1. Chapter 1
~STARLA~
“ I don’t sleep.”
The doctor frowns as he types something into his cheap laptop.
“Why is that?”
Oh, I don’t know…nightmares from watching the love of my life die in front of my eyes? Guilt? Anger? Unbearable sadness? Pick one.
But I don’t say any of that out loud.
“Insomnia,” I reply and have to close my eyes against the wave of dizziness that settles over me every three minutes or so.
“How long has the dizziness been happening?”
I fucking hate going to the doctor. I literally just told his nurse all of this ten minutes ago. Now I have to say it all over again, and it makes me stabby. Most singing artists have a doctor on staff, but I don’t. I’m just…fine. And maybe a little pissy.
Of course, I’ve been moody for about five years now.
Finally, a couple of days ago, I called my producer and asked him to recommend someone. A physician excellent at caring for vocal health, who also understands the art of discretion.
“A couple of months,” I reply and cough into my hand. My voice is still raspy from the tour I just wrapped up. “It didn’t happen often at first, but it’s getting worse. And the last week or so, it’s happened on stage, and I can’t have that. Everything is choreographed down to the tiniest detail, and I can’t be off. I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I agree with you there,” he says and finally looks me in the eyes and smiles. “Let’s figure this out, shall we?”
“Yes, please.”
He pokes and prods, checking out my glands, looking up my nose, listening to me breathe. The usual routine at the doctor’s, whether you’re there for a headache or the plague.
I cough again when he asks me to breathe deep.
“How long have you had the cough?”
“It’s a side effect of my job,” I say, clearing my throat. “I just came off of a thirteen-month tour, singing pretty much every night of the week.”
“And that’s finished now?”
“For about two weeks,” I confirm with a nod. “And then I go back into the studio.”
“When was the last time you took a break?”
I shake my head. “I don’t take breaks.”
He sets his computer aside, pushes his glasses up his nose, and looks me dead in the eyes.
“Starla, everyone needs to take a break. Especially someone like you, whose job is so physically demanding.”
“I have a career to manage,” I reply simply. “I have a staff to pay.”
“What about your family?”
I raise a brow. “That’s none of your business.”
He lets out a sigh. “I’m not trying to be nosy here. What I’m saying is, you need to rest. Your vocal cords, your body. Even emotionally, you need it. I’d also like to address your weight.”
“I’m not overweight,” I say immediately. “I’m muscular.”
“You’re under weight,” he says. “Do you have a chef?”
“I have catering for everyone,” I reply, evading the question.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“I eat when I’m hungry. I don’t drink coffee or alcohol. I’m not unhealthy.”
“You need to sleep and eat, and you need a break,” he says firmly. “I’ve worked in this industry for years, Starla. You’re not the first famous singer to walk into my office. I’ve been doing this for twenty years, and I’m telling you, this is classic exhaustion.”
“I don’t have a brain tumor?” I ask softly, finally expressing my worst nightmare.
“I highly doubt it,” he says. “You need to take three months off.”
“ Three months ?” I stand and pace the small exam room. “I can’t take that kind of time. Every day is scheduled. That would mean cancelling appearances.”
“No concerts,” he says again. “If you’re slated at awards shows, that’s fine, but no full concerts. No studio time. You’re a superstar, Starla. A few months off isn’t going to kill your career.”
No, but it might kill me.
“I don’t believe this,” I mutter and sit in a chair when the dizziness comes. “I hate being dizzy.”
“It’s not fun,” he agrees. “And your voice sounds overextended. All of these years of hard work have taken their toll.”
“I’m only thirty-six,” I remind him. “I’m hardly ready to retire.”
“I’m not suggesting retirement,” he says with a kind smile. “But I’m writing a prescription for ninety days away from work. Go on vacation. Visit someone. Do anything, except sing.
“Come back after those ninety days, and we’ll reassess. If the dizziness doesn’t get better in the next week or so, call me. But I think after a few days, it’ll be much better.”
“Can it be that simple?”
“Rest isn’t simple. As you know, or you’d do it more often.”
I nod, and after he prescribes me sleeping aids that I won’t take, I put my hat and sunglasses on and hurry out to my car.
I didn’t see any paparazzi when I arrived, but we’re in Hollywood. You never know when and where they’ll pop up, and I don’t need TMZ splashing Starla leaves renowned doctor’s office—is her career over? all over the place.
Once I’m in the car and headed toward my house in the hills, I call Meredith.
“How did it go?” she asks. It sounds like she’s chewing on something. “Sorry, hold on. Do not hit her with that!”
I laugh, imagining what’s going on in Meredith’s house in Seattle.
“Sorry about that. How was it?”
“Horrible.”
“Oh, God. Star, do you have a tumor?”
“I don’t think so. He says I need to rest. ” I roll my eyes and turn up the road to my house. “As in, no performing or recording for three months. ”
“Awesome,” she says, making me scowl.
