The ocean was calm today and the sky was showing signs of blue—a clearing storm.

I breathed in the crisp air, the tang of salt sticking to my lips, and thought about Juniper.

It was lonely out on the deck of the beach house, and as I watched a gang of seagulls wheeling overhead, I did my best to absorb the calmness of nature. It was so different being up here on my own without the constant noise of the city, the roar of a crowd, the snap of a camera lens, the screams of an excited fan. Out here I felt small. Insignificant. Like a regular guy who was attracted to a bright spark in the middle of his darkest hour.

I was buzzing from my encounter with Juniper. So much so, that when my phone rang, I picked it up.

The last thing I wanted to do was reconnect with the outside world, but she had me all hot and bothered. It’d been years since I’d met anyone remotely like her. So completely unimpressed by my rock star status, my looks, or my money. She spoke to me like a friend, a confidant, a—

“Seb.”

I tensed when I heard Josh’s voice.

“Seb, that better be you, arsehole.”

He was my best friend. We’d gone to Uni together, dropped out of Uni together, gotten into trouble together more times that I could count, had each other’s backs through thick and thin—he was the brother I’d never had. I could trust him, right?

“There’s someone here,” I began, not knowing how to explain it. “She might be able to help me.”

“She?”

“Juniper.”

“Juniper? What kind of hippie name is that? She a new age therapist or some shit? You coming back with a bag full of crystals?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, stilling the annoyance at the dismissive tone in his voice. “She’s just a woman I met. She doesn’t know who I am or what I’ve done. She can help me.”

“Help you with what? You’ve got everything you need, man—money, fame, sex. Shit, you’re doing what you love for a living and killing it. We all are.”

“Yeah...”

I was beginning to feel bad for wanting something else out of life. I had more than most people, but that was the thing. I craved the days we were playing pubs and small venues across Melbourne, selling CDs for five bucks a pop that our drummer Damon had copied on his computer. The artwork was stencil graffiti a mate had done, which we just photocopied, and the title was scrawled on the disc in Sharpie. It was about the music and the rush of being on stage. We got paid in beer and applause and that was all we’d needed. That all changed the day Vix had walked into that gig at Cherry Bar and waved a million-dollar cheque under our noses. Now those crappy CDs were worth thousands on eBay.

“Let me get this straight,” Josh said, “you disappeared in the middle of the fucking night, didn’t leave a note, made us think you were ODing in a gutter someplace, then resurface only to start spouting off shit about some hippie chick who’s going to save you? Do you know how that sounds? You blew us off over a bit of psychedelic pussy.”

“No, I didn’t.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why the fuck did I tell him about Juniper?

“Sure sounds like it,” he drawled.

“It’s not about that,” I fired back, the familiar feeling of rage rising in my gut. That hot, uncontrollable burst of raw energy, designed to obliterate everything in its path.

“Then what is it about?”

I gritted my teeth and paced back and forth along the deck, wondering if the best thing for everyone would be to hurl myself off the edge. Stopping, I looked over the railing. It was forty feet straight down onto solid rock. Bad idea.

Josh wasn’t impressed by my lack of responce. “They’ll find you eventually, and when they do...”

He didn’t have to finish for me to get it. I didn’t have to worry about the label so much as the media. The vultures would descend and tear everything apart. They’d sift through Juniper’s life and publish every detail, no matter how small, and blow it out of proportion—they’d even make it up if they had to—all to sell magazines.

I should know. Apparently, I’d done just about everything in the name of shock value, even shit I’d never knew was possible. Google me and you’d get one hell of a fictional fucking novel.

Point was, if I cared about this woman—who I hardly knew—I’d leave her alone and go back and face the music.

“Seb, you have to come back,” Josh went on. “The album’s done. The label wants to set a release date and book a tour. If you’re not here—”

“They can’t do anything without me,” I snapped.

“Dude, everyone’s replaceable. Everyone.”

“They can’t replace the fucking lead singer.”

