fine here,” Grant assures me.

“I’m not worried about myself,” I inform him.

Grant pulls back a bit, checking my expression. “What are you worried about?”

“I know how hard it is for you to settle down like this,” I explain. “I know the effort your putting in right now.”

“Thank you,” he replies with a smile, “but I’ll be fine.”

“Honestly, I just wish I could see you play,” I admit. “I haven’t seen a Bad Blue Medicine show in years.”
“We haven’t played in years,” Grant replies with a laugh. “The band’s been rehearsing non-stop though. I think we’re gonna kill it.”

I let out a long sigh, my mind immediately beginning to extrapolate this comment, stretching it out into a myriad of potential futures for us as a couple.

“And then what?” I ask him.

“What do you mean?” Grant replies. “Then I’ll come back here and finish the record! You’ll be right here with me!”

“No, I mean after that,” I continue. “One show leads to more shows, which leads to tours and temptation. Are you ready for that?”

Grant gives my words the weight they deserve and then smiles. “Of course I’m ready for that. I’ll have you by my side.”

I’m confused. “What?”

“You don’t think you can write a book from the road?” Grant continues. “All you need is that laptop.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I stammer, steadily growing more and more excited.

Lately, my thoughts have been deeply wrapped up in the present, which is a fantastic way to write, but as the future begins to make its way into my current reality, I find myself pushing back against it. I like what Grant and me have, and the prospect of that changing is something I’d rather not dwell on. We’ve overcome too much to get here, meeting in the middle of our personalities and lifestyles to become a productive, happy couple.

I’ve tried not to think about it, but I know deep down that the better Grant’s song does, the longer he’ll be on tour, the more he’ll be surrounded by the temptation of that bad boy lifestyle.

I never considered that I’d be invited along.

“I need you there to keep me on track,” Grant states, rather bluntly. “I need your help.”

“Of course I’ll come along,” I blurt, swelling with joy.

Grant nods. “Good.”

I take a deep breath, and then realize how much time has passed since we’ve been standing here. “You need to start packing for your flight,” I remind him.