“Not awesome.”
“No, it kind of is. You need a break.”
I drive through the gate to my house and park in the garage.
“Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me? I don’t need to rest, I need to work.”
I grab my Hermes bag and climb out of the Mercedes, then have to brace myself against the side of the car when the dizziness returns.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Breathe,” she says soothingly. “Seriously, this is perfect timing. You just wrapped up the tour. No one expects you to jump back into another one after that. It’s been too many months of non-stop concerts.”
If I don’t work, I dwell. I don’t want to do that.
“What the hell am I supposed to do for three months?”
“Sleep. Write music. Shop. Go to the movies. Eat pizza. Should I continue?”
“Okay, so those things don’t sound so bad. Particularly the shopping.”
I set my bag on the kitchen counter and sit on a stool at the massive island. This house is ridiculously enormous, especially for just one person. I’ve never cooked in this kitchen.
I’m never here.
“I’m going to be so fucking bored.”
“I have the best idea ever,” she says. I can hear the excitement in her voice. “Come to Seattle. You can dance with Jax and me to stay in shape, and you’ll have us nearby. You don’t have anyone in LA. Not really.”
She’s not wrong, and I don’t know if I should be sad about that. I have acquaintances here, and a few friends, but no one that I trust the way I do Meredith and Jax.
“I love you, but I don’t want to live with you,” I reply with a laugh. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she says. “Jax and Logan just bought a house that looks over the Sound, near Natalie’s old place. I know Nat’s place is empty, and she’ll totally let you live there for a while.”
“Are you sure? That seems like a huge imposition.”
“No, it’s really not. That house sits empty most of the time unless someone in the family needs it. Whenever they think about selling, someone wants to use it. It’s like the Universe is against Nat selling it or something.”
“If she’s okay with it, that might be perfect. And it’s near Jax and Logan?”
“Yep, right up the street. And I’m only twenty minutes away. It’s perfect.”
“I don’t think I should drive up.” I nibble my lip. “Not while I’m dizzy like this.”
“I’m sure someone here has a car you can borrow.”
“Dude, I have more money than Midas. I could just buy one when I get there.”
“Fun! Car shopping.” I can hear the excitement in her voice, and it makes me excited, too. The thought of being close to her for several months isn’t a horrible thing.
“Go ahead and call Natalie, see if it’s available.” I bite my lip, thinking it over while I look around the big, white kitchen. “Why did I buy this huge house again?”
“Investment. And you have to have a home base,” she says. “Also, that closet. I could live in your damn closet.”
“Ah, yes,” I say with a smile. “The closet. Anyway, I have to call Donald and fill him in so he can get the word out that I won’t need the studio. And I hate to say it, but we have some shows to cancel.”
Donald is my manager, and will not be happy about this change in plans.
“I know you hate it. But, Star, it’s for the best.”
“If you say so.”
“Good God, you’ve been here for a week, and you’re already getting more deliveries than me,” Jax says as he walks inside the house in Seattle that Natalie is leasing to me while I’m on medical leave. Donald worked out all of the details for my recording and performance schedule, and I’m officially on an extended vacation.
The best part is, Jax and his husband Logan are right down the street. They come over often for dinner or breakfast or just to chat.
Jax carries two boxes stacked on top of each other, and Logan has two plastic bags full of Chipotle.
“I’m actually hungry,” I say as they join me in the dining room that looks out over the pool in the backyard. The house is gorgeous, and the view of the Sound from the upstairs is even better. I’ll be writing plenty of songs up there.
“So your office is sending up your fan mail?” Logan asks as he opens a box. Inside is a pile of letters and gifts.
“Yeah, they’re sending it once a week.” I pull a burrito out of the bag and take a big bite. I’ve eaten more since I’ve been here than I did a whole month on the road. I’m always hungry now, which is new for me.
It also means that I feel a few extra pounds making their way onto my frame. I need to get back to working out.
But whether I like to admit it or not, the dizziness is less frequent. So, maybe some time off and away from the chaos that is a pop star’s life is exactly what I needed.
“Okay, let’s read them,” Jax says as he reaches for an envelope. “Dear Starla, I’m your biggest fan ever. Dance With Me is my favorite song, and I sing it all the time to my kids.”
Jax looks up at me and bats his eyelashes. “Aww, so sweet.”
“Don’t be a dick.” I toss a chip at him, but he catches it out of the air and pops it into his mouth.
“Listen to this one,” Logan says, joining in on the fun. “Dear Starla, I don’t usually write letters like this?—”
“Which is code for they write them all the time,” Jax adds.
“—but I need to tell you that your music has changed my life. I started dancing, at home at first, but then at the gym in an Oula class when I got more confident. I’ve lost a hundred and twenty pounds.”
“Holy shit,” Jax says and whistles through his teeth. “I take it back, that’s a cool letter.”
