 
## HERS

Meet Me Halfway

'I'm With The Band' & 'All My Demons' combination edition

Corri Lee

Copyright 2012-13 by Corri Lee

SMASHWORDS EDITION

First published October 2013

PART I (I'm With The Band) first published November 2012

PART II (All My Demons) first published February 2013

Copyright 2012-2013 by Corri Lee

**ISBN:** 9781310291616

The moral right of Corri Lee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Design and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

DISCLAIMER: This book contains content of a sexual nature and is not suitable for children.

To readers old and new,

There are two sides to every story; this is hers.

Amelia's account all together in one place for your convenience.

*~Corri Lee

#  CONTENTS

PART I

PROLOGUE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

INTERMISSION

PART II

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

XXXII

XXXIII

XXXIV

XXXV

XXXVI

XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XL

XLI

XLII

XLIII

XLIV

XLV

XLVI

XLVII

XLVIII

XLIX

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

REFERENCES

# PART I

#

#

# PROLOGUE

#

#

**  
**Life has been hard on me.

You'd never guess it from the outside, but while I may have burst into the world with the highest of hopes, best of intentions and the wildest of dreams, I have seen things that others shouldn't, and some never will.

Lucky them.

My life stopped being about flaunting my genealogy and skills, and became about survival.

I think to some degree, I was robbed of my life. I took the privileges I had for granted and never realised just how precious they were until they were brutally ripped away from me.

I didn't try hard enough and I never dug in my heels enough to come out and say 'stop'.

I have to carry that guilt around with me forever, as well as the echoes that my memories leave behind.

I have new privileges now—legions of loyal followers and stacks upon stacks of money.

I am talented and I am huge for it but the fans don't see what lies beneath.

Nobody knows what lies latent beneath my rock hard exterior.

I am young and naïve. I try to pretend that I'm this untouchable and confident dare devil, but I'm not. Inside,

I'm still that fifteen year old, staring at my bed numbly, the haze of my cheap vodka binge dulled by my life falling apart.

I am weak and I am afraid.

Afraid of what people think is 'normal'.

Afraid to be really seen.

Afraid of the truth.

Afraid of living.

Nobody knows what's hiding inside me.

Nobody can ever know.

# I

#

#

"He's looking at you."

"Again? Really?"

"Transfixed. It's positively repulsive."

I glance up from my dissertation and catch sight of that guy again, shaking my head piteously. "That's the third time this week, right? Not cool; star crossed fans are exactly what I come here to avoid." Not only the third time today, but again for the thousandth time since he clocked me two months ago. If I wasn't so used to it, I'd be freaked out.

Meredith glances back over in his direction and joins my head shaking. "The sad thing is that he knows that you know that he's staring. He's playing on it."

I type out my final sentence and lean back triumphantly. Against all the odds, I can claim my extremely well-earned Bachelor's Degree in Sociology, and stick my fingers up at the university advisers who said I couldn't do it while maintaining a musical career. Meredith thoughtfully leans over and hits 'save' on my screen to stop me from repeating the foolish act of carelessness that nearly lost me my Psychology BSc.

"That's it. I'm done with uni. No more." Two degrees is more than enough considering I'll never actually use them.

"Are you sure you don't want an MD and a PhD? You'd walk it." I roll my eyes at her, my wonderful raven haired, Asian, pain in the arse best friend. I know that she's considering her MD just so that she can claim higher bragging rights—nothing to do with an intellectual tendency to excel in the science of 'the mind'.

"I don't want one, you know that. I'd get mistaken for a bad white rapper." She chuckles throatily at me and twists a strand of her raven bob around her finger. Not really sure why she persistently flirts with me, she knows that I'm sold.

"So what are you going to do about the hanger on? He's still looking at you."

Of course he's still looking. I casually glance back in his direction and contemplate my options. Reel him in or cut him loose. Not so bothered either way. And as he doesn't strike me as a stalker— "I don't think he's going to be much of a problem, seeing as we're under no obligation to come back here unless I pick a post-grad course." Which I won't.

"Aren't you even slightly tempted to have a little fun at his expense? When was the last time you got laid?" Willing her to shut up, I raise an eyebrow. Admittedly, I am aware that it's been what she would classify as 'a long time', but I don't need reminding.

I turn and absorb as much of his image as I can from this distance. Dark haired, okay. Looks kind of lean, I guess, definitely not muscular. I can't see his eyes from here, which would help, and there's not a trace of a single tattoo poking from the arms of that _Halo 3_ t-shirt. "He looks a bit normal for my tastes, Mer. And you know I'm not in the market for a groupie." She nudges me playfully and looks as though she might be taking pity on him. That's unusual. Pity doesn't often occur in her emotional repertoire.

"Just throw him a complimentary bone then if he doesn't stand a cat's chance in hell of getting under you. I've seen you flirt from this distance before." Ah, all right, I'll indulge her wicked streak just this once.

I angle my chair around to lean one elbow on the table and run the connected hand through a section of my hair. Christ, it's a battle, I really need a trim. I let my eyes travel leisurely around the library and eventually lock on his gaze. He looks around for a moment before he realises that it's him I'm looking at, and then mimics my pose. Hmm, cocky. He flashes me a small smile and I return the favour. I'm amazed by how intense his gaze is, I'm actually the one hooked and being reeled in.

"Go on, baby doll. Finish him off." Meredith's goading is the wake-up call I need to rouse me from my daydream. I narrow my eyes slightly, letting my tongue lick my top lip and then bite the bottom. She descends into stifled laughter as his jaw drops and he looks like he's going to expire. He visibly inhales a wrenching breath and is disturbed from his thoughts by the guy next to him knocking a can of Dr. Pepper on the floor. I wonder if he saw my taunt, too.

The eye contact breaks and I grin to myself. I like having the power to do that to people but it always baffles me why they can idolise me across rooms and allow themselves to be so affected by me but never actually approach me. I'm famous and loaded, but I'm not made of stone.

Meredith leans over and hits 'print' on my screen, waving me off towards the printer with a flick of her hand. Jesus, over fifty pages—I am a machine. But this printer is fucking ancient and I'm going to be here for a lifetime. I glance back over at her and her jaw is on the table. I take a step back and I immediately understand why.

Mr. All Eyes and No Action is standing behind me at the next printer. He didn't even have a laptop, what the hell? My teasing appears to have kicked him into action. I wasn't prepared for this.

Whatever. I've had enough crazy groupies and stalkers to know how to look after myself.

He leans against the wall next to the printer and is quite clearly sizing me up. How rude. So I reciprocate his bad manners and see exactly what I'm dealing with, starting from the bottom up.

DC trainers, fine. Baggy jeans that are barely covering the waist band of his CK boxers, fair enough. Halo 3 t-shirt, so he's a video-game geek. No visible tattoos, that's almost a deal breaker for me, but his wrists are covered with wooden beaded surfer bracelets and festival wristbands. I recognise Download, V and Sonisphere having played at all three and I have to say that this works to his advantage. But I don't know the others so they must be tame pop festivals.

And then I reach his face and I'm inexplicably bowled over. He's got the most soul exploring camel lashed green eyes that I've ever seen and they're burning into me. There's a five, maybe six millimetre black stretcher plug in his left ear and it's all the more obvious for his side swept dark brown fringe flecked with copper strands. He's grungy but not grimy, just the type I go for. I could do him some serious damage.

I quickly glance back at Meredith and she's obviously impressed by her marginally closer view because she's giving me that 'you know you want to look'. I glance down at my half printed dissertation and get my stage face on. That's obviously what he's here for.

"Yes?" His nostrils flare a fraction, like he's surprised that I spoke.

"You look familiar." His voice is silky smooth and impassive, like he doesn't even care that I'm there.

"I should imagine I do when you've been eyeballing me for the past two months." He splits into a smile and suddenly that hard ass exterior cracks a little into something boyish. He raises an arm and scratches the nape of his neck. Hmm, I want to bite that neck. Wait, what?

"Sorry, I have been a bit tactless, but I don't usually go for girls like you." Girls like me? What the hell!

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know, boyfriend cut jeans, over-sized hoodies pulled up over your head to hide the fact you're self-conscious." I raise an eyebrow at him and put a hand on my hip, thinking more about breaking his neck than biting it. What an arsehole, it's obvious that I dress like a bum so I don't get hassled on campus.

"You're way off base." Why the hell did I write such a long dissertation? I look down at the printer's display and roll my eyes. Out of paper—you've got to be joking, and of course Mr. All Mouth And No Trousers here is right in front of the paper drawer.

I turn back and let my eyes bore into him until he moves out of the way. I'm horrified by his proximity when he leans down with me and lets that shocking green gaze linger over the tattoos on the backs of my hands. How can he possibly look so surprised? I'm notorious for my ink.

I straighten myself out and set the printer back into motion, excruciatingly aware of his persistent presence.

"Let me take you for coffee." His request hits me like a bolt out of the blue.

"If I'm not your type, why the hell would you take me for coffee?" He shrugs at me with his irritating impassiveness, and against all my better judgement, I'm starting to view him as a challenge. I don't have a good reputation with challenges, I tend to attack them with a ferocity comparably only to starving panthers circling a steak. "Fine. One coffee." I can't believe I just said that.

I pull what's printed of my dissertation off the printer and march back to Meredith.

"Uh oh." She shakes her head. "I've seen that look before. He's thrown down some sort of gauntlet, hasn't he?" I adore this girl's amazing understanding of the way my mind works.

"Coffee, apparently. I'll make it quick." She bids me farewell with one of her sloe eyed winks and ensures me that she'll track my phone if I'm gone too long. I stride back to Mr. Challenging, pinning my hair up and hiding my face with a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, and wave a hand. "After you then."

For the first time I see a hint of nervousness and it cheers me up to no end.

"Now?"

"I'm not coming back on campus after today; I've done my time. It's now or never." I stride off to the door and he follows, hot on my heels, just as it should be.

Before I know it, I'm stood outside McDonalds in Birmingham City Centre and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "McDonalds, seriously?"

He holds a hand out to the doorway and raises an eyebrow. "Sure, you've seen the adverts, right?" I shake my head at him in disbelief, hide at a table in the furthest corner from the entrance and keep my head low. I don't think he appreciates the humiliation that I'd face if I got caught sitting in here.

He finds me and puts a cardboard cup of coffee down in front of me with a handful of sugar and milk sachets. Fucking hell, he could have at least taken me to Starbucks. "Aren't you going to take those off?" I look at him poisonously over the rim of the aviators and make it perfectly clear that no, I won't be removing them. His nostrils flare again and he removes the plastic lid from the coffee cup— _my_ coffee cup—like I'm a child who can't safely handle hot beverages without ending up with third degree burns. "I'm CJ Pearce, by the way." Oh, it has a name.

I lean back in my seat and blow on the steam spouting from my coffee. I don't do milk and sugar, Daddy tells me I'm sweet enough. Sycophant.

"Amelia Marsh BSc." And I can see the cogs starting to grind in his head. Yes, we're finally starting to make a realisation that this is not my usual haunt, aren't we?

"If you already have a BSc, why have you just printed a dissertation?" Okay, wrong realisation.

"Because I've done another degree?"

"Why in hell would you do that?"

"Because I can." My retort seems to effectively silence him for a while—he's quite clearly having to thoughtfully plan out his conversation. Poor guy, I should cut him some slack. "What's your major?" His green eyes stare up at me but their intensity is dulled by my shades.

"Sociology." Duh, he's been eyeballing you during lectures, remember? I think McDonalds is making me stupid.

"No shit, mine, too. My other degree is in Psychology." And again he's silenced, probably intimidated by my intelligence. I glance back at his wrists. "Music fan?" This is so forced...

"Yeah, sure. I love festivals, they bring out the animal in me." Interesting. "How about you, what do you listen to?"

I'm really having to resist the urge to laugh at him. "Rock, mainly. I have a specific interest in that genre."

My torture is interrupted by my phone ringing. Am I ever glad of the cavalry? "Sorry, I need to take this." I turn my side to him and answer the call. "Amelia Marsh."

" _Hey baby doll, we have a problem."_ Oh jeez, if Meredith ever calls and says there a problem, I can guarantee that she's not exaggerating. She doesn't do problems. Puzzles, diversions, deterrents; yes. Problems; no.

"Uh oh, what's wrong?"

"Ryan has broken his foot skateboarding. We have no driver."

"That's not funny. Please tell me you're joking." She doesn't do jokes either, but I live in hope.

" _I'm not joking, Ams. It's lucky that we're gigging in town tonight but come Friday, we are screwed."_ 'Screwed' has an upper inflection that tells me that she's trying to drown out her frantic concern with humour. And most likely vodka.

"Shit, Meredith, I'll make some calls." She hangs up. I rest my phone against my forehead in frustration. My 'making some calls' means I have to phone my dad, and if I phone my dad—

"Is there something wrong? Anything I can do to help?" I'd almost forgotten about the poor company I was sat with in a poor setting.

I snicker at him. "Not unless you know someone who can drive a tour bus."

He shrugs at me and sips his coffee. "When? I drive." I'm glad he can't see me eyeing him warily behind these shades because I am seriously considering his offer. We _are_ screwed without a ride into Manchester and then beyond.

I run my tongue over my teeth awkwardly. "Starting Friday. But we have another sixteen gigs going up to Scotland and back down to Plymouth, and you have uni."

"I can email my work in. I'm free until further notice." He reaches over boldly, takes my phone from my hand and starts to programme his number into my contact list. "Think about it and give me a call." I look him up and down again and shake my head. He doesn't stand a chance of keeping up with us. He looks like a sweet little momma's boy who gets woke up with a cuppa every morning.

Retrieving my phone from his hand, I have to ask on the off-chance. "Have you ever hung out with musicians before? I mean 'real' musicians? It's pretty intense."

"I can handle intense." I have my serious doubts but we really need a driver. I hate calling my dad for help—it just makes it look like I'm piggybacking off his career. I got to where I am on my own damned merits.

I glance down at the time and swear out loud. "I'm sorry, I have to bail. I have a sound check at 5pm."

"You have a gig tonight?" Perceptive.

"Yeah, we're playing at the O2 Academy."

All of a sudden, I'm witnessing this guy's face light up like a Christmas tree. "The Bystander gig."

I nod and pick up my coffee. "If you really think you're up for driving the bus, drop by and see how we roll. Just tell the security team you're with me." I shoot him an awkward smile and make a hasty retreat from Mc-fucking-Donald's.

# II

I can't even begin to articulate my rage. We set aside an hour for a sound check and so far we've been here for ninety minutes because some idiot boy who looks like he's fresh off the playground has been let loose to screw around with our equipment. I can hear Plato berating the shit out of him while our roadies take over the technical side. Seeing the baby faced little twat scarper out of the building makes me feel marginally better but frankly, I'm still seeing red here, and it's not being cured any by Meredith ribbing me over my coffee date.

"McDonalds, seriously? What's wrong with Starbucks?"

"I know, right? That's exactly what I thought. Even Costa would have done but fucking McDonalds. I can see the gossip blogs now; 'The Bystander Effect's Amelia Marsh shares fries with mystery male in fast food chain'. Chase would have a field day off something like that." Erek laughs behind me and he thinks that I can't hear, but a simple one fingered gesture assures him that I can.

"So did you call your dad?" I flash Meredith an innocent, apologetic smile—she knows full well how much I hate drafting in my dad's goons. "Call him in the morning, please. We are so beyond fucked without a driver." Plato waves down at us and she slings the strap of her giant red beast of a bass guitar over her neck. "So did you get any?"

I can't resist, I have to flash her the look I reserve for her most intensely stupid comments. " 'Amelia Marsh indulges in quickie and fries with mystery male in fast food chain?' Honestly, Meredith, I'm not set to self-destruct. Not today anyway."

Plato appears by my side and takes his guitar from my hand with a twinkle in his eye that tells me Meredith has already given them the background of this... this. "But he's cute though, right?"

"I dunno, he's got the classic grungy emo look about him and has a pretty sexy pair of peepers, but I didn't see any tattoos."

He inhales sharply and shakes his head. "Ouch, deal breaker."

I nod and turn to the microphone as the roadie shouts from the sound desk. Visible ink is a universal standard in our happy little family of heavily disfigured rockers. "Tell me about it. He volunteered to drive the bus but he's clearly never experienced anything remotely like a tour."

There's a collective groan of protest as I test the microphone and it squeals harshly with feedback.

"He offered and you didn't care to mention it to us?"

I raise an eyebrow at Meredith and pick my sexy black Stratocaster up from its stand. "He'd never keep up with us. I told him to turn up tonight and see how we roll, but he won't. Even if he does, he'd never get past the door without a ticket. Besides, he called us 'Bystander'."

There's a wince of pain from my band mates at this unwelcome arrival of news. Our band name is very close to our hearts and we hate it being shortened down to one word. We're all Psychology graduates, except Erek, our Polish prince, who's still doing his degree. But we love him through his lack of qualification because he's our demon drummer.

"We could train him, you know. What's his name?" I'm appalled to turn and see the look in Meredith's eyes that tells me that she's actually considering Mr. McDonald's offer.

"CJ."

"CJ works. What's it short for?"

"I wasn't interested enough to ask."

"Okay, well if he actually turns up, let's consider it."

Big Dave, our number one roadie, waves a hand at us. "Sorry to interrupt your riveting conversation but its 6:30pm and the doors open in two hours. Quit yapping." We're instantly silenced—Big Dave is the only person who has that kind of power over us. It's less due to the fact that he's about twenty stone and built like a brick shit house, but more down to the fact that he's a seriously strong willed man and we deeply respect him. He's stuck with us through everything, thick and thin. Though typically, he throws back cans of Carling like they're water and had his driving license revoked for drunk driving. Fucking plank.

We can hear the mad rush of little rockers filing in through the door at 8:30pm, and even after five years of this, it still gets me every time. I've got my stage face on and Louise has dressed me up in a polka-dot swing dress, TUK Mary Jane fuck-me heels, and styled my hair into some swanky victory rolls to try and set me at ease in the comfort of my rockabilly image of preference, but I've still got that nagging feeling of nervousness in the pit of my stomach. There again, it could be dodgy sushi.

Our support acts are cute—they're a little more at ease with us after four gigs and have stopped treating us like celebrities. We all really appreciate that because so few people remember that we're still humans regardless of our status. We've been in the support act position ourselves, that's where we started, and a record contract didn't suddenly turn us into four hollow, elitist arseholes.

I'm desperately clutching a glass of cheap Pinot Grigio, knowing full well that white wine is the only thing I can drink and keep a steady enough mind to remember our set list without heaving, when Plato sits down beside me backstage. "You really love watching the support acts play, don't you?"

"Sure, it's kind of nostalgic for me; knowing that it used to be us warming up the crowds." Admittedly not for long, but they were good times nonetheless. He nods and wraps his arm around my shoulders. "How are things with Levi?" Plato blows a raspberry and sighs.

"He still thinks I'm a closet hetero after finding that girl of Erek's in my bunk at the Wolves gig. I mean, we've all explained the situation to him and shown him the pictures of them sucking face all night but he's still being bitchy with me. What's a gay to do, huh?"

"He'll come round. He always does. You know he can't resist a tour." Plato takes one of my tattooed hands and threads his fingers between mine. I know that advance—he knows that I'm nervous.

"Why are you still bricking it after all this time? You know all this fear will dissolve as soon as you step out there. We hate seeing you withdraw like this before every gig."

I pull him into a hug and bury my face in his neck. "I don't know, but I don't think I really mind that this happens. It means that I still have a soul, right?" I raise my head as Meredith strolls over, looking hot as ever in PVC trousers and a satin corset, heavily tattooed forearms on show. "Meow."

"Right back at you, baby doll. Looks like you have company."

"What?" She jerks her head towards the staff entrance and I can vaguely hear raised voices on the other side. "Chase?" Frowning, she shakes her head, holding out her hand and leading me over to the door.

"Fucks sake man, I told you! I'm with the band. Your chick Amelia invited me. Amelia Marsh." My mouth hits the floor. I know that voice.

"I think you should calm down, mate. I haven't had any messages to say she's accepting company." Meredith sticks her head through the door and whispers in Big Dave's ear. He pushes the door open and shoots me a disapproving look. Ah hell, you do not want to piss that guy off. I slink over slowly, afraid that he might squash me, and bat my eyelids.

"Well? Did you invite that?" I peer my head into the corridor and step out. It's him all right, and he looks delicious. He's still wearing those baggy jeans but he's had the decency to don a black shirt with red pinstripes, rolled up at the sleeves. He's got Skull Candy headphones around his neck and their lead is fed into the iPod Touch in his breast pocket. I refer to my previous statement—I could do him some serious damage, and from the noises Meredith is making next to me, I reckon she wouldn't mind a stab at breaking him through overuse either.

"Yeah, that's my fault all right. Sorry, sugar tits." I lean up and kiss Big Dave on the cheek, leaving the shape of my lips in bold red arches on his skin. He shakes his head at me and I know that all is forgiven; the guy is a sucker for blondes. Actually he's a sucker for anything with a pair of tits, but that's a negligible point.

He points at his cheek and raises an eyebrow. "I'm not wiping that off, you know."

"I'd be offended if you did, big guy. The next time you nearly die from a diabetic coma on the bus, I'm peeling that section of skin off and eBaying it." He flashes me a surprisingly handsome grin and turns back out to Mr. McDonald's as I head back inside.

"Alright Maccy D, in you go." CJ walks in with a look of distinct confusion and I put my stage face back on. The moment I do he spots me and his face tells it all. He's shocked. I left him looking baggy and dishevelled, and now he's staring at a vixen.

Meredith passes behind me and dips her face next to my ear. "Okay, you were right. He's never going to keep up with us if he comes in his pants every time he looks at you." I slap her backside for her vulgarity and put my hands on my hips.

CJ approaches me with caution, head cocked and green eyes glinting. When he's finally close enough, he reaches out and runs his hands down the oriental tattoo work on both my arms. His touch does strange things to me from the waist down, least not because he's actually had the balls to do it. "Holy shit." _Hmm, suddenly seeming a little more like your type am I?_

"You seem surprised."

"That's one word for it." I narrow my eyes before the guys square up to him behind me. He doesn't look half as intimidated as he probably should, and honestly, I'm a little disheartened.

Erek extends a hand and looks at CJ expectantly. He doesn't hesitate to grab it and shake briskly. "CJ, right? Welcome to the dark side." Meredith hasn't said a word and I know damn well that it's because she's sizing him up. If I don't utilise him, I can guarantee that she will.

Plato puts a protective hand on my shoulder. "So you want to drive our tour bus? You ever been on tour before?"

"No, but I drove in the Gumball Rally." I scoff in disbelief. Sure, every punk from uni gets sounded out as a Gumball driver.

"Really, who for?"

He holds up his hands and shakes his head. "I'm sworn to secrecy."

I roll my eyes and turn on my heels to the side of the stage and watch our first support act rev up our crowd with their last number. They are really awesome—I can see them being signed in the not too distant future. CJ slinks up by my side and leans up against the wall. God damn it, does he need to follow me everywhere?

"They're good." Bowled over by his enthusiasm? No.

I glance sideways at him and a raise an eyebrow. "Have you ever been back stage at a gig before?" He shakes his head. "Everything that you thought you knew about the rock industry is going to get blown to shit if you come on tour; you do know that, don't you?"

"Who says I know anything about the rock industry? I'm a blank canvas." I reach over and pull his iPod Touch from his pocket and scroll through his current playlist. It's full of Prodigy, Pendulum and a bunch of crappy looking bands I've never heard of. Of course, he's one of those emos that listens to dubstep and drum 'n' bass. He just suddenly got slightly less sexy.

"What are you even doing here?"

He turns his head to me and frowns. Still sexy, even when baffled. "You told me to come."

"I didn't think you actually would. I'm not your type apparently." The support act filing off stage is a welcome distraction for me. I'm starting to get a little worried by how much this guy insults me so effortlessly. He's barely spoken to me and I want to punch him in the teeth.

Meredith slinks up behind me and slings a bare arm around my shoulders. "Hey, Maccy Ds, any ink?" He blinks at her for a moment before he starts to unbutton his shirt. "Whoa there, ace, what do you think I mean by 'ink'?"

"It's on my back, arsehole." Meredith digs her nails into my shoulder to stop herself launching her fist into his face and plasters on a fake smile. I'm glad it's not just me who reacts to him with suppressed violence.

"Call me 'arsehole' again and I'll get Big Dave to sit on you." CJ smirks and pulls his shirt off. I get a first time glimpse his torso and feel myself clench. He's ripped and immaculate—the muscles in his abdomen pairing off into beautifully sculpted sections. My initial observation across the library could not have been more wrong. Meredith pinches me to pull me back to compos mentis before he turns around and reveals a full sized HR Giger tattoo across his toned back. I don't know who his tattoo artist is but he deserves some serious kudos.

Meredith tuts and shakes her head. "Ooh, this is embarrassing." CJ looks a little dazed as she makes an uninvited grab at the hem of my dress and reveals the same HR Giger piece on my thigh. He has that look of expiration on his face again and inhales slowly as his eyes examine my leg with immense satisfaction. She leans across and pats his arm sympathetically. "You really need to exercise a little self-restraint, mate."

I watch as she swans off to Plato's side and when I turn back, I'm astonished to find CJ on his knees at my feet running his thumbs across my thigh. Holy shit, this is hot.

"Um, hello? I understand that I haven't explained my personal boundaries to you but there's a basic level of human decency that should be ingrained in all of us."

He looks up at me numbly from the ground and slowly rises back to my eye level.

"Sorry, I've just never seen a chick with Giger on her before." What the hell? My Giger tattoo is iconic—it's probably been in every rock magazine in the country. Maybe he means in person.

I look out across the crowd as the background music dips to silence for a moment and they go insane before the next track kicks in. On an intellectual level, this reaction pleases me every time. "Poor suckers are like Pavlov's dogs out there." I glance back at CJ and smirk—an expression which is promptly wiped away by his look of blank ignorance.

"Who's dogs?" Of course, he's not a Psychology major.

"Pavlov. It's called classical conditioning. He was doing a study of dog's gastric functions when he realised that they started to salivate for food before there was any real stimulus—no smell or visual cues. He realised that the dogs had learned to associate the appearance of lab coats with the arrival of lunch. Through further testing, he discovered that this association with food could be changed—he rang a bell before the dogs were fed and before long, the dogs would begin to drool at the sound of the bell."

"So how is this like that?" Oh Jesus, what an idiot.

I point outside to the crowd. "They associate the break in the music with the arrival of a band and go nuts whenever it happens. Every time the music breaks, they get a little more amped. They work themselves up more and more, and then we arrive on stage and give them the much needed ear-fuck they're gagging for." He looks surprised by my explanation but doesn't ask me for any further elaboration. I'm secretly a little disappointed because I love to confuse dumb shits with psychological jargon. There again, if he's just finishing up his Sociology degree, he's obviously not an imbecile.

Our second support act stroll out on stage and busy themselves briefly before the background music stops, and they crescendo into their first number. It's a welcome reprieve from this strained conversation, but a signal for that nagging sense of stage fright to return. CJ follows me as I embark on a frantic search for more wine, but at this point of time, I really couldn't care less what he does or says. I feel positively sea sick.

I manage to shake him off and head for the open fire exit, stumbling into Plato and his boyfriend, Levi, engaged in some frantic mouth on mouth action. I've walked in on them balls deep in each other enough times to not be fazed by this.

I raise my glass cordially and find a patch of dry pavement to nurse a bottle of cheap Lambrini. Desperate times and all. "Evening ladies."

Levi pulls away from their lip lock and gives me a small salute. "Looking lovely as usual, Mimi." I can't help but smile at him. I love his pet name for me. He's positively gorgeous with his sparkling blue eyes and well-trimmed faux-hawk.

"It's a shame you're a fudge packer, Levi." I can always count on my crass comments to be taken in good humour, thank god. They saunter over, sit on either side of me and throw their disturbingly masculine arms around my shoulders.

"Plato says you have male company. Is he hot?"

I shrug and shake my head. "He's kind of clean cut and innocent looking."

Plato scoffs on my left and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "He's a fucking dream boat, Levi. You know what this one is like."

Levi nods knowingly at me. "In for neither a penny nor a pound—no boyfriends or groupies. You're a bit boring, Amelia May."

"Pfft." I'm many things, but I'm definitely not boring. I'm too mercurial to be boring. I drain my glass and stand up unsteadily, supported by my two incredibly camp escorts.

We get back inside and Erek is talking casually to CJ—they're both sat down on the floor with their legs crossed and nursing bottles of Budweiser. He's settling in a little too well, I think, and I worry about what Erek is telling him, though hopefully he's detailing my boundaries and scaring the crap out of him.

The band on stage file off to applause and our roadies fly on in their place.

An incredible knot of tension tightens in my stomach and I grab onto the wall for support. My band mates look at me wearily as the world slips into slow motion and I start to feel like I'm drowning. I can't hear a damn thing around me through the pounding of my heart as I sink to the floor in a stupor and close my eyes.

"Hey, you okay?" Everything whips back into real time as I open my eyes to find myself confronted by that green soul destroying gaze.

CJ's eyes flare at me as I lick my dry lips and regain my equilibrium. "I'm fine."

"Your drummer says you always zone out before a gig." _Thanks a fucking lot, Erek._

"Have you ever been on stage in front of that many people?" One of our roadies shouts a five minute warning to us and I tear myself from his eyes. I really should have just banged him and sent him packing when he arrived.

And then he makes a fatal mistake and brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers. The contact is paralysing and I'm like a rabbit caught in emerald headlights. His proximity to my face is too much and instead of drowning in my fear, I'm drowning in his presence. "You look awesome, by the way."

Meredith storms over and yanks me by my hand, smiling sweetly at him. "I'll take this one." She hands me my guitar and shoves me toward the stage. "Are you all right? I saw what just happened; you looked totally psyched out." My words just won't form and she can tell that I'm in a bad place psychologically. Not only am I shitting myself about performing, but I'm now horrified and horny, too. "We really need him as a driver, baby doll."

"No. Absolutely no fucking way." I snatch her vodka and coke from her hand and empty the glass. "I'll call my god damn father."

The music outside fades to silence and that's our cue to feed some dogs. Think happy thoughts. I stroll out onto the stage and all that frustration and apprehension evaporates with the rhythmic tapping of Erek's drumsticks.

The Birmingham crowds are awesome as always. We've all been living in the area for a while, so there's a lot of familiar faces who have followed us since we were just a shitty little college band playing in pubs. I can forget all my worries out here and thrash around like an idiot knowing that people have willingly paid to watch me do it. The screams and cheers are immensely satisfying.

By some unknown wave of morbid curiosity, I let my gaze slip off-stage between songs and catch sight of CJ leaning against the wall. I can't quite believe my eyes; he's got his SkullCandy headphones pulled up over his ears and is witlessly playing with his phone. I raise an eyebrow at Meredith, she mouths 'I know' at me and shakes her head in disbelief. Are you joking me, or what?

All four of us storm past him when we leave the stage. We're all deeply unimpressed that he was extended a backstage invitation and he spent our entire set listening to fucking Pendulum or some shit.

He yanks his headphones off as the crowd starts to file out of the building and our roadies set to clearing the stage. "Is that it?"

Meredith spins around to him in an obvious rage. "What?"

"I thought this was a Bystander Effect gig."

She blinks at him and coughs out a laugh. "You fucking missed them, you penis."

"Shit, when? I thought the headliners went on last?"

All four of us are hit by the same realisation at precisely the same moment. I prowl over to him and tug his iPod from his pocket and flick through. There we are—The Bystander Effect on his Now Playing list. The irony is tragic.

"You buy all your music off iTunes, don't you?" He nods with a frown. His aloofness is almost sexy. "No album artwork?"

"It's more convenient to have it all computerised." He doesn't have a god damn clue who we are. That's just the kind of anonymity we crave in our lives. "Do you still need a driver?" I glance around to the guys and they all shrug at me, they're thinking exactly what I am.

"Do you have your driving license handy?" His hand dives into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. I really have to resist the urge to tell him that he could have just asked me to retrieve it for him. He hands me the red photo card and I check it over with a raised eyebrow. Caspian Jonas Pearce. Jesus Christ, what a name, no wonder he goes by CJ. "You fucking royalty or something?" I pass his license to Plato over my shoulder and he wanders into a corner with his phone.

"No, but my dad is an MP. Arnold Pearce." I can't believe that this guy is son to that arsehole.

"I bet you get some shit off him for the hair."

"You wouldn't believe." Plato taps my shoulder just in time to save me from drowning in those eyes again.

"Clean slate, honey bee—not even a caution." I run my tongue over my teeth and pull a face. He's hot, aloof and a good driver. They'll bitch slap me if I tell him to vanish now.

I raise a finger to his face and flick CJ's nose. Why did that turn me on? "We'll be on George Street at 10:30am on Friday morning. Don't be late."

He flashes me an unbelievably sexy smile and turns on his heels past Big Dave. I can hear the guys laughing behind me.

Fuckers.

# III

#

#

We're all standing on George Street clutching to our Starbucks coffee cups, hoping to absorb some much needed caffeine through our skin. Considering our collective IQ, we can be really stupid about late nights and early mornings. We seriously considered McDonalds breakfasts just to make a sly dig at CJ, but then we got papped walking through the Bullring and decided against it.

Meredith holds her iPad out to me- we're already big news. _The Bystander Effect indulges in some mid-tour retail therapy_. What the fuck, that's not even a story.

CJ arrives five minutes early with a Converse holdall slung over his shoulder. I had secretly hoped he'd welch on the deal. He looks disgustingly attractive in tailored trousers, a loose white shirt and a leather tie. I can practically smell the pheromones oozing from Plato, Levi and Meredith.

"Jesus, boy. You didn't need to dress up on our account." He frowns at Levi and glances down at his attire. Oh for god's sake, he's not even making an effort and he looks like a rockstar. Fuck my life. I push my aviators further up my nose knowing that I didn't bother with make-up this morning and actually couldn't even be arsed to brush my teeth. Thank god there's a shower on the bus.

He glances around casually, rocking onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. "So... tour bus?" Seems a bit off in the way of a greeting. 'Good morning, Amelia, thank you again for extending the offer of driving your immense bus of awesomeness' might have worked better for me. Erek disappears around the corner and returns a few minutes later with a tremendous blare from the bus's horn.

CJ's face is a real picture, he must have been expecting a transit van and instead he's got a converted transcontinental double decker coach re-sprayed in black and red. "Holy shit."

"What's up Caspian? Feeling intimidated?"

He blinks impassively and shrugs. "Just seems a bit excessive. I've seen smaller haulage wagons." Excessive? Clueless.

I roll my eyes and shove past him onto the bus. "Do you have any idea how much kit you need for a tour? There are amps, guitars, leads..."

He holds his hands up to silence me. "Okay, I get it. I can handle it.

We climb into the bus and I hear CJ whistle behind me. We had the coach refurbished in chrome and black leather; the lower deck is essentially a kitchen, bathroom and living area with a couple of bunk beds and upstairs is a giant bedroom with the back section reserved for Big Dave and Louise—the only roadies who travel with us because we trust them implicitly not to divulge our exploits to the media.

