Page 5 of When the Stars Rise

“You walked away with novisiblescars,” Jude says. “That’s not the same as walking away unscathed.”

The others nod in agreement. I know what they’re all thinking. We’ve been over this before, and once again, I feel compelled to defend myself.

“I don’t have PTSD.”

CHAPTER TWO

Hayley

My soundchecks takea lot longer than they should, but I can’t change my process because I couldn’t step onto the stage if I did.

Luckily, everyone is really patient with me. The security team walks me through the entire arena, and Chris points out every exit door. Chris is former military, and he’s been my bodyguard since I was eighteen. I trust him with my life, and he knows my fears, but I still feel the need to explain myself.

“I want to ensure my fans’ safety is never compromised. And God forbid, if anything should ever happen at one of my concerts, I need to know there are plenty of escape routes.”

As if he doesn’t already know this. As if I don’t tell him the same thing every single time.

He nods, his face stoic. He’s handsome with dark hair in a buzz cut and a chiseled face like it’s been carved from granite. Wherever I go, he goes, so rumors were bound to fly.

Hayley Saint James Hooking Up with Her Bodyguard

Is Hayley Cheating on Noah?

Hayley, Noah, and Sexy Bodyguard in Threesome

“The digital monitors, fire alarms, and sprinkler system are up to code,” Chris assures me like he does before every concert. “All safety measures are in place.”

I nod and thank him.

My therapist told me it’s survivor’s guilt. That’s why I feel personally responsible for the lives of all twelve thousand people who will be in the arena tonight. They wouldn’t be here if not for me.

After we do a walk-through, checking exits and walking down aisles to ensure there are no obstructions, I move on to the actual soundcheck.

The trapdoor rises without a hitch, the progression smooth, and when I’m standing on the stage, I start singing “Too Young to Die (Blue Skies in the Drop Zone)” a cappella. My voice echoes off the walls of the empty arena. It sounds haunting and ethereal—two words journalists have used to describe my new album.

They called the lyrics hauntingly beautiful and poetic and my voice ethereal. But the critics slammed me for “glamourizing abuse and toxic relationships.”

Sometimes you can’t win.

I guess that’s what happens when you dare to take risks. When you strive to be innovative and bleed all over the page because the words you write are so deeply personal, you have to be brave.

About halfway through, I stop singing and speak into the mic, my eyes on Dean—father figure, mentor, and manager—sitting in one of the back rows. “How does it sound back there?”

He gives me two thumbs up and walks down the aisle to the front, where he sits about five rows from the stage.

I cross to my band on a riser in the back right corner. They’ve plugged in their instruments and are checking the sound.

“When’s your boy coming?” Aiden asks, tapping out a beat on the drums. His hands are always moving. Even when he’s not holding sticks, he’s drumming his fingers on a table, his thigh, or whatever surface is handy.

“Which boy are we talking about?” Liam asks.

Aiden shoots him a look that says,Who do you think? They’re brothers, only a year apart, and look like they could be twins. Olive skin, dark hair, chocolate-brown eyes.

“He’ll be here soon.” I grab my water bottle and take a few sips, trying to temper my excitement, but I can’t hold it in.

My cheeks go pink, and Julian points it out. “So that’s why you’re blushing.”

I give him a mock scowl and take another sip of water to cool off. “I’m not blushing. It’s just hot in here.”