“Very cool,” I agree before taking another big bite of my burrito. “What’s in that puffy envelope?”
Jax reaches for it and opens it, revealing a necklace in a black velvet pouch. The pendant is half of a heart that says Best .
“I’m assuming whoever sent this kept the friend part?” Jax asks.
“Is that creepy to anyone but me?” I ask thoughtfully.
“Kinda creepy,” Logan agrees. “But maybe it’s a young girl.”
“If that’s the case, it’s not creepy.” I nod in agreement.
“How are things?” Jax asks, finally setting aside the letters and opening his own burrito. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” I admit. “The house is great. Seeing you guys helps, too.”
“She loves us,” Jax says to Logan, who just smirks. They’ve been married for more than five years now. I can’t believe how fast the time has gone. Back in the early days of my career, Jax and Meredith were dancers on my first tour. They’ve choreographed every show since, even though they don’t travel anymore. They’ve settled down in Seattle, running a dance studio and loving their lives.
They’re my best friends in the world, and I miss them. Meredith was totally right to suggest I spend a few months here. I would be going nuts in that mausoleum I own in LA.
“Are you resting like the doctor told you to?” Logan asks. He’s the more laid back of the two of them. But both are stupidly attractive.
“I’ve never slept well,” I reply honestly. “But I’m not dancing and singing my ass off every night anymore. I’m taking it easy.”
“Dizzy?” Jax asks.
“Nope. It’s gotten better. So I’m ready to get back into the studio and dance.”
Logan frowns. “Is that a good idea?”
“I’ll take it easy on her,” Jax says, watching me. He knows me. “She should stay active so she doesn’t lose her fitness level.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “And so I don’t resort to murder.”
“That would be unfortunate.” Logan chuckles and wads his empty wrapper in his hands, then tosses it into the bag it came in. “Let me read another letter from an admirer.”
“I want admirers,” Jax says.
“I admire you, darling,” Logan replies, blowing his husband a kiss.
“You guys are ridiculously adorable.” I laugh as I shut the lid on the letters. “I’ll go through these later.”
“They should sort them for you,” Jax says. “Like, read ahead and categorize them in case there’s anything creepy in there.”
“Like an earlobe or something?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Ew. No, serial killer. Like just weird stalker-type stuff.”
Like the email I got this morning.
I clear my throat, and Jax’s eyes narrow.
“What happened?”
“What are you talking about? Nothing.”
He shakes his head, and Logan’s gaze bounces back and forth between us.
“What’s up?” Logan asks.
“Nothing,” I repeat.
“You’re a bad liar,” Jax says.
“Stop harassing me. You’ll make me dizzy.”
“You’re going to milk that for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”
I smile angelically and pop another chip into my mouth.
“When do we get to dance?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Today, if you want.”
“I want.”
“That’s my cue to get back to work,” Logan says, standing and gathering our mess to throw away. “I’ll see you later. Are we still going car shopping tomorrow?”
“If you have time, yes,” I say with a smile. “I need some wheels, and I’m feeling well enough to drive. Finally.”
“Then wheels the lady shall have,” Logan replies. He kisses Jax, then gives me a hug and walks out.
“He’s hot.” My voice is casual in a matter-of-fact way.
“Girl, you have no idea,” Jax replies with a laugh. He cues up some music on his phone and scoots the couch out of the way, giving us plenty of space on the hardwood floor to dance.
“I love that we can do this anywhere.”
“Me, too.”
The music starts, pulsing through the room. The song isn’t one of mine, which I prefer. I don’t want this to feel like work.
We immediately move into an old routine from my previous tour. It’s not acrobatic, which is good as my muscles loosen, warming up.
Jax takes my hand and spins me to him, then lifts me and sets me down again. God, the music feels amazing.
I’ve missed this. Dancing for the fun of it. For the love of it.
The song finishes, but we continue through two more.
When the final song ends, I’m panting, my hands planted on my hips.
“I’ve only been out of the game for two weeks.”
“That’ll do it,” he says, passing me a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. “You’ll get it back quickly.”
“I hope so.” I sigh and immediately start to stretch. I don’t want to cramp up. “But it’s okay if I’m not tour-ready for a while.”
“I agree. I’m glad you’re taking some time off.”
I nod, but I don’t know that I’d call what I feel glad. There’s relief there, for sure. Always mixed with some guilt.
Jax gathers his things and kisses my forehead. “I have to get to class. Do you need anything, little girl?”
I grin. He’s called me little girl for years. “No, I’m good.”
“I’ll call you later.”
He waves, and then he’s gone. I start to march up the stairs to take a shower, but the doorbell rings.
“Did you forget something?” I call out with a smile and jog over to the door, opening it without looking through the peephole.
Only it’s not Jax on the other side.
It’s Levi.
Levi from that night several months ago. The best sex of my life, Levi.
What the hell is he doing here?
“Hello, Starla.”
“Well, shit.”