On the Road

FREYA

“Freya, I know you’re not going to like this,” Liam began.

I was sitting on the sofa the following afternoon, lost in a sketch of the Manhattan skyline while Liam spoke with his security team.

Including Daryl, they were an intimidating collection of six very muscular, very frightening men.

“Hmm?” I glanced up and caught Daryl’s stoic, yet protective gaze.

In fact, all of the men were staring at me.

“I want Daryl with you at all times,” Liam informed me. “He’s only going to be assigned to ~you~ now. Wherever you go, he goes. You can fight me on ~literally~ anything else—but not this.”

“Okay.” I turned back to my sketchbook.

“You—you’re… Really?” Liam stuttered incredulously.

“Yep.”

The truth was that I was terrified to be left alone after the incident.

“Oh. Okay, then.” Liam turned back to his security detail and began discussing our transportation.

I allowed myself to zone out once again.

“Miss Freya?” Daryl said.

“Yeah?” I set down my pencil.

“We need to go over some precautionary measures for the tour,” Daryl said slowly, taking a seat at the other end of the massive couch.

“Don’t worry. They’re easy,” he assured me, no doubt reading the distaste spelled across my face.

“Define ~easy~,” I muttered.

“These big shows attract extra attention. Which means that we have to be extra careful.”

“First things first,” Daryl continued, pulling out his cell phone, “I’d like us to share locations with each other. So that we can find each other in the event that we get separated.”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

“And one more thing,” Daryl added. “If you’re feeling at any point like you need a break from all the chaos, just let me know. Even if Lucinda or whoever says you can’t leave. You can, Just take me with you. Okay?”

I stifled a genuine smile.

Daryl was onto my antics. He suspected that I was a flight risk.

That I struggled to follow orders.

~And he’s not wrong.~

***

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to fasten your seat belt. Miss?”

I could hardly hear the flight attendant over the clamor of my own thoughts.

~I didn’t think this through.~

~Oh, God, I’m too young to die.~

“Freya, are you afraid of flying?” Liam asked.

~Afraid? No.~

~Terrified.~

The attendant, a smartly dressed blonde with a warm smile, hung over Liam’s shoulder, watching me still.

“Thanks, Stacey. I think I got it,” he said, turning to her.

“Of course, Mr. Henderson.”

She disappeared into the cockpit and Liam turned to me.

“I mean, we’re all afraid of the unknown, right?” I managed to reply, releasing a nervous laugh.

“You’ve ~never~ flown?” he asked incredulously, slipping the belt around my waist.

“I’ve got a thing about crashing to my death. You couldn’t have gotten a bigger plane?” I asked, craning my head to get a look around the private jet.

Suddenly, the plane began to move, and I dug my fingernails into the armrests.

My eyes turned to the tiny cabin window, and I watched as the lights of the runway flew by us.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” I groaned, my eyes widening.

“You’re not going to throw up,” Liam mused, his thumb stroking his lips thoughtfully.

The corners of his golden eyes wrinkled fondly, as if I was amusing him.

“I am. I will,” I insisted.

“You just need a distraction. Once we’re up in the air, it’ll be nothing,” he said reassuringly.

“What kind of distraction? Are you going to sing me a song?” I asked, teasing.

“Do you ~want~ me to sing you a song?” he asked, grabbing his guitar case, which was sitting in the empty seat beside him.

I perked up.

“Really?”

Immediately, the plane began making noise.

“What was that!?”

“Just the engines,” Liam said with a smirk. “Relax.”

As Liam began strumming, I closed my eyes and let my head rest against the back of the seat.

I recognized the song instantly—a chart topper several years prior that was slower than his usual rock anthems.

“Empty spaces high above,

Dancing with the winter’s sun.

I can see new worlds from here,

So why is all I know unclear?”

“Soaring, climbing, rising through

An endless slipstream.

Where all I see is new,

I never knew the world this way.”

“I never felt so far away,

To remain along the clouds and wings

Of birds and angels and the songs they sing;

A place where it won’t hurt to stay.”

Liam grew silent, strumming softly, almost for himself.

When I peeked out the window, we were in the air. I hadn’t even noticed taking off.

“You’ve never sang for me,” I murmured.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be sick of my songs,” he replied.

“I doubt that.”

LIAM

“Liam! How can you take Freya back?”

~Click.~

“Have you forgiven Freya for cheating?”

~Flash.~

“Freya! Are you still seeing your ex?” bellowed yet another pestering reporter, sticking a mic in Freya’s face before she had time to react.

I squeezed Freya’s hand as Daryl led us through the hive of paparazzi to the black SUV waiting for us, hoping by now she’d learned to tune them out.

Thankfully, Freya squeezed my hand back…a sign that she was there with me still.

~It’s only going to get worse.~

Daryl helped Freya into the SUV and I ducked in after her, the door slamming behind me.

“You did great,” I assured her. “Now we just go back to the hotel and chill for a bit. Okay?”

Freya nodded, generously pretending to believe me.

“Ignore them,” I insisted, nodding to the cameras and bodies slowly falling behind us as Martin pulled away.

I could already see the weight of the public eye taking its toll on her.

The image they’d painted of me had never been too kind, but hers was, well, ~scathing~. At least, since the photos of her leaked, and the world decided that she was cheating on me.