"Ho-ly shit." If he says 'holy shit' once more, I won't be held accountable for my actions. Just his face is pissing me off today.

"Stop standing in awe and get used to it. If you stick with us for the duration, you're going to have to live in this. You're going to be eating, breathing and sleeping rock and roll." I cram the keys into his hand and stomp off toward the bathroom. "Dent it and I swear to god I will dent _you_." He sucks his teeth and looks like he's going to laugh at me. My gut reaction is to smile but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he has that kind of influence over my emotions.

I barricade myself in the bathroom and stare at myself over my aviators. I look like death warmed up and it doesn't exactly suit me. My eyes are dull and bloodshot, and my usually platinum blonde hair has gone that shitty mousy shade which I hate as a result of still carrying a gig's worth of sweat. Sexy.

I strip down to shower and the bus lurches forward and stalls. Fucking hell, we haven't even left and he's already butchering my vehicle!

Plato is sat in the passenger seat next to him calmly talking him through moving the beast and raises a hand to me. "S'up, honey bee?" I'll give him fucking 's'up'.

"I felt the stall from the bathroom. What the fuck, man?"

"Give me a break, Amelia. The biggest thing I've ever driven is a Land Rover." CJ turns around in the driver's seat and freezes in his place. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact I'm standing in my underwear, and I've seen that look before—he's sizing me up _again_ . A smile slowly spreads across his face. Oh goody, approval from a nobody, just what I needed to validate my existence.

"What's wrong, Caspian? Never seen a chick in her pants before?"

He raises an eyebrow at me before turning back to the steering wheel. "Not a hot tattooed chick." I bite my lip and turn on my heels quickly so he doesn't see my cheeks heat. I should be immune to compliments by now, but somehow this guy just brings out the school girl in me—and my school days aren't something which I'm keen to relive. "Nice blush, lush." Plato stifles a laugh behind me. The redness has obviously spread to my back. Jokes on CJ though, because everyone in a five mile radius can see his boner.

"Nice dick, dick." I storm back off into the bathroom for a shower. A cold shower.

I'm loathed to admit it, but once he's gotten over the initial shock of the size of the bus, it's a pretty smooth ride to Manchester. I suspect CJ's capability is limited only to driving and first person shooters.

I'm feeling slightly more relaxed for my icy shower, some eyeliner and a good old reading session with Sigmund Freud. Meredith is sitting across from me—I'm sure she's dependant on that iPad to live.

She holds it up and grins. "Check it out, Mr. McDonalds is in _Rage Against Everyone_." I frown at her and yank the iPad from her hand. A picture of CJ and Plato sitting in the front of the tour bus separated by a half-naked me fills most of the page, with the caption _Bystander Three Way_. I'm absolutely horrified, but she's laughing at me. "Would you relax? What is your problem?"

"Three way is my problem, and if it's not removed, Chase will be my problem." I yank my phone from my pocket and dial a number. I should have these idiots on speed dial or my own private direct line.

" _Ra—"_ I don't need to hear their bullshit precursory greeting.

"It's Amelia Marsh, _again_. Tell your webmaster to remove that fucking picture."

"Ah, Amelia, always a pleasure. Can I ask why this time?"

"Because the new guy is just our tour bus driver. It's his first day on the job, you've already caused enough speculation over Plato's relationship problems and if I want to walk around in my pants on my tour bus, I'll damn well do it. It doesn't automatically mean I'm fucking the band."

I hang up and I'm about to launch my phone across the room when it rings again. Meredith leans over and grits her teeth at the flashing name. "Oh dear."

"Oh dear, indeed." This douche-bag never just calls for a friendly chat. I might hate him less if he did. "Chase, what can I do for you?"

" _Something you want to tell me?"_ I quickly hit refresh on the iPad and the picture no longer exists. Fast work—they must have been expecting it, which begs the question, why put it on in the first place? Maybe they just like my telephone voice.

"Haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."

"RAE website?"

I flare my nostrils at Meredith. "Yeah, I'm on the website now, what's the problem?" The line goes dead and I think I'm off the hook. For now. "You'll let me know if that picture surfaces elsewhere?"

"Of course, but I don't understand why you don't just sack him off." I shake my head and bury myself back into my book. She knows damn well why I don't sack him off.

I'm daydreaming about leather ties and pinstripe shirts in a bunk when I'm rudely roused by the sound of ringing. It's disturbed the guys, too, and none of us are too happy about it. We've all been casually dozing or catching up with families. Downtime is rare for us during tours.

CJ's friend's voice makes us flinch and we all creep closer to the driver's seat to eavesdrop.

"Yo! CJ, man, you ditched us on Wednesday. Where the fuck were you?" He sounds as thick as pig shit.

"Out. The Bystander Effect gig." Oh well, at least he got the name right this time.

"Aaah. With a chick?"

"Duh with a chick. A backstage chick."

"No way. Was she hot?"

"Of course, man. She's covered with tattoos and has legs for days." The guys raise their eyebrows at me. I shrug in response—the man has a point.

"Did you screw her?"

"Nah man, she's kind of a bitch and too smart for me. Way out of my league and made sure I knew it." Oh good, he knows where he stands. "But I'm driving her band's tour bus now." I angle my head slightly and see that his conversation is over FaceTime on his iPod.

"Tour bus? Dude, what's her name?"

"Amelia Marsh."

" _NO FUCKING WAY! Dude, you've been on the web this morning!"_ Meredith shoots me a look and I have no choice but to intervene. I pop my head up behind the driver's seat and pull the iPod off a hands-free stand which CJ has attached to the dashboard—without asking permission, I might add. " _No. Way."_ His friend is pug ugly and is making no effort to conceal his lechery. I don't mind if it's blatant when it comes from a nice looking guy, but when they look like Mother Nature confused an anus with a mouth, I tend to object.

"I hate to interrupt this productive conversation, mate, but if CJ's looking at you, it means he's not looking at the road." I clip the iPod back into the stand and narrow my eyes at CJ. "Say goodbye and stop answering FaceTime while you're driving before you kill us."

I stalk off back my bunk and catch his friend saying, _"You're right man, she is a bitch."_ So I poke my head back into view and give him the finger before turning off the call on CJ's behalf.

Meredith follows me back to my bunk and gives me _that_ look. "That was harsh, Ams." No pleasing some, the call had to end.

"The hell it was. He woke us all up and then called me a bitch."

She arches an eyebrow. "You _are_ a bitch, Amelia, but CJ is doing us a favour and you're not his boss. You can't order him around like that. I know what you're doing." I scowl and blank her out because she's pissing me off. I scowl because she knows me too well, and I scowl because I hate it when she's right. Triplicate fucking scowl.

I make a conscious effort to avoid any form of communication until we arrive at MoHo Live in Manchester. This means that I've diverted four calls from Chase to voice mail, and I can only imagine what's in store for me when I listen to his messages. Meredith is still pissed at me, and the guys aren't fully clued in, so there's nobody to listen to them for me. CJ parks up outside the venue and they all bail out for food, so I use the opportunity to survey the damage.

"Amelia, answer your fucking phone. I know you had that photo removed from the Rage Against Everyone website."

"Congratulations, you've hit the gossip pages with your little exhibition this morning. I've done your damage control. No need to thank me. Answer your phone."

"You're really starting to piss me off, Marsh. You know that I have a scoop about you that the media would just love to get their hands on."

"If you ignore my next fucking call I'll be right on the phone to the tabloids and your label."

I hate this twunt. Meredith keeps telling me that he doesn't have a good enough hold on me to keep me reined in, but I don't need to be labelled as a freak and ruin the careers of my band mates when the shit hits the fan.

His next call comes while I'm still holding my phone. I can't avoid this. "What do you want, Chase?"

" _Who the fuck is the new guy?"_ Why does nobody just say 'hello' anymore?

"He's the tour bus driver. Ryan broke his foot."

" _Are you fucking him?"_ He just had to ram straight into the probing, didn't he? Didn't have the courtesy to lube me up first and ease in or anything.

"No, not that it's any of your god damn business."

"I can make it my business if you don't have some discretion. Plus I can make sure he knows what a freak you are."

"I'm not a freak, Chase."

"You are a fucking freak. You and your friends can dress it up with as many big psychological terms as you want, but a girl that has an anxiety attack when a guy comes on to her is a fucking freak."

I hang up on him and thank god that the bus is empty because I can't control the raw emotion any more. I'm not one to cry at the drop of a hat, but this tool manages to break me every time I talk to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" I look up in horror to see CJ looming by the door.

"Shit." I wipe my face and turn away. "Did you hear any of that?" He sits down opposite me and tries to engage me in another of his wrecking ball staring competitions.

"Only your side of it. Psycho ex?"

"Something like that." For the second time, I'm completely thankful for his ignorance.

"Guys who talk to girls like shit need stringing up by the balls. You need to sever the ties with him." I'd rather sever his balls and string him up by his tie.

I shake my head. "It's not that simple." _Please don't ask for elaboration._

"Sure it is. Whatever dirt it is that he thinks he has on you, he can't start trashing you without making himself look like a complete dick, too." My eyes widen in surprise—he's absolutely right. Chase can't cause a media shit storm about me without getting caught in the lightning. This is more damaging to his career mine.

CJ tilts his head to catch my gaze and smirks. "He's an idiot for getting on the wrong side of you, Amelia. You're sexy as sin and you've got a sweet ass." His compliment is vulgar, but it tips the scales of my mood from depressed to somewhere near cheerful.

But I have to turn away from his gaze and scold myself. He's pulled me out of my depression and out of one of my pre-show anxiety attacks. What the fuck is this guy doing to me?

The guys arrive back just in time to stop me from jumping on him or killing him. I'm not sure which, but in either case he actually looks a little disappointed by the interruption. I'm going to have to keep him at arm's length from now on or he'll get too attached and we'll have to cut him loose.

I stand up and he grabs my hand. It sends a ripple of shock through my body and I'm paralysed again, just like I was when he came backstage. So it's not just my face...

"Hey, I'm here if you want to talk about it, okay?"

I tug my hand free and frown at him. No, this is a kind of unexpected closeness that I'm neither familiar nor comfortable with. I have to deter him from thinking that he's anything more than a driver. "Fuck off, CJ." If anything, he's just going to get pissed off with me being bipolar and decide I'm too much effort. I probably am.

Meredith grabs at me as I push past her and pulls me into the bathroom. It's perfectly obvious that she's still fuming at me and I'm doing very little to improve her mood.

"What the hell is going on with you, baby doll?" Okay, if she's calling me baby doll, she can't be _that_ pissed off.

"Chase is threatening to go to the media again."

"Nothing new there then. But I meant CJ." I blink at her vacantly. She already knows what's going on. She has to. The girl has known me my entire life and if that's long enough to synchronise menstrual cycles, it's long enough to know my inner-most thoughts. "Just screw him and we'll get your dad to find us a new driver." That's her answer to everything.

"You were telling me how he's indispensable two days ago."

She leans back against the shower screen and folds her arms. "He is, but you're obviously frisky for him and we never hang around with your lays. It makes you feel awkward, doesn't it?" I put my hand on the door and brace myself for the inevitable pending reaction to what I'm about to say. She won't like it.

"It's not that simple." Her eyes widen as I yank the door open and retreat into the safety of Plato and Levi's arms. Those four words are taboo and invariably precede trouble.

"Not that simple? Not this again, Amelia." She makes it sound like this happens frequently. It doesn't. The guys—uh... _gays,_ wrap cocoon me in a group hug and shake their head at Meredith critically.

"Are you really going to give her a hard time over this again?"

"Yes, even if it costs us another team member."

Erek stands up between us and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Not here, Meredith," he croons in his Polish lilt, "Not in front of CJ."

She raises an eyebrow in CJ's direction and looks over Erek's shoulder at me. "You need to get laid before I smack your face off something sharp."

Her uncharacteristically hostile outburst leaves me mortified and my fight or flight instinct sends me hurling towards the door for a desperate gasp of cold smoky Manchester air. Nobody follows me; they know better.

I foolishly take to the streets with no security team and no sunglasses, knowing full well that there are very realistic odds of me getting mobbed, but I really don't care. I'm back in the pit of despair which I was trapped in not so long ago, and not all the tea in China is going to haul me out. All I have on me is a slogan t-shirt, jeans, my phone and a pocket full of change and of all the places to find myself standing, its outside McDonalds. But by this point I'm beyond the point of caring.

I casually place myself in the queue without drawing attention to myself, but the cashier gives me away with an embarrassing display of gushing. Thirty or so autographs later and a few dozen photographs, I'm finally granted with my coffee and a text message from Meredith.

McDonalds? Seriously?

I'm not surprised that she's tracked my phone.

I keep my head low as I walk through the streets aimlessly for a few hours and eventually wind up back at MoHo around 5:30pm. My time keeping has never been quite so good. Wanting to avoid round three with Meredith, I bypass the bus and head inside, catching the manager completely off guard. He looks half intimidated. I'm not sure which way I want the other half to go.

"Is there a problem, Miss Marsh?"

"No, no problem at all. Are any of the roadies here?" He looks scared shitless, it must be the tattoos.

"No, they brought in all the equipment and left again. There's a suit bag hanging in the dressing room for you." Seems prudent of them. They must have all had the same idea in thinking I need a wide berth right now. Which I do.

I glance through the doors and see my Stratocaster sitting on the stage. "Can I go in?"

"Um, of course, no need to ask." He looks totally blown out of the water. I really hate it when people look so surprised by the fact I'm well-spoken and have good manners. I'm not feral—I wasn't brought up by fucking wolves.

I pick up my guitar and sit down on the edge of the stage. I'd love to play gigs like this. Why the fuck don't I? Why do I never do what I want to do just to please those bastards on the tour bus? I'm already tuned up and ready to go so I blast out an unplugged rendition of Korn's _I Did My Time_. I don't get why they won't let me cover this; if ever there was a song out there that reflected my mood, this would be it.

I stumble at the bridge and put the guitar back on its stand. Right, that's why we don't cover it. I can't get through the damn song without wanting to rip myself to shreds. I'm too emotionally connected to music to not evoke the depth behind lyrics. It's a blessing and a curse.

I drop a quick text to Louise and compose myself before she arrives. The roadies can't know that I have feelings.

Lou is an absolute miracle worker. It's hard to believe that she joined our team just restringing guitars when she's so holistically talented. Tonight she's styled me into some crazy Grecian braid affair and is dressing me in an awesome leather recreation of the Hattress dress from _Alice: Madness Within_. I'm going to sweat my balls off but I'm going to look the shit in doing so.

She wanders off to go and do the sound check, which I'm warily skipping out on, and leaves me to relax before everything kicks into rock and roll mode. It's comfortable enough in this dressing room for me to just kick back in my pants and scan through the gossip pages. _Amelia Marsh slums it with fans in McDonalds_. Pfft, that's nice and factual for a change.

There seems to be a brief argument outside and it's approaching down the hallway. It's enough to rouse me from my sulk and encourage me to get dressed, as it sounds like the manager is trying to hinder someone's entrance.

A familiar voice barks at him, "For fucks sake, I'm with the band." And then I'm rudely interrupted with The Hattress in my hand. Jesus, this guy is really pushing my patience.

"Well well, look who it is. You've gotten to see Amelia Marsh in a thong twice in one day, CJ; you should be honoured—most people can only say that they've had the same privilege once in a lifetime." My mind is jolted back to the sleazy centrefold I did for a Swedish magazine for shits and giggles that ended up leaked across the Internet. Luckily I'm secure enough about my body to have brushed it off and made light of it without too much grief from my family. Besides, those pictures were _hot_. "What can I do for you?"

I'm hopelessly immobilised when he prowls over to me with those incredible green eyes glowing and stands inches away from me, removing the dress from my hand and running his fingers down my torso. I'm no prude, but between his proximity and that penetrating celadon gaze, I'm suddenly very self-conscious about my exposure.

"What Meredith said—" And again, no 'hello'.

"Fuck what Meredith said, Caspian, she's talking out of her dick hole as ever." I turn around to the sideboard next to me and grab a bottle of wine from a mini-fridge. Our friendship doesn't crumble often, but when it does, it crumbles in style. I can only imagine what's been said in my absence.

"Turn around, Amelia."

There's a mirror in front of me and I can see him staring at me in it. Those eyes are fixed on me but easier to analyse them in his reflection. They're packed with wonderment, lust, confusion, uncertainly and determination. He's a walking contradiction. "What?"

"Turn around." I have no idea why I'm compelled to do what he demands of me. I have to remind myself of Meredith's quip that I am not his boss and he can actually talk to me however he likes.

He towers over me when I'm barefoot and I'm feeling totally dwarfed in knowing that there's a hot body load of muscle under that shirt. "Listen, Amelia, I didn't offer to drive your bus so I could get my dick wet—" he presses his index finger to my lips to silence me, cheeky twat, and my instinctive reaction is to clamp my teeth around it then suck; a move done to my detriment when I'm hit by an unexpected wave of arousal. A smile plays on his eyes and he raises an eyebrow when I bear down on it again with my teeth. "—but I do believe that there is a personality somewhere in there behind all the ink and bitchiness—a personality which I hope to get to know." I roll my eyes at him. He's one of those hearts and flowers getting to know you types. Not my scene.

I release his finger tip and shake my head. "I'm not in the market for a relationship."

"Oh believe me, I've had that hammered into my head all afternoon. No boyfriends and no groupies. I get that, but I'm not into casual sex." He puts his whole hand over my mouth when I try to talk again. The fucking audacity of this guy. "However, I'm going to throw you some mercy and make your life a little easier." His free hand travels down my side, over my hip and down my thigh, and then grabs my wrist when I go to slap him away. "I'll get you off without the complication of screwing you blind—and trust me, I'd love to fucking wreck you—then you get the benefit of walking out there to your band mates and truthfully denying that we've had sex or shared any kind of intimacy with all the satisfaction of an orgasm. This doesn't have to get weird, and I can continue driving your bus feeling smug. And all you have to do to stop me, is to stop looking at me."

He removes his hand from my mouth and lifts me up onto the sideboard. It's a pretty outlandish proposition and he's got a damned cheek for presuming that I'm just going to drop my pants for him. Morbid fascination is the only thing stopping my knee from making a head on collision course for his nuts. How can he be so neutral?

"You're pretty fucking cocky, Pearce."

"Yeah, I know. It's all you. You're a bad influence." He pulls my legs around his waist and tugs my thong down around my knees, grinning at the 'Heaven' tattoo across my stomach. Note that _I_ didn't drop my pants

"I'm not entirely sure that I like it."

His hands move up my legs and one creeps behind me to pull me right onto the edge of the sideboard as the other pushes two fingers inside me. I feel myself tighten around him while I'm completely overcome by an intoxicating rush of pleasure and relief. By no stretch of the imagination is this a healthy or wise situation.

"If you don't like it, stop looking at me." I try, but I can't. I'm completely transfixed and tangled up in those eyes, and they're boring into me like a drill as he deftly manoeuvres around my insides like I've already provided him with a map to all my erogenous zones. This is sensory overload. A delicate sheen of sweat pushes up to the surface of my skin, along with a pulse of heat. My knuckles curl around the edge of the sideboard and grip it tightly. It's so fucking good I can't see straight.

"Jesus, CJ." My head rolls back against the mirror behind me and he draws his fingers away. My head snaps back up to flash him an acerbic glare. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You stopped looking at me. I told you I'd stop if you stopped looking at me and I'm a man of my word." _Learn to lie._

"You also said you'd get me off."

He admonishes me with a shake of his head and grabs my chin. "Are you going to look at me or not?"

"I'm looking at you now, dick!"

He keeps hold of my chin and regains my full attention before he sets back to nursing my insides into a lull. It takes all of my self-control not to break eye contact when he hits my g-spot, and his eyes flame when I flinch at the contact. It seems deceptively like he's enjoying it as much as I am. Is that even possible?

He releases my chin and pushes me back against the mirror so there's no escape for my head and jibes furiously at that sweet spot. I need this, really need this, and I'm just about at my physical limit when he flashes me a lupine grin which I catch in my peripheral vision and rubs his palm against me. My muscles clench around his fingers as I'm tipped over the edge but he doesn't stop. I can't tear eyes away from his in this state of euphoria. "Stop looking at me, Amelia."

"I can't." His voice is cajoling and pushes me into a realm of pleasure that's almost painful.

"Stop looking at me." He grips my chin again and secures my lips with his thumb—I'm getting too loud for this to remain discrete. "Just stop." I clamp my teeth around his thumb and whimper pathetically as another orgasm ripples through me.

"Ah, mother fucker!"

My face contorts and he slowly eases his fingers out of me, wiping them indiscriminately against his trouser leg. "Any chance I could get my thumb back?" I glare at him as I unhinge my jaw. I have no idea why I feel so pissed off. "Better?"

I lower myself down from the sideboard and steady myself as my legs fail me. "Better? Are you fucking kidding me?" I lash out and slap him hard. "Don't touch me again, CJ, this was a mistake." He actually has the nerve to laugh at me and roll his eyes, stooping down to pull my thong down around my ankles, lifting each of my feet in turn to remove them and using to wipe my shame from the sideboard. Wow, why was that hot?

"You could have stopped me at any time. You were practically dying up there and you still wouldn't break eye contact with me. You wanted it, and I'd bet my life that you'll want it again." He shrugs arrogantly and heads for the door, pausing before he pulls it open. "By the way, cursing like that when you come, is that a usual habit?" My eyes narrow dangerously because I know that it is. "It's very sexy, very rock and roll." He smirks at me and swans off down the corridor, leaving me stripped bare, rejuvenated and absolutely livid.

# IV

#

#

We've been back on the bus for two weeks and have cleared ten of our twenty UK tour dates. Our inter-band domestic has faded to a vague memory, though the aftermath hasn't. I still hate CJ for the most part, but yet he still comes into my dressing room before every gig and rocks my world no matter how hard I argue. He just rolls into the venue with a stage pass and whispers those four magic words, 'I'm with the band'. Nobody ever questions him.

The guys haven't noticed the bite marks, scratches and love bites that I've littered across his arms and shoulders but they can tell something is up in that I'm not bitching at them anymore—we're all too busy bitching over the fact that CJ is still listening to his bloody iPod at every gig.

There was some debate over making it disappear for a night, but we've decided that we actually quite like the fact that he thinks we're just an amateur band touring the UK. His main saving grace is that he's actually a decent person. We can't bounce our psychological jargon off him but he's well into the sociological side of conversation, and he houses a black humour that we appreciate in this group. Between his looks, his body, his brain and his wild hands, he's got a lot going for him. There's got to be a catch; a catch other than the fact that he's smug, always right and has too much influence on me.

Meredith puts her iPad down in front of me and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know what they put in your coffee in Manchester, but you're on fire." I scroll through a few dozen articles about us dominating our past five gigs. I know damn well that I performed all five of them in a shitty mood thanks to CJ but I'll be screwed if I'm going to let on that I'm grateful.

Levi plonks down next to me and scoops an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into the nook of his armpit like a reassuring big sister. "Oh Mer, it's obvious why she's kicking butt. She got some." Crap.

Meredith's eyes light up. "Did you?" I lean back coolly in my seat and wonder if CJ can hear this conversation.

"Nope." For fucks sake, he was right. It does feel good to be able to truthfully deny it.

"Then why—"

"Because I'm just awesome, Meredith. Plain and simple." She raises an eyebrow, completely unconvinced, and jerks her head towards Erek. That's hurtful, I'm very talented. I'm also very beautiful and modest.

But my awesomeness aside, my attention does actually go to Erek. "How's he doing, Levi?"

"He's distraught. He'll have the all clear by Download but he's fuming that he can't finish the tour." I blow him over a sympathetic kiss. Of all the shitty luck for a drummer, he sprained the ligaments in his wrist at last night's gig lifting an amp because he was too bloody impatient to wait for Big Dave. That means we have to get a session drummer in and they're all either too scared of performing with a big name to keep up, or looking for a fast road into fame through us and ham it up. Nobody compares to our Polish prince.

As riveting as all these articles about how amazing I am are, I'm distracted by a deep set need for caffeine and greasy food, and we're an hour ahead of schedule for Sheffield. "Lunch anyone?" The guy's eyes all turn and look at me like I've suggested something abhorrent and controversial. "What?"

"You don't eat lunch."

"I eat lunch."

Meredith looks at me quizzically and raises an eyebrow. "You eat lunch when you've gotten laid." She makes it sound like a mating ritual.

I suck on the back of my teeth in irritation and lean back in my seat with my arms crossed. "Fine, fuck lunch. I'm not that hungry anyway." My stomach betrays me by growling loudly.

Plato throws his hands up and rises from his seat, leaning around to the front of the bus. "CJ, be a hunter gatherer and seek us out some food."

Seven of us are cramped around a table in Pizza Hut exchanging anecdotes. Well, six of us are. Big Dave has tagged along and all he's doing is exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide. If you've seen him eat, you understand why he's such a fat fuck. I might buy him a trough for the bus.

CJ is wowing the guys with some quip about his arsehole MP father kicking his mates out of his super classy house, but I'm paying little to no attention. The sound of his voice is grating on me and I'm mentally tuning him out with Nine Inch Nails.

From the corner of my eye, I see Meredith reach across the table and grab CJ's hand. "What the fuck is that?" I glance across and see two huge red welts across his thumb where I bared down on it two nights ago. Wow, go me. He doesn't look even slightly bothered by the fact it's been noticed and he's staring at me. He's got to be formulating some sort of lie behind those eyes.

"I thought you of all people would recognise a bite mark, Meredith." Oh shit. Not a lie at all. I can feel that my face is flaming and the bastard is still staring at me.

"Bite mark? Why do you have a bite mark?" He shrugs, still staring. Oh, I get it, I get what he's doing. I'm looking at him.

"Oh, you know. The usual. You all right over there, Amelia?" I grab my glass and wrench my eyes away. I'm not sure fingering a rockstar is really what one would classify as 'the usual', unless he has some sort of secret career as a fluffer for the rich and famous. Interesting...

"Oh, I'm fine, manwhore."

Erek raises an eyebrow. "What did she call him?" Bless him, there's still a language barrier. CJ leans across and whispers something Polish in his ear that makes him look at me, shocked and disgusted. Bilingual? Give me a break. "Harsh, Ams. He's hardly putting it about, how could he on the bus?"

Levi shoots a look across the table at CJ. "Erek is right, you've never brought anyone on the bus and you're always with one of us. How, who, and where are you fucking someone?"

"I'm not fucking anyone." I can practically hear the cogs grinding around the table. Surely they're not going to make the connection that we've both told the same lie.

Big Dave clears his throat and stares at me across the table, smirking. Oh shit, of the six of them, it's the roadie with two F grade GCSEs who figures it out. His splutter draws Plato's attention. "What's up, big guy?"

"Plato, dude, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." I hold hand over my head and stare out the window, spotting a horde of our mortal enemies—a welcome diversion. "Oh, for fucks sake. Paps. I think we should be contacting fast food chains for a sponsorship deal, the amount of publicity we're earning for them." A quiet titter of laugher ripples around the table. I think I actually make a good point.

We meet our session drummer when we arrive in Sheffield and I'm not impressed. I don't think any of us are impressed. Meredith and I are pissed off because she's a chick, Plato and Levi are pissed off because she's a chick, and Erek is pissed off because she's a replacement.

The only one who isn't pissed off is CJ, and he's pissing me off by not being pissed off because we're all pissed off. He's hanging around outside the bus, just talking to her casually and I'm getting very little satisfaction from the fact that she's not even slightly affected by those eyes of his. She looks easy. I don't know what it is about her- maybe the Bambi eyes, the toxic red hair, or the way she stands with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her skinny jeans so she can thrust her chest out, but she looks like a whore.

Levi sneaks up behind me and Meredith, and wraps his arms around our waists. "She's not a spot on you two bitches."

Meredith leans over and kisses his cheek. "Damn right she's not. Baby doll, I need a word with you in private."

"Uh oh." Levi raises an eyebrow in agreement as I'm pulled into the bathroom. Oh jeez, I know how these conversations go—we all know how these conversations go. They usually centre around me doing something crass or publicly spouting something derogatory, and I end up getting a bollocking.

She crosses her arms at me and she actually looks concerned. This is unnerving. "Are you so sex starved that you have to make a move on me now, Mer?" She doesn't appreciate my humour.

"You have to be honest with me now. What's going on between you and CJ?"

"There's nothing going on between me and CJ." It's half true.

"I know what you're doing, Ams. You're trying to make him hate you because you're interested. You're trying to sabotage yourself." I reach for the door but she rams it shut. You'd think she'd know better than to cage me in an unwanted conversation by now. "I can see it in your eyes that you're worried he's going to screw the session drummer."

"I'm not worried. He can do what he wants."

She arches a brow. "You're jealous." I pull the door again and ram my foot in the crack.

"Fuck off, Meredith, you're talking shit." She lets go of the handle and shakes her head at me. I am the living embodiment of 'the lady doth protest too much', except that I burp and curse too much to be a lady.

"Do you realise that if you tell him not to, he won't touch her? But he'd know you're interested." I don't know why I fight this girl, I've known her for my whole life and nothing ever escapes her notice.

"He already knows, Meredith. There's no way he can't." He has to have spent enough time staring into my eyes to have gotten at least a glimpse of my soul.

Her arms drop and she pulls my head onto her shoulder. "Shit, baby doll." And finally it clicks. I need her moral support, not condescending know-it-all-ism.

"Mimi, you have a call." Levi taps on the door to break the tender moment and passes me the universal band phone, the one we use for general tour related calls. I pull Meredith out of the bathroom by her hand and sit down just as CJ and the whore walk in. Super.

I put the phone on speaker-phone and sigh. I already know who this is. Only one person calls the band phone and asks for me specifically. "Papa bear."

" _S'up, sugar, how's the tour?"_ He sounds painfully cheerful as ever. I have had my doubts as to whether I'm really the milkman's daughter.

"It's going great."

" _I know—I saw your reviews!"_ So why ask? _"You looked fucking hot in The Hattress dress!_ " I literally shudder. Parents should not call their kids hot.

"Too much, Dad."

"You got rid of that jackass, Chase?"

"Not yet."

"I don't know what you're so worried about. Philematophobia isn't that bad."

"Jesus, Dad!" My face is on fire _again_ and Meredith has her head in her hands. Even my deadhead father usually has a little more tact about my dirty little secrets. "I'm on the fucking tour bus!"

" _My bad. You got a new therapist yet?"_ He's killing me here. Plus I can't tell him enough times that no therapist could provide me with any better answers than the ones I frequently find at the bottom of a bottle.

"No, but I have a bus full of psychology graduates so I think I'm covered."

" _Yeah, of course. But you're going to have to deal with it some time. Laters, baby bear."_ I collapse dramatically, face down on the table and cover my head with my arms. No I don't—I don't have to deal with it. Not dealing with it is working out just great. Was that call primarily to humiliate me?

Plato strokes my back tenderly. "Philematophobia, seriously? Is that what Chase has on you?"

"Phile-what?" He leans over and whispers in Levi's ear. Despite his degree, he's awful for retaining information. "Oh well, that explains the 'no boyfriends' rule."

"Am I missing something?" I turn and look at CJ under the cover of my hair. If ever I needed Meredith's fast thinking—

"It's a phobia of big dicks." Classic.

"What did she say?" Oh, god bless Erek and his crap English. CJ leans down and whispers in his ear, prompting him to burst out laughing. "The hell she is, I saw the size of the last guy she rode." Ah, fond memories.

"That wasn't a guy. That was a penis with legs." Not really helping my cover story with that comment but it seems to have taken the focus from my humiliation.

My personal phone rings and Meredith pulls it out of my pocket for me to switch on the speaker. "Yo, phone of the high flying and humiliated—who the fuck are ya?"

"Shut your hole and put Amelia on, Meredith." That voice always makes my stomach churn.

"Chase, always a pleasure." She pushes the phone across the table and shrugs at me apologetically. She's as bad as me for not screening calls. We should really know better by now.

"What do you want, Chase?"

"We have an interview and photo shoot when you're in London." Ah, Chase Garret, ever the dictator. Knob.

"No thanks, I don't really feel like another bullshit interview where I tell the world that you're a modern age romantic and attentive lover."

"You want your gay friends to find out the cause of your little freak out?"

Plato leans over and shouts down the phone—not really necessary with today's technology but the fool still lives in the middle-ages. "We already know, dickwad."

"No problem, I'll just tell your new driver that you sob like a baby when you come so he's too scared to bone you. I know the thought will have crossed your mind." Wow, just announce it to the world that I've been eye-fucking CJ, because I'm clearly that predictable. And like he'd know what I do when I come. I doubt he's ever witnessed a genuine female orgasm in his life.

"I already know that's bullshit, asshole." My stomach knots as I hear everyone's jaws hit the floor. _You absolute eighteen carat moron._

" _You fucking what?"_ I glance up at CJ and he raises an eyebrow. He's clearly not ashamed and it looks like he's challenging me. _Have you never heard of discretion?!_ I mean, if he knew who I really was, he'd be pissing his pants and obviously would be far from ashamed, but there's a time and a place to announce that you've been fingering someone. But you know, in for a penny...

"You heard the man, Chase. He knows I scream like a harpy and has the bite marks to prove it. You've got nothing on me." I hang up and hide my head in my hands, awaiting the onslaught of questions and criticisms. "Oh crap."

Meredith slaps me around the arms. "You said you didn't fuck him."

"She didn't." CJ shrugs and leads the whore up to the driver's seat. Congratulations, you've just undoubtedly pushed me into a more ferocious line of questioning and I'm going to have to divulge the specifics.

I look up at Meredith between my fingers. "Somebody told her that he doesn't know who we are, right?"

"Oh shit!" They all spring up and leave me to die from embarrassment in peace.

I'm in a red leather mini-dress tonight and ready an hour early, so knowing that I take great solace in music, Big Dave has sneaked one of our spare guitars into the dressing room so I can drink and mellow. I haven't been questioned about the whole CJ thing yet; I hid in the bathroom all day and the guys know better than to interrogate me. Besides, that's got to be over and done with now.

I'm playing Korn again and I'm still stumbling at the bridge like an idiot. Why are those words so damn hard to say? Jesus, it's not like it's in Aramaic.

I start again and turn around on my heels to find that I'm being watched and jump out of my skin. "Jesus, CJ. You scared the shit out of me. I usually hear you coming." And I'm sure in that arrogant head of his, he's hatching a sarcastic inner thought that everyone hears _me_ coming, too.

I lean the guitar against the wall and make a grab for my glass of wine. He gets there first and takes a sip out of it. "You've got one hell of a voice, Amelia."

"Yeah, I'm kind of famous for it." Smooth. How he hasn't realised who I am just from my voice, I'll never know. "But you'd already know that if you didn't keep listening to music when we're playing."

"Fair point." He backs me against the wall and hikes my leg up around his waist. It takes a lot to shock me, but yeah, he's really caught me off guard here.

"What are you doing?"

He narrows his eyes and runs his fingers up my inner thigh. "I thought you were familiar with this by now." Familiar isn't really the word. Maybe 'intimate' would be more apt.

"I am and it has to stop." It _really_ has to stop, before we're both in way over our heads. He doesn't know it yet, but he really doesn't want this to go any further. I'm not good for anyone when I'm in 'that' mind set.