Josh scoffed, “Uh, ACDC did. When Bon Scott died, they got Brian Johnson, and they’re still one of the biggest bands in the world. You know why that worked?” It didn’t matter if I knew or not, he was going to tell me anyway. “Bon Scott wasn’t ACDC. All those guys were. Just like us, dude.”

“Nice to know you’ve got my back.” I gritted my teeth.

“You left, Seb. You didn’t call, you didn’t give anyone a heads up. You just disappeared and here you are a month later, fuck knows where, chasing a wet pussy. You’ll just wind up ruining this poor girl’s life when the press finds out. It’s not like you’re fucking a groupie. You’re a dick, but not that much of a dick.”

Ruining Juniper’s life was the last thing I wanted, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stop gravitating towards her. Real was something I’d lost sight of and was trying to find again. If Josh didn’t understand that, then what was I even doing talking to the guy?

“What happened to you, man?” I demanded.

“What happened to me?” he scoffed. “Right now, I’m starting to agree with Vix.”

“Agree with her all you like, Josh, but it won’t change the fact that things have been shit for a long time. You wanna know why I left?”

“It doesn’t matter why,” he said. “I’ve got one word for you. Contract.”

My jaw tensed and that full bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label I’d left on the coffee table started looking like a good option. Though I knew if I got drunk it wouldn’t solve anything. The same problems that’d been plaguing me would still be there when I sobered up, only this time with a massive hangover attached.

Josh was right. If I cut out on the band for much longer, I’d be risking more than my career. I’d signed a contract that demanded more than just recording songs. It was doing press conferences, red carpets, tours, meet and greets, interviews, and photoshoots. Beneath had become a product, and my life—and my fucking soul—was legally bound to Galaxy Records.

“You’ve got maybe a month before it’s too late,” Josh continued. “Though I can’t guarantee we’ll be here when you get back. If you get back.”

“Josh.” I slammed my fist down on the railing.

“Not this time, Seb.”

Josh was the only person left in the world I could trust. I could tell him anything and he knew what to do, but things were different this time. I was going though something dark, struggling with something I’d never felt before, and suddenly I was the bad guy. I couldn’t see a way out of the haze and for that I was the enemy. I’d needed his help and instead of holding out his hand, he’d shoved me out the door.

So here I was.

I didn’t stick around to hear what else he had to say. I ended the call and threw my phone as hard as I could over the railing. The black rectangle sailed through the air, spinning over and over until it smashed on the rocks below. Pieces of glass and plastic went everywhere, scattering over the cliffside like a smear of blood and guts.

The only person who was reaching out was Juniper, but could I live with myself if I ruined her life too?

I didn’t leave the beach house for three days. It was a tense standoff between me, the bottle of Johnnie, and my desire to see Juniper. Finally, I drove down to the beach on a reckless mission.

Seven a.m., in the middle of the winter, was the perfect time to catch the tail end of a fiery sunrise. Crimson, tangerine, and honey melted over the clouds, lightening the navy-blue blanket of night. And there, in the mysterious half-light of dawn I saw her, Juniper Rowe.

It was like I knew where she was without even realising. Call it what you wanted—gravity, fate, magnetism, some batshit crazy physics theorem—but it was a thing.

I stood on top of the sand dune, keeping myself hidden, stuck between venturing to the water’s edge and turning around and going back. Doubts plagued my mind, invading the passion in my heart and strangling the hope she’d ignited.

Leaning against the railing, I watched her forge a path down the beach, Ziggy taking the vanguard on his extendable leash. The sight of her sent a wave of desire through my body and I gritted my teeth, wishing my cock would just settle the fuck down.

For the first time in my miserable life, I was holding back from taking what I wanted. It was shades of the guy I’d left behind years ago. The guy that existed before Beneath, but he was dead and gone and all that remained was a product. A fucking rock ‘n’ roll cliché.

I’d barely gotten to know her, but I could already see that Josh was right—I’d destroy her by just being Sebastian Hale.

I let out a strangled sigh and turned my back to the beach. It was time to go back... to the beach house at least.

Rock and roll may have saved my life, but the fame was killing me.