They were doing all that they could to break her.

~We just need to get through the next few weeks.~

Once the European leg of the tour was over, I could go back to writing music.

And she could paint.

We could lock ourselves away in my apartment for days, just the two of us, and allow all the noise to die down.

~It will be over before we know it~, I told myself.

But I knew the truth.

There was no escape from the public eye. Not really.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Freya exclaimed as we burst through the doors of our lavish hotel suite.

The room was decked out in opulent, antique furniture and overlooked one of the famous canals and a series of thin, red-brick buildings.

Freya immediately rushed to the window, practically pressing her nose against the glass. “This is incredible!” she gushed.

I’d traveled to Amsterdam before, many times, so the dazzling effect had all but worn off on me.

Watching Freya’s childlike excitement, however, the feeling became contagious.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on the top of her head, and peered down at the people going about their everyday lives.

“It ~is~ something,” I admitted.

“Alright, superstar, places to be and people to see,” came Lucinda’s voice from behind, and I spun around.

~Fuck.~

She was standing in the doorway with a clipboard tucked beneath her arm, texting away furiously.

“Not ~you~,” I groaned.

Luce glanced up from the screen to give me a devilish-yet-apologetic smile. “If you don’t like me, you’re ~really~ not gonna like—”

“Where is he?” Wyatt demanded, storming into the room.

~Double fuck.~

“I’m here,” I said, crossing my arms. “As promised.”

Wyatt crossed the room until he was practically standing on top of me.

“How are your vocal cords? Are you sober?”

He waved a condescending finger and I followed it with my eyes reluctantly, deciding it was best not to be stubborn right now.

“Yes.”

“Un-fucking-believable. Good boy.” He clapped me on the shoulder.

“Alright, let’s get a move on, people,” Luce called, snapping her fingers. “I’ve got ten reporters downstairs all waiting to see you.”

~Wonderful.~

Wyatt ushered me across the room and out the door.

~Shit. Freya.~

As I turned back, the door closed and I heard the sound of Lucinda’s voice inside.

“Not you, Freya babe,” she instructed. “We’re gonna need you to hang back.”

Wyatt led me to the elevator, massaging my shoulders.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he grumbled.

~My thoughts exactly.~

FREYA

I sat cross-legged on what was, no doubt, a very expensive rug, staring into the contents of my suitcase, which somehow contained none of the clothing items I’d packed for myself.

~Dammit, Ryan.~

Instead, I would apparently be wearing exclusively glitter, velvet, and lace…even in my downtime.

~What am I supposed to sleep in?~

I held up a silky red slip, dumbfounded.

~That sneaky bitch.~

There was nothing casual enough to wear to a coffee shop, or out sightseeing, or to any of the galleries I was dying to visit.

But a creeping suspicion told me none of that was on the agenda, anyway.

I’d been foolish to think this would be anything more than it was: Liam’s work.

I couldn’t blame him, or anyone, except for myself.

I’d built the trip up in my head, allowing myself to believe that Liam and I might actually have time to experience Europe together.

This evening the only part of Amsterdam I would be seeing was backstage.

***

The vibrations of the rock music quaked in my entire body as Daryl led me through the maze of crew members and equipment backstage, and to a sitting area just behind the curtains.

I pressed the tiny earplugs gifted by Lucinda further into my ears and listened to the band, mere feet away, pour themselves into the music.

I watched as Liam interacted with the crowd, his own energy feeding theirs, driving them to the point of insanity.

Liam seemed to have everyone under his spell—myself included.

My eyes wandered over his ripped jeans and the black T-shirt that clung to his chest, drenched in sweat. The way that his golden hair was perfectly disheveled.

The way he held the guitar, his muscles flexing. It was all incredibly tantalizing.

He looked more divine than human…like a golden, untouchable god.

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the raw power of his voice, which sang with such pain and perfection.

“We were never real,

No more than a dream.

I try and try to hide the fact,

I’m tearing at the seams.”

I knew the man behind the curtain, but ~this~ man, the golden icon who meant something to each and every one of his hysterical fans…he was entirely different.

~Do I know this version of Liam?~

He was the flipside of the Liam I knew—the one that existed on magazine covers and in his fans’ dreams—a beautiful foreigner.

And as much as I wished to deny it, I couldn’t.

This plastic impression was a part of Liam.

~My~ Liam.

The grumpy, often irritating Liam—who worried too much and had seen enough sorrow to fill a lifetime.

I watched the beautiful, scantily clad women in the front row crying and desperately clawing at each other to win Liam’s attention.

But somehow, ~I~ had managed to do it.

And as much as I tried, I couldn’t shake the question plaguing my mind.

~How long before his attention runs out?~

As Liam passed by the edge of the stage, singing a tormented love song and sharing moments with some of the women in the front row, I felt something twist deep inside of my chest.

My eyes scanned the crowd—the thousands of women who were heart-wrenchingly in love with Liam Henderson.

The entire world, it seemed, was in love with him.

And as I watched the man before me, the man who could only ever be partly mine, I finally realized the truth.

It was a truth that, up to that point, I’d been too afraid to acknowledge.

Somehow, against all logic, I had fallen in love with Liam too.