"So stop looking at me." He actually has the nerve to laugh at me this time.

"Shut up, CJ." I could punch the bastard because he's making me laugh, too. I'm just starting to find myself wrapped up in those eyes when the spark of arousal in them suddenly dims. _No, don't do that. Don't freeze on me._

"Do you want me to stop and go home?" I grab his hand just as his fingers are about to dip into me and squeeze them. That was a bolt out of the blue and I'm genuinely shocked by the fact that it brought a lump to my throat.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm obviously causing some sort of rift between you and your friends, and you're not that into me. So I'll leave if you want me to."

I lower my leg and stare up at him, utterly stunned. It's a little conceited of him to assume that our spat was caused by him—even though it kind of was—and I deeply dislike arrogance. My instinct is to kneecap him but the thought of him not driving that bus scares the crap out of me. He gets that he's messing with my head and he doesn't want to put me through it unnecessarily. He's trying to be nice, and the fact that he's so down to earth and considerate just makes me feel like I need to hold on to him.

Oh Jesus, I've thrown myself into the pits of Hell.

"What do you get from this, Caspian?"

"From what?" He runs his fingers over my skin gently, making it ridiculously hard to articulate my thoughts.

"Everything. Driving our bus for no pay, hanging with the band, doing this before the gigs. We give you nothing in return but you're doing it anyway."

He hikes my leg back up and runs a finger down my body, starting at my forehead and moving slowly down to my 'Heaven' tattoo. "I drive your bus because it's an honour. I hang out with you because you're an awesome group of people. And I do this because it gives me the satisfaction of knowing that I've tamed you and you're throwing yourself around that stage because you're so insulted by my audacity and furious at yourself for liking it."

"Tamed me? Not fucking likely."

He bites his lip cheekily and pushes his fingers inside me. "Shut up, Marsh."

After that beautiful speech, I'm honestly already halfway there. He twists his fingers and hits every corner of me, teasing me with his come hither motion and kneading my muscles with his knuckles. I grab onto his shoulders for support as I writhe and my nails tear into his skin as a hot ball of pleasure grows inside me, sparking and fit to burst.

But I just can't find my release. There's something blocking it and I know exactly what it is; it's a red headed whore with drumsticks who wants _my_ man. I tear my eyes from his and lean my head back against the wall, panting and frustrated.

He hooks his free hand around my neck and rubs his thumb across my cheek. It's a possessive gesture, like he knows that I'm his. But I'm not, I have absolutely no inclination to bind myself to him. But still, _he_ is _mine_ and mine alone.

"Amelia, what's wrong?"

"Don't fuck the session drummer." The words fall from my panting chest before I can stop them. "Please, don't sleep with her tonight."

He pulls my head upright and raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I'm not allowed?" _Yes_. But again, Meredith's words haunt my memories.

"No, I'm not your boss. I'm just asking you not to." And I hope that's enough to deter him. I really can't offer any better response. I'd feel betrayed if he did, but I shouldn't. I shouldn't care at all.

He dragged me back into his gaze and regards me with great suspicion. "Why?" How the hell do I justify my request?

"Because I don't want you to." A simple, honest response for him to read way too far into. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact his fingers are still inside me and they're still moving. I have to speculate over whether his touch is making me delirious.

"Are you staking some sort of claim over me, Amelia?"

"Yes. No." I roll my eyes at him and desperately wish I had the mettle to launch myself at him. "Yes." I think he's genuinely surprised, and so am I.

His eyes burn into me for what seems like an eternity. I think he's searching my soul for answers and I wish he'd stop because I don't have them. I don't know what's going through my mind or why I don't want him to touch anyone else when I think he's an arrogant twat and I don't want him. Do I?

Big Dave pokes his head around the door and wolf whistles. "Sorry to interrupt this beautiful moment, guys, but you're needed for the sound check in ten."

I raise an eyebrow at CJ when the door closes and he shrugs at me."I can do ten minutes."

Before I know it, he's scooped me up in one arm while the other resumes a relentless assault of my g-spot, and placed me down on a chair. He kneels down and grazes his teeth across my thigh, ducking out of view under the hem my dress. What the—

"How am I supposed to stop you if I can't see you?" I feel a feather light flicker across my clit and whimper as the sensation ripples through my body like an electric shock.

"You don't." Is this some sort of milestone that I'm oblivious to? That he gets to dictate when this session ends? It kind of feels like it should be.

His tongue does strange things to me. My skin prickles and is hot and cold all at once as it swirls like a hurricane. I can feel the slightest pressure of his teeth as he sucks noisily and greedily on my sweet spot between the gentle lashes. He is determined and motivated towards his goal and his hot jagged breath reveals his desperation to please me.

A stronger nip on my hood is the final blow before I dig my nails into the arms of the chair and combust loudly and disgracefully.

"Fucking dick in a box!" He tends to grinding through my comedown before he withdraws his fingers from me and laps me up, every drop of me, before coming back into view and putting his fingers in his mouth with a groan of approval for my taste. Holy shit, that's hot.

"Lonely Island fan?" I run my fingers through my hair and nod begrudgingly. Of all the things to scream out at point of climax, it _had_ to be that. I need a ball gag.

Once again, I'm thrashing around the stage like a Tasmanian devil, but this time I'm not angry at CJ. I'm just pissed at myself and fucking confused. I just told a who guy I hate for ninety per cent of the time that he's not allowed to touch anyone else and he didn't tell me to jog on, but I don't take suitors or groupies. I'm not built for romance and commitment—it's foreign and terrifying.

I turn my back to the audience for a moment and catch the red headed whore making eyes at CJ. Plato glimpses the fury in my eyes and arches an inquisitive eyebrow, flicking his auburn dreadlocks in the direction of our backstage followers. Levi, CJ and Erek are standing in a line, arms crossed and watching me attentively. CJ is still wearing those damned Skull Candy headphones, but at least he's paying attention and strangely, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

So yeah, we reached a milestone.

# V

#

#

The red-headed skank has been hanging around like a bad smell since we came off stage, and it's all I can do to stop myself from flattening her. She spent the whole damn gig pouting and making exaggerated winks at the crowd. It was the most truly disgusting act of attention seeking we've ever witnessed.

She saunters on to the bus with a just-fucked flush, closely followed by CJ. I can't believe my eyes. My mouth drops open and I curl my tongue over my front teeth with an expression that says 'really?'. He reads me precisely and the colour slowly drains from his face as his eyes widen, and his head moves slowly side to side. He's distracted by his phone ringing and retreats to the safety of the steering wheel. Probably wise.

Meredith raises an eyebrow at our exchange and takes a swig from a bottle of Kopparberg. She also has a beautiful just fucked look about her but that's just her physical response to sold out gigs. "What was all that about?"

I tear the label off my bottle and stick it to the window. "You told me to tell him not to screw her, so I did."

She's genuinely surprised and slams her hand over the label to pull it from the glass. "I said 'if' you told him not to, baby doll. It wasn't an order. It wasn't even a request."

I shrug and raise my bottle to my lips. "I staked a claim." I'm showered with cider as she spits out her mouthful in shock. She looks totally appalled.

"You did _what_? You're really messing with that guy's head, baby doll. Usually I'd find this hilarious but he seems like a good guy. He could fix you." I scoff and roll my eyes at her, wiping her unpleasantly discarded beverage from my face. She's totally off her rocker. He's good with his hands but I'm pretty sure that's as far as the compatibility goes, and she should know better than anyone that I'm way beyond all hope of being 'fixed'. "You don't think you have any common ground. Let's see." She stands up and heads over the front of the bus, leaning against the driver's seat coolly, not really caring that he's mid-conversation. "Hey, CJ. Put your iPod on shuffle."

I jump up and watch with intense curiosity as he holds his phone to his shoulder and looks up at her with a frown. "Uh, why?"

"I want to see what comes up first out of everything on there. It's a test of luck as well as taste." He pulls a face and pulls his iPod out of his pocket. Meredith is right—this could make or break my interest in him. I wait apprehensively as he shakes his head at the screen and shrugs. Oh Jesus, it's the Spice Girls or something, I can tell.

Meredith turns to me with wide eyes as the iPod booms the opening riff of _Little Baby Swastikkka_ by Skunk Anansie. I match the mean spark in her eyes. "Oh no, he didn't."

"Oh yes, he did." Meredith grabs her bass in one hand, I grab my Stratocaster and we make a hasty exit, headed for the roof. We bounce around like idiots and the bus rocks dangerously under foot as we indulge in our own rendition of the song. Plato wanders out with his guitar and joins in with our insanity from the safety of the concrete.

Meredith shimmies into a bass solo and it never fails to bring me to my knees. I swear, her hands could be as skilled as CJ's, but that's not a path I'm planning to tread.

A crackle of manic applause breaks out behind us as we draw to a close; hangers on and hardened drinkers encircle us like vultures and they're cheering for an encore. We live for this. It is our panacea for negativity in all its forms. Besides, who are we to starve hungry dogs?

Our audience comprises largely of chavs and leering old men, and CJ is still our prized mushroom, so we're limited to something disgustingly popular. We do, of course, keep such songs on the back burner for these occasions—rooftop shenanigans are more of a common occurrence than you'd think. This seems like a good time to whip out a bit of Britney.

We sound fractured an incomplete without Erek, but even minus the knackered wrist, there's no way we could set his kit up fast enough when a performance like this has involved no premeditation or forethought.

It's not until I'm actually singing the words of _Toxic_ that I realise how oddly appropriate this song is. CJ is toxic and I'm addicted to him. He looks at me and I'm falling deep down into the deepest pits of hell where he rules over me like the Devil himself. The longer he's here, the more drawn into his domain I become. Okay, it's a bit of a hammed up expression, but I think I make my point that I'm crushing on him more than a little bit.

I make sure he can see me when we reach the outro. I wiggle my hips at him suggestively as I sing _I think I'm ready now_ and sing its echo over my shoulder to Meredith. Her eyebrow jerks up. She knows exactly what I'm getting at; ready to at least _consider_ a life of sin with that delicious bastard on terra firma, no matter how difficult it's going to be to beat down my own boundaries. It's a big deal.

We climb down and the whore has her hands all over CJ as she flicks through pictures she's just taken of us on her iPhone. Rather than looking completely impassive as ever, he's animated and interested with an arm around her back and his hand settled on her waist. Something uncomfortable bubbles deep down inside me as my eyes skim across them. For the first time in my life, I think I'm actually feeling jealous and I'm not exactly keen on that knot of embarrassment and shame tightening in my stomach.

"I hope you're not planning on putting those pictures on the Internet without a media release form." The fire in my voice is somewhat more apparent than I'd intended. I was aiming for innocuous elitism but it really has just come out catty.

She arches a drawn on red eyebrow at me and shakes her head, looking back down at her iPhone. "Fuck off, Marsh." Everyone around me simultaneously draws breath and I'm no longer in a car park, I'm in a playground.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask her with a half laugh.

"I said fuck off. I was in the middle of a conversation."

"And?" My hand is on my hip and it is _on_.

"I thought you white collared brats were born with good manners to match the silver spoons in your mouths." It's been a while since anyone called me 'white collared'. Yes, I was dealt a pretty lucky hand in life, my parents are stinking rich and successful, and I had an upper class up-bringing but that didn't mean that I was immune to shitty luck and the acquisition of emotional baggage. What is 'class', really?

"We're also brought up not to rain on others people's parades. And right now you're pissing all over mine."

She scoffs in disbelief and squares up to me. "You might have a bank account bigger than your fat ass, a record contract and a tour bus, but I clearly have bigger assets." She thrusts her chest out at me on her last word.

I look down suspiciously and snicker. "At least mine are real." Unusually perky thanks to Harley Medical, but definitely real.

"Mine are real."

I raise a hand and beckon Plato and Levi with crooked fingers. "How about a couple of impartial judges? Ladies?" A brief look of panic flashes across her face as the gays grab a hand full of each of us, comparing and scrutinising with much deliberation. Levi shakes his head and leans up to whisper in my ear. Oh dear, I'm actually a little embarrassed for her. "Do you want to do this the hard way or the easy way?"

"Isn't your way always the easy way?" A quip about my promiscuity. How very classy.

"All right, fine." I grab the neck of her t-shirt and ram my hand down into the depths of her bra, which feels cheap, to retrieve a chicken fillet. "Wow, this is embarrassing." Still bra-stuffing at her age and trying to pass them off as legit. Shameful behaviour.

Her cheeks go as red as her hair and she snatches her enhancement from my fist. "You know, you can't cock block everyone who touches him, Amelia. If he was down for manipulation, he'd be under me right now."

I lean as close to her as I can without touching her—don't want to catch anything, after all—and whisper in her ear, my eyes staring up at CJ and catching his attention.

"Fucking watch me, ho."

He's seen what I said and I'm glad. I want him to know that I have the power to pick him up and drop him as I see fit, and that he is not the one who controls this... this.

We stop by The Sheaf Island Wetherspoons for breakfast before we head off toward Leicester for tomorrow's gig and order a total feast. I can't even begin to express how good it feels to have a full English fry up in my stomach mid-tour, it's a far better energy boost than the copious amount of Monster we drink. We may well be keeping them in business.

I lean back against the wall and squint at the crazy cogs and gears decor above the bar. It's weird as hell and it's almost inspiring me to get a clockwork themed steampunk tattoo, if I actually have any free skin left, of course.

CJ's voice rouses me from my food coma. "So do you often dance on the tour bus roof?"

"Only if someone plays _Little Baby Swastikkka_. These girls are crazy." Erek answers for me and circles a finger around his ear with a whistle.

"Baby, you don't know the half of it." I lick my lips at him across the table and wink in the full knowledge that a similar gesture is how CJ ended up on the bus with us. He arches one of his brows at me and stretches out casually in his chair. "You got lucky having that pop up on your iPod."

"Lucky? How well did you look at my music collection?" He pulls his iPod Touch out of his pocket and slides it across the table towards me. "Did you just zone in on the drum and bass that my sister put on there to wind me up?" Meredith laughs at my expense—she knows that's exactly what I did. Boy, is my face red. I must find some way to redeem myself.

"Why don't you just delete it?"

"Guilty pleasure, babe. You'd know all about those." What a twat. How can someone who looks at me so intensely and deeply when we're alone be so juvenile in a crowd? I shake my head and have a better look through his music collection. Oh great, so he's hot, has a Giger tattoo, is a good driver, smart, good with his hands, good with his mouth, loyal and has good taste in music. I'm in way over my head here—the pros far outweigh the cons. I don't stand a cat's chance in hell of resisting him.

I slide it back over the table and narrow my eyes. "So come on, which is your favourite track on your whole iPod?" His eyes flicker while he scrolls through and presses play. I'm floored to hear my own voice, and by the looks on their faces, so are the guys. It's one of our earlier tracks and the closest thing to a ballad I ever wrote. " _Meet Me Halfway_ , seriously?" He nods slightly and stares down at the iPod. I can see all of the depth and thought he exercises when he hears my song swimming around in his eyes. What hidden meaning has he discovered? Do I want to know?

"Seriously. You can tell that girl is really crushed by her inability to let people in, but she sings it so practically like it's all she knows. I can relate." Holy shit, he's got me pegged from a four minute track. The whole basis of that song was about how rigidly I had to lie about just how fucked up my teens left me and how difficult it is to ignore the fears and insecurities that were left behind. There's always one person in your life who sets a standard and nobody will ever match up to them, even if they did persistently abuse your trust and revel in leaving you both physically and mentally damaged.

"This is really your favourite?" He catches me off guard with those eyes and narrows them ever so slightly, like he has a secret that he's reluctant to reveal.

"Well, second favourite." We all exchange confused glances as we hear ourselves playing _Weak_ by Skunk Anansie.

"How the hell do you have this recording? It was only ever played once, live in a radio interview in Atlanta."

He studies me carefully, examining my reaction with uncertainly and clearly questioning how I'm so clued in. "If you like something enough, you do anything you have to in order to get it." Profound. "This is one amazing band playing something amazing by another amazing band and making it their own. It's another case of her tearing herself open and screaming out to be heard. I'd give my left nut to hear it live—it would make my life." So I guess it's amazing. He seems to get way too much of a kick about me venting my pain through music.

"That could be arranged." Levi's knee jolts up and hits the table as a result of Meredith giving him a swift and sharp kick in the shin.

"Ignore the queen, he's talking out of his overused arsehole."

CJ holds out his hand without looking at me. "Show me yours."

I raise my eyebrows and nurse a canine with my tongue. "Here?"

"Your iPod. Jeez, girl, get your mind out of the gutter." _But I like having my mind in the gutter_. I chew on the side of my cheek for a moment before begrudgingly surrendering my iPod. I'm treated to a jubilant grin before he sets to scrutinising my music library.

His face displays a variety of emotions as he scrolls through; shock, surprise, approval, and then confusion. "I never had you down as a Florence and The Machine kind of girl."

"Guilty pleasure." I narrow my eyes at him sardonically and refill my coffee cup. If he wants a battle of wits as well as a battle of wills, he'll damn well get one.

"Obviously not her guiltiest." Plato smirks next to me, and he and Levi mockingly mimic acts of a sexual nature. "I'm sure that you'll end up in a loving tryst like me and my bitch here."

I scoff into my cup. "Loving tryst? Sister, please, I've caught you two in the act and it's savage. You're the reason why I won't take it up the shitter." The table erupts into hysterical laughter and I think we're all genuinely surprised that it's me who's cracked a funny. By no stretch of the imagination am I a comedienne.

"Oh, honey bee, you're just jealous." Plato grins at me attentively and scoops my hair around my neck to braid it. He's totally like a big sister.

"Jealous of your pink sock? I don't think so, Marky."

"Marky?"

We all turn, raised brows, to CJ and giggle. "Marky—Marcus. You didn't seriously think that his name is Plato?" He shrugs off his embarrassment and laughs with us. What a good sport.

"I know a guy whose parents seriously named him Thor so anything is possible."

Meredith gapes at him, mouth ajar. "Seriously? That is so fucking cool."

"Nah, it's not. He's a total jeb end. But I'm curious, why Plato?"

"He's a philosopher. He has an MD."

CJ blinks at me and shakes his head slowly, the cogs are grinding furiously, I can tell. "I thought you were all psychologists."

"We are." He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms with a pout. I just want to reach over and bite that lip, but that would be pushing my boundaries way too far.

"Do you all have two degrees?"

Meredith raises her hand and smiles helplessly. "English Literature and Psychology."

Levi shrugs and raises his hand, too. "Engineering and Psychology." Weird mix, right? I haven't figured that one out yet.

We all glance at Erek and coo apologetically. He's the only one of us with no qualifications. CJ holds a hand out to him and Erek grasps it firmly.

"Don't worry man, I feel your pain."

I watch CJ undress as we all turn in for the night on the top level of the bus. He moves with surprising fluidity as he strips. The lights from outside flood in and reflect off his perfectly toned torso. Every muscle in his body ripples exquisitely as he meticulously folds his clothes into a pile at the end of his bed and stretches.

Meredith leans over and taps me on the shoulder. "Either stop perving or do it discretely." She winks and coughs falsely. "Hey, CJ, seeing as you're the only one not already tucked in, would you mind doing the curtains?"

He rolls his eyes and reluctantly does a circuit of the windows. I see Meredith lick her lips as we get our first real view of him from behind. That HR Giger tattoo looms at us menacingly and taunts my senses. I want to touch it, to run my tongue across it and taste his salty skin. I want to run my nails across it and claw my way inside him so he can never escape. Wild images of me digging my fingers into his muscles in the throes of ecstasy plague my mind, and I'm entranced and hungry for him.

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh what?" I don't turn my gaze away from CJ as he retreats between his sheets and closes his eyes, and I'm crippled by my disappointment that he doesn't sleep in the nude.

"I've seen that look in your eyes only once before. You've got it bad."

"Shut up, Meredith."

CJ opens his eyes and stares at me, trapping me in his gaze in that way he does. "It's rude to stare, Amelia." He winks and rolls away from me. My original distaste for him has gone beyond the realms of hatred and evolved into something primal and dangerous. He switches me on and he indulges my requests. He is obedient and submissive—mine to mould. I have to have him.

# VI

#

#

Things have been weird on the bus since Sheffield. I don't think it's a bad weird, there's just some kind of crazy perpetual calmness cloaking all of us. I've lost all inclination to display my innate bitchiness for three days. I'm sedate, pacified. I'm...

"Oh my god, I'm fucking furious!" My jaw hits the table as I scan the gossip columns on the iPad and see my name. I turn it around to Meredith and she reads the first few lines of the article aloud.

" 'Amelia Marsh is devoid of a personality' says session musician. Drummer, Kerry Walker of Sheffield, calls gigging with The Bystander Effect one of the most inane experiences of her career— singer Amelia Marsh is bitchy, selfish, narrow minded and stupidly possessive over her friends. 'I was barely allowed to engage in conversation with the band, the roadies or even their bus driver, CJ. He's single and I'm single but he was given orders not to touch me. Every friendship I tried to forge was shot down at the starting blocks; it's quite clear that she was intimidated by my looks'." We all erupt into hysterical laughter at that last line. I've never been intimidated by the aesthetics of another woman in my life. "Are you really furious because she sold this?"

I raise an eyebrow and shake my head at Mer. "Bitch please, I live for trash pieces. I'm furious because she's named and shamed." I furrow my brow and do a search for the red haired whore's Twitter screen name.

"What are you doing?" Plato leans over my shoulder and frowns at my phone.

"Making an example of her. Hey, CJ, what did you think of that session drummer in Sheffield?"

The music from his iPod quietens when he hears my voice. "Kerry? Massive whore. Woman couldn't take no for an answer."

I smirk and log into Twitter. I never log into Twitter.

@OfficialAmeliaMarsh Love waking up to insults from a chick whose stench of desperation is worse than her drumming. Cheers for the free publicity @kezzawdrums

There's an immediate reply and it makes us howl.

@kezzawdrums @OfficialAmeliaMarsh at least I'm not scared of big dicks #oopsdidisaythatoutloud

@OfficialAmeliaMarsh @kezzawdrums Well that's obviously shit, isn't it love? I'm not scared of you for a start #biggestdickiveeverseen

@kezzawdrums @OfficialAmeliaMarsh shouldn't you be fucking a bus driver?

@OfficialAmeliaMarsh Jealous that you didn't get a shoo in? #dontquityourdayjob

"You do realise what you've just achieved by not denying it?" Meredith shakes her head and scrolls through Twitter to watch the constantly growing list of tweets for the #amelialovesbigdick hash tag. I'm trending, oh goody gumdrops. "Your phone is going to ring in five, four, three, two..." And right on cue, there's my phone. "You gonna answer that?"

"Nope. I'm gonna go kick it up front." I'm in way too much of a good mood to deal with Chase today.

I mosey up to the driver's seat and sit myself down next to CJ, peeking over at his iPod. He's listening to bloody Pendulum but at least he's had the decency to plug in his headphones. Ah, I don't want to disturb him. I stand up and head back to the guys but something is holding me back—his hand on my thigh.

"Going somewhere?"

"Uh..."

He glances up at me quickly and raises an eyebrow. "You came here for a reason, right? What's eating you?" _Specifically? You, dumb shit, and quite capably, too._

"Nothing, relax. Thought I'd keep you company but you're occupied. No big." I pat him on the shoulder and push his hand off my leg, but he grabs it again. _Know your limits, Pearce._

"Sit." And I do. What the hell, that's not right. "About Kerry." Oh god, here we go. "I wouldn't have slept with her out of principle. I don't do sex without intimacy."

I kick my legs up onto the dashboard and laugh. "Really, how's that working out for you?"

"Pretty well actually." Pretty well? Sounds like hell to me.

"So how do you get off?" He gives me a look that says I may have crossed some sort of invisible line, but to be fair, I wouldn't be impressed if he started asking me about my wanking schedule either.

"I don't. I'm a giver, not a taker." Wow. I smell bullshit—no man gives head without the intention of reclaiming the favour.

"Okay..." I lower my legs back to ground level and stand up.

"Sit."

"What am I, a dog?"

"Please." I sit myself back down wearily and thank god that he's driving so I don't have to suffer those green eyes burning me to a crisp. "What is this, Amelia?"

I look around at our surroundings and I don't have a damn clue what he's talking about. "A tour bus?"

"Don't play dumb." This is the worst game of I spy ever. How long until I can ask for a clue?

I reply with a bewildered laugh. "I'm not. I don't know what 'this' is."

"Yeah, me either." Great, now he's become all cryptic. This is stress that I don't need, I've already spent far too much of my life being afraid to put a toe out of line, I won't do it again.

I force my exit past his grasp this time and climb into a bunk to hide. This situation has gotten way out of hand—my life is already way too complicated without him becoming all mercurial. A decision has to be made over whether he stays or goes, and soon.

The bus is still when I wake up and the guys are all sat at the table chatting quietly. It looks like they're giving CJ a hard time. Maybe they can make the decision for me. I don't give away that I'm awake and strain my ears to listen in.

"You can't leave, CJ."

"Don't worry, man. I won't leave you stranded. I'll wait until you find a new driver." Oh crap, he's walking away. Wait, why does that bother me?

"No I mean you can't leave! Amelia would be torn up." _Excuse me?_

"Nah, she's not interested."

I see Meredith rub her eyes and shake her head in exasperation. "She's interested, CJ, but the fact that she is scares her shitless. She puts up a cold front to put you off."

I pull my phone from my pocket and send her a one worded text message.

Judas.

I don't need my neuroses openly spouting to an outsider. Her phone buzzes on the table and I watch her go rigid when she reads it.

"Something wrong, Mer?"

She narrows her eyes and types out a reply quickly. "No, nothing wrong. Just one of Domino's spam texts."

"I didn't get a spam text fro—" She stamps on Plato's foot to silence him.

Tell him that you don't want him to go.

I lean up on my elbows and absorb every inch of CJ, from his killer eyes down to his DC trainers. He realises that I'm looking at him and catches me in his gaze again, and it's like I'm hypnotised. With that apathetic stare I'm a slave to his will—I crave his touch and his attention. I want him to push me past all my emotional limits and tear me to shreds. I want him to ruin me.

Meredith looks at me in horror; she's seen this face before. "Baby doll?"

I ignore her and address CJ directly. "Do you want to go?" I see something, I don't know what, cast across his eyes. I don't know if it's doubt or hatred. It's probably better if he does go.

"No."

The room is completely silent and all eyes are on me, awaiting my judgement. When there is an important decision to be made, it's invariably me who is deemed responsible for it. "Then don't." As far as I'm concerned, that should be the end of the conversation.

I need to get my head straight and I know exactly where that process begins. "I need a guitar and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Anyone up for a hotel tonight?" My suggestion is met with a howl of approval. No surprises there.

The Holiday Inn staff look terrified of us. It's a refreshing kick after nearly three weeks of being looked at like I'm kitteny soft. It doesn't take an awful lot of persuading to get six rooms, probably because they fear for their safety. Big Dave and Louise are happy to stay on the bus and guard our gear. I suspect something illicit may be at hand—they seem way too happy to bunk up together.

Meredith frowns at me as I hand over my credit card. "Six rooms?"

"Uh, yes?" I sign the receipt and lean back across the reception desk. "Me, you, Plato and Levi, Erek and CJ. Sorry lover, did you want to bunk up? You know I like to starfish."

"You booked a room for CJ?" I'm not even slightly sure why she's shocked.

"He spends all day driving, give the guy a break." I realise that my unexpected act of compassion and generosity may be rousing some suspicion. I pass everyone their room keys and lead the way, locking myself in my room with a do not disturb sign and a guitar. There's a lot of music brewing in me, I think there are some new songs in there somewhere.

I get a text from Meredith asking me to head down to the bar for a blow out before tomorrow's Peterborough gig. I'm already completely sauced but it's an offer I just can't refuse. I get down there and Louise has emerged at the first sniff of alcohol, everyone else in the bar looks scared shitless and we think it's hilarious.

I don't understand why tattoos are so intimidating. I don't have one single skull or anything anti-semitic on my skin. If I had something on show that might suggest that I have, at some point, been jail bait, I might understand it.

I throw myself down on Meredith's lap and wink at her. It's a tactical move, and it works. Her frustration over this crappy CJ situation dissolves, but that doesn't mean I'm not in for another lecture.

"That guy is so confused, baby doll." He's not the only one. "You need to get your head straight or cut him loose. And you need to do it before London."

"Why London?"

She raises an eyebrow and knocks back her glass of Jack and Coke. "Because you have the interview with Chase, and if this CJ thing is something you want to pursue, you have to dish the dirt to _RAE_."

I laugh and shake my head. There is no way in hell I'm revealing my story to the media. "I do not fucking think so."

She tuts and bucks me off her lap. "It'll be a lot worse coming from Chase. You have to decide, but don't mess CJ around in the process. Baby steps, Ams, just take baby steps. And that first baby step is sitting at that bar and talking to the guy who has been rejecting chicks all night." Hmm all right, I'm certainly not responsible for his repression tonight. I'm not exactly keen on my deadline though.

CJ's looking pretty damned delicious in a skinny tee and faded denim baggies. His hair is getting to a length where it's starting to cover one of his eyes but surprisingly, that doesn't soften the blow of his glare. He looks almost lost; he's not that far from home but we're all relative strangers. Jeez, my mood swings are the last thing he needs.

I hike myself up on a stool next to him and stare at him for as long as I can before he tries to talk to me. Turns out that it's a pretty long time because he's purposely avoiding eye contact. I have no idea why but I feel wounded and compelled to invoke a reaction, I just don't have the faintest idea how. Despite my reputation as a man-eater, I've never actually had to approach a man to pursue anything meaningful.

I flinch as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I have a message. From Erek? Pulling advice from the most sex starved person on the bus?

Touch him. Bump against him.

I look over my shoulder at him and he's staring right at me. I mouth 'what?' and he holds his hands up, stepping back from the conversation. Hell, anything is worth a shot.

I raise a hand to summon a bartender and place it back down on the bar next to CJ's arm, barely making contact. "Jack and Coke, please." My fingers inch across and drum across his inner wrist. I feel every hair on his skin stand on end at my touch. _That's how you make_ me _feel_.

He grabs my hand and glares at me with his scalding green eyes, and I'm like a moth to a flame. "Don't do that unless you mean it." I'm completely taken aback and pull my hand from his. He looks really angry at me and I want the core of the earth to open up and devour me, singeing my skin and cremating me until there's nothing left.

"I only touched you." I grab my drink from the bar and march away. I've seen that look before, many years ago, and it never evokes good memories. If ever I needed an emotional trigger, it would come at the hands of the look that has always been attached to the phrase 'just try it and I'll burn you again'.

Plato and Levi grab me by the arms and spin me around, completely mortified by the tears in my eyes. "What the hell happened, honey bee?"

I wipe my face and shake my head. "Baby steps. I touched his arm and he went off at me." Levi cups my face in his hands and kisses my nose, barely respecting my personal boundaries. "I know what you're doing, Levi."

"Breaking you in, Mimi."

"On the nose isn't the same." He puts a hand on my shoulders and urges me back in the direction of the bar.

"He knows exactly what he's doing, Mimi—he's doing what you've been doing to him. He's testing you, and until you stop trying to test each other, you'll never move forward." He cocks his head in that bitch queen way he does and gives me one last shove into the bar. He does it with more force than intended and claps his hand to his mouth as I trip backward and smack the back of my head on the bar, tumbling down onto the floor. I wobble a little as the stars in my eyes render me temporarily blind. "Jesus, Mimi! Are you alright?"

I clutch the back of my head and laugh. "Fucking ouch." I look up and realise that CJ is standing over me with a hand extended, so I grab it begrudgingly and let him pull me back to my feet. Now that is progress. Any other time, I'd just get up by myself.

Meredith has seen and she knows this is a big deal; she's spent our entire lives watching me refuse to let anyone help me and building up my defences. In that small act of accepting help I have laid myself bare for the world to see that there is something about this boy crawling under my skin and I can't get him out. I can't offer him my heart and soul on a silver platter, but I can extend tiny tidbits to him on a trial basis, and hope that he realises that he's got me hooked like a prize salmon and decides to stick me up on a plaque instead of throwing me back or frying me. It's too painful to plunge in head first, and he can never know why.

He lifts me back onto my stool next to him and orders me a fresh drink. Another first; I don't let people buy me drinks. Drinks come with risks and promises. "Sorry."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "For?" Because I don't really have an answer, I down the entire glassful and order another without wincing. "You can put it away, girl."

"Five years of touring will do that to you." I am a seasoned drinker.

"Five years?"

"Yup," I scratch an invisible spot on the bars top, "you should do a Google search once in a while." Or not.

"I'll bear that in mind." He still doesn't seem like he wants to talk to me and I'm not going to force another awkward conversation like I did in McDonalds. So I hop down from my stool with my drink and he grabs my hand, sending a wave of something through my blood. What is it? Desire—I want him, like I've never wanted anything more in my life. It's a feeling that I haven't felt in years and it puts the fear of God in me.

I gape at him and shake my head in disbelief as the feeling floods back to my weakened knees. "What are you doing to me?"

He cocks his head with a raised eyebrow and pushes me back onto the stool. "Stopping you from running away from another conversation." Not what I meant and he's still holding my hand.

"Uh... You're killing me here. I know what that hand can do and frankly I'm a little turned on." He falters at my comment and releases his grip. "I didn't say you had to let go." Why do I get the feeling that I just shot myself in the foot? Is his willingness to finger-fuck me restricted only to gigs?

"Are you hammered?"

"Extremely."

"Then you don't know what you're saying." Obviously not, or I'd know what I did wrong. I neck my drink and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I don't need awkward shits like him throwing my honesty back in my face—I would tell no other man that I was hot for him.

"Forget it. There's plenty of guys out there looking to make it with a rockstar, CJ; you're nothing special. Why don't you just fuck off back to Birmingham?" I take a weak step forward and slap his hand away when he jumps up to help steady me. "Don't touch me again."

I've ignored a lot of phone calls and messages in the past couple of hours, largely due to the fact that I am so drunk that I can't see a damn thing. I finally manage to find my phone as it rings again but there is no way I can see who's calling.

"Hello?" My mouth is muffled by the quilt I'm face down and spread eagled across.

"Amelia! I've got her, guys. Where the hell are you?" Meredith sounds strangely relieved.

"In my room, I hope. Hang on." I lift my face from the quilt and squint. I see my guitar—definitely in my room. "Yup, in my room."

"We've been hammering your door down for an hour, baby doll. Why haven't you been answering?" Jeez, Jack Daniels is lethal.

"I honestly didn't hear you. What's the panic?"

"CJ says he's going home tomorrow." Pfft, good.

"Awesome." I collapse face first back into the quilt.

Meredith's tone drops from relief to irritation. " _So you_ did _tell him to go."_

"Yup. I throw the guy a bone and he spits a dinosaur back at me." Momentary silence.

"What does that mean?"

"I... have no idea. Blacking out now." I'm vaguely aware of Meredith shouting down the phone at me as everything fades into a fuzzy whiskey induced darkness.

The next thing I remember is that I'm staring into acid green eyes and pieces of me are being slotted together like a jigsaw. The hands that are working me back into a functional human being are warm and gentle.

CJ steps back and admires his masterpiece. Of course, it would be him who can put me back together. I can't control my own body but I can open my mouth and say 'stop'. He disintegrates into ashes and blows away in the breeze.

My eyes shoot open and I jump in my bed like its bitten me. I'm not face down anymore and someone has been in, stripped me down to my underwear and tucked me under the covers. I can barely focus but I can feel something on my pillow. A fucking stage pass.

I grab my phone and struggle to find my way through my contact list to CJ's number. And, of course, his phone is off. Crap. I grab the hotel room phone and dial down to reception.

"Hi, it's Amelia Marsh. Which room is Caspian Pearce in?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Marsh, I'm not at liberty to divulge that information." What? What an idiot, he knows we all came together.

"I'm paying for his fucking room. If you don't tell me, I'll just knock on every god damn door in here until I find him."

" _Room 126."_ Pompous prick.

He's five doors down, good. I grab my room key and head down the corridor to pound on his door. I don't care if I cause a commotion and I definitely don't care that I'm only in my underwear. I want this body to be the first thing he sees.

It takes him a good few minutes to open the door, bleary eyed and disorientated. And in his underwear. Oh Jesus, that really is an amazing body. He crosses his arms at me, looking thoroughly unimpressed by my appearance. Not a good start. "What the hell are you doing here, Amelia? It's three in the morning." It is? Oops.

I stop in my tracks and stare blankly into space. "I... I don't know." What _am_ I doing here? I don't even know, I just know that I had to be with him. Ah hell.

He sighs and pushes the door to close it. "I'm not in the mood for this." I jam my bare foot between the door and the frame and yelp as it's trapped. "Jesus, Amelia!"

I'm paralysed by the pain and lean my head against the wall next to the door. "It was worth it," I gasp through gritted teeth and pull my foot loose.

"For god's sake, if it was that important, you should have just said. Come in, bloody hell." I limp into the room and flop down his bed. I am not doing well for injuries today, and this one has completely distracted me from whatever it was I came here to do. What _did_ I come here to do?

He kneels down and takes my injured foot in his hands. "This is going to bruise, you know."

"Frankly, I couldn't give a shit right now." He looks up at me and lowers my foot, leaning his arms on my legs. His bare flesh on mine feels divine. I need him.

"Fuck me, CJ." Wow, that was not even slightly tactically worded but hey ho.

He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "No, Amelia." What the hell? I've never been rejected in my life.

"What? Why?" I can't hide the hurt in my voice. The thought that he doesn't want me is crippling me, largely through embarrassment that I've just thrown myself at him.

He clambers up from the floor and sits down on the bed next to me. "Even if you hadn't told me to not touch you again, I told you, I don't do sex without intimacy and—" He stops mid-sentence and scruffs up his hair.

"And?"

"And I'm afraid of hurting you."

"Emotionally or physically?" I scoff and turn to look at him. He looks deadly serious. Uh oh.

"Both." I can sort of comprehend why he might presume that he'd cause some emotional damage but physical? What a crock. Unless he's into something dodgy. There's a path I'm not exactly keen to travel again.

I let my eyes travel over his body and remember that nightmare. There is no way I can let him go, not when he can affect me the way he does. I drop down to the floor.

"What are you doing?" What _am_ I doing?!

"You do strange things to me, CJ. You make me hate you but I can't let you go. You do so much for us and we give nothing in return. So, I'm giving something in return now." His eyes widen at me as I push his shoulders down onto the bed and toy with the waistband of his CK boxers.

"Amelia, no."

"Are you seriously turning me down?" He looks completely torn for a moment and part of him actually looks like he's about to reject me. I'm disturbed by how much that bothers me.

"No, but—" I bite my lip and pull the boxers off in a single move. My teeth release my lip and my jaw drops. Holy shit, that has to be a good ten inches. It's always the quiet ones.

"I was trying to warn you." Ah I see. Physical hurt.

I frown slightly and put a hand on my hip. "Are you even hard?"

"No, but I've had a permanent semi since you licked your damn lips at me in uni."

I try and stifle the urge to smile, holding out my hand. "Give me your phone."

CJ blanches and covers his modesty with his hands. "Like hell are you taking a picture!"

"No, stupid. I want to call LA so they can let Ron Jeremy know you stole his penis."

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms behind his head, showcasing every muscle in his body. "You have no idea how many times I heard that joke in the changing rooms at school." I think it's safe to assume that the ice is well and truly broken and this evening's argument is a distant memory. "I have an early train, Amelia." Or not.

I wilt a little and give him the smallest of pouts. "Don't go."

"You can't keep telling me to stay and to go—you're toying with my emotions. I like you _a lot_ and it feels like you're laughing at me." I blink at him guiltily. He's right, obviously. I'm selfish and stupid, and I have to do a lot of brushing up on my people skills. I need to make a decision and stick with it, even if I don't really trust my own judgement where this man is concerned.

I stand up and lean over him, kissing his chest between his pecks and head down slowly, inch by inch, never taking my eyes off his. "Stop." I can't stand the sound of that solitary word after he blew away.

"Stop looking at me." He can't, and I'm elated to have the same power over him that he has over me. He's as weak as I am, and he doesn't have control.

"Amelia," he's warning me, "if you do this, it changes everything."

"Why?"

"Because you'll push me over the edge of just wanting to be around you and into staking a claim." My mouth hovers over his stomach for a moment before I start to kiss and bite his skin. I made my claim of him, but his doing the same _would_ change a lot.

"You'd want me to break my NBNG rule?"

"NB—"

"No boyfriends, no groupies."

His eyes flicker hopefully as I get ever nearer to my destination. "Would you?"

Would I? For the first time in years, I'm being egged on by a little voice in the back of my mind telling me to take a risk—the voice that usually keeps me so restrained and unwilling to venture out of my tightly enclosed comfort zone. _Try it on, see how it fits. You don't have to let him in and relinquish control. You can walk away at any time._

I wink at him and run my tongue down the length of his shaft. "Holy shit." His head drops down to the bed so I stop. "You're stopping there?" The man who couldn't discourage me urgently enough is begging for more.

I shake my head and shrug with a laugh. "You're not looking at me."

He gives me one of his annoying impassive blinks and sits up, leaning back on his arms. "I'm looking at you now. You get one more chance to decide that this is a bad idea." He doesn't realise just how much I tend to care for 'bad ideas'. I flick my tongue over his head and lick my lips before sliding my mouth down around him. His guttural groan of pleasure is superb and his eyes flicker with lust and relief. He has me, and now he knows it.

I test my limits of his length and end up feeling pretty inadequate. If I get past my gag reflex, I do have an oesophageal sphincter. I take a deep breath and grip the base of him, easing him down my throat with a muffled purr of approval. To my amazement, I reach my hand and the glimmer of ecstasy in those eyes tells me that I can cross my limit of resistance and take the full extent of him.

No matter how much I wince or struggle, he isn't turned off, because he knows the implications of what I'm extending with this selfless act. I have got to be doing some serious damage to my vocal cords but it's worth it for that look on his face and the knowledge of this power I possess.

Once I've taken him once I can do it again and again, increasing the speed and twisting my head so he hits every corner of my mouth and throat- still staring at him, revelling in his pleasure. My hands take over the most of the work at his base so I can look at him better, completely intoxicated by how mighty I feel for seeing those cheeks flush crimson through his heightening bliss.

I feel a suggestive twitch and slide myself away slowly, grazing him with my teeth as his body shudders from his climax. My hand milks him gently until he's empty and my nose nuzzles his inner thigh as he collapses backwards, limp, breathless, and looking as though I've removed a twenty ton weight from his shoulders.

I stand up and wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb and put it in my mouth. He tastes magnificent. I raise an eyebrow and nod nonchalantly. "Not bad, Pearce." I look very calm and collected on the outside, but inside I'm doing backflips and playing air guitar. I have never felt inclined to willingly perform fellatio before and I'm more than a little pleased with its success.

"Not bad yourself, Marsh." He stands up and brushes my cheek with his fingers and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. "But I warned you what would happen if you did that."

"I know." I stiffen with determination. I know that I can be strong enough to keep control this time. "Go ahead, stake your claim."

But I don't have the strength I thought. The whole room around me shifts into darkness and I lose focus as his proximity nears, and I can feel his breath on my mouth. My legs collapse underneath me, my eyes are shut tight and I close my arms over my head to stop the roof from breaking down and crushing me.

Inside I am vulnerable, weak and afraid. On the outside I'm just a pathetic, hyperventilating wreck on the floor.

# VII

#

#

I am only vaguely aware of the bed underneath me and a perpetual warmth cloaking me, rousing me from the darkness. For a minute, I wonder if I've died or if my life has really been one big nightmare that I'm only just waking from. This kind of comfort has been absent for so long. Maybe it's Dad.

"Amelia, relax." I wrench my eyes open to find CJ looking down at me with confusion and concern written all over his face. Oh Jesus, not _that_ look. I'm sick of _that_ look. "Hey, welcome back." I try to move away but his arms are around me and gripping me in a bear hug. This was the warmth that I felt. "You're not going anywhere, you're staying right here."

Oh crap, this is embarrassing. "CJ, I—"

"Relax, girl. My sister is claustrophobic; I know a panic attack when I see one. Was it me?" I shuffle awkwardly and try and push his arms off me. Yes, it was him, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him embarrass me again. "Stop it. I'm stronger than you."

"The hell you are!" He traps both of my hands in one of his. Fine, point proven.

"Come on, girl. Tell me what's wrong."

My hands fist and tense defensively. "You'll think I'm a freak." Because I am, obviously. If I think I'm a freak, of course he will, too.

He releases my hands and runs his fingers down my arm. The touch makes me shiver and I'm doing my best not to make eye contact. I don't know that I won't humiliate myself further by crying.

"After a blowjob like that, I can handle anything. Just be honest with me." He loosens his grasp around me and strokes my back. Well, he's already doing better than Chase did, and he does have an early train if he wants to do one. There is a real sincerity in his eyes and I think that I can trust him not to abuse this information. He just has that... trustworthy look about him.

"Philematophobia."

"Your fear of big dicks." I cock my head at him with a limited degree of amusement. I sort of appreciate him making light of the situation but I would quite like to be taken seriously, too.

"Obviously not. It's a fear of... Well, bearing in mind most phobias are irrational."

"Spit it out."

I rub my temples and sigh at him. "Kissing, Caspian. It's a fear of kissing."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't look even remotely phased. How can he seriously be looking at me like I just told him that it's just a fear of spiders or needles? Ugh, needles. Blacking out again now...

His tone is light when he replies, "Okay." That wasn't the reaction I expected. "Can I ask why?"

"You can ask but it won't make sense."

"Try me." I'm sort of at a loss—nobody has ever asked why, not even Meredith. My fear has always just been known and accepted, or not accepted and judged harshly in Chase's case.

"I don't kiss for the same reason prostitutes don't kiss; it's too intimate. Sex is primal, necessary and enjoyable but kissing has no function. It's just a form of expression—giving yourself to someone completely and totally, inviting them to settle down inside you and giving them the opportunity to destroy you. Down 'there' is not the entrance to my soul, everything up here—" I wave a hand at my face, "—this is. The idea of someone having that kind of power over me is terrifying, so if I don't open myself up I can't get broken down. I have to have total control over my life and my fate. An insecurity has pretty much just escalated and gotten out of hand." It doesn't really explain the fear but CJ stares at me blankly for a moment, like he's processing my words carefully.

"I thought you said that it wouldn't make sense."

"It doesn't."

He shakes his head and pulls me back into his arms. "Yes, it does. But I meant what I said. I don't do sex without intimacy. I need that connection to you. And that means that you'll have to get to know me and learn to trust me."

I stare up at him with a frown. How is he so comfortable with this and how can he ask so much of me? I haven't known him long enough for him to make any demands. Have I? "Doesn't this bother you?"

He tugs the covers from underneath us and tucks me into bed, curling up behind me and kissing my shoulder. My skin prickles and my breath hitches, and I pray that he goes no further. "Does that bother you?"

I exhale and grasp his hand. "No." But only because it's him. I turn onto my back and look up at him. He's still slightly red faced and a little doe eyed, and seems happy enough.

He blows in my face gently and grins. "You just tell me if I cross a line." I think we're a little past that.

I reach up timidly and sweep the hair out of his eyes. They sparkle down at me warmly and he grabs my hand to kiss my knuckles. Jeez, he's going to push me right up to breaking point, I can tell. "Are you still going home?"

He rolls his eyes at me and nestles his face in the crook of my neck. "Not unless you were planning on coming with me."

I'm woken a few hours later by a persistent hammering on the door and Meredith's voice yelling. "CJ, open the damn door, we have a problem." I roll onto my back, hung over and dazed, and bump into another person, and he's grinning at me.

"S'up, girl." He winks and curls an arm around me.

"CJ, we know you didn't sign out this morning. Amelia has vanished."

"Do you want me to get rid of them?" I wrinkle my nose and shake my head, returning his grin. I've never actually woken up next to a man before, and if this is how it feels, I'm more than willing to replicate the experience frequently.

"Nah."

"CJ, I will go and get the god damn key for this door. Erek, go get the key." We settle down under the sheets and try to doze face to face, a task made difficult by the walking bitch fit outside. There is the permanent hint of a smile across his lips and it's contagious. He looks as though he's won the grand prize at some insane universal contest and I'm inclined to agree. He doesn't have my total trust, not yet, but my willingness to open up just fractionally is probably the biggest gift I could bestow upon anyone, and his acceptance of my whole heap of crazy is the biggest honour he could offer in return.

Meredith hurtles through the door, closely followed by Plato, Levi, Erek, Louise and Big Dave. They all gasp and whoop. Well, Dave doesn't, this is old news to that pervertism aficionado. Naturally, they're going to assume that the night amounted to nothing more than wild, soulless, sheet shredding sex, but I think this may just have been better.

Ah, there again, CJ has just gotten up and brazenly walked past them into the bathroom wearing nothing but his pants and morning wood. Maybe I _would_ have preferred my soul searching and blowjob to have come with a side order of penetration. Damn it.

I sit up and shake my head at them critically. "Honestly, you guys. Some of us are trying to sleep."

I lean my face down on the table when we're back on the bus. I am hanging like a thief from the gallows after my bender last night and it shows. I'm puffy eyed and pasty with greasy hair and motion sickness. Meredith puts a coffee down next to my head and the aroma tugs at my nausea. She's mulling over my brief review of my night with CJ and I can see it in her eyes that she's baffled.

"You know, you may actually have to consider the idea that he initiated that first conversation in the library with the intention of making you his girlfriend."

I blink up at her complacently. "No, I don't." I'm feeling remarkably vulnerable after my moment of uncharacteristic honesty and crippled by regret. I should not have let my guard down, I should not have allowed myself to be so affected by a nightmare, I should—

CJ strolls onto the bus in cut-off jeans, DC trainers, a Korn t-shirt and those green eyes twinkling. He smiles only slightly and extremely awkwardly before he stalks off into the bathroom and I know in that instant that I've lost him. He's had time to think and it's too much. My fears and limitations are too much for him to take and he's lost interest. Only once in my life have I ever felt so wounded.

This unfamiliar crushing in my chest envelopes me in an all-encompassing misery and I'm drowning in my misplaced faith and affection. I look up at Meredith and her mouth is moving but I can't hear the words. She's shaking me by the shoulders and I feel nothing. I am numb and alone, like I'm mourning. Her mouth keeps moving but there is nothing for me to react to, she's furious and screaming at me, I think.

Something pulls me up and I hang as limp as a marionette as my face is grabbed and forced to stare into two celadon beacons.

"Amelia, come on!" I feel two thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Come on girl, I know you're in there."

My forehead creases into a light frown. "What?" I feel a little dopey and light headed, like drunkenness has consumed me anew.

"Oh thank god!" Meredith chokes out a gasp next to me and buries her head in her hands. My eyes scan around and everyone is crowded around me looking ghostly and horrified.

"What?" I feel CJ's lips on my forehead. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?"

"We thought you were dying."

"What?" Bloody hell, that's a little dramatic.

"You were just lying on the table, glassy eyed and not blinking. You were ice cold and hardly breathing."

"I was?" I look up into CJ's eyes and I realise it was him. Just the idea of him losing interest sent me into some sort of neurological stupor. That's a line too many crossed—too much power over me.

I put my hands on his chest and shove him off, sending him flat on his backside on the floor. Man, I don't know my own strength. "Don't touch me, Caspian." I wrench my knees up to my chest as a shield and pull my hood right up over my head, covering as much of me as I can, hiding my face behind my hands.

"Amelia, stop doing this." Meredith grabs my hands and forces me to look at her. "Stop trying to control everything. CJ is not Lucien. CJ, sit down and comfort your woman."

I glare at her viciously and pull my hands back from her grip. "I am not his woman."

"Yes, you are." CJ reclaims his seat next to me and yanks my hood down before he pulls me across onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. This feels too comfortable, too right. I have to escape. "Don't even think about it, Marsh. I warned you that this would happen." What the hell _has_ happened? I'm obeying his every command without hesitation, dropping to my knees with my head low like a submissive at his every whim. He should worship the ground I walk on and yet it's me who worships him.

"You're going to ruin me."

"No, he's not, baby doll." Meredith leans over and grips my hand again. "You're not fourteen anymore and this is not the same. Have a little faith, if not in CJ, then in me and my shrewd judgement of character." She glances up and winks at CJ before leaning over to ruffle my hair. "Baby steps, Ams."

As beautiful as that speech was, I'm completely crippled by embarrassment because CJ heard the whole damn thing. He must be wondering what the hell is wrong with me and what kind of traumatic childhood memories I harbour down in my deeply messed up soul.

"Amelia." Oh jeez, he wants to talk. "Will you do something for me?" I look up at him cautiously. _Anything but kiss you. "_ Help me with my uni work." What the hell? "I've been dragging this degree out for a while and I really need to finish my dissertation so I can get my honours and move on."

I sit up straight and brush aside his droopy fringe. "How long is 'a while'?"

"Five years."

My eyes pop out of my head. "Five years, what the hell. How old are you?" His eyes flicker uncertainly at my question.

"Twenty-five." Holy shit, he's three years older than me, I thought I had a toy boy on my hands. "You?"

"Twenty-two." His face drops like it did in the library and he glares at me with something carnal and ferocious in his eyes. Umm, that's kind of hot.

"You have two degrees at twenty-two? I definitely need your help." He sets me down and disappears for a moment to fetch his netbook. Jesus, he seriously wants me to read his work. Could he possibly be the one guy in the world who looks past the hair and tattoos and sees the latent intelligence? I try to figure out if that's even slightly likely as he bounds back towards me.

He loads up a document and looks at me hopefully. Is he serious?

"Really?"

"Really, Amelia. The sexiest thing about you is that wicked brain." My face flares crimson at his compliment. Yeah, I haven't done bad for a girl with no GCSEs, but sexy? He's not doing an awful lot for my wanting to jump his bones.

I read his dissertation, and Jesus, he's articulate. He's written about the decline of benevolence in what claims to be a philanthropic society and he's spot on. There are so few random acts of kindness anymore, it's depressing and abhorrent. Whatever happened to 'love thy neighbour'?

I can't fault a single damn word on the document and I'm seduced by his literary prowess. In fact, I think he may put me to shame. Why am I so desperate for his sex when he so capably fucks my mind five ways from Friday?

"Well?"

I glance up and him and shake my head. "It's awesome. If that doesn't get you honours, I'll hang up my singing cap."

"Nothing I could add?" He's looking at me like he wants to be criticised, and despite my highly critical nature, I just can't do it.

I simper helplessly at that eager little boy lost look and shrug. "I dunno, add something about the bystander effect if you really want to wow them."

"I don't think talking about my favourite band would earn me any extra credit." Favourite band? Oh jeez, this poor guy.

"It's a psychological theory." I laugh and turn sideways to face him better. "Say someone is stabbed in a desolate street. If one other person passes and sees them dying, they're likely to dive in and help. If they're with a friend, they half as likely to react. The more people there are in that area, the less likely one individual is to act. It's almost as though we become embarrassed to be the one person in the crowd who helps. Go stick a dying man in the Palisades and see how many people just walk past him, waiting for someone else to jump in." CJ turns to me and leans his elbow on the table. "What?"

"That was hot. Apt, but very hot." He flashes me a silky smile and begins to type. Hmm, those fingers, those long skilful fingers. I watch them flash across the keyboard with a frenetic energy that I have witnessed frequently in the past few weeks, and my eye is caught by a flash of steel on his right hand. "I've never noticed that you wear a ring before."

He pauses, his fingers hovering over the keys. "You wouldn't; I'm left handed." Oh well, pardon me for not paying closer attention to which hand you use to make me come.

"Artistic then?"

"I would say so. I designed this bad boy." He slips the steel band from his finger and passes it to me. It's perfectly rounded and surprisingly weighty, and engraved with a magnificent pair of long lashed eyes. It's definitely unique.

"Did you make this?"

"Hell no. My best friend did; he does it for a living. I just designed the eyes and told him what to engrave on the inside." I lean the ring into the light and see my own words etched into the flat inside surface. _Step into the darkness with me, meet me halfway_. I actually have the chills.

"That really is your favourite Bystander Effect song, isn't it?" He nods and retrieves the ring from my palm. By some unknown impulse I grab his hand and thread my fingers between his. I haven't held hands with anyone since I was fourteen, because it's too intimate. There's that word again. The thing he thinks comes only through kissing, and I'm pouring it into him through my skin.

He raises an eyebrow at me and traps me in his gaze. "You don't strike me as the hand holding type, Amelia." This is so not the time to analyse my personality.

"I'm not. I'm stepping way out of my boundaries here. Baby steps." But this isn't a baby step, this is a huge step on the moon kind of leap. Meredith wanders past us on her way to the bathroom and she stops in her tracks to stare at us. "Yes?" She flashes sterling grin at me and pushes open the bathroom door.

"Nothing, baby doll."

Our tryst before sound check that night is frantic and carnal. The minute he walks through the door, I'm grabbed by my waist and thrown down into a chair. Not a single word is spoken as his eyes burn into me with white hot intensity and spark my desire for him. I must have him, all of him, but he continues to resist me.

My underwear is torn off in a flurry and his mouth is on my nipples in the same instant those fingers are inside me. He knows my body so well but I know so little of his. I need his passion and his flame. His movements ripple through me like a devastating cataclysm, which is so destructive that it's almost too painful to withstand. His movements are clumsier than usual—he's frustrated, and I can see it in that determined glare. To some effect, it feels as though he's trying to break me so I'll give him what he needs to unlock the floodgate that keeps him resistant.

He tortures my insides and sucks on my clitoris until I feel as though I'm going to fall apart at the seams. "Amelia, be mine." His words course through my veins like poison, and my body wrenches and writhes as I collapse around him like ancient ruins with a rumble of profanities and moans.

"I _am_ yours." And from this moment, I am his for him to command and conquer. I am his puppet, his servant, and he is my master. He can pull my strings and I'll dance without question. He has the power over me only one other ever has.

He continues to nurse me beyond the tremor until my body stills from the aftershocks, kissing me in all of my permissible areas. Our eyes haven't parted for a single second during our encounter and I am intoxicated by his touch.

The moment he withdraws his fingers, I grab his hand and close my mouth around them. The taste of his flesh and my satisfaction combined with a consequential tinge of blood from his brutality is lethal and almost tips me back into the realm of impeccable pleasure that he so ably guides me around. "Don't tell me that our relationship is devoid of intimacy, Caspian."

He lays his head down on my stomach and inhales deeply. "I'm falling for you, Amelia." Those five words send an immediate impulse of fear through my body, completely overwhelming my post-coital bliss. He cannot fall for me, I am broken and damaged, unworthy of love. Why would he even want to when I'll only let him down? Better that he doesn't fall the way I am...

"Don't. I'm bad for you."

He looks up at me, chin resting just above my navel. "Oh, I know that you're bad for me. But from what I can make out, I'm very good for you. _Step into the darkness with me, meet me halfway_."

I am calm and sedate at the sound check, completely unfazed by the roadies' clumsy mistakes and broken guitar strings. I've been asked at least five times what I'm on and where it can be found. Our levels are set and we are ready to test a track when CJ walks in, arms folded and curious, looking godly in a black 'Keep Calm Until Laters, Baby' t-shirt. Seems like quite an apt adornment.

I nod down at my Stratocaster and shift my weight onto one leg. "Do you play?"

He glances around the room and raises thumb to his chest. "Who, me?"

"No, our other tour bus driver. Yes you, stupid."

"A little, I guess." He's being modest. I can tell.

"Get up here, Pearce." The guys exchange confused glances around me as he clambers up onto the stage looking a little lost. "Ever played with a band behind you?"

"Uh, no."

I lift the leather guitar strap over my head and drape it over him. This beautiful glorious man holds not only one of my deepest secrets, the keys to my tour bus and a hot line to my g-spot, he now holds my most sacred possession. On a temporary basis, of course.

"Holy shit!" I look over at my shoulder at Meredith and raise an eyebrow. "Nobody gets to hold your Strat. I want to hold your Strat!"

"No." I wrap a hand around CJ's neck and pull him towards me, rubbing my nose against his. The proximity and the danger nags at me. I'm not there yet, not by a long shot. "Consider this my meeting you halfway. Now get playing," I reach around and give him a cheeky slap on the backside, "same rules apply as with the bus. Break it and I'll break you."

He looks at me hopelessly, completely dumbfounded by his current situation. "Play what?"

"Anything you want."

He purses his lips dubiously.

"Anything?" I cross my arms and cock my head at him. _For god's sake, man, this is a test of your mettle_! "And they'll know it?"

"We're pretty versatile, CJ. Try us." Meredith winks at him and I know she's trying to encourage him. I'm about to admonish him for his incessant faffing when he shrugs and plays three familiar chords. Erek raises an eyebrow and starts to drum behind him, against all doctors' recommendations. I admire his tenacity and stupidity.

My skin prickles as CJ leans into the microphone and begins to sing _Howl_ by Florence and The Machine. Plato and Meredith join in and I am mesmerised by the collaboration. His voice is silky smooth and impassioned—his intent is wrapped around the words he sings and he seduces me yet again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and my breath is bated as I am awestruck by the cooperation of my band mates—my friends—and my lover in this mission to take ownership of my senses and demolish a wall of resistance between us. Nobody can possibly be this perfect.

When the music draws to a halt, I am still enraptured and possessed, dewy eyed and overcome by the terrifying emotion I feel for him. It's too much too soon. I have never felt more like running for the hills in my life.

CJ cautiously untangles my Stratocaster from his frame and places it down carefully on a stand. "Did I make the grade?" He gives me a small smile that suggests that he's truly hoping for my approval.

"I don't think there's a grade for that. I'd have to develop a whole new marking scheme." I reach up and stroke his face, not really understanding why I like to touch him this way.

He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "I wish you weren't so afraid to let me in, Amelia."

"So do I." There again, I'm not entirely sure that I really do.

# VIII

#

#

I've spent the past couple of days completely agonised by my inability to touch CJ in the way he deserves. I throw him everything that I can within my hard-pushed comfort levels—I hold his hand, I am overtly affectionate to the best of my ability and I drown in those eyes at every glance—but this isn't enough for him. He throws me deep into my passion, touches me exquisitely, and lies beside me in my bed at night, holding me without complaint, but I know that he's holding back. I can see it in his eyes that he's angry with me and hurt that I won't give him what he needs but he talks to me and treats me so sweetly and attentively.

I'm torn up by my guilt. I've trapped him in this hell of mine and I'm selfishly keeping him captive. I know that I'm hard company to keep at the best of times, but I'm a worse 'girlfriend'.

I sit in the passenger seat up front as he drives us to Norwich and stare out of the window numbly. I don't know what this man is doing to me but he has nearly all of me. Any more of me and he could ruin me totally, the way I've been ruined before. And yet I'm dangerously curious and eager for a taste of his darkness.

I run my fingers across my lips and dare to imagine how he feels and tastes. Jesus, even the thought of his lips on mine terrifies me, I'm too weak to give myself to him and it's wrong of me to fill him with false hope.

"Stop thinking about it." I blink for a moment and shake myself back into my senses, turning in my seat to look at CJ. This beautiful Adonis says he's falling for me, and I'm pulling him down and drowning him.

"Stop thinking about what?"

"Your phobia, Amelia. Stop dwelling on it. Adopt an in-the-moment philosophy. There will come a time when you want to conquer that fear but the more you brood over it and let it fester, the worse it'll get. You're building it up into a bigger deal than it should be."

I turn back to the window and mull over his sentiment. Maybe he's right, maybe I need to stop punishing myself over a crime I haven't committed and continue with this baby steps business. "Are you sure you're not a psychologist?"

"No way, girl. I'm not smart enough." What a steaming pile of crap, he's a walking brain.

Meredith pokes her head up behind me and strokes the side of my face softly, in a way only she can get away with. She knows all of my boundaries and limits and says that she is elated to see me pushing them. "Baby doll, I feel like I need a mid-tour revamp." I turn around and look at her, she is the same as ever; almond eyed stunning deliciousness trimmed with a raven mane. Why the hell would she ever change?

"How so?"

"I need a trim and some uh..." She glances awkwardly at CJ. This is unexpected, she'd usually spout anything with unabashed brusqueness regardless of the company. I have grandparents who can vouch for that. "I have a small grooming issue. The natives are getting restless." Ah, I see, she's planning to take a groupie on the Meredith crazy train.

Until now, I hadn't even considered how refreshing a few modifications may be. "I get you. How about we head off for a girly ramble in Norwich and leave the gays and guys to do something masculine?" I see a look of inane panic flash across CJ's face. "Don't worry. Plato and Levi do have some self-restraint and you're a bit too pretty for them. Keep those muscles hidden and you're safe."

A small smile plays on his lips but dissolves as quickly as it came. "Pretty? No, it's not that, though I am worried now. Thanks for that." My bad, he had that 'fear of bumming' look.

"What's wrong with your face then?"

"Nothing, apparently." He winks at me and tries to dismiss the subject. I don't think so.

My hand shoots over and my fingertips close over his knee cap and squeeze. "Don't hold out on me, Caspian."

"Ah, bitch!" He prizes my hand away and shakes his head in surrender. "I just feel weird when you're not around. I'll miss you." Okay, that wasn't what I was expecting, and he's way too easy to break.

Meredith claps her hands together and gushes behind me but it's just white noise in the shadow of those words. Nobody has ever 'missed' me before. For some inexplicable reason my mind strays to a dark place that I've never dared to approach before—the future. Visions of love making, proposals and wedding bells flood my mind. And children. No, too much. That is not a road I can travel down. I'm falling down far too deep into the rabbit hole and there's not a single damn hookah smoking caterpillar in sight to save me and guide me home.

"Baby doll, you're zoning out on us again." I inhale as I turn to her, unaware that I'd been holding my breath and give her an unconvincing smile.

"Sorry."

"Something wrong?" I glance sideways at CJ and shake my head. Probably not wise to tell him that I just saw the faces of his future offspring and the colour scheme of our wedding. I can scare him off perfectly well without instilling those kinds of prophecies.

"No, I don't think so." Meredith gives me one of her all-knowing looks that tells me she's going to grill me over some pampering.

"Anyone else would see visions of the future as a good thing, Ams."

"Or not. I'm in too deep and I need to escape."

She slams down her Cosmo magazine on a table next to her and flashes me a scathing look. "Don't you dare. You're crazy about him, you know you are." _Shut uuuup! I am like totally not crazy for him, god._ Wow, can't even fool myself with denial over this... this.

"Precisely. He's in a near perfect position to ruin me. Just like Lucien did." She growls heavenwards in her frustration and rolls her eyes at me. "I know I'm being stupid, Mer, but a fear is a fear and it's not just going to go away because some green eyed god seduces me over a McDonald's coffee."

"You let him play your Strat. You're in lo—" I hold up a hand to silence her. I know exactly where she's heading and it's not a desirable destination.

"It was a baby step."

She leans forward and slaps my hand. "That wasn't a baby step, that was intergalactic space travel. You'd be stupid to throw him away. Give the guy a break, he's trying his best." I can't really see how he's 'trying', all he has to do is put up with me. All of the demons are mine. He's pushing me hard down a path that I'm uneasy about taking and offers no incentive. 'Trying' in a different context maybe.

"If he's trying so hard, why won't he bend his rules when I'm contorting nearly all of mine for him?" I have methodically timed that retort to coincide with the commencement of two uptight looking stylists blow-drying our hair. I can see her trying to shout over the roar but I just point at my ear and mouth 'sorry, can't hear you'. I may just have avoided any further interrogation.

Meredith holds her credit card out to the stylist at the desk and looks me up and down. She seems to be more at ease with a fresh haircut and some deforestation, while I have opted for a trim and some black streaks through my tangle of mid-back length freshly highlighted hair.

"Very nice, baby doll. Very Avril Lavigne." I frown at her and turn around to a mirror. Crap, I'm a direct rip off of the _Wish You Were Here_ album cover. "Relax, you have a totally different image to her. I'd fuck you. Unlike some, apparently." Oh great, there go my hopes of avoiding the conversation.

We step out into the street and Meredith pulls out her phone. She's wearing that look of calculated mischief which I have seen go hand in hand with romantic interference. "Who are you calling?"

"Plato. He said they'd be hitting a pub while we got ourselves preened."

"Oh." I watch her sheepishly as she determines the gays and guys location and try and slink away stealthily to hide. Not easy when you're carrying half of your body weight on your feet in moon boots.

Her hand shoots out to grab me and she rolls her eyes. Darn it, foiled again. "Hang on, Plato. Amelia, stop being such a tool. No, she's trying to run off again. Oh really? I can work with that." She hangs up and cocks her head at me. "He won't have sex with you until you kiss him?" Oh marvellous, he's been having a boy chat. How can he be so honest with everyone about what we do, or don't do?

"We have no intimacy apparently."

Her eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly fly off her head. "What? We'll see about that. Come on, they're in the Murderers Pub."

Something catches my eye on the way to the pub and it urges me to weep a tear of joy. I pull Meredith to a halt and nod ahead before looking down at my legs. It's almost as though my mind knew that I'd find myself in this situation today and told me 'psst, Amelia, wear shorts and New Rocks, you need bare thighs'.

She looks down at her phone and shakes her head at me. "We don't have time, baby doll." I put my hands together in a silent prayer and pout as I creep backwards and turn at the last moment, running wildly for my idea of Heaven. She doesn't really get a choice in the matter.

The smell of disinfectant stings my nose and sends my senses soaring skyward as the familiar purr of a tattoo machine beckons to me. I flutter my lashes prettily at Meredith and she is instantly tamed. "Just a small one, Amelia, we're on a time limit." She's hopeless at denying me anything that makes me smile so genuinely.

"I know. I know what I want, it won't take long." I write down my request on a piece of paper and push it across the counter. It's not the usual kind of thing I go for but the guy shrugs and nods, setting to work on a transfer as Meredith examines me with intense scrutiny. "What?"

"Sorry, do I know you? I'm looking for Amelia Marsh; my best friend and the extremely famous singer of my band who doesn't do song lyrics, meaningful tattoos or affection, let alone all three combined." Smart arse.

"You told me to take baby steps."

"Dedicated ink is not a baby step, you may as well propose."

"As if." I follow the guy round into a room and wait eagerly in anticipation for that sweet pinch of ink on skin.

I am sated when we reach the Murderer's Pub and the sight of CJ sends my head spinning rather than my skin crawling. The staff look on in horror as blood drips down my leg—I brazenly discarded my dressing the minute we'd stepped foot outside the tattoo shop, eager to feel and exacerbate every moment of that new tattoo burn. I am aware of the risks of my idiocy but this kind of self-destructive behaviour is what keeps me grounded. Don't tell me that it's not healthy to live this way, I already know.

"What the hell happened to you two? You should have been here ages ago." Plato stands up and casts a knowing eye at my bloodied thigh. "Ah. Say no more." Levi nudges him for an explanation as I sit down wondering where the hell my drink is. "Coping strategy number three." CJ raises an eyebrow in Plato's direction. "Our honey bee here has a coping strategy mantra and seeing as the other three methods are exhausted or otherwise inapplicable, ink is a clear winner." Oh wonderful, now his curiosity is piqued.

"This I have to hear."

I raise a finger and wave it in warning. "No, you don't. Plato, don't you dare."

" 'Fuck it, suck it, ink it or flee.' " I glare at Meredith as she sticks her tongue and puts a drink down in front of me. My skin prickles uncomfortably as she brushes the back of CJ's neck with her hand. What the hell?

"Interesting." CJ furrows his brow and glances down at my leg. With these guys around I need not worry about him getting to close; he's more likely to run for the hills thinking I'm a huge whore.

He leans down and runs his hand up my leg to the new shining ink and blinks in surprise. My new tattoo is very simple script lettering, but it's perfect and it knocks him for six. _Step into the darkness with me, meet me halfway_.

"Did you—... Is this—?"

"Yes, it's a dedication tattoo, CJ. She dragged me into an ink shop just for that." Meredith huffs haughtily and picks up her drink, seemingly annoyed but any sucker can tell that she's not. She loves the smell of disinfectant spray, too.

He catches me off guard with his glorious gaze and reaches up to twist a lock of my hair around his fingers. "You look amazing."

"Don't look so surprised." My voice escapes my mouth as a breathy whisper and I am drowning in his presence. Why-oh-why do I keep trying to escape this man? I want him to break me so he can put me back together however he wishes.

"Right, and they have no intimacy." Levi quips and laughs. My blood floods to my face and I'm crippled by my embarrassment.

"Who needs intimacy when I have a bunch of tactless fuckers like you?" CJ leans back up in his seat, seemingly as embarrassed as myself and fiddles with the ring on his right hand. I'll be watching to see if that's a nervous habit.

My stomach lurches as Meredith leans over and threads her fingers between his and smiles flirtatiously. I know what she's doing. "Oh CJ, we're just playing. We're just identifying a major flaw in your relationship, or lack thereof."

"Pack it in, Meredith." That is my warning shot. She blatantly ignores me and runs a hand up his arm and across his neck. My blood is not boiling—it's evaporating through my veins. I know _exactly_ what she's doing

"You see, intimacy comes in different forms. For some its primal, red-blooded sex. For the emotionally stunted like Amelia, its little things like holding hands, offering you her guitar, getting trapped in your eyes..." She slides her gaze up into his and is sucked into his vortex. Ah, so it's not just me who falls victim to those peepers.

He frowns at her and shakes his head. "Meredith, this is too—" She snaps her eyes away from his and glances down at the table for a moment, mouthing 'wow' silently. Fucking tell me about it.

"Intimate. It's too intimate, right?"

"Yes, okay, fair point." She glances at me out the corner of her eye and runs her fingers into his hair. _You made your point bitch, back off._

"I could take you back on the bus and screw you senseless, but it wouldn't feel half as intimate as me tugging at your hair, you feeling my breath on your face, running my fingers across your skin. And not once do our lips make contact." She acts as she speaks and I know that she's pushing me for a reaction. I won't indulge her curiosity. "This is the intimacy she knows. Sex is carnal and raw—an urge or impulse. This is intimate." She leans in close enough to kiss him and I involuntarily erupt like Mt Etna. I find myself uncontrollably launching across the table and grabbing her by her collar.

"Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend." I hiss at her viciously before I inhale sharply in surprise. Did I just say that? Crap, what is the cost of labelling him?

She lifts her hands in surrender and smirks. "That was intimacy, and a reaction like this? Hell, I'm not even touching that one." I release my grip and make a hasty retreat to the pub's bathroom. What the hell was that? I'm not a territorial person but that drove me crazy. Boyfriend?

I lean on the sides of the sink and stare at my reflection in the grimy mirror. A familiar grey eyed face stares back at me but I can barely identify myself in that rosy cheeked, glowing reflection.

Who the hell are you? You're not me.

I splash cold water in my face to awaken myself from this illusion but that woman still stares back at me. I am changing and it scares me. I feel the emotions that I shut away in Pandora's Box eight years ago resurfacing—he has opened it and he has released too much. I'm almost happy and I've never been so terrified.

A small tug on my shorts rouses me from my self-consumed state halfway back to our table. I look down behind me and a heartbreakingly beautiful little girl is gazing up at me with huge green eyes that could rival CJ's.

"Can I have your autograph, 'Melia?" 'Melia—too cute.

I crouch down to her level and take a napkin and a pen from her hands. "Of course. What's your name, beautiful?" She blushes at me and hides her face behind her drawn-over hands. I remember doing the same thing when I was at school. 'Ams for Lucien'; what a pile of tripe that turned out to be.

"Moira."

"Awesome. How old are you?"

"Seven."

"No kidding." I sneak a better look at her as I scrawl across the paper. She's in black skinny jeans with a thin, glittery silver belt. Her t-shirt is fuchsia, but I can forgive that because she has an oversized black star print scarf and has clip-in blue streaks through her chestnut hair. She's a miniature rockstar and damn adorable.

I glance up as her mother's shadow falls over us and smile.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Miss Marsh, but could I bother you for a photograph?"

"Of course!" I scoop my arm around Moira's shoulders and pose for her mother's camera, temporarily dazzled by the flash.

"Thank you, 'Melia." I smooth down her hair and stand up, towering over her in my New Rocks. She doesn't look even slightly freaked by me and I'm glad. I never want to scare a kid in my life—they're delicate and need to be protected.

"Any time, cutie." I turn to her mother and catch her completely off guard by offering a tattooed hand for her to shake. "I love kids. They remind me of better times." Better times before my world was torn apart and I realised just how deeply fucked up and dysfunctional that man made my life. Better times when I was still whole.

Meredith cocks her head at me when I sit back down at the table a little bleary eyed and subdued. "You okay, baby doll? We saw you posing with the kid."

"She's seven." Her mouth opens for a moment before she nods understandingly. She knows where to draw a definite line in the sand with certain subjects.

"I didn't mean to piss you off before. I was just making a point."

"And you made it quite succinctly. Can we drop the subject now?"

Levi bounces in his seat eagerly and pulls out his phone. Oh hell, I know where this is going. Every tour. Every time we're in Norwich. Actually, can we go back to the previous topic of conversation, please? "I think it's about time to update the numbers chart."

"No, Levi." Don't make me look like the world's biggest slut now.

"Oh pooh, Mimi. I'll go reverse alphabetical order if it makes you feel better." I glance up at CJ and he's completely consumed in thought and oblivious to my presence. Maybe Meredith's sickening display has sparked some epiphanies, or maybe my outburst has freaked him out. Either way, I'm in no hurry to incriminate myself further. "So, Plato?"

Plato raises an incredulous tufty eyebrow. "What do you think, stupid? Just one—you—in love." They trade affectionate glances and sicken us all with their closeness.

"Meredith?" Levi's tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he manoeuvres his stubby fingers around the touch-screen.

"Forty-three" she announces proudly, as the poster girl for one night stands.

I wrinkle my nose at her and shake my head disapprovingly. "You ho."

"Hypocrite." She winks playfully at me. "Ten because they were sexy bitches, the others because _I'm_ a sexy bitch." Thank the Lord for contraception.

Levi taps his number into his phone secretly and clears his throat. "Okay, Erek?"

I hold up a hand to silence him. "Oh no no, spill the beans, lady."

He looks up at me apprehensively and purses his lips. "Three." Uh oh, we are about to witness a full on gay on gay domestic. "One through love two out of spite." Turning to Plato, he smiles weakly. "I thought you'd shagged Erek's bird." Oh man, hell hath no fury like a femme scorned.

Erek coughs in a futile attempt to scatter the lingering tension. "Twelve. All lust." He swells with pride and holds his glass up in a solitary toast. I think we're all a little surprised as we rarely see him making good with chicks. Sly dog.

Levi rubs Plato's shoulder apologetically and exhales slowly. I can see the hurt in Marky's eyes, but I know that he loves that man too deeply to dwell. "Okay, CJ?"

I turn to Levi sharply and shake my head earnestly. "No, Levi." I don't want to know how many other women have had access to what I'm so persistently denied.

"Don't be such a killjoy, Mimi. So, CJ?"

CJ's head snaps up from his distant train of thought. "Sorry, what?"

"What's your number for the past twelve months?" He frowns in confusion and reaches into his pocket for his phone. "What, do you have to keep a list?"

"What?" Oh man, this obviously isn't a game he's familiar with and I would have preferred to have kept it that way.

Meredith leans across slightly and smiles awkwardly. "He means notches on your bed post, babe."

CJ wrinkles his nose and puts his phone back in his pocket. How the hell do I get out of hearing this?

"Zero." Well that certainly got everyone's attention.

"Dry patch?"

"Saharan."

Levi shakes his head in pity and adds CJ to the list. "Tough break. And your all time number?"

"Still zero." All is silent at our table and suddenly all attention is on me. _Don't bloody look to me for answers, I just met the guy!_

"What did he say?" _Oh Erek, for god's sake! Take a damn English class!_ CJ mutters to him in Polish and he half laughs. "You are joking? But you're hung like He-Man." Wow, crack out a 'no homo' to make that not weird. I mean, it's true, but come on.

CJ shrugs and picks up his drink uncaringly. "No, I'm not joking. I'm a virgin." Cringe at the V word. I think I'm going to die.

"Well that explains your attitude to sex." Meredith shrugs and raises an eyebrow, apparently neither surprised nor bothered by this revelation. "You're not jaded by shitty experiences. Sex is still meaningful to you. Big up the big V." CJ looks at me all impassively as ever, like he drops bombshells like this every day.

"Moving swiftly on. Mimi ?" I glance at Levi, still completely baffled.

"Two."

He snorts loudly and shoots me a disbelieving look. "Two-wenty? Two hundred?"

I look back at CJ and try to read his mind. Unsuccessfully. "Seriously, two. By way of just 'coping'." What I'd do for a coping strategy right now.

My mind is muddled for the remainder of the day and nothing seems to be going right. I'm all fingers, thumbs and forgotten lyrics during sound check and this damn tattoo won't stop bleeding. Honestly, I'm debating trying to pick the ink out. I don't know why I feel betrayed but I'm totally wrapped up in this unfathomable emotion.

Why wouldn't he have just told me that he's a virgin? Would he have ever told me? He looked like wasn't a big deal but it is. I can't let him give up something that precious to me—someone who is so selfish and damaged. I can't let him touch me again because it makes me want him more. I have to cut him loose for his own good. I'm not a good way to break through into the real world because I can't give him the grand romantic experience he obviously associates with defloration.

I hear his voice ring out down the hallway—"I'm with the band,"—and everything south of my waist ripples with anticipation and pleasure. No, no way. Just his words have my body screaming out for his touch. Those four words have a Pavlovian impact on me and I associate that phrase with his impending arrival.

My god, I'm nothing but an obedient dog—I'm his bitch. I have to get myself out of this situation.

I grab my phone and reach the door to leave just as he walks in and sends me flying. "Oh hell, Amelia." He leans down and scoops me up off the floor and it's all I can do to stop myself from weakening at the knees. "Sorry, girl."

I reach up and put my finger on his lips to silence him. "Don't talk, CJ. Put me down." He ambles over to a chair and places me down, kneeling down in front of me with a salacious smile. "Not tonight."

"What?" He looks lost and disappointed, maybe even hurt.

"We can't do this any more. This is wrong." I tear myself away from him and bolt down the corridor to watch our support acts. I can't get dragged into this conversation and have him talk me out of walking away again if I can't hear him.

Meredith sneaks up behind me and snakes her arms around my waist. She leans her cheek against my back and holds me; she knows that I'm hurting and she doesn't care why or how irrational its basis. She's held me this way before and she just dissolves my pain. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it does."

She turns me around and frowns at me sympathetically. "Don't you understand? You both stand equal together. You both have something precious to surrender but you both have your terms and limits. One of you has to back down."

"Screw backing down. I'm backing out. I'd rather hurt less today than I will tomorrow." I know that she wants to get hostile but she knows better than to rile me this close to going on stage.

Plato slinks up beside us and fusses over my hair. I'm so sick of people fussing. "Life is about taking risks. Be humbled that he wants to give you something that special."

"I don't fucking want it. I'm not good enough for him." I shove past them and grab a bottle from the floor as I head out to the fire exit. I don't care what's in it as long as it's alcoholic and non-toxic.

Nobody is outside to bother me, so I can brood in piece. I look at the bottle and it's vodka—of all the poisons in the world it had to be the one I like the least. I wince as it burns my throat, and unravel into a drunken lull, crawling into a dark corner outside the venue where I can't be found. The vodka and my earlier three bottles of wine caress me with their dizzying tendrils and pull me into a sweet slumber.

The image of the little girl, Moira, haunts my mind as I weave between sleeping and wakened states. She takes my hand and eagerly leads me down a dark corridor with flickering lights to a pale pink panelled door. On the other side is a bedroom—my childhood bedroom—and a huddled mass lies in the centre of my bed. I remember this moment, and I remember it well. I reach out a hand to touch it and—

"Creedance!" I wake up with a start and clasp my hands over my face. My scream is blood curdling and I'm eternally grateful to find myself in the safety of a dressing room with my band mates around me and not backstage. The crowd would have easily heard me and I would undoubtedly make the gossip columns with stories of a presumed breakdown.

Meredith swoops down and engulfs me in her arms, shaking her head at anyone who looks like they may dare to question my outburst. I'm wrenched from her grip and forced into another, and I know its scent too well. "CJ, no."

"It wasn't your fault."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks and I pull back to stare at him, horrified. "What? Meredith, did you—"

"No," she interrupts me, stopping me fast enough to stop me from saying anything telling, "but he'll say anything to comfort you. Now get a grip, we're due on stage in ten." She knew that this was coming, she must have. Every year something triggers me and that day comes back around again. Every year comes the same destructive pattern of behaviour and she must have known that the nightmare would come again, too.

Everyone files out of the room, leaving me wrapped up in CJ's arms. I grip onto him to find my composure and I'm baffled by how soothed I am by his presence.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Amelia." I look up at him and I'm caught in his eyes again. His effect on me never dulls.

"Why should I make so many compromises on my limits when you can't make any concessions on just one? I am not your equal. I am flawed and you are pure."

"Pure? Give me a break, you've seen what my hands can do." I can guarantee that our definitions of 'pure' differ greatly.

He pulls me to my feet and shakes his head with a sigh. "The number of my sexual exploits, or lack thereof, changes nothing. It shouldn't matter to you any more than your past does to me. I don't care." He would care if he understood the magnitude of what he's unwillingly 'accepting'.

"It matters. I don't deserve that piece of you."

"Don't be stupid, Amelia. You're practically perfect. The only thing that could make you too perfect would be if you were the singer from The Bystander Effect." He laughs and clutches me to his chest.

Shit.

# IX

#

#

"Stop picking it." I look up guiltily from my assault on my tattoo and roll my eyes at Meredith. I'm being admonished by the girl covered in chicken pox scars.

"It itches."

"Of course it itches, it's probably infected."

I hike my leg up onto the table and smirk. "Does it look infected?" I have a wicked immune system. 'Infection' isn't even in my vocabulary.

She glances up from her iPad at my thigh and tuts. "Shut up, Amelia." I bask in my smugness and put CJ's iPod Touch on shuffle. I'm still surprised that he's let me use it while he debates the Theory of Forms with Plato. I bet that's something he never thought he'd be able to say he's done.

His iPod suddenly starts to ring shrilly in my hand. "Ah no, what have I done? Why is it ringing? It's not a phone!" I can hear them laughing at me from up front. Wankers.

"It's FaceTime, girl—my phone is a portable WiFi hotspot." His phone does what-now? Screw technology. "Who does it say is requesting it?"

"Ah jeez—Andy?"

"Answer it! It'll confuse the shit out of him!" I'm a little baffled by the idea of taking his calls like a glorified receptionist and despite owning the same gadget, I don't have a fucking clue how to use FaceTime. I'm going to have to get CJ to teach me how to use this properly.

Meredith leans over and presses something—I have no idea what—and suddenly there's a face staring at me. Jeez, Mr. Intimacy up front has a hot friend. Another delicious grungy but not grimy emo boy. I know where I'm looking if this CJ thing doesn't work out.

Meredith sees my expression and peers over, wiggling her eyebrows at me suggestively. Hmm okay, keeping him in reserve would be greedy. I guess I could persuade him to stay on ice her until we're home.

" _Holy shit, it's true!"_ That's a greeting and a half.

"Well hello to you, too."

"Sorry, just—damn! You're really Amelia Marsh, aren't you?"

I narrow my eyes curiously as Meredith scribbles down something on a piece of paper and passes it to me. "Yup, that's me." I hold up the paper to him and shrug.

Ssh, he doesn't know we're The Bystander Effect.

"You have got to be joking. I've got to screen cap this hang on. Smile for the camera, baby, mwah mwah, you're beautiful, now give me sexy!" This Andy is hilarious, and obviously a real ladies man. I can feel my attention wandering already. "So are the rumours true? Are you under siege?" Hmm, smart, too.

"Under siege? Clever, I'm stealing that. I'll turn it into a song." He laughs at me and his eyes twinkle, dangerously sexy. God damn.

"But seriously, are you? Because I'm sure I can find a nice warm place for you in my bed if he's not making use of you." Cheeky fucker. I like it. I'll bet he's not a virgin.

"Oh, dude! Quit hitting on my woman!" _Damn you, Caspian_. I guess that would be Andy's confirmation that we're an, uh... item?

I shrug apologetically and raise a finger to my lips. "No media attention please."

"You got it, girl. Would you pop that man's cherry so I can trade tips on how to drive sexy rockstars crazy?"

I roll my eyes at him and tilt my head towards CJ. "Take it up with the boss, Andy."

"Oh jeez, what a prat."

"Excuse me, I'm right here!" I can hear the embarrassment in CJ's voice—I may have crossed a line somewhere. I'm not exactly sure what lies in the 'need to know basis' pile when it comes to relationships. Nothing from my last 'real' relationship was suitable for casual discussion.

" _I know you're there and I'm still calling you a prat, dude. I bet she howls like a wolf."_ My mouth drops open and Andy blows me a kiss. It takes all of my control not to tell him that I bet he cries like a baby.

"She shouts, bites, slaps and screams out The Lonely Island lyrics, man. Would you call my damn phone so she stops embarrassing me and I stop embarrassing her?" Oh my god, I'm dying on my ass here. What the media would do with a little nugget like that.

"Lonely Island lyrics, really? That's kind of hot."

"Andy, phone!"

" _Laters, Amelia."_ I wave and collapse face first onto the table. What the hell did I just get dragged into?

CJ's phone rings up front and Andy's voice booms out again. Meredith shakes her head at me with a laugh as I'm dragged into round two of whatever that was. " _CJ, man, Amelia is white hot even with no makeup and a Hello Kitty jumper."_ I look down at myself. Oh good lord.

"I know. You should see her in person."

"How serious are you?" Hu-wha? Pardon me?

"Serious enough." What the hell does that mean?

" _How does she taste?"_ Jesus, what an inappropriate but strangely endearing question.

"Ah haha, yeah, you're on speaker phone. Give me a minute." I pout at Meredith as we're shut off from the rest of the conversation. Damn it, I want to hear this; I want to know how I 'taste'. I pull a face and head up to the driver's seat with CJ's iPod Touch in my hand, knocking it in my travels and drowning the bus in _Little Baby Swastikkka._ I spin around and my eyes flare at Meredith—she's thinking what I'm thinking.

"Hold on, Andy," CJ reaches behind him and smacks my arse. "Don't even think about climbing on the roof while I'm driving." I look back at him and he's deadly serious. It's hard to look past the fact that he's scolding me like a child and focus on the fact that he is probably just trying to stop me from killing myself. I try to lighten the mood by dancing against his seat like a stripper and it seems to work.

I slump down in a bunk when the music ends and retreat to the safety of my own iPod and Florence and the Machine. He has great taste but it's all just a little too energetic sometimes. I pretty much live on sugar and caffeine, so I buzz hard and crash harder. The options really are sleep or be a snappy bitch and then sleep. Unusually, I feel like sparing everyone of my bad mood.

I drift off during _Raise It Up_ and find myself back in that dark corridor outside my bedroom door. A cold breeze behind me blows it open and numbs my skin. My morbid curiosity leads me to that huddle on my bed and—

"Creedance! Ah, fuck!" I jolt upright and smack my face off the bottom of the bunk above me. Should have gone to chill upstairs. Ouch.

Meredith springs up and over to me with a cloth for my bleeding nose. "Again? We need to stop ending these tours with Plymouth, Ams." I snatch the cloth from her hand and hold it to my face. The lingering pain is so intense, it's making me feel sick. "We're in Cambridge, baby doll. The guys went to forage for food. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Do I _ever_ talk about it? "Is CJ mad at me for flirting with his friend?"

"Are you kidding? He's glad that you hit it off. Remember—'it's not gay when it's in a three way'."

I stagger from the bunk with a furrowed brow and make my wobbly way to the bathroom. It's ridiculously difficult to get there when the ground seems to be moving underneath me, like walking on a ferry during a storm.

Meredith leans down next to me and holds my hair back as I lean over the toilet and rest my face on the cold metal. "Ams, look at me." I lift my face to hers and struggle to focus before I flop back down and vomit noisily. I feel like I have the worst hangover in the world. "Oh hell." She leans back out of the bathroom door and calls for Louise.

"Yo!"

"Find us a bloody taxi, please."

The guys and gays swoop into A&E like I've been in some sort of major accident and descend into fits of giggles when they clap eyes on me. My nose has started to bruise, is still bloodied and I'm panda eyed. I raise a finger in warning. "Shut up."

CJ sits down on the bed next to me and pouts disingenuously, cupping my face in his hands and delicately tracing my bruised features. "What the hell did you do?" I'll let him off for laughing just once. Louise really didn't explain what had happened when she called them and I can appreciate that the hilarity is probably just nervous relief.

"She woke up too fast from a nightmare and face-planted the top bunk." My mouth drops open as the guys crack into further laughter and I glare hostilely at Meredith. She could have at least omitted the nightmare part.

CJ brushes it off and turns his attention back to me. It pleases me immensely that he's the only one not laughing now and he's oozing with concern. I've never seen that from a guy other than my dad before.

"It must have been some nightmare for you to have woken up with such a jolt. You okay, girl?" I smile at him weakly because, yes, I am okay now. His presence is bizarrely calming and is the light of my afternoon. That can't be good.

"They said she's badly concussed. We're going to have to cancel tonight's gig."

I raise an eyebrow at Meredith and shake my head. "I don't fucking think so. I've never cancelled a gig in my life and I've performed with laryngitis. This is just like performing pissed up."

"Are you still seeing double?"

"No," I lie to her second head. "Even if I was, like I said, performing pissed up."

CJ ruffles my hair and swings one of his superbly muscular arms around my waist. "If she wants to play, let her. I'll be in my usual spot watching the action, ready to swoop in if she flakes."

"Always watching, never listening." I glare at Levi and watch him wilt. I don't want CJ to start listening to us and find out who we are—I don't want this bubble to burst.

"To be fair, Levi, who can concentrate on the music when I put on such a good floor show? He probably has it better the way he does it." Meredith eyes me speculatively before extending a hand to pull me to my feet. She can tell that my motives for keeping him in the dark have changed and I can tell that she wants to know why.

I've been put on strict bed rest orders by the guys and I'm amazed by how tired I am. It's not often that I sleep sober. Trent Reznor and his friends keep me company as I doze until I feel my bed dip under someone else's weight. A warm arm wraps around my body and a familiar face rests against the crook of my neck.

"How are you feeling, girl?"

I roll over to face CJ and frown. "I honestly don't know." My head is so full of him, my fears and my hunger for his touch, yet so addled by the concussion that I'm engulfed in a mind numbing stupor. I'm so damn confused by all of these feelings swirling around. "Do I look like crap?"

He grits his teeth sympathetically at my horrendously discoloured face and shakes his head. "I'm sure there's still some Amelia underneath all that bruising." I groan and pull the quilt over my head in embarrassment. I sincerely hope that Lou has a wonder cure or some magnificent potion to make me look acceptable for the stage.

CJ's head ducks down under the quilt to meet mine and grins an enormous Cheshire cat grin at me that almost illuminates the darkness. "So we're camping under here now, that's cool." He gently tilts my chin up and runs his tongue from one of my clavicles to the other then up the length of my neck, groaning with approval as he moves. My memory is thrust back to my earlier conversation with his friend and his probing questions.

"So how do I taste, Caspian?"

He slowly raises his eyes to mine and begins to trail his tongue down my torso. "Like fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. So sweet and rapturous yet so forbidden." His words cut through me like swords and switch my desire on from zero to ten. _Fuck me, you fucking fucker!_ Christ—pussy tease.

"Aren't there doctor's orders against this?" By 'this' I mean turning on the invalid.

"Do you see any doctors around here? The bus is empty, Amelia; they're all at the sound check. It's just you and me."

My skin heats at the arrival of this news and I'm hit by a wave of uncharacteristic nervousness. For the first time, he has me truly alone with no band mates on the other side of the walls and I know how surprisingly soundproof this tour bus is. He could do anything right now and nobody need ever know. Another dirty little secret to add to my collection. I'm completely at his mercy here.

CJ sits up and pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing me to that herculean body that makes my mouth water, even through the potential terror. "I love that you sleep nude, Amelia. It makes my life much easier." He leans down over me and runs his fingers through my hair. My body freezes as he rests his head against mine—he's in a position of dominance and it's too much for my senses to withstand. "Relax, girl. I wouldn't kiss you now even if you were open to it. It'd hurt your face." My muscles relax slightly but I'm still intimidated by his stance over me. Kissing is the least of my concerns.

He slinks down as though he can detect that my limits are being pushed too far and grazes the bottoms of my ribs with his teeth. I feel a sudden tug around my waist. I'm pulled to the edge of the bed and he is on his knees on the floor. The heat of his body against my thighs sends my need for him flying through the roof. I know what he has and I want it. I need him, every last bit of him.

I inhale slowly at the divine sensation of his fingers pushing into me and moving around in circles to massage the contours of my insides. My synapses fire off madly at his touch and I'm seeing stars around me. He catches me off guard with another finger and his hot breath against my thigh. His lips brush against me and he murmurs as he trails kisses down from my knee to his hand.

"I wish you were mine. All of you." He sounds tortured and ravenous, crippled by his desperation for that which I won't—no, _can't_ surrender. It's not my fault that I can't, I could promise him that.

He withdraws his fingers suddenly and hooks my legs over his shoulders, burying his face into me and beginning a relentless assault on me with his mouth. He licks, caresses and sucks at me attentively and professionally, and I can image how his kiss must feel. Maybe that's his intention.

Feeling his carnal need for me mixed with my dangerous path of imagination pushes me over the edge and I claw at the sheets around me as my muscles clench with delight. But it's not enough, and he knows it. His attack on me is merciless and unwavering as I rupture again and again in ecstasy. Some inexplicable drive pulls me up onto my elbows so I can look into those godly eyes and he locks them onto me—he is driven and possessed by me.

He winces and groans as my stare on his tips him over the edge with me. I collapse backwards with a final ripple of appreciation. I feel dazed and overused, raw with lust and longing. He rests his head against my leg, his breath jagged and laboured.

"CJ, did you just—"

"Yes." He holds up a hand to silence me. He looks thoroughly ashamed of himself. "What the hell are you doing to me, Amelia?"

"Likewise." I lean forward limply and slap his bare shoulder. "Stop hiding down there and hold me." He crawls up apprehensively and eyes me warily. "Are you embarrassed or something?" I pull his arms around me and lean my head against his chest. The scent of his sweat acts as an aphrodisiac but we're both too weak to repeat that impressive performance.

"Yes, I'm embarrassed." I look up at his reddened face and inhale to steady my nerves as I lay my lips on the very out-most corner of his mouth. I feel his face twitch but he doesn't attempt to turn and force my hand. I'm bowled over by his respect for my limits.

"Don't be embarrassed, CJ. It's flattering to know that going down on me has that effect on you, and very complimentary that all I had to do was look at you." He narrows his eyes at me and purses his lips—he's not convinced but he knows better than to argue with me. He's a fast learner.

"How's the head?" It's rather good, thank you very much. Oh! He must mean—

"Head?" My eyes cross as I look down my purple tinged nose and laugh. "Oddly enough, I'd completely forgotten about the concussion. You're a very good medic."

Meredith hurtles up the steps to the top deck and squeaks involuntarily as she lays eyes on us. She has her almost post-coital 'the gig is sold out' glow about her and is despicably radiant. "Have you two just... you know?"

"You're so tactless, Meredith. No."

"Ah. Are you coming in? Louise is ready to sort you out."

I nod slowly and give her my 'go away now' look, and she retreats as quickly as she arrived. CJ heaves himself from my bed and grabs a towel from his holdall. He raises an eyebrow at me as my eyes flare at him peeling himself from his jeans.

I follow him downstairs to the bathroom and lean casually against the door frame. "You're a tease, Caspian." He winks at me and drops his boxers, scooping them up and throwing them at my face with a puckishly bitten lip.

"Are you going to shower?"

I cross my arms at him brazenly and sling his discarded pants over my shoulder. "No. Why would I? I'm filth. You're not getting these back, by the way."

He inhales slowly, his eyes sparkling with delight at my vulgarity, and towers up over me, his bare form wrapping around me like a cobra. "You're a wicked girl, Marsh. Are you really mine?"

I cock my head towards my Calvin Klein souvenir. "Would I really steal your dirty underwear if I wasn't?" I'm slightly appalled that he even has to think about his answer to that.

"I sincerely hope not." He frowns for a moment and runs his hands down my naked arms. "Does it really bother you that I listen to music while you perform?" I purse my lips at him and wonder where he's going with this. "I always listen to The Bystander Effect—the singer is like my other woman."

"She's your other woman, yet you have no idea what her name is or what she looks like?"

He flashes a grin at me and shrugs helplessly. "I think her name is Amy—" _close enough,_ "—but yeah, I'm a sucker for the mystery. I remember Googling Paramore and finding out Hayley Williams looks nothing like I imagined. Wounded. I'm not hot for red heads."

Now this is an interesting concept that I'm eager to explore. "So what do you think she looks like?"

"Hot, blonde, hostile. I watch you throw yourself around and imagine she's you. Is that weird?" _No, it's dead on, you moron!_

I wrinkle my nose and grab his chin between my thumb and the knuckle of my index finger. "Nah, not weird. And who am I to burst your bubble? I don't mind you listening to music if that's your train of thought—there's no way we could compete with those sexy bitches; they're really awesome. You'd like her—the singer—by the way. She's hot. I'll introduce you one day."

CJ's mouth drops open and inside my sides are splitting at this conversation. "You could do that?" _I could. I can. I kind of have._

"Of course I can, as long as you don't forget about little old me."

He leans down suddenly and bites my thumb gently. "As if, Amelia."

My attention is suddenly averted by what I think is a bright flash. I turn around hastily and scan the area but see nothing.

"What's wrong?"

"Did you just see a flash?"

"Uh, no? Must be that concussion."

I frown slightly before turning back to him. "Must be. I have to go and have my face fixed." I pull his boxers from my shoulder and point at him severely. "These are still mine, Pearce."

I smile warmly at CJ as we play that night. Knowing that he's completely oblivious to the fact that he's so close to the truth is enticing and wicked.

He smiles back and I know that it's because of what he envisions I sound like and not because of my poorly covered bruised face. I am idolised and revered for all the wrong reasons, yet I feel like both the poison and the antidote. I am powerful, yet overpowered—the dominant yet so submissive. He is topping from the bottom and I like it, I am ravenous for his greed for control but terrified by the decreasing distance to his goal. My resolve is beginning to break and I am starting to trust him.

This is where it all goes wrong.

# X

#

#

Meredith dabs at the bruising around my nose and eyes with arnica cream, brow furrowed and tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. The discolouration is fading fast but I still look like I've gone a few rounds with Tyson. Louise mixes various shades of concealer together with an expression as equally severe as Meredith's and I can't help it, I have to laugh.

Meredith's eyebrows practically shoot up off her head. "Who are you and what have you done with Amelia May Marsh?" I stick my tongue out at her and wrinkle my nose as a strong hand lays itself on my crown.

"S'up, girl." I look up and wink at CJ, frowning slightly as he passes me a carrier bag. "Lunch." He answers my silent question and passes another bag to Meredith and Lou.

Mer shoots a look at me that says that she's deeply impressed with his behaviour as I unpack the bag. I'm met by Burger King bag, a can of Rockstar, a huge slab of Galaxy chocolate and a single red rose. Seems like an odd addition to dessert.

I look up at him inquisitively as I unwrap my Whopper with cheese. "I don't know who you've been talking to, but I don't really find flowers that appetising."

He scoffs at me incredulously and cracks open my can of Rockstar. "Has nobody ever brought you flowers before?" I shake my head at him as I tuck in. I've seen the evil side of something that looked like a flower shaped cookie cutter, but never had them as a gift. "Hell, Amelia—the mind boggles. You called me your boyfriend in Norwich; this is what boyfriends do." Jesus, did I really say that?

Louise scoffs across the table. "No, it's what _good_ boyfriends do. I've been with Paul for seven years and not so much as a daisy." I lean up and kiss CJ on the cheek with a frown as Meredith coos over our poor neglected roadie, and I shake my head in exasperation. I honestly have no idea how to handle a gesture like this—it's way out of my comfort zone.

"Thank you. Not something I'm used to, but thank you."

He winks at me and reaches into the Burger King bag. Oh, so we have our lunch ordered together, too? "Get used to it, girl. If you stick with me for the duration, you're going to have to live with this. You're going to be eating, breathing and sleeping Caspian Jonas Pearce."

I stifle a laugh, remembering saying something extremely similar in regards to the tour bus on the first day he joined us. "Are you mocking me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He reaches over and wipes a small drop of ketchup from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, sticking it in his mouth and murmuring in approval. I know that action, too.

"I'll have you sued for copyright infringement if you keep stealing my moves, Caspian."

"I think it's only fair when you stole my pants." Our eyes are locked on each other and our banter is pushing us into a realm of indecency. Part of me nearly wishes that he'd licked that ketchup off...

"Would you two get a room?" I glance at Meredith from the corner of my eye and burst out laughing, breaking our intoxicating eye contact, and I'm amazed by how the atmosphere seems to shift when I'm not looking at him—like the world encloses around us but then rushes back into focus.

She shakes her head at me and joins in my laughter. I know that she's happy and amazed to see me so at ease.

Plato wanders over to the table with a face like thunder and taps my shoulder. "Honey bee, your dad is on the phone." My dad is always on the bloody phone, but it's not usually something that provokes a temper.

"Tell him I'm in the middle of lunch."

"He says that it's important." The look in his eyes says that he's deadly serious. I squeeze past CJ with my burger still in my hand and pick up the phone with a frown. My dad doesn't do 'important'.

"Hey papa bear, what's up?"

" _Amelia, baby, what's wrong with your mobile phone_?" He even _sounds_ serious. Oh hell, who's died? He sounds too fraught for it to be Mackenzie...

"Nothing Dad, I—" I pick my phone up from a discarded pile of clothes on the floor. "Dead battery."

"You're going to want Meredith to listen to your voicemail, baby bear."

Now he has me running scared... "Dad, what's wrong?"

"When was the last time you checked the gossip pages?"

"Never, papa bear, you know that."

" _Oh jeez. Brace yourself."_ I hang up, grab my charger and slink back down at the table. Not really sure if I want to investigate, actually. Might just eat my burger and plead ignorance.

"Media shitstorm by the sounds of it." Meredith gives me a puzzled frown and plugs my phone in, passing me her iPad. I type my name into Google and I'm floored. "I saw a flash." I turn to CJ and raise my eyebrows. "I told you that I saw a flash."

He looks over my shoulder and is greeted by the sight of us both standing naked in the doorway to the bathroom before the Cambridge gig. "Nice arse."

"Right back atcha."

Meredith rolls her eyes and turns my phone back on. "How can you two be so nonchalant about this?" She pulls the handset away from her ear quickly as a voice roars a string of expletives. "Holy shit, I'll take this outside."

Plato sits down in her place when she leaves, closely followed by Levi, and cocks his head at me suspiciously. "You're really not fazed." Fazed by my own nudity? Nope.

"No, it's fine. None of them name CJ and his face isn't visible. This is no worse than the Sweden shoot."

"Sweden shoot?"

I smirk sideways at CJ and bite my lip. "I'll show you later." He's going to love the Sweden shoot.

"Mimi, what planet are you on right now?" Earth?

Meredith storms back onto the bus and throws my dead phone down on the table. "Well, from the four screaming messages I managed to listen to out of twenty-seven, I can conclusively say that you have two options. Spill your beans tomorrow or you two have to split up."

Okay, _now_ I'm on Earth, landing with a painful thud. "What?" I spit at her acidly. "Why the hell should I?" I've only just started to get comfortable and now she's telling me to pack it up. I could make her mood swings a case study.

She throws her hands up in disbelief at my aloofness and slams them down on the table. "Because you have a photo shoot and interview with Chase tomorrow. Remember him?"

My jaw drops and I bury my head in my hands. I'd completely forgotten about that arsehole for the first time in three years. You would think that would be a good thing.

"Who the hell is this Chase anyway?" We all look up at CJ and groan simultaneously. He's not going to be too keen on the explanation.

"Chase is Amelia's super-famous, blackmailing bastard of a celebrity boyfriend."

I gasp in horror at Levi's succinct description. " _Fake_ boyfriend. It's a media farce." I look up into CJ's eyes imploringly but he won't make eye contact. I can see that he's really hurt and furious. "CJ, I swear, he's not my boyfriend. I wouldn't touch him if he paid me."

I make a grab for his hand but he yanks it away and storms out of the bus. A tremendous lump forms deep in my chest and all I can hear is my heart beating in my ears. I'm vaguely aware of Meredith shaking me but I feel nothing. I feel nothing at all if I can't feel that man's heart beating for me. I close my eyes as I'm engulfed by an immense terror that he has gone forever.

"Amelia!" My eyes jerk open and he's right there in front of me. I roll with my knee jerk reaction and slap him hard, backing up against the walls of the bus to put as much distance between us as I can.

"How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you everything if you just abandon me at every hurdle—why the hell should I?" I clutch my head between my hands and pull my knees up to my body as protection.

"To be fair, CJ, she has a point. You didn't even give us chance to explain the situation."

"I know, Erek. That's why I came back in." He sits down next to me and tries to touch me but I beat him away briskly. I'm still raw and crippled by the fact that I'm so susceptible to his behaviour. What's so special about him that makes me freak out at the drop of a hat? He has a bitch fit and it batters my sentience. Just... why?

Meredith leads him round to the other side of the table and sits down in his place beside me—I curl up into her arms and sigh weakly. I'm glad that he looks so rejected and remorseful; that's just a taste of how he makes me feel when he walks away.

"We met Chase at some music awards show three years ago. He spent the whole night coming on to Amelia because obviously she's fucking hot, and despite her complete disinterest, he cornered her and tried to kiss her. She descended into a panic attack and he judged her really harshly. From that day, he's been threatening to go to the media about her philematophobia if she doesn't maintain this ridiculous fake relationship with him and has consistently called her a freak."

"So what if he does? I told you, Amelia, before I even knew about all this, he can't say a damn word about you without making himself look like a dick. Why carry on?"

"Because I'm ashamed." I find my voice and sit up straight. "Imagine if you were still afraid of the dark and pissed the bed every night. Would you want that all over the internet?"

"No, but—"

"But what? But this is different? No, it's not, Caspian. Shame is shame, whatever form it takes. I worked damn hard to get where I am. My career is all I have. And if I jeopardise my career, I fuck it all up for these guys, too."

There's a groan of sudden realisation from the guys and Plato reaches over to take my hand, shaking his head sympathetically. "Oh hell, honey bee. Is that what's kept you silent for so long? You don't want to take us down with you?" They all worked as hard as I did to get to where we are and it would hardly be fair to drag them down to ground zero in the collateral damage of my ludicrous mental health issues.

I nod at him numbly and glance over at the clock. I need an immediate escape route. "Our rooms are ready at the hotel. I want to be on my own before the gig."

Meredith shifts her legs around to let me leave and grabs my hand. "I want a spare key to your room, Ams. I'm going to be checking on you."

I bet she will. I bet she fucking will.

I creep out from the dressing room at our first London venue in an unusually modest shirt and shorts ensemble and wander back stage. Our first support act has already finished but I haven't had my usual visit from CJ tonight. I'm deeply rapt by my old friend stage fright for the first time since Birmingham. He's always chased away my fears but now he's adding to them.

I look around and he's not here, nowhere to be found. Erek startles me by grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me into a hug. "He's staying at the hotel tonight, Ams. He doesn't want to hurt you with his presents."

"Presents? You mean presence?" Erek rolls his eyes and tightens his embrace, crushing me with his grotesquely muscular arms.

"Don't lose him over Chase. Celebs rebuild their careers from tatters all the time but you'll never find another one like CJ."

I'm bowled over by his insight and articulate English, and kiss his forehead. "You're a wonderful person, Erek."

I break free from his grasp and tentatively look out amongst the crowd. As always, our London gigs are sold out and there is a hell of lot of people out there waiting for us. It's terrifying. That familiar beating in my ears begins to deafen me, far overpowering the roar of the crowd. All I feel is the impact of my knees hitting the ground beneath me and then nothing.

Nothing until I'm thrust into a glorious fantasy of my lips on CJ's. It's willing and desperate, I'm pouring myself into him and laying my soul bare for him to rip apart at the seams and leave me broken. He kisses me back with equal desperation—sucking and biting on my lips until I taste blood. He wrenches himself away from me and forces me to drown in his eyes.

"I'm in love with you, Amelia. Don't push me away."

I open my eyes to a golden haze pouring in through the window and I feel like hell. My head is pounding and every muscle in my body is aching, and that dream nags at my memory. It's an insult to my subconscious—a mockery of my insecurities and a sly stab at me for losing the opportunity to feel that passion in person.

My eyes are bleary and my mouth as dry as sandpaper. I reach out hopefully for water but find none.

"Here." I rub my eyes and adjust to the shape of the figure which has just seated itself next to me, taking a glass from their hand. Their voice is almost tubular and I'm at a loss as to their identity.

"I don't remember the gig."

"There was no gig, Amelia."

I sit upright and gulp gratefully from the glass. It's orange juice and its tart—it stings my throat as I swallow. "What do you mean 'no gig'?"

"You had a panic attack and nobody could pull you out of it. Not even me. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen, girl. You worried the crap out of me."

"CJ?" I rub my eyes again and wince as I knock my still bruised nose.

"Who did you think I was?"

"I don't know, I can't see too well."

I feel the bed lighten as he stands then I'm bathed in daylight when he opens the curtains. "Better?" I look up at him and frown. Yes, I can see better, but I don't feel any lighter for what I see.

"That depends on your interpretation of 'better'. How long have you been here?"

He sits down again and furrows his brow. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen, the green of his irises dulled but still beautiful. But he still won't look at me. "All night, Amelia. I couldn't leave you in that state; you've been crying out all night." Oh god, that can't be good. Is that why he won't look at me?

"What have I been saying?"

He eyes me wearily. "Names, mostly. Mine, Creedance, Mackenzie, Lucien, Meredith. But mostly mine."

I inappropriately cough out a laugh. "Jesus, if I was shouting for my sister, I must have been out of it." He raises an eyebrow, clearly looking for an explanation. "Mackenzie. We don't exactly see eye to eye." Really more fist to face. Or head to face, or generally just the closest blunt object.

"Ah."

We sit in a tense silence for a few minutes before he glances down at his phone. "Don't you have to get ready for a photo shoot and interview?" He's just wishing away the seconds, isn't he?

"I don't need to prepare. They dress me and fix me up. CJ, this interview—"

He holds a hand aloft and stiffens. I want to reach over to reassure him but I'm almost certain that he'd push me away. It's killing me that our bond is being broken over such a petty idiot. "I don't want to hear it, Amelia. I understand your reasons for keeping up the charade with that Chase jackass, but to say that you have nothing but your career is bullshit. You have your friends and you have fans that won't turn away from you just because you admit that you're human. And more than anything, you have me, and I'm crazy about you."

I briefly remember my dream of him and lean forward, grabbing his face so he has to look at me. I grit my jaw, trying to read those eyes that resonate so much restraint and hindered emotion, but I can't say for sure if I'm reading correctly something that I've never seen. "Are you in love with me?"

His eyes gleam with palpable fear and he pulls my hands from his face. He pushes me back gently and looks down aimlessly at the bed. It wasn't a difficult question—is it really that unbearable to care for me?

"Here," he bites his lip as he pulls the steel ring from his right hand with great difficulty, cupping it in my palm and closing my fingers around it. "Go to your interview, do what you want to do. But please, only wear that ring if you're mine, Amelia. You're my world right now, but I won't be your dirty little secret. I'd like to think that I'm worth the risk."

He kisses me quickly on the forehead and leaves my hotel room, and I'm left feeling completely out of my depth. I stare down at the ring as it shines up at me, begging me to indulge his request. But he never actually told me how he feels. I really needed that answer.

Meredith pushes the door open cautiously and gives me a small disingenuous smile. "Are you okay?"

I wait for a ribbing over my pre-show flake out but it doesn't come. I can't even imagine how annoyed and disappointed everyone must be. So many fans turned away after hours of queuing and our support acts... "I'm so sorry, Mer, I don't remember a single damn thing beyond talking to Erek."

"You really scared us. Some of the crowd saw you, there's a ton of videos circulating the Internet." She sits down next to me and puts a shaky hand on my shoulder. Did I really crumble so badly? "We're coming with you to the interview for moral support."

"CJ?" She looks at me with a face that says 'get real' and passes me my aviators. Of course he's not coming, why did I even ask? "I need clothes."

"You're still dressed from last night." I look down at my body and see that I am indeed still in my stage outfit and it's more than suitable for walking the streets of London, albeit a little creased. I slip CJ's ring into my breast pocket and clamber out of bed—my knees buckle slightly as I stand. "Are you sure that you're up for this? You could postpone."

I roll my eyes at Meredith and slip my aviators on over my bruised face. There's a man out there waiting on my answer as to whether I'm his, and I doubt that he'll wait. "I don't think that's really an option, do you?"

The _Rage Against Everyone_ offices seem as hostile as the name of their publication. The walls are painted a dirty brown-grey and all the furniture is upholstered in faded and worn zebra print suede and littered with cigarette burns. A lax attitude to smoking and alcohol abuse is evident in the thick layer of smoke hanging below the ceiling and the residual smell of vomit. I'm eternally thankful for being familiar with the staff as I'm fairly sure that every single one of them could knock me out with a single bitch slap.

I'm rocking backwards and forwards in my seat under the watchful eye of my band mates and Levi; all four of them are terrified that I'll slip into another panic attack. "Would you all stop fucking fussing?"

"Honey bee, we thought you were dying again last night." Honestly, how can a group of psychology graduates be so dramatic over a panic attack? Plato leans forward and rests a hand on my knee to still me. "Relax. We're here for you, whatever happens."

I roll my eyes and resume my sway. "I do another bullshit interview, have a few pictures taken, go back to the hotel, CJ goes home and I get indecently drunk. That's what happens." A murmur of disapproval ripples around them and I shake my head. "I'm not taking you all down with me."

"Maybe we don't care because we love you," Meredith hisses at me, "and because we like seeing you happy with CJ. Is all of this really worth losing him over?"

I stare at her for a moment before my attention is stolen by Chase marching in. He's the same as ever—boring blue eyes with no depth, dirty blonde hair slicked back like a greaser atop a face like a smacked arse, a cheap chequered shirt and ripped stonewashed jeans. He's definitely no CJ.

He glances down as us with distaste and shoots me the daggers. "Why the fuck is your phone off?" Another man who was clearly never taught any manners.

"So I don't get bothered by dicks like you." I narrow my eyes. A petite purple haired woman in a black satin playsuit walks out from one of the interview rooms mid-conversation and gapes at me. "Nancy."

She rushes towards me and grabs my hands with her acid green tipped talons. Bloody hell, coordination? "Meels, I heard about last night! I didn't think you'd make it." I love Nancy to pieces. She's the only rock journalist I can count on to not misquote or paraphrase me. Not to mention she's as cute as a button, about four foot tall and worships the ground I walk on. I could just tuck her into my pocket and steal her to be my own personal midget cheerleader.

"That's why we're all here. They're on panic attack watch."

Her brow creases as she surveys me suspiciously. "Panic attacks. Yeah, I didn't think 'bad trip' sounded like you somehow." Oh for god's sake, is that what people are saying about me? "Come through guys, they'll do your make-up while we do the interview."

We're all led into a large room—it's brighter than the reception and painted blood red. I'm forced down next to Chase on a large beige couch while the guys sit on one directly opposite. Ten eyes watch me cautiously while I shift uncomfortably, eager to put as much distance between me and my 'boss', who looks anywhere but me.

Nancy sits down in a chair between our couches and kicks off her shoes, curling one leg underneath her. She gasps when I remove my aviators. "What the hell happened to your face, Meels?"

"Bunk bed mishap."

"Ouch. Thank god we have airbrushing facilities." _Jeez, thanks for your sympathy. "_ I didn't mean that how it came out, babe. I just meant it must be a bitch to cover that bruising." She flushes crimson and busies herself with some scraps of paper and a digital camcorder, definitely mortified by the accidental insult. "I can greyscale it." That's reassuring. Not.

The make-up artists file in and begin to fuss over my complexion. I see one of them roll their eyes, quite blatantly rethinking her hourly rate. _You think it's bad now? You should have seen it yesterday._

"Okay, guys, let's get on with it. Amelia, how's the tour going?"

"I won't lie, it's had its ups and downs," a smile flickers across my face as I recall all my dressing room antics, "but mostly ups." But right now, very much down.

"Awesome, Chase?" I don't hear what he replies, everything he says is like white noise to me. "So do you miss each other when you're out on the road?"

I glare at him venomously and shake my head. "I don't get chance to miss him, he leaves me a ridiculous amount of voice mail messages."

Nancy raises an eyebrow, eyes widened at my expression. "Can we expect a Bystander Effect and Monday's Miracle joint tour any time soon?"

"I doubt it—we like to be centre of attention." I try to hide my spite behind a forced laugh. We might fall into the same genre musically, but nothing would sicken me more than travelling with his deeply unpleasant little auto-tuned gang.

"There's been a lot of media attention surrounding you and a picture of you standing naked on your tour bus with a faceless male. Can you dispel some of the speculation for me?"

I glance over at the guys and they're all gazing at me imploringly. I tell the truth in interviews—they know that, but I won't purposely incriminate myself. "What do you want to know, Nancy?"

She furrows her brow and chews on the finger nail of her index finger. "Well, who he is and the circumstances of your nudity, obviously."

I catch sight of Meredith gnawing on her lip nervously.

"I'm not at liberty to provide names but the circumstances were as follows: I was on strict bed rest orders after my bunk bed related concussion and we were talking while he got ready to take a shower. I was just leaving for the sound check. We're all very comfortable in our own skin and very comfortable in each other's company. We love each other like siblings." Siblings into incest obviously; we were a bit too cosy for it to be fooled with good nature altruism.

"So it was completely innocent?" _Yeah, that part was._

"Totally."

Chase sneers at me and I give him the finger in return.

"You two seem very hostile towards each other. Have you had some sort of argument? Shall I stop the camera?"

"I think that would be good, Nancy. Amelia is looking kind of like she's going to drop again." Meredith drags me off the couch by my arm and leads me into the corner, closely followed by the rest of the guys. She glowers in Chase's direction and drops her voice to an urgent stage-whisper. "What the hell are you doing, Amelia?"

"Being impartial."

"You're being evasive. She can tell that you're hiding something."

I scan across the profiles of my company and shake my head. This room seems so empty without CJ in it. He's become one of us in such a short time and nowhere seems complete without that impish grin and visceral gaze claiming me as its own.

Levi reaches out for my hand and kisses my knuckles. "He told me that he loves you, Mimi. He's completely crushed by the idea of losing you but he has good strong morals. He's totally infatuated with plain old bitchy, flawed, crazy Amelia Marsh—he has no idea how famous and rich you and your dad are. He's pretty much unique." They all murmur in agreement around me and I know how right they are. Just one night without his touch destroyed me, how could I possibly cope with a lifetime?

I reach into my breast pocket and pull out CJ's ring. _Meet me halfway_. I think I've gone more than my fair half of the distance but I'm happier standing on the precipice waiting for him to catch up than I am tumbling down the chasm into Hell.

I glance up quickly and bite my lip. "Go back to the hotel and send Big Dave in a security t-shirt. I can handle the rest of this on my own."

Meredith shakes her head at me hesitantly. "What if you have another panic attack?"

"I won't."

"What are you going to do?"

I look back down at the ring thoughtfully and wave a hand to dismiss them.

"I'll tell you when I get back. I haven't decided yet."

My mind is plagued by everyone's words and fond memories of our tour when I sit back down next to Chase. I'm quite sure that I'm probably glassy eyed and people are probably thinking that I'm crazy. I am, but I prefer to keep that side of me bathed in mystery.

"You okay, babe?"

I raise an eyebrow at Chase and scoff. _Babe? Bloody babe?_ "Best I've been in three years, no thanks to you."

Nancy clears her throat and rubs her hands together. The distinct look of glee that can only be found in a journalist about to mine for diamonds of gossip is unmistakeable. That or she's high again. "I'm getting a hell of a lot of hostility between you but no reasons why. Are you two breaking up?"

"No." We answer together but we're locked in a death stare. The memory of CJ's touch urges me to rebel. I need that touch. Need it more, I think, than countless fans thinking I'm flawless.

If I really think about it, I can't imagine my life without him now. He won't stay and be a fool, hiding our relationship while I play in this stupid game and I understand that. He's the only solid thing I've had come into my life for as long as I can remember but he's standing on shaky foundations, so is he really that solid?

I think he'd stay and be my secret if I actually asked him to, even though he said he wouldn't. But I don't want him to be a secret. I want to brag about how hot he is and how kind he's been to me. I don't want to pretend he's worth less and Chase is worth more—that's so fucked up. And more than anything, I want the women of the world to know he's mine and they can't have him.

I can't do that tied to someone else. And I can't forget how great I felt just twenty-four hours ago.

"You can't end something that never existed."

"Pardon?"

I blow a raspberry in Chase's face and turn with a smile to an incredibly confused Nancy. "Get this idiot out of here and I'll tell you all about how he's been blackmailing me for three years. You're finished, Chase. I don't care any more." And I really don't. To hell with my neuroses.

He glares at me and shifts an inch or two closer, squaring his shoulders into the sort of stance that usually comes in a street brawl initiated by 'you fuckin' startin'?'. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Suits me, just humiliate yourself in my presence, I'll find it immensely satisfying."

Nancy holds a hand up to silence us and glares with a mixture of excitement and frustration. "You've given me countless interviews telling me how in love you are. Why are you saying this now?"

I look down at CJ's ring again and frown. "Conflict of interests."

"Conflict of i— ... What the hell are you talking about, Meels?"

"Before now, I thought I had everything to lose. Now I know I had nothing. I have everything to lose now." Even if my career goes down the pan, I have more than enough money to never work again in my life, continuous royalty payments and the guys can regroup. I could keep CJ and I well into old age...

Why did I just jump to the assumption that we'd get wrinkly and senile together?

Chase narrows his eyes. "You _are_ fucking your tour bus driver."

I meet his glare and shake my head. "No, I'm not." I slide the ring onto the ring finger of my right hand and bite my lip. "But I'm sure as hell not going to lose out on the chance to screw him until he chaffs to keep you happy. I don't belong to you, never have. I'm his."

I grin smugly as Chase is escorted from the building after making a wild lunge at me during my detailed account of his blackmail. Apparently there was something about being called 'a freak with a face like a bag of spanners who can't pull a bird without threatening her' that he didn't like. Funny that.

Nancy shakes her head in bewilderment and hands me a bottle of Budweiser as she sits down on the couch next to me. "This story is huge, Meels. I don't know why you thought it would ruin you."

I fiddle with CJ's ring and pout thoughtfully. I'm not really sure either any more. "I'm not exactly proud of the fact that I have such a weird phobia, Nancy. It's a miracle that I've found someone who's willing to live with it." Or force me to confront it. Either way.

"And he really doesn't know that you're the singer he idolises from the band he adores?"

I look at her dead pan. "Seriously, Nancy. He's crazy in love with Amelia Marsh the person, not Amelia Marsh the celebrity."

She looks at me speculatively for a moment and puts her hand on mine. "Babe," she hacks at me with her full-blown Cockney accent," I want to write this whole story up, get you a centrefold and send you the article before it goes to the publishers. Tell me I can't and I'll only write about Chase and the blackmail, but the public loves romance."

"You'll leave his name out?"

"I swear, I won't name and shame. The only people who'll know are the friends he's told that he's driving for you. You just need to trust that they won't spill the beans."

I nod slowly and let a grin spread across my face. We've gotten this far without anyone telling him. "Centrefold?" I do love being a centrefold. Double-sized me sprawled out across an A3 spread. Elitism at its finest with staples in my face and a crease down my middle.

Nancy beams at me and tilts her head towards the door. "I did have a photographer for you and Chase. We could still utilise his services."

I spend a horrendously long time posing crudely for the camera and watching over Nancy as she pieces together a rough copy of her article for me to take back to show the guys. The pictures haven't been airbrushed yet but the photographer is fairly amazing with his lighting, so most of the bruising around my nose and eyes is bleached out.

Big Dave is sat in corner in his security t-shirt with a few bottles of beer looking fairly pleased with himself; there are other photo shoots going on and he's been given a free pass to the floor show. Any excuse to look at tits, covered or not.

Nancy prints off a copy of the spread and hands it to me. "So what are you doing now?"

"Going back to my hotel to tell my man that I chose him over my career and that he's banned from talking to his friends until we finish the tour." Sounds reasonable in a totally unreasonable kind of way. I'm sure that will go down a treat.

She stifles a laugh and shakes her head. "Good luck with that one, Meels. I want first shout on all your future articles, okay? You know I make you look good." Like I need help to look good, puh-lease. It's the journos who make me look bad. I'm just like, totes amazeballs and Nancy has been drip feeding me booze for four hours, which makes me doubly awesome with mad superhero powers but also makes me talk shit.

I wink at her playfully and cock my head at Dave. "David, get me the hell back to my bitches." He raises an eyebrow and stoops down so I can mount his back. "See ya, Nancy!"

I race through the streets of London on my twenty stone stallion, calling into an off license to buy some cheap fizz—my shoulders feeling the lightest that they've been in three years. Our hotel is only a few streets away, much to Big Dave's relief, and everyone is waiting in the lobby when we return.

I'm instantly plagued by questions and insults for our prolonged absence, so I raise my hand and pull the folded up article from my pocket, breaking into song.

"My blood runs cold..." Everyone looks at me like I've lost the plot. Maybe I have. "My memory has just been sold." I open the page out with a flourish and a twirl. "My angel is a centrefold!"

Meredith snatches the sheet from my hand and gapes. "Holy shit, Amelia! Is this legit?" 'Course not, I spent the past few hours chuckling away with Dave in an Internet café, taking amateur pictures on my smartphone and Photoshopping them within an inch of their life just to put together a fake centrefold. Riiight.

I raise a finger to my lips and nod. "I made her put together a rough draft to show you guys. She's sending me everything before it goes to print; she wants my total approval." The guys all stand with bated breath and turn to look at CJ, who's sitting on his own in the furthest corner of the lobby sipping whiskey. He looks like he still hasn't slept and is just a husk of the man I put myself out on the line for.

I approach him cautiously and push the creased centrefold across the table towards him, but he doesn't look at it. "Good interview?"

I try to remain as neutral as possible. "Yeah, great. Eventful. Awesome photographer."

"How's your boyfriend?" I cock my head and fold my arms. Fine, if that's how we're playing this.

"I don't know. I presume drunk because he's not looking at the pictures of his hot half-naked girlfriend sprawled across the middle of _RAE_ magazine. Look at the fucking article, Caspian." His eyes flicker up to the paper wearily and scan it quickly before moving up to my arms. I wiggle my right hand at him and try to detect some emotion behind his unusually lustreless eyes.

He blinks for a moment before downing the rest of his whiskey and standing up. "Are you coming?" _Not at this precise moment._ Oh. Right, he didn't mean that.

I stand up and frown at him, arms still crossed. "Coming where?"

He stoops down and picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder. _Okay, so I_ am _coming to wherever._ I hang there limply as he traipses hastily through the hotel and kicks open the door to his room, tossing me down on his bed and savagely tearing at my clothes.

He pauses for a moment, and leaps up to lock the door. A hello and thank you would have sufficed, but what the hell.

He stares down at me with a raw animalistic and entirely drunken gleam in his eyes. "You're wearing my ring." I nod slowly as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, his eyes burning into mine possessively. "You're mine." There is no doubt in my mind that his words are a statement and not a question. "Tell me you feel the same way about me."

My racing mind freezes—this is a huge request on his part and the words won't flow. "Isn't that obvious from what I've just done?"

"Tell me, Amelia." He's dewy-eyed and beautiful before me, slowly stripping down to display his bare form and my god, he's in full bloom and standing proud. I might be coerced.

He leans down over me and traces a finger over my face. I shudder fearfully as he brushes his lips across mine, but doesn't kiss me. The feather light touch is mind-blowing and completely obliterates my senses. His breath is sharp and hot with liquor, and burns my nerves impeccably. "Trust me. Please."

"I do trust you." I inhale deeply and close my eyes as his fingers trail down my body and slowly push into me. There's something different about this moment compared to the others, it feels like another sort of milestone but I can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's the heat behind his irises, or maybe it's because the air seems heavy and the room much dimmer than it should be. This is intense, almost menacingly so, but there's not a single bit of me that is afraid of the way he's calling the shots.

His fingers bore into me and his thumb rubs against my clit as he grazes my earlobe with his teeth. "Tell me that you love me."

I grab his face between my hands and force him to stare into my eyes. "I spent the whole day proving to the world how I feel about you. Meet me halfway, CJ. Give me something to prove that if I say it, you won't laugh in my face."

My skin prickles with anticipation as he hooks an arm under my knee and raises my leg. I glance down and I'm amazed by how close he is to surrendering his virginity to me. I'm almost terrified for him because I know from experience that life can turn so sour beyond the point of no return.

"That wasn't what I meant. You don't have to do _this_ , CJ."

He rubs the head of his spectacular penis against me and bites his lip. "I know."

Every inch of my body feels like it's bathed in flames as he eases himself into me. My back arches towards the heavens as he slowly fills me, shedding his purity and groaning against my neck. I've never felt fullness like it; there's not a single piece of me to spare and his flesh on mine is more inebriating than every drug combined.

He fills me as far as my physical limitations will allow and rubs his nose against mine. "You have everything I have to give you, Amelia. Tell me that you love me."

I stare into his eyes hazily, rendered incoherent by my euphoric state and his dangerous distance from my lips. "I do, CJ, I'm in love with you. Ruin me."

And it's a plea. I want to be ruined by him—I want to lay down at his feet and accept him as my master. He has to take his seat on his throne as my ruler because if he won't, I'll be lost.

He slowly eases out of me with a satisfied moan and pushes his way back in. Faster this time—more impassioned and less weary. "I'm not going to ruin you, Amelia, but I am going to fucking wreck you." Who said romance was dead?

His pace and force increases as his confidence grows and lifts me far beyond the heavens into the outer reaches of existence. He's rough and selfish now, but never takes his eyes from mine. He thrusts into me brutally and it's a pleasurable pain, I can't take any more of him but he pushes and pushes until my body can take no more.

My muscles are like a vice around him when I hit my climax and his moan of pleasure is guttural and beastly. He continues his assault. I want to cry out for him to stop and rip my eyes away from his but I'm so hopelessly consumed in him that I no longer care how weak I feel.

He leans his forehead against mine and I can feel his sweat drip down onto me. "Oh Jesus, Amelia, I love you so much it hurts."

His words hit me like a truck load of Viagra and I am completely invigorated by his confession. I reach down into myself and find the strength to push him over on to his back and take charge of this... This!

He grips me by my hips as I bear down onto him and I find myself almost winded by how deep into me he is. I grind against him relentlessly until I feel another spasm in my muscles.

"Oh fuck, Caspian!" My head tosses back and I gasp for breath, and feel that he finds his release, too. I collapse forward onto his clammy chest, draping him in long blonde and black flecked hair, and listen contentedly to his heart racing within his ribs.

He wraps an arm around me and shimmies up the bed, still inside me, pulling the covers over us when we simultaneously begin to shiver from our cooling perspiration.

He runs his fingers through my hair and nuzzles me affectionately. "You stay right where you are, Marsh. I don't want this moment to end."

# XI

#

#

I wake up the same way I fell asleep: curled up and blissful in CJ's arms. My right arm is outstretched across the bed and he's examining every inch of tattoo work with intense scrutiny and wonderment. He looks smug and overly confident when he realises I'm awake but doesn't look at me.

Oh dear god, I've created a monster.

"Good morning, girl." His fingers run down the length of my arm and down my side, torturing my secretly ticklish skin. He rolls me onto my back, and it's then that I realise that he's still inside me and rock hard. Ah, that would explain why he looks so cocky, no pun intended.

He starts to nip and kiss my neck very slowly and eases himself in and out of me. This is some wake up call—I might grow attached to it. My insides are tight and tender, each movement feels like I'm being ripped to pieces at first, but I'm no stranger to pain. To me, this is the same sort of pleasure I imagine others feel when they're whipped and restrained.

I, however, don't, but maybe my warped experiences have programmed me to enjoy hurt.

He seems different this morning. I'm sure that I can feel his devotion in every kiss he spreads across my skin and I feel like I owe him something.

"Kiss me." The words burn my throat as they leave my mouth, rapt with fear and apprehension.

I look up at him nervously as he meets my gaze and shakes his head. "No, Amelia. You're not ready yet."

My mouth drops open in utter shock at his respect for my fears. He raises his face to mine and clamps his teeth around my bottom lip gently, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Biting, not kissing."

This releases something wild in both of us and suddenly we're a tangle of limbs locked in a frenetic battle of wills, though our goal is the same. The force of his thrust increases to rival last night's encounter and I rock with him, matching him blow for blow. He takes me right to the brink before he flashes me a salacious, lupine grin and winks. My nails tear down his back and I'm rendered incoherent by my orgasm.

"Anyway, as I was saying..." He grins down at me and laughs. "Good morning, girl."

"Yes, yes it is." I wince as he withdraws from me and I'm rewarded with a kiss on the head, I presume for being such a brave soldier. "Watch yourself, Caspian. I'll be getting too used to being woken up like that." I think that he was bluffing about being a virgin. He's way too good.

I growl with frustration as his phone rings next to us, forcing him to tear himself away from me. No, not cool. _Get out of my blissful little bubble of newly budding and monumentally significant and unheard of romance._

"Meredith, always a pleasure. Now? I don't think Amelia can move right now." He rolls his eyes, leans down to collect my clothes from the floor and tosses them at me. "Yes, Meredith." He hangs up and sticks his bottom lip out at me pitifully. "Your journalist friend, Nancy, is down in the lobby with your article."

"Already? Bloody hell, she's keen." I swing one leg around out of the bed and sit up, inhaling sharply between my teeth. I'm completely raw and beaten up, and it's oddly endearing. I raise my eyes up to him and I can feel myself smouldering. "You savage," I whisper, and scoff in mock-disgust.

He cocks his head, puts one hand on his hip and holds the other one out to lift me from the bed. "Stop looking at me like that or I'll do it again."

Nancy looks at me with raised, drawn on black eyebrows as I limp into the lobby hand in hand with CJ and both of us with matching just-fucked hair.

"Went well then?" I laugh at her while CJ lowers me down into a chair carefully and sits next to me, one arm across the back of my seat and a hand possessively spread out across my thigh. She stares at him with her tongue between her teeth and I give her 'the look' for eye-fucking my _boyfriend_. "You're the tour bus driver? God damn. I can see why she'd risk it all for you."

He turns his head away quickly, to hide a blush, I'm sure.

Nancy runs her tongue across her teeth and tears her eyes away from _my_ man. "I worked tirelessly on this all night, Meels, I wanted to get it to you before you leave London. But I have to say now, I'm wondering if I can spread this out further. Did you, you know, face your fear last night?"

My brow furrows for a moment. "No, I didn't." I kind of feel like CJ has been cheated.

"But you—" CJ turns back to us and threads his fingers between mine with a wide, dopey smile slowly spreading across his features. "What happened?" I look at him curiously. I want to know, too.

He trades a momentary glance with Meredith, who is hiding away with the other guys in a corner, and for a brief moment they almost look like they have a guilty secret. Fear shreds through me—what have they done?

He turns back to me and raises my right hand to Nancy. "I won't push her for something she's not ready for, and I have everything I need from her. There's nothing quite as intimate as a girl slipping her finger into your ring."

Nancy bursts into manic laughter and claps her hands together. "So you're funny, loyal, romantic, musical, artistic, fit as fuck, and dating Amelia Marsh. Is there anything you don't have?"

"Breakfast." He leans over and kisses my forehead before wandering over to the guys, leaving Nancy to hand me the final draft of the article. The semi-nude photographs of me have been flawlessly airbrushed to remove all traces of my bruising and the article itself reads like a dream. _Amelia Marsh Bears All: Blackmail, phobias and_ that _photograph_.

I nod at her slowly and suck on my bottom lip. "Okay, I approve."

"Awesome. Once he's in the know, I'd really like to get you both in for another article. You _are_ going to tell him, right?" I wrinkle my nose dubiously and blow a raspberry. I'm not entirely sure that I want to; we've kept it quiet for this long. Does it matter?

Nancy regards me with mock disgust. "Meels, you have to tell him. You're his dream woman, for god's sake." I scowl at her because I know she's right. I can't hide this forever.

I hobble over to the guys when Nancy has left and nestle myself under CJ's outstretched arm. Everyone is looking at me expectantly and I have no idea why.

CJ pours me a cup of coffee and sighs. "They want to know if I'm a good lay, Amelia."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "You guys are so fucking tactless."

Levi slaps my arm and looks at me sternly. I can tell that he's feeling deprived because I'm usually more than happy to surrender this kind of information with blow-by-blow accounts and an extensive list of criticisms. But for some reason, I'm feeling kind of protective over the details of our insanely wild sex life.

He pulls a biro from his pocket and scribbles two crude stick men on a napkin. "This is your best and worst. Pinpoint his position on this scale."

"He's sitting right next to me, Levi." Everyone stares at me eagerly, even CJ, so I take the biro from his hand and unfold the napkin, shaking my head severely. "This napkin isn't big enough."

CJ's mouth drops open and he looks slightly put out. "In which direction?" _Oh for god's sake._

"I'm walking like John Wayne this morning; which direction do you think?"

Meredith snickers into her coffee cup and rubs my arm affectionately. "I'll buy ear plugs." That's probably wise. She should buy a blindfold, too.

We're all sat in Trafalgar Square in a sea of pigeons, staring deep into the waters of the fountain. Meredith snakes an arm around my waist as I fiddle wistfully with CJ's ring. I'm overcome with a buzz-killing sadness as I watch all of the tourists milling around—so far from home but still with their loved ones.

"Why do you look so sad? Is he that bad?"

I glance up at her and shake my head. Nothing about that man is bad. "It's not him. He's amazing. It's the US tour." She murmurs, reading my mind. The US tour is significantly longer than the UK tour, with at least one gig in every state and at least three in New York and California. The distance is going to be one hell of a strain on our relationship, which still has so many barriers to cross.

Pulling a face awkwardly, she stares into the sky above us. "Ask him to come with us. Download, too." She looks back down at me and jerks her head towards Levi and Plato. "Levi has been touring with us for four years now. That first year drove them crazy. We like having CJ around." She smiles at me helplessly and digs into the pocket of her Tiger Of London tartan hipsters to retrieve her buzzing phone. _Who are you and what have you done with Meredith Cho?_ We had to battle and bribe her to get her to accept Levi onto the bus. "Yo, Nancy!"

CJ takes her place at my side with his phone to his ear. "Andy, man, I don't think they do private sets. No, I don't think she'll want to talk to you." I tug at his sleeve inquisitively and he shrugs at me. "Andy has something stupid to ask you."

"I'm down for stupid." I'd have thought that was obvious from the impromptu rooftop gig.

His forehead creases into a frown and he reluctantly passes me his phone. "You don't have to say yes to him."

I wave my hand dismissively and take the phone from him to turn on the speaker. "Andy."

" _Amelia."_ His voice is as smooth and seductive as last time. I must remember to reserve him for Meredith. " _How are you, beautiful?"_ Oh, now there's an endearment that comes with a begged favour.

"Under siege. What can I do for you?"

" _How do you feel about private gigs?"_ I see Plato raise an interested eyebrow.

"I don't think you can afford us."

Andy laughs coolly. " _Silly rabbit. You finish your tour just before CJ's birthday—a private show for him would be awesome."_ I blink numbly for a moment and look over at Plato and Erek. They both shrug at me, surrendering the decision.

"You do realise—"

"I know what you're going to say, Amelia. I haven't forgotten. But can you imagine what an epic birthday present that would be?" The idea of parting with my anonymity scares me to no end and I doubt that it would be by any means 'epic'.

My mind begins to haze over when Meredith waves at me. "Hang on a second, Andy."

She regards me curiously and tucks a blonde tendril behind my ear. "Nancy wants to know when she can publish the article online."

"Whenever, I don't care."

"What's wrong?"

"CJ's hot friend wants us to play at CJ's birthday party." Crap, speakerphone. He suggests something explicit when he hears me call him hot that doesn't appear to impress 'the siege'.

She exhales slowly and furrows her brow. "That means telling him everything. I'll leave it in your hands, baby doll, do what you think is best." Just once, I wish somebody would take big decisions from my hands. I'm the frontman, not the boss. Aren't I?

I chew on my lip thoughtfully and remember where I am. "Andy?"

"Yo. What article?"

"Oh, you'll love it." I look around and I can see that all eyes are on me, eager for my verdict. "We'll do it, Andy. We'll do a one off private gig. No media. I'll get your number off CJ and call you later, okay?"

" _You're the best, Miss Marsh. Laters."_ Yeah I bloody well am the best. I hand CJ back his phone and smile uncertainly.

He cups my face in his hands and drags me into his gaze. "Private gig, seriously?" He looks almost excited.

"Two conditions." I raise my fingers and frown, a little disconcerted for barking orders. "One, you only answer calls from your family and Andy until your birthday. And two, you keep your headphones on like you have all this time for the last four gigs of this tour, and then you pay full attention on your birthday. I want you to be surprised on the day."

He nods in confusion and pulls me into an embrace without question. I am filled with an unwavering dread and fear. He's already tolerated so much of my crap—this could be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Louise is working me over with the arnica cream again while Levi sits behind me braiding my hair. What a bloody woman. Meredith and Plato are huddled over the iPad while CJ and Erek chat quietly in the corner—CJ has my Stratocaster and is strumming quietly without even thinking.

The image of him right now is truly magnificent, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I have to make the most of him now in case his birthday ruins everything.

Big Dave wanders through the hotel lobby and eyes me and CJ with amusement. "You have a gig in a couple of hours, shouldn't you be fucking backstage?" I blush and become aware of my still tender insides. To think I thought it would be me who broke him.

"Don't be offended if we deprive you of your pre-show pornography, sugar tits, I need a night off."

He raises an eyebrow at me and puts a hand on my forehead. "You feeling all right?"

"Ha ha."

Meredith looks up from her iPad and smirks. "If you don't want to make use of him tonight, I can keep him warm for you." Oh, poor sex starved Meredith. She's really not put any effort into prowling the crowds this year.

"I'm not having another 'hands off my boyfriend' conversation with you, Mer." But I'm hit by inspiration. "CJ, let me FaceTime Andy." He pulls his iPod from his pocket with no argument and throws it over to me, but I can see that he's confused. He might want to grow an occasional spine. "He is single, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Painfully so."

"Excellent." My FaceTime request is immediately answered and it looks like Andy is in a pub. "Howdy."

"Miss Marsh, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He sips on a pint, looking at me hopefully. Not what you're thinking, mate—I can guarantee that.

"What do you think of our bassist, Meredith?"

"Meredith Cho? The face missing from every Asian porno I've seen?"

Oh, sweet Jesus.

"Keen then?"

" _I wouldn't say no to a stab at her, if you catch my drift."_ I caught it, and I'm throwing it right back at him. I'm glad that he saves me from further elaboration.

I raise an eyebrow at Meredith and smile down at Andy. "Today's your lucky day." I throw the iPod over to her and watch her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

"I'm gonna take this elsewhere."

"I'd appreciate that." She scurries off to her hotel room like Smeagol, leaving us to laugh at her expense. I thoroughly hope that she intends on wiping the screen afterwards.

CJ looks over at me critically and shakes his head. "I'm never going to hear the end of that, you know. You owe me." I grin suggestively and lick my lips. Not really sure what debt I owe from helping his best friend to get his rocks off with a shiny new famous shag-piece but I'm happy to cough up.

Levi scoffs in distaste and ties my hair off with a piece of red ribbon in the spirit of the Little Red Riding Hood outfit that Louise has set out for tonight. "If you mess your hair up, I'm not redoing it, ho." I stick my tongue out petulantly and lead CJ back to our hotel room.

The moment we're through the door, I drop to my knees and make short work of his jeans. He edges back onto the bed and discards his boxers, springing out merrily. His eyes sparkle at me lustily as I reach up to undo his shirt and he grabs my right hand to kiss his ring on my finger.

"I guess I should give you that back." I curl my tongue around the head of his cock and wrap my lips around him, pushing him to the back of my throat. Not sure why doing something selfless gets me hot around the collar but I'm starting to genuinely enjoy driving him wild like this.

"Not unless you're planning on dumping me with my dick in your mouth, Amelia. It's not on temporary loan." I draw back in surprise and my seal around him breaks with an oddly arousing popping sound.

"But it's unique."

He groans happily as I take him back into my mouth and angle myself to allow as much of him as possible to slide down my throat. I'm far less intimidated by his size now, particularly in knowing that this time I'm not fighting for him to stay with me.

"You're unique. You're incredibly intelligent, funny, sexy, white hot, compassionate..." His voice trails off because I graze my teeth down him as I pull him out of my mouth and climb onto his lap to straddle him. "... You're on top of me and inexplicably devoid of underwear."

I wink coolly and push his hands down below my waist. "I'm also wet, raring to go and aching for your touch."

I reach beneath me and slowly guide him inside me. His entrance stings and feels as though it tears my membranes apart, but it heats my blood and spurns me on. I have to pull out all the stops to ensure he doesn't ever want to leave, whatever confessions I make.

His eyes flicker with fire as I undulate my hips around him, and I flinch as he hits all my hot buttons. I feast on his neck greedily as I gain momentum, ensuring he knows that this time, I'm taking control. This is what I like, and how I like it. I like to be on top in every aspect of my life.

In a daring move, I lunge forward and grab his bottom lip with my teeth, then suck on it gently. It's the closest to kissing I've allowed myself to attempt and it sends an overwhelming tidal wave of emotion through me—fear, hatred, lust, love, confusion and trust are enhanced by his groan of approval. My climax comes thick, fast and spontaneously. There is no prior warning and I'm left feeling dazed and vulnerable.

CJ wraps his arms around my weak body and cradles me against his warmth. "Don't push yourself so hard, Amelia. What's your rush?"

I lean back and look at him wearily. "Tonight is gig seventeen of twenty. There are only another three tour dates before we go home."

He frowns and neatens my hair to save me the wrath of a raging queen. "So what? I'm not just going to disappear when we get back to Birmingham."

"You might."

He scoffs and grabs both of my hands in one of his. "Even if you left me, I'd chase you." He pulls his ring from my right hand and looks at it thoughtfully. "I'm going to do something bold to show you that I'm serious."

He grabs my left hand and I wrench it from his grasp. _Whoa whoa, straight for the money shot!_ "What the fuck, Caspian!"

"Shut up, Amelia." The audacity! He yanks my hand back towards him and pushes the ring onto my left ring finger. "You don't have to keep it on that hand but hopefully my willingness to do something so significant will put an end to this crazy talk." I stare down at my hand, baffled to be both elated and horrified. It's a very possessive gesture and wildly inappropriate but somehow I'm soothed by it. "So are you going to take it off?"

"Do you wish you hadn't put it there in the first place?" I glance up into his eyes and he looks marginally panicked by my lack of resistance.

"A little, but only because you look like you're about to murder me." I feel a hint of a smile spread across my face as I lean down to retrieve my stealthily shed underwear from the floor. Two can play this game. "So are you going to?"

I narrow my eyes at him and throw my pants in his face. "No..." With a contemplative hum, I snatch his boxers up from the floor put them on, pointing at him cheekily. "Don't think for a second that you wear the pants in this relationship because clearly I do." They're baggy and likely to fall down, but they're _mine._

He raises an eyebrow and leans back on the bed. "I'll end up with no underwear left."

"Easy access." I jerk my head towards the door. "I have a sound check, bitch. Get up." He obliges and pulls on his jeans with a smirk as he stuffs my underwear into his pocket. Shame, thought he might wear them. "You're really screwed now, Pearce." I wave my hand around in his face. "This won't go unnoticed."

He steps towards me and I can tell that he knows what I'm doing—I'm trying to deter him. "Fine." He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. "Show the whole world that you belong to me." Oh shit, that backfired. He blows a raspberry in my face and grins. "I knew you were bluffing. Put it back on the other hand." I look at my hands again with my lips pursed. I'm surprised to be feeling a little disheartened. "Amelia?"

My voice is small and timid. "Do I have to?"

"What?"

Shaking back into my good senses, I straighten myself out. I'm being ridiculous. "Doesn't matter. Come on, I'll be late." I tug on the ring and I'm mortified by its grip on my skin. "Uh..."

"Problem?"

I grit my teeth and pull as hard as I can. My grip slips and I elbow the corner of the wall behind me, which obviously prompts the precursory 'fuck, my funny bone' dance before I mutter—

"I'm cool".

CJ snickers at me and examines my hand. "Yeah, I thought that might happen. That's stuck fast." He grins at me impishly. "Ah well."

"Ah well?" I slap his arm playfully and can't help but laugh. "You did this on purpose."

He nods and pulls my arms around his waist. "Yeah, I did, though I expected to witness an instant battle to prize it off. You're full of surprises."

"I know!" I wrinkle my nose at my occupied left hand in disbelief. What the hell?

# XII

#

#

I drum my fingers on the table top nervously as my phone rings and rings. Why the fuck isn't she picking up?

Hi, you've reached Nancy Keogh—

"Shitting shit!"

Meredith gapes up at me from her iPad and shakes her head. "What are you panicking about? You've seen the article!"

"She might have changed it."

"When does she ever change it?" _Never, but shut up anyway_.

I lean over the iPad and tap refresh. There's no sign of my article online yet, and no sign of any retaliation from Chase. Those who say 'no news is good news' aren't necessarily right. It's too quiet in Medialand and that means that this is the calm before the storm. A mass accumulation of apocalyptic disasters are forecast to happen simultaneously and it's like I'm the only one on Earth who knows it's coming. And it's all my fault—no rapture for me.

The guys and gays walk back onto the tour bus and I'm treated to another of CJ's goodie bags. This is still a very strange concept to me. There again, how much stranger can it get than accidentally ending up betrothed?

"Have you perhaps entertained the idea that it takes more than two days to print an entire magazine?" I scowl at Meredith and pull a chicken sandwich, a bottle of Coke, a small wrapped up paper bag and another red rose from the carrier. She's a moron, because she knows they can turn around their magazine in a day if they need to pull an article at the last minute. Anyway, more pressing matters.

I blink impassively at the wrapped up paper bag and run my finger across my lips. "What have you done now?" CJ shakes his head at me innocently and opens my drink.

I pick the bag up and shake it. It doesn't start to tick or fizzle, that's got to be a good thing. There's a dull jingle from it's depths. "I don't wear jewellery." Unless it's crammed on in some crazily forceful and committal gesture, obviously.

"I know."

I sigh and crack my knuckles. "All right, let's do this shit." I pull the paper from the bag and a small black velvet pouch falls into my hand. I tug open the strings and three keys on a silver hoop fall into my palm. "Keys?" CJ shrugs at me nonchalantly and bites into his sandwich. "For?" He holds up a finger to halt me until he's swallowed his mouthful and takes the keys from me, splaying them out like a deck of cards.

"Flat, car, boat." I stare at him for a moment and start to chuckle inanely. Meredith gapes at me for a moment before she switches onto my wavelength. I start to sway on the spot and mutter The Lonely Island's _I'm On A Boat_ under my breath. CJ rolls his eyes and smirks at me as Meredith joins in and our volume increases.

I take a deep breath and turn back to him. "Well, now that's out of my system, what are they really for?"

"Flat, car, boat."

_Hu-wha?_ "What the fuck do you mean 'boat'?"

"Big, nautical, floats on water." Dirty great tease! I grab his nipple hard and twist it—he squeals like a little girl and smacks my hand away. Pussy. "It's docked in Southampton. Would you rather stay on a boat or on a bus?" The boat, obviously, but between an imaginary boat and a bus, definitely the bus. Moving on...

I look at him speculatively and narrow my eyes. "That's a Mercedes key."

"Mercedes SL."

"Okay..." I'm not entirely sure what he's hoping to achieve from this. Money doesn't impress me and cars don't impress me—particularly when I have a sexy black Porsche 911 Carrera 4S sitting in a garage in Birmingham. Boats, however... "So let's move past the fact that your dad is quite clearly horrendously overpaid—"

"My dad didn't buy them. I did." I hold up a hand and close my eyes. Too hungover to fathom that one. eBay? I've seen it done.

"Moving past it, why are you giving me the keys?"

He grabs my left hand and wags it in front of my face. "Because I gave you everything else, see?" I frown at him speculatively. I had heard rumours that deflowering a guy could result in mad declarations of love and proposals, but boats? I have _got_ to go gift shopping.

Meredith leans across the table to me and hisses coldly. "You can never just say thank you, can you?" All of my blood rushes to my face. Crap, I wasn't trying to be ungrateful, he just caught me off guard is all. She looks really pissed off at me.

I bite my lip apologetically and stare up at CJ. "Sorry. I'm just not used to this... This." He wraps his arm around my shoulder and kisses my hair as my phone rings, and I _think_ I'm forgiven for being a brat. "Nancy!" He makes a retreat to the driver's seat and Levi takes his place, throwing down a copy of _Rage Against Everyone_ magazine in front of me. I glare at him for holding out on me. I dub thee the new 'queen of tease'.

"Hey, Meels. Why do I have about five million missed calls from you?"

"When is the article going online?" I hear her crack a bottle and glance up at the time. 10am bender, how rock and roll.

"It's gone up in the last five minutes or so. If you're worried about being mobbed just ignore your calls. Have you read the author's note on the bottom of the magazine yet?"

"No..." I flick through the magazine and scan to the bottom right hand corner. Christ, her and her 'Nancy's final thought' notes. What a show off. "Nice touch."

"I thought so. I'll call you later, babe, I think Chase is after my blood."

I wince sympathetically. "Sorry about that."

" _No worries, I fucking hate him anyway. Ciao!"_ No surprise there; nobody actually likes Chase. He's just tolerated because he actually has a half decent set of pipes. If he performed every gig with a bag over his head he'd be far more famous.

I mosey up to the driver's seat and lean against it casually. CJ half smiles at me but doesn't tear his eyes from the road. Something is bothering him—he's got that Holiday Inn look about him. "Read me the article."

"What?"

"I like hearing how I changed your life." Tsk, conceited—colon, hyphen, capital P. I shuffle down next to him and indulge his request, omitting surnames, band names and quotes about his ignorance to our status where appropriate. He listens to me attentively, absorbing my every word.

I pause at the author's note and laugh. " 'When I visited Amelia in her London hotel to get this article approved, I was humbled to meet the man who gave her the strength to tear herself away from Chase's oppression for myself. He is, without a doubt, a perfect match for our rock vixen and assured me that her phobia is no barrier in their relationship. To quote the man himself: there's nothing quite as intimate as a girl slipping her finger into your ring. The verdict is in, romance is still alive and well, and from the look in Amelia's eyes, I daresay she'd agree.' " __

I close the magazine and turn towards CJ slowly. He is stony silent and his eyes are vacant. Not the reaction I was expecting. "CJ?"

He shakes his head, as though shaking back into his senses. "You didn't tell her I was a virgin." I wrinkle my nose at him. That's what he's picking out from that article?

"Why would I? That's your personal business. I have no more right to divulge your sexual history than I do your name and address."

"Were you ashamed?" _What?!_ The only person I'm ashamed of is myself for not being slightly less... uh... 'well-travelled' when he gave it up to me.

"What the hell are you talking about, Caspian? No, I wasn't ashamed."

He rolls his eyes as his phone rings in his pocket. "What is it, Emily? Yes, I know. There's an article about me and Amelia in _RAE;_ she just read it to me. I don't care how Chrissie feels. Bye." He throws his phone down next to him and glares at the road ahead.

"What's wrong?"

"Fuck off, Amelia." _Wow. Dick._ My mouth drops open and I storm off upstairs to hide under my quilt. It pains me that it smells of him in this bed. I have no idea what I did that was so wrong, but whatever it was, it sure as hell didn't deserve that frosty reception. Whether he was a virgin or not made no bearing on our relationship, unless he would have ploughed into me without a second thought if he hadn't already been plucked. Jeez, would he still be with me if it hadn't been 'significant'? Does he really know who I am and has sounded me out as a trophy fuck?

I pull my phone out of my pocket, scroll through my phone book and do something entirely unexpected. Jesus, what's going on in my head?

" _Amelia?"_ Ah shit, too late to hang up now.

I inhale deeply to regain my composure and respond on a sigh. "Andy."

" _What's wrong? What's he done to you?"_ The question hits me hard like a slap in the face. I can hear my dad and Meredith echoing the words.

"Why do you assume that he's done something?" _And what are you assuming he's done?_

" _Hasn't he?"_ A silence extends between us because I can't truthfully deny that I'm hurt. " _Come on, Amelia, tell uncle Andy what's wrong."_

"Have you read the article in _RAE_?"

" _Yeah, it was awesome."_ Thank you, that's the kind of reaction I was looking for from the big stroppy baby downstairs.

I mentally bat away my resentment and huff. "He's pissed because I didn't tell them he was a virgin. He completely fired off at me, then had a phone call from someone called Emily—"

"That's his sister."

"—Okay, his sister. He was pissy with her and told me to fuck off when I asked what was wrong."

He doesn't talk for a moment, like he's analysing the information. " _I've got your back, Amelia. I'll call you in a few."_ He hangs up and I hear CJ's phone ring downstairs. Oh hell. I feel like I'm about seven years old and I've just tattled on the class bully. I have to presume that running to the best friend is bad—very bad. And like that guilty seven year old, I burrow deep under the covers and close my eyes tight, drifting off into a troubled sleep.

I'm back in that corridor again. No Moira, just my bedroom door and a cold chill. I can't stop myself from going through that door; a tremendous force behind me shoves me forward and I stumble down face first into the bed.

There's not one but two masses huddled up this time and the second is much larger. My hands reach out to roll them both over and—

"CJ, Creedance—no!" I jolt awake and look down at hands to find blood everywhere. I'm disoriented and terrified, so I cry out for someone, anyone. I haven't woken up like this in an age, specifically seven years.

I feel the bus swerve and grind to a halt, then hear seven sets of footsteps pound up the stairs to my side. CJ lunges forward when he spots the blood. "Andy, I have to call you back." He clutches my hands in his and his eyes burn into me. "What the hell happened?"

I'm shaking and numb. "I don't know. I woke up like this." He peels the quilt back from me and winces at the sight he's greeted with. My knee is streaming red from two large pronounced bite marks. I'm not squeamish, but I wilt at the sight of my torn flesh and collapse back onto my pillow with a grunt. _Oh, that is grim._

"Jesus Christ, Amelia. What the fuck were you dreaming about?" I glance over at Meredith and she sighs at me hopelessly. She knows my nightmares well and, to some extent, lived through them with me.

She wanders over with a first aid box and gapes at my injury. She's going to need more than a couple of plasters—she's going to need a nail gun or something. "Bloody hell, Heaven is going to have some competition there, I think. That's what tattoos are for though, right?"

I look up at her dubiously and shake my head. "I'm not tattooing my kneecap."

"At least it wasn't your hands this time."

I pull a face at her and whimper as CJ presses his hand over my wound. I can't bear to make eye contact with him. This is just too much of my crazy to ask him to deal with.

Meredith puts a hand on his shoulder and frowns, deep in thought. "Take her for a shower, CJ."

"We won't make Southampton in time."

"I'll drive, just this once. Get her cleaned up. Please."

He shrugs and lifts me up, carrying me carefully down the steps and into the bathroom. The atmosphere between us is dire, and I'm guessing it's because I called Andy. I'd rather he just blew a gasket now rather than sit and wait for whatever punishment he's mulling over.

He sits me down on the toilet and starts to strip me off. "You freak out over the smallest thing, Amelia, you need help."

I shove him away from me and point at the door. "Get out." I have a ridiculously low tolerance for anyone who implies that I need psychiatric assistance—I'm a fucking psychologist, I know how to handle my issues myself.

"What?"

"Out. Don't make me out to be some sort of head case—my neuroses were lot easier to deal with when I was surrounded solely by psychology graduates." I lean over and open the door. "Get out." I grab a bottle of liquid soap from the basin and squeeze it into my left hand, rubbing furiously until the ring slips off my finger. "Sentiment means nothing with no follow-through. I spent three years being called a freak by one dick, I'll be damned if I'm walking into another scenario like that."

He blinks at me numbly for a moment before taking his ring from my hand and searching my thigh for the tattoo I had for him.

"I thought you loved me." Why am _I_ being subjected to a guilt trip? I thought _he_ loved _me._

"I do, but if I can learn to love you, I can sure as hell learn to hate you." I glare at him, looking past the depth of those green eyes to the callous bastard deep down inside him. It's easy to find the hollow monster in a person when you have so much practice. Everyone has one.

"You're doing this because I said you need help?"

"And because you can turn on me at any minute. Who gives a shit if you are or were a virgin? It doesn't change a damn thing. You told me that yourself. Get out."

His opens his mouth briefly and closes it again. And then, leaning over to push the door closed, he pulls off his t-shirt. "No."

"What?" I spit out the word like venom. He's pushing his luck.

"I said no. I'm not leaving you." He grabs my hand and pushes the ring back over my knuckle. "Stop being a twat and get in the fucking shower. We both know you don't want me to leave." I scowl at him viciously for a moment, then something inside me snaps. The only other person in the world who talks to me this way is Meredith, and she is the grounding force that keeps me level through my darkest hours. Nobody else ever dares to defy me, but here he is telling me what I need to hear to stop me from spiting myself.

I roll my eyes at him and hold my arms up for him to undress me. Stupid loveable ass-face.

"Stop trying to push me away, Amelia. I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier. I'm just getting some crap off a jealous ex." Oh wonderful, a battle for his affections. "Stop it. I feel nothing for her and never did. That's what she can't bear." How does he read my mind so well? "I'm not reading your mind—I'm reading you." What the fuck?

He switches the shower on and leads me in carefully before stepping out of his trousers and climbing in next to me. He pulls my head against his bare chest and I'm warmed by the water cascading over me.

"Who's Chrissie?"

He looks down at me wearily and sighs. "A bunny boiler. Someone told her that I was the nameless man in your article and she left me some frantic voice mail messages asking how I could give myself up to such a notorious man eater but not her. She wouldn't have called if it had said that I was still a virgin." How was I supposed to know that not respecting his privacy would result in some psycho broad going postal?

"Man eater? Ouch." I can't deny that I have a reputation for being loose but the insult still stings. "I wasn't being spiteful though, I was just trying to respect as much of your privacy as I could."

"I know, girl." CJ steps back from me, squeezes some shower gel into his hand and begins to rub at my blood stained body. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

"Who or what is 'Creedance'?" My insides chill at his question. I have to answer this with as little detail as possible but enough to stop him probing.

"Credence: a mental acceptance as true or real. But in this case, Creedance is—" I roll my eyes again, "... _was_ family. Dead family."

"Oh. Were you close?"

"Very." He nods and this seems to satisfy his thirst for knowledge.

"Why do you cry out for them?"

Maybe not. I stare down at him numbly and answer monotonously— the only way I can answer when hounded over this subject. "Because I found her." He pauses with his hands on my leg and looks up at me reluctantly. I force an elaboration that I'm pretty sure he doesn't really need. "I found her dead." He immediately straightens up and presses his lips against my forehead. "That nightmare, you were there, too. I—"

He puts his finger on my lips and shakes his head. "Stop. I don't need you to tell me any more unless you want to." _I don't._ He wraps his arms around me and engulfs me in a soggy embrace. If somebody had done this for me eight years ago, I might not have grown up to be so feeble. He has some strange ability to make it all hurt less and make me feel like I'm an almost functional human being. "You need to get that knee looked at, girl. Human bites can be nasty."

There again, I may be a fully functional bobcat.

I bury my face in CJ's chest as I'm given a tetanus jab in A&E. I'm trying to ignore the fact that he's laughing at me and the insistence from the medical staff that I shouldn't be scared of needles when I have so many tattoos. It is _not_ the same.

The patronising dick of a doctor hands me a lollipop and snickers as I limp down the corridor. It's so easy to judge from the outside. Tattoo needles are this big and go in this much. Hypodermic needles for vaccines are _THIS_ big and go in _THIS_ much. No, just... no.

CJ makes a greedy swipe for my lollipop and I yank it back from his hand. I earned this lollipop. "Hey, come on, you're too rock and roll for sweets!"

"Piss off! You've obviously never seen the Crazy Town album cover for _The Gift Of Game_." He pulls his iPod out of his pocket and scrolls through smugly, holding up said album cover to my face. "Nobody likes a smart arse, Caspian."

My eyes scan the hospital car park for a moment. There's definitely something missing from this picture. "Where's the bus?"

"Gone."

My jaw hits the floor. "Gone where?"

"Gone fishin'." I look around, panicked. Oh god no... His next sentence is going to be the determining factor in whether he goes fishin' for his teeth.

"Please don't make me use public transport."

CJ scoffs and pulls his phone from his pocket. "As if." Then he hits the speed dial and puts the handset to his ear. "Bring her round, man." Almost instantly, a glorious silver Mercedes purrs onto the car park and stops in front of us. That's some car. Sex on wheels, actually, a cheeky playmate for my Porsche.

It's driver rolls down the window and pokes their tongue out at me. The grungy but not grimy counterpart.

"Andy?" I gape, utterly surprised. Okay, his teeth are safe. "What the hell!"

He climbs out of the car and engages in an awkward man hug with CJ before approaching me cautiously. He's even more handsome in person—dark haired and perfectly sculpted features like CJ—but he's slightly less alternative and more clean cut. Though thinking about it, CJ does have that filmy 'on tour' look about him that makes him an honorary rockstar. Can I get a 'yum yum'?

"Damn, CJ, she's even hotter in person, even straight out of hospital."

Ignoring the backhanded compliment, I pull him into a brief hug and stare expectantly at CJ. He hasn't said a damn word since that Merc pulled up and I can practically hear him plotting. "What the fuck is going on?"

He grins at me and drums his fingers on the roof of the Mercedes. "Why would I give you a key to my car if she was in Birmingham, Amelia? Mr. Lover-Man over there jumped at the chance to drive this baby down here so he could get under Meredith." Wow, that stinks of desperation. What the fuck did she do on FaceTime? Wait, no... I don't want to know. As long as she wiped the iPod.

"She doesn't know?" Andy raises a finger to his lips conspiratorially and winks. I look at the car and cock my head. "Is anybody noticing a flaw in this plan?" They look at me, confused. I'm suddenly looking at two cavemen scratching their heads like numbskulls. "Two seats, guys!"

"Pfft, we're men. We have strong legs." I purse my lips as Andy ducks down into the passenger seat and throws me the keys.

"What the..." CJ shrugs at me and opens the driver side door. "You want me to sit on your best friend's lap?"

"Shit no, you're driving." I open my mouth and stammer for a moment, flooded with a feeling of betrayal for my poor neglected Porsche back at home. There again, this is a fucking Mercedes. It occurs to me that neither of them have asked if I can drive so they're obviously presuming that it comes part of the package of awesomeness.

I slink down into the driver's seat and release an audible purr as the leather creaks underneath me. CJ smirks at me as he lounges across Andy's legs and waves a hand to the open road ahead. I glance down and narrow my eyes. Shit, it's automatic.

"Problem?"

"Lazy driver? My Porsche is a manual. I like to drive properly." I watch him visibly battle the Porsche comment and lean over to start the engine.

"Just fucking drive, Amelia." _Bossy_. I put my foot down on the accelerator and whoop wildly as the engine growls.

"You asked for it." I unleash this beastly vehicle and slide gracefully out of the hospital car park with a totally maniacal super-villain cackle. Oh boy, are they in for a shock—my driving antics only just brush the line of legality. "So where am I going?"

"Wherever you want, girl. Go crazy." _Already there_ .

"Music, CJ! I need music to drive!" I drive up to the M27 and we're suddenly deafened by Korn. I nod my head in agreement and thrash the Mercedes down the motorway. It drives like a dream and heats my blood—it's the automotive version of CJ. _I Did My Time_ booms out and I'm reminded of all those times I stumbled.

But this time I don't. I yell out the words with vigour and passion. CJ and Andy gawp at me in awe, clearly surprised by the mad rocker in me. Must try not to give myself away with my signature sing-scream. "So where are they?"

"The docks, of course."

I glance sideways at CJ and shake my head. "You seriously have a boat?" I really thought he was having me on. I bet it's a dinghy. I have no respect for dinghies.

Andy wails with laughter. "Boat? It's a yacht!"

My nostrils flare and I groan suggestively in CJ's direction. That changes everything.

"Naughty boy telling fibs. You should know better, Caspian."

I pull off the motorway at the next junction and head back into Southampton. It's an anti-climax having to drive in moderation, but it gives me a better chance to see how this car handles. I miss driving, but I like to drink too much and this is one of the rare times when I'm within the limit.

"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" CJ has this adorable look of total blissful wonderment in his eyes, like all of his dreams came true and then someone walked over and whispered, "Oh, by the way, we got you all those gifts that you wanted for Christmas when you were a kid but your parents said they were too expensive—they're outside next to the wagon full of strippers wearing nought but whipped cream." If he doesn't wipe the look off his face, I might dare to believe that I'm the cherry on top of that cream. I think he's enjoying this more than I am.

I nod slowly and glance round the streets for signs to the docks. "It's the little things in life that make it so fulfilling. Of course, my interpretation of 'little' is kind of warped." Kids asking for autographs, the smell of tattoo ink, fast cars, 'I love you, Amelia' banners and pictures of kittens. Not even joking.

Andy pulls out his phone and points it at me. "Smile!" I flash him an exaggerated wink suited to a pin up girl. I suspect that I look like crap after three hours in a sterile environment but what the hell. "Do you use Facebook?" _Oh yeah, I'm totally rock and roll like that_.

I scoff incredulously. "What do you think? I have social networking accounts but I only use them as weapons."

"Pisser, I wanted to tag you."

Rolling my eyes, I pull my phone from my pocket and pass it to him. These hip young-but-older-than-me folk and their bloody photo tags and status updates. Honestly, what's the fuss? "It's logged in. Do what you have to. You won't find my private account listed in the searches." He gapes at me as he takes my phone and I hear him mutter 'holy shit' under his breath. Apparently it's a universal catchphrase in CJ's group of friends.

I pull up at the docks and begrudgingly turn off the engine of the mean machine. Porsche or not, it's a beaut and I certainly wouldn't object to further encounters.

CJ jumps out and opens my door for me—such a gentleman—then wraps his arms around my waist. "Did you enjoy that?" That's like asking me if I enjoy my pre-show jollies.

I wrap my arms around his neck and grin at him. "Hell yes."

"Good, because you're coming home with me in this car."

My grin fades immediately and I shake my head. What _is_ he thinking? "I can't bail on the last three gigs."

"Not now, you tool." We're throwing insults now? Okay... "Afterwards. Andy is going to drive the bus and we're going to follow them. I'm crazy about you but I hardly know you, Amelia. I want you to myself."

I blink up and him and feel myself melt slightly into his arms. I'm almost certain that I can't possibly prevent myself from surrendering everything to him for much longer. He's nearly broken down all my defences and I am utterly weak without his love.

But total seclusion? Toughy.

"So where is this bloody boat then?" is the means by which I quick dart around the subject of being completely at his mercy.

"Yacht. You're standing in front of it." I frown slightly and turn around. Shit me, that is one serious piece of nautical supremacy. It looks more like a fucking cruise liner—all white and shiny with 'The Bystander' emblazoned across the bow in huge blue vinyl lettering. Holy crap, he even named a boat after us.

"Is that really yours?"

"Of course, girl. I paid for it fair and square." How in hells name can he afford a boat? Sorry, yacht. It's a fucking luxury yacht. Ho-ly shit.

I'm about to launch into the Amelia Marsh Inquisition when a sturdy hand claps down on my shoulder and squeezes. Oh yes, Meredith is going to _love_ Andy.

"Let's go and get me some rockstar lovin'." _Oh Jesus._

The girlish shriek that propels from her mouth when she claps eyes on him is ear splitting and we're subjected to an embarrassing display of face-eating and dry-humping more suited to one of Birmingham's low end nightclubs, not the deck of a sodding yacht. _Discretion anyone?_

I sneak a glance at CJ and I can tell he's secretly a little disappointed that we don't indulge in the same kind of grotesque expression. Meredith's approach to sex is selfish and cavalier—she would argue that she can't open the flood gates to a soul she doesn't possess, but I've had to pick up the pieces when a guy gets too attached. She's just like me; she runs when the going gets too tough and I have to console the poor sucker she's broken. Why can't I give myself up so easily like she does and just brush them off like snowflakes?

"Stop it." CJ's voice in my ear catches me off guard. "Stop wishing you were more like her. Let them have cold soulless sex and enjoy yourself."

I lean my head back against his chest. Cold soulless sex isn't bad, but I wouldn't trade it for the hot love making we share. Ugh good god, what _has_ happened to me?

"You want that."

"Fuck no. Like I told that magazine chick, I have all I need from you." There's a pang of guilt in his voice and what I'm sure is an entirely subconscious tension stirring in his body. Clearly I'm not the only one with secrets here. "Come on."

"What?"

"You have a sound check in two hours." He grins at me ravenously and I glance down at my knee. That's a serious passion killer.

"I'm feeling kind of shitty, CJ." He frowns at me and tugs at my hand, leading me through the _yacht_ to a magnificent master bedroom. Even he can't really believe that I'm turning down sex. "I really don't—"

"Climb in." He throws back the fine linen sheets and waves a hand towards them. Okay, persistence is key, I guess. I sigh and tug my shoes off before reaching for the hem of my Rolling Stones t-shirt. "Clothed, girl. We'll just chill in here for a while. I'll just hold you." This is... new. Not really sure where this is really going.

I crawl beneath the sheets reluctantly and he wraps his arms and legs around me like vines. "Tell me about yourself, Amelia." Oh jeez, the getting to know you talk. That's where it's going.

I roll onto my side to face him and sigh. "Okay, shoot." I don't know how to just give up information about myself in an off-the-cuff manner and he pretty much knows everything.

"When's your birthday?" Except that. Crap.

I wince, growl, then wrinkle my nose. "Soon."

"How soon?"

I frown and count the days in my head. Oh, double crap.

"Like four days soon. I don't celebrate my birthday." I can see him dying to ask why but he doesn't, and I'm wholly appreciative. But then his face becomes sullen and numb. "CJ?"

"Tell me if I'm overstepping a mark, but have you always had your phobia?" Of all the questions he has to ask... "It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, baffled by my willingness to part with this information. "No, not always."

"So someone has kissed you?" I daren't look at his face. He sounds wounded.

"Just once. And he ruined me. He built me up and then broke me down, every last piece of me." My eyes start to burn and blur—my voice drops to a whisper and I squeeze them shut as tight as I can. "Please don't break me."

# XIII

#

#

His hot breath pants down on my mouth and his lips wrap around mine. I bite on his bottom lip and suck on his top, dipping my tongue into his mouth and opening myself up to him completely. He mirrors my kiss and I feel his hands on my face, his body on mine and him thrusting deep inside me. My hands are bound above my head and my ankles tied around his legs. I'm trapped, but so is he.

"I love you, Amelia." His words entrance me and I writhe against him like a woman possessed. He sucks my lips and groans against my mouth as my fingers grab at his hair and force his lips on to mine. His green eyes flash open into mine and I—

"Fucking dick bags!" I have really got to find a new verbal outlet for climaxes. I look around at eight staring faces and it suddenly dawns on me what the fuck just happened. I blush and blanch at the same time and raise my hands to my face. I shift slightly in my seat and—oh crap, thank god I'm wearing black jeans. Everyone starts to chuckle under their breath and Meredith grins at me.

"Did you just—"

"No!" Jesus, that was unconvincing. I bite my tongue and desperately try not to laugh through my deep crippling embarrassment.

"Nice nap?"

"Fuck off, Andy." They all laugh a little harder as I stand up and whimper slightly from a minute aftershock, and scuttle off to the bedroom. I swear under my breath as I shed my damp clothing and sit down on the bed to mope. That was, by far, the most embarrassing thing I've ever done, and you do some pretty seedy stuff on tour.

CJ taps on the door and miserably fails in an attempt to stifle a laugh. "You do bad things to me in my dreams, Caspian." Yes, I'm blaming him entirely.

He sits down next to me and runs his fingers down my inner thigh _. Yeah sure, make me repeat the experience. "_ Whatever I did, it certainly made for an interesting breakfast." He pushes me back gently so I'm fully reclined and begins kissing up my thighs. "Am I better in your dreams than in real life?"

"What would you do if I said yes?" He growls lowly at me and hikes my legs up over his shoulders, running his tongue up the length of my thigh and coming to rest on my pelvis.

His eyes sparkle devilishly. "Was I doing this?" I raise an eyebrow and shake my head. His fingers trail across my hips and slide into me. "This?"

"Nope." His little game of 'are we nearly there yet' sends a wicked streak of pleasure through my bones.

"Oh." He pulls his t-shirt off over his head and runs his hand across my 'Heaven' tattoo. "So I must have— ... Huh." No, he certainly wasn't huh-ing my tattoo.

"Huh? What huh?"

"There's a scar here."

"Shit!" I scramble up on the spot on pull my shirt down as far as I can. "Uh..." He looks at me in that irritatingly impassive way he does and leans his chin on his palm.

" 'Heaven is going to have some competition'." Fucking Meredith and her riddles. "You had surgery?"

I squirm uncomfortably on the spot and knit my fingers together. "Yes. A long time ago. Eight years ago."

"Was it bad?" He seems genuinely concerned. "Were you really ill?" Kind of. Sort of. Uh...

"Jesus, no. Nothing you need to worry about." _Definitely_ nothing he needs to worry about. I half smile hesitantly and reach for some clean underwear.

"Hey, what are you doing? I haven't finished with you yet, Marsh." He lunges at me and pulls my legs around his waist. Mmm, just like the dream minus ropes. "Was I doing this?" And all of a sudden that awkward moment has passed.

"As it happens, yes you were."

He raises an eyebrow and pulls off my t-shirt with one hand. "Hmm, interesting." He nips and kisses my neck. "How about this?" Oh hell, this man is just sublime. I bite my lip and grab his hair, pulling his face up to mine. His eyes fall on me and my soul takes a dive into them and swims leisurely. I'm just so drawn into him and blown sideways. I need to let go of my fear, I _want_ to.

"Actually, you were—" My phone blares out loud obnoxious glam rock next to us and kills the moment completely. _Thanks for the crappy timing, Dad. I was just about to make a breakthrough._ Maybe. "Hi, papa bear." I pout apologetically at CJ and he swoops in for a dangerous bite on my lip before he heaves up from the bed and pulls his t-shirt back on. Killjoy.

"Hey, baby bear! I've just seen your article!"

"You like?" Like I even need to ask.

"You finally got rid of Chase, yes, I like! So who's this new guy, when do I meet him?"

_Check your diary, see if you have the twelfth of NEVER free. "_ Uh, not any time soon, Dad. I don't want to drag him into the limelight just yet."

" _Does he_ want _to be anonymous?"_ My mind freezes, I never actually asked CJ if he wants to stay nameless. But then he doesn't know who he's really with. " _Baby bear?"_

"Sorry, Dad. No, I don't know, I never asked. Read that article again, closely."

" _Hang on."_ I hear pages turning on the other end of the line. " _Ohhh! How's that working out for you?"_

"Pretty well, actually." The same thing CJ told me about no sex with no intimacy. Huh, yeah, that did turn out pretty well.

"Awesome. Anyway, tell Mackenzie that papa bear loves her when you get to Plymouth, but don't say it too enthusiastically. Laters!" Oh fuck, Mackenzie. I screw up my face and lean my head against my phone.

"Something wrong?" CJ throws my t-shirt at me and makes a lewd groan at my underwear, or rather the lack of material involved in my underwear.

I glance up at him and throw my phone down on the bed. Nothing makes me want to screw less than the sound of my sister's name. Sex is responsible for her presence, though I have a suspicion that she simply congealed from a puddle of spunk and swamp water. "My sister keeps Meredith and I hostage in Plymouth and forces us to have a birthday meal with her so she can bug the hell out of me over my tragic life choices. I guess you're a good excuse to get out of it though."

"I'll come with you."

I raise an eyebrow and pull myself off the bed. "No fucking way. Mackenzie is a nightmare. She'll humiliate me and then humiliate you for being with me. She's poisonous." I head back up to the deck and ignore the grins as I sit down. "Mer, tell CJ about Mackenzie."

She grimaces and damn near throws up over the deck. "The poisonous troll?" I wave a hand of confirmation and pour coffee into a mug. "Oh god, it's _that_ time of year, isn't it?"

"What time of year?" Oh yeah, Andy. Another partially clueless addition to our crew. I'd almost forgotten that he wasn't a fully-fledged member of our troupe between all the booze and wet dreams.

"Amelia and I get dragged to her sister's house in Plymouth for a birthday meal so she can berate us both for our careers, images and past indiscretions."

"Sounds awesome, we'll come with you." What is it with these men inviting themselves to embarrassing family events?

Meredith and I exchange glances and declare a simultaneous and resounding "No!" We would both rather die than drag these guys down with us. It's a general trend.

CJ sits down next to me and tucks my hair behind my ear. "I want to meet your family, Amelia." He wouldn't be saying that if he'd met them. "We're practically engaged, after all."

I smirk at Meredith and look up at CJ with fake innocence. " _Practically_ engaged? Shit, I thought it was an official proposal. I've picked out my wedding dress and everything."

"Oh really? Sounds awesome. I've been thinking about colour schemes—what am I working with?" Meredith spits out orange juice and laughs hilariously as the smirk drops from my face. Why do these games always backfire on me? How does he keep outwitting me? "Your commitment jokes don't scare me. I'm twenty-five; I'm ready to settle down with you. Marriage, houses, a dog, kids—"

"Kids?" I splutter on my coffee and struggle to catch my breath. I cast a glance at Meredith and she's shaking her head slowly, eyes wide and horrified. We do not speak the K word in reference to ourselves. We consider ourselves barren.

CJ pats my back and laughs. "Relax, girl. I was just flipping your joke on you." Not funny and I'm not entirely sure that he is. Settling down with _me_? He's only just lost his virginity—there are so many other flavours of women out there for him to taste. I'm not even slightly comfortable with somebody snatching my right to dictate my own future.

I catch my breath and look at the time. "We're running late for Exeter." My announcement sends everyone scattering in a rush and I suddenly wish that I was travelling on the bus with them instead of with CJ.

I doze in the Mercedes, listening to the _Lungs_ album and float off into a world of wolves and boys who make coffins. I have to admit that this is a far nicer way to travel, but I feel distant from my band and part of me seems empty. I'm staring at the back of the bus and I know that they're in there missing me, too.

CJ glances sideways at me and purses his lips. "I've just realised why you look familiar." I pull my headphones from my ears and sit up straight. This could be interesting.

"Go on."

"You remind me of Wendy James."

I scoff and shake my head. That was obviously a compliment but it was tripe. Wendy James is sex on legs and I'm... well, I'm sex on legs, too, but not to her standards. "I've got nothing on her. But we do a damn good Transvision Vamp cover." I see his face light up and roll my eyes. At least I can guarantee he's never heard it or got a recording of us playing it.

"Would you do it for my birthday?"

"Really?" He nods and puts a hand on my thigh. Talk about coercion. "Yeah, why not."

I stare out at the open road and twist my hair around my fingers. My earlier conversation with my dad is nagging at my mind. No matter how much I try and shake it, it's just stuck there. Word is obviously already getting out that CJ is with me and he's still none the wiser. But it never occurred to me that he might want to be public knowledge. "My dad asked me something weird earlier."

"Go on." Huh? Oh bugger, I was thinking out loud. Too late now, I guess.

"He asked me if you want anonymity. I never actually asked you if you wanted me to withhold your name."

He squeezes my thigh gently and shrugs. "I don't care. I figured you had your reasons for doing it." _Because you have no idea who I am_.

"Do you want me to give out your name? You'd get pestered to do tedious shit with me like interviews and photo shoots."

He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. Every hair on my right arm stands on end at his touch. "I would be honoured to do photo shoots with you. It's not like I'd become a major public figure though," _Oh CJ, you have no idea_ , "mores the pity."

"You want to be famous?" He laughs like the question is stupid. Well I suppose it is a bit.

"Who doesn't? And who wouldn't want to be famous for being with a hot girl like you?"

I stare out of the window for a moment and bite my lip. He has no idea how famous he could become or how treacherous that path can be.

"What would you do if the girl from The Bystander Effect appeared in your life? Would you leave me for her?" _What?_ I don't know where that came from and I'm not even sure where the validity is in that question. He'd be with me either way, but I'm curious for his answer.

"In that highly unlikely situation, no. I'd be way too starstruck to even talk to her. A girl with fame and fortune like that wouldn't come near me anyway." _Don't laugh at the irony. Definitely don't laugh._

"What if she did; would you?"

He frowns and pulls onto the side of the road, cutting the engine and turning to me. It seems that my stupid questions are starting to grate. "Why are you talking like this? Of course I wouldn't leave you for anyone else, no matter how fucking famous they were."

"So you love me unconditionally?" There is actually some validity in that question. It could be so easy to turn his back on me and go sour.

He unclips my seatbelt and pulls me onto his lap. "Yes. Unless you came on to Andy or something, but even then I'd probably still love you." Hell, if I was drunk enough that could become a serious possibility.

I narrow my eyes slightly and trace my fingers across his hair line. "What if _I_ was the girl from The Bystander Effect?" He looks at me incredulously and shakes his head. _Don't look at me like that, it's not so farfetched._

"If you were, I'd have to wonder why the hell you were with me when you have your pick of men."

"Because I love you and you seduced the shit out of me with your bold advances and flashy transportation?"

He rolls his eyes and puts me back in my seat. "I think I'd know by now if you were that famous. I'd be pretty stupid if I didn't." I bite my lip, half in amusement and half in pity, and fasten myself back in. He _is_ pretty stupid, but somehow I'm grateful for never putting my face on our album covers. I really don't know how we've gotten so far without him finding out, I'll write a song about it and call it _Espionage_.

I pull my phone from my pocket and, for some unknown reason, I open Facebook. I'm baffled to see regular posts by all of the band, far too many by Andy, and the occasional few by CJ.

CJ Pearce will be mostly incommunicado for a few weeks. Gone drivin'

CJ Pearce no FaceTime requests please guys. Boss' orders.

And then I find his posts from the day I went into RAE.

CJ Pearce worst fuckin' night of my life followed by worst fuckin' morning.

CJ Pearce tearing my heart out here. What's taking so long?

CJ Pearce lost my girl, I can feel it.

CJ Pearce luckiest man in the world. If only she knew.

"You really didn't think I'd choose you over my career, did you?" His silence speaks volumes. "Give me your phone."

"What?" He hands it over before I even give an explanation. Too easy.

My following actions appal me—I appear to have regressed to the mental age of a teenager. I hand the phone back to him and shrug. "Public."

"What?" _Jesus, expand your vocabulary._ He takes a cautious glance at the screen and raises an eyebrow. "CJ Pearce is now in a relationship with Amelia Marsh?" He shakes his head and passes the phone back to me. "Wrong status. Put engaged." I can't tell if he's joking or not, he looks deadly serious but he's laughing. "Do it."

Okay, let's play it like that. I have pretty good poker face, too. "You got it, Caspian." I flash the phone in his face and roll my eyes. I can see the headlines already. Suddenly, his phone buzzes in my hand. "Oh, uh—"

"Answer it. I'm driving. I don't want points on my license."

I pull a face and reluctantly answer the call. Girlfriend cum glorified receptionist, extra cum. "CJ's phone."

It's a woman and her voice oozes arrogance. " _Put me onto CJ."_ She sounds like my sister—acerbic and ugly as sin.

"He's driving, can I take a message?"

" _You must be Amelia."_ I can hear the smirk in her tone and it unnerves me to no end.

"Yes, I must be." Two can play this game.

"You listen to me, bitch, and you listen good. CJ doesn't love you—he loves me and always has. He's just a nervous person and couldn't give me what I needed. But now you've broken him in for me and I'm going to get him back. I don't care how fucking famous you are; as soon as he's back in Birmingham he'll be underneath me, screaming my name, and you'll be nothing but a distant memory. A pathetic heartbroken little rockstar and I'll make a lot of money telling magazines how I ruined your life."

She hangs up and I feel my body lose all heat and happiness, my insides churn and every drop of colour drains from me.

"Amelia? Who was it?"

"Wrong number." I try desperately to breathe through an overpowering wave of nausea but feel the bile raise to my throat. "Please pull over."

"We're running really late, girl." I can hear a mixture of concern and irritation in his voice and it does my bubbling insides no favours.

"Unless you know a really fucking good valet in Exeter, I suggest you pull over."

He immediately swerves to the left—I jump out of the car and get as far away as I can before my sickness explodes from me. It's a much needed relief for all the fear, worry and doubt swimming around inside me but that phone call is still ringing in my ears. It never lasts—my happiness never lasts.

I hear CJ behind me yelling down the phone. "Stop fucking with my relationship, Chrissie, I'm not coming back to you this time. I don't love you, I never have. I know damn well what she's just done to my Facebook; I told her to do it. Go and whip some freaks in gimp masks, you sick fuck."

I creep back into the passenger's seat and put my headphones back into my ears, switching to some Disturbed and doing everything I can to drown him out. I've heard men lie to everyone else, they do it so well. I can't decide if that makes them really strong or really weak.

He pulls one of the ear pieces out and puts his lips in it's place. "I love you, Amelia. Don't listen to a word she says." I snatch it back from his hand and turn away from him, making no acknowledgement of his presence for the remaining distance to Exeter.

I plough straight onto the bus, grab Meredith by the hand and pull her into the bathroom. She opens her mouth to speak but I throw myself at her and wail into her shoulder. She wrenches me back and stoops to look at me.

And it's that look she gave me every time I did this when I was thirteen until all of a sudden I stopped seeking solace.

"What the fuck as that bastard done to you? I'll fucking kill him."

"Nothing. It's what he's going to do. He's going to leave me for his ex."

She sighs and pulls the door open a crack. "Andy, you're needed in here." I sit down on the toilet seat and bury my head in my hands. It's been a long time since I've felt so helpless and destroyed. I know what's coming but it's beyond my control.

I hear Meredith and Andy muttering quietly next to me before I feel two hands on my back. _Please don't try to comfort me, I don't want to hear it._

"Amelia, Chrissie is a venomous loser who could never pin him down. He goes back to her because she threatens to kill herself, but I'm not going to let him do that this time. I saw your Facebook post—he would never say that if he wasn't serious."

"Andy, a word." I look up to see CJ's ashen face in the doorway. This bathroom is getting kind of crowded; what the hell happened to privacy?

"I mean it, Amelia. Don't write him off over a crazy ex with a motor mouth."

Meredith wraps an arm around me when the door closes and rocks me like a child. "Be careful, Amelia. You're too happy with him. Don't give it up to him." I gape up at her, utterly bemused. I seem to recall her urging me to take risks for him on numerous occasions.

"You were all for our whirlwind romance yesterday."

"Andy told me about Chrissie. She sounds like a total head case. CJ wouldn't have sex with her because she's into some really depraved bondage shit and he didn't want his first time to be all whips and chains. I'm scared for you, Amelia—I'm worried that you're just a bench warmer."

Her frank comment hits me like a ton of bricks and forces me to seriously rethink what the hell I'm doing. This isn't me. I'm not all hearts, flowers, romance and affection, and I'm not beyond the point of no return yet. I don't have to stand for being a starting block. I wasn't put on this planet to break him in.

I move over to the sink, prize CJ's ring off and put it in Meredith's palm with a scowl. "Would Andy stay and drive?"

She looks down into her hand aghast and shakes her head. "Amelia, I didn't mean—" She didn't? How was I supposed to positively interpret 'bench warmer'?

"If not, I'll drive to Plymouth and get one of Dad's goons to drive you all home. I'm going to move back in with Mackenzie." There's a sentence that I never thought I'd say.

She drops to her knees in front of me and for the first time in eight years, I see her cry. "Don't leave me, Amelia. We've been joined at the hip for nearly twenty-three years. We've seen our best and worst moments together."

"Just until Download, Mer."

She looks back at her hand and curls it into a fist around the ring, flying for the door, and I hear an almighty commotion. "I fucking hate you!"

"Jesus, Meredith!" I poke my head around the door to find Plato holding her aloft as she kicks and flails like a woman possessed. The girl has a hot temper but I've never seen her look murderous before. I think I'll make a mental note never to be on the receiving end of that.

"Get the fuck off my bus before I lose her completely. You made her love you too much, you idiot. You're going to break her."

"Mer, calm down!" I stroll back out to the mad circle of insanity and hold her still by the shoulders. Possibly the only valuable trait I carried with me from my teens is the ability to become completely numb and complacent when I'm confronted by a surge of negative emotion. I can just cut myself off and move past it without having to stop and breakdown once I get to a certain point of angst. Sometimes it's just not worth reacting. "Andy, take CJ home and find a new band for his birthday party." A calamity of voices thunder down on me but I raise my hand to silence them. "Cancel our last two gigs and send my apologies. I'm doing my MD."

I head upstairs calmly and crawl into bed with my iPod. Music is an escape if I'm listening to it and a crutch if I'm writing it.

Big Dave moseys over and crouches down next to me. "Need me to keep them away?"

"I'd appreciate it, big guy." I bury myself down between my sheets and come to a firm conclusion—it's time to stop living in my rockstar fantasy world and grow up.

I'm pulled back into my dream of CJ's lips on mine, kissing me furiously, his hands in my hair. "Please don't leave me." I can taste his tears on his skin and his desperation in his sweat. "Please, please, please don't leave me." His voice echoes on and on and on...

"Amelia, please don't leave us. Come and perform tonight." My eyes wrench open to Plato, Erek, Meredith and Levi huddled around me. "Please don't quit the band. At least finish the tour."

I look down at my bare left hand and feel my eyes well up with hot burning tears. "CJ." Being bombarded immediately on waking has caught me with my pants down and my brain isn't conscious enough to put on a brave front.

"He's downstairs, honey bee. He won't leave without you. He's got the bruises to show for it." Bruises? Oh for god's sake, who's lamped him? I throw the covers back and slouch downstairs with a pounding tension headache, like I haven't slept for days.

I roll my eyes and sit down opposite Andy and CJ, who wear equally grim expressions of remorse and contrition. I'm in no mood to absolve anyone's self-pity. "Make it quick."

CJ stares at me, clearly bewildered by my apathy and looks down at his hands. His shirt is torn slightly and there's a hint of a bruise forming on his jaw. I dread to think where the others are. "I love you, Amelia."

"I know." I lean my chin on my hand and stare out of the window. "But this isn't me. I got swept up in the moment and got carried away. You know my rules—I don't do boyfriends or groupies."

"So do fiancés. Andy, give me the box."

"Dude, I don't think—"

"Give me the fucking box." Andy shakes his head in disbelief and digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, round, red ring box. _Yeah, I'm right there with you, mate._ If that holds what I suspect, it is a _terrible_ idea.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

CJ glares at him fiercely and turns the box towards me. "Open it." I reach for it with a disapproving groan, and his hand shoots out and grabs mine. A wave of unexpected emotion courses through me—it's obviously harder to turn off love than it is to turn off hate. "I was saving this for your birthday, but you have to know how serious I am about you. I don't care who you are, who else comes along, or how many times you try and send me away. I'm going nowhere."

"Stalker," I quip as I flip open the box and I'm confronted by the most magnificent ring; a large black diamond set into shining platinum with smaller glittering diamonds around the band. "Holy shit." There really is no better reaction. It's _beautiful_ , the sort of thing you'd find on a millionaire's wife at some billion dollar dinner party with fashion industry bigwigs and rich, tight-assed bastards on the Forbes list. Not on a scruffy rockstar.

He removes it from the box and points at a familiar engraving: _Step into the darkness with me, meet me halfway._

"I'll take you to Vegas, Gretna Green; wherever you want. _Today_ if I have to." He pushes the ring onto my left hand and the sound of my heart beating floods my ears.

I struggle to catch my breath and shake my head. "No. Too much. You don't know me." Not by a long shot. There is far more to me than the bitchy demeanour, record contract and tendency towards hazard and danger.

He grabs my face between his hands and pulls me into his eyes, where I begin to drown and suffocate. "Amelia, breathe." I didn't even realise that I was holding my breath. I glance down at my hand and I feel slightly giddy. If he was trying to prove a point, he certainly succeeded and freaked me the fuck out in the process. "I know you, kitten. I know what scares you and why you're afraid, but I know what makes you happy. You won't be happy if I leave; fast cars, unexpected romantic gestures, being defied and music makes you happy. Say yes. Ride in my Mercedes. Let me knock down your defences until you trust me enough to confront your fears. Screw me senseless and get on that stage for your fans. And then, when you wake up next to me in the morning, do it again and again and again for the rest of your life."

I retreat from CJ's gaze and glance at Andy. He shrugs at me helplessly and half nods his assent but he knows only a fragment of the planet full of secrets that I keep.

Rising from my seat, I head for the steps up to the top deck.

"What are you doing?"

Dealing with this the only way I know how.

"Well, I've done everything on that list except the latter two and I have a gig in an hour."

It takes CJ a moment before he jumps up from his seat like he's been bitten and hops over the table to my side. "Amelia, I—"

"Shut the fuck up and get upstairs."

I push him down onto my bed a little more briskly than I intend and pin his arms above his head with one hand as I undo his jeans with the other. I am furious, raring to go and interested only in some self-gratification. I tug him out of his boxers and lean to lick him just enough to make sure he's fully aroused—I don't want him to enjoy it when he's made me so weak and so pathetic.

I arch my legs over him to pull my jeans around my ankles and shift my underwear to one side before I lower myself down onto him, hissing as he fills me up. This is the kind of soulless sex I know and love. Rushed, numb and heartless.

"Hold your hands out."

"What? Amelia, what are you doing?" I grab his hands forcefully and use them as leverage to ride him, roughly and selfishly. I don't look at him as I grind; I focus on getting myself off. But I scowl at myself for feeling no pleasure and no relief from my preferred coping strategy, and let my chin drop to my chest as I stop moving. "Amelia?"

My eyes fill with tears and I can't deny it anymore—he's broken me. "Why have you done this to me?"

CJ eases me off him and lowers me down onto the bed, pulling my jeans off from around my ankles and sliding my underwear down my legs. "Is that what you used to do? Use people like that for a quick fuck and send them packing?"

I glance at him reluctantly and nod. "Yep. That's the real me. Is that a problem?"

He scoffs and starts to strip off. "Judging by that pained look on your face, I'd say that it's not you anymore." He leans down over me and pushes my knees up to my chest. "You don't to screw anymore. You want to make love. To me, and only me. Look at me." He pushes himself into me and an immense wave of pleasure ripples through my body. I'm utterly overcome with a feeling of completeness just because he's inside me in a way he's never been inside anyone else. No way other than this is good enough anymore.

"That look on your face says it all, Amelia. Tell me that you love me." He pins my hands above my head like I did to him and begins to drive himself into me. It's deep, really deep and every inch of my body burns with pleasure, even the soles of my feet. "Say it."

I whimper through the intensity and my toes curl in resistance. "I love you. I do, CJ, I love you." Tears fall from the corners of my eyes and I struggle to catch my breath as my floodgates open and I scream a silent plea to the heavens for salvation. His eyes burn into me as I come and his breath on my face forces my climax to drag on. My body is so tense and my heart racing so fast that I feel like I'm about to die.

He snakes his arms underneath me and pulls me up so I'm straddling him, entwined in all his limbs and docile. "Don't fight me, Amelia. Don't ever fight me. You're just hurting us both when you do."

I rest my head in the crook of his neck and trace my fingers across his clavicle. The numbness I feel is different from the emptiness that I've carried around for so long. It's heavy, almost like I'm more burdened than ever by the emotions which I've sought to mask.

"Don't go back to Birmingham. If she's there, she'll take you from me and I can't be without this."

My head is pulled back and forced to engage those green eyes. "So move in with me." Bloody hell, that's a bit much and it pulls me right back down to Earth. How to kill a post-coital lull: ask her to move in. Take notes.

"I have a very nice loft on George Street."

"So I'll move in with you."

I roll my eyes at him and sigh. His keenness is cute but so horribly misplaced—and not because I'm messy and I fart like a trucker. "I'm not who you think I am, CJ. You have no idea."

He lifts me up by the hips and withdraws from me, leaning down to retrieve my clothes and hooking my feet through my underwear. "I know who you are. I know all I need to know. You could be the reincarnation of Hitler and it wouldn't make any difference to me. I've seen you at your best and at your worst. I've seen you crumble. I've seen you prance around on stage. I've seen you cry and laugh. I've seen you when you hate me and when you love me. Is there really any more to you than what I've seen on this tour?" I gape up at him because he _has_ seen every side of me. "Is there?"

"No," I answer honestly, "but there are things that you don't know." He shrugs and pulls me to my feet. He doesn't even look like he wants to know. "Come to Download with us. Drink, party and schmooze with the celebrities."

"You want me to drive the bus?"

"Fuck no, Ryan's foot will be fine by then. Come as my—" I pause and look at him doubtfully. How can I commit myself to a man I've never kissed? "Come as my partner."

He pulls a t-shirt over my head and frowns as he pulls my arms through the holes. "Partner? That ring has an intended purpose, you know."

"I just don't think it's fair to accept before you have all of me."

He looks at me thoughtfully before kissing my forehead. "I have all of you, Amelia. You just don't know it yet."

CJ is absent from the side stage for the second gig running and I'm surprised by how lonely I feel with my band behind me and a packed out venue. The black diamond on my finger sparkles optimistically and I so want to run through that crowd and find my man, wrap my arms around him and make him a permanent fixture in my life. But that fear of him leaving me for that skank Chrissie lingers deep within and prevents me from taking such a reckless course of action.

This all seems so much more serious if we put a label on it now only one more gig stands before us before we lose our mysterious guise.

# XIV

#

#

The whole bus is jolted awake by Daphne and Celeste shouting the lyrics to _UGLY_. There's a collective groan and various bedside objects are thrown in my direction, and it's not because of my shoddy taste in music.

"Tell her to fuck off!" is the general consensus and I tend to agree.

I grope around drowsily for my phone and put it on speaker. "Fuck off." Jobs a goodun. Oh, wait, she's still on the line.

"I've got two questions for you, Mia. Why the fuck are you all still asleep at this hour and why the fuck have you been photographed with an engagement ring?" Ah, Mackenzie Marsh. Always the charmer and always good for a gentle wake up call.

"Number one; we _were_ asleep because we had a late night of rough sex and drinking hard liquor. We don't work a nine to five shift, and that's why we're _much_ fucking richer than you." I yawn into the back of my hand and roll over to hike myself up onto my elbow and sweep CJ's messy bed hair out of his eyes. Bloody hell, even with morning breath and eye gunk, he looks like a god. "Number two; because I have."

" _That's not an answer. Are you engaged?"_ I glance down at CJ and he raises an enquiring eyebrow at me _. Jesus, way to put me on the spot._ The guys all start to goad me, much to my irritation and I'm clearly being pushed to smack that label on my relationship.

"Yes, Mackenzie. I am engaged to be married." I wave a hand to silence the resounding roar of approvals and 'thank fucks', and nip the end of CJ's nose when he gives me that smug 'I told you so' grin.

" _What about Lucien?"_ I growl at her down the phone and Meredith shouts a string of profanities. She doesn't even need to know the finer details to shoot that idea down at the paddock like a lame horse.

"I've told you a thousand times, not going to happen."

" _Don't you think you owe your history a chance?"_ Our history wouldn't stand a chance in the docks, let alone in practice.

"No!" Meredith and I scream at her simultaneously. "Did you just call to rehash the same old bullshit or do you want something?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow. How many seats am I setting?"

Well, that depends if your best friend Satan has dinner plans already. "Rehashing, then. One seat."

"Meredith isn't coming?"

"I meant just one for you, loser." There's a small ripple of laughter around the bus. I must consider a career in stand-up comedy if music doesn't work out, or maybe a side project.

"Mature. How many people are on your bus?"

I crane my neck and do a quick headcount. I lose track these days, we've started picking up these stupid waifs and strays with flashy cars and fancy diamond rings... "Nine including the roadies. But I'm going straight back home tomorrow."

" _Bollocks, Mia. I'll see you at 4pm. Don't forget the flowers."_ I sneer as she hangs up and rest my head back on my pillow. Everyone protests silently to the implication of dinner with my sister but I raise a hand.

"Don't sweat it," I rasp, quite eager to go back to sleep, "we just won't turn up. Let her make a dick of herself." Quite easy for do when she looks like a giant penis, but unlike the many others in the world, I'm not eager to socialise with her.

Meredith rolls out of bed and shuffles over to me in one of Andy's t-shirts, doing the same shameful limp I've done every morning since CJ went to town on me in London. Wild beasts, these men of ours.

She shoves CJ's feet over to sit down on the bed, pawing at my legs like a sleepy kitten. "Do you want to skip out on you know where this year?"

I twist my head around to look at her and purse my lips. "No, we'll go. I owe her that much."

"You know where?" CJ murmurs against my shoulder and kisses my back. Sleepiness obviously makes him nosy.

"Cemetery."

"Oh. On your birthday?"

I nod begrudgingly and kick Meredith off the bed. "Let me go back to sleep, bitch."

And I'm standing outside my bedroom door again, Meredith is at my side this time but Mackenzie and Lucien sit at the bedside. Mackenzie stands up and points a long skeletal finger at me, like the hand of Death.

"This was your fault."

I jolt awake, dripping with sweat and with a searing pain in my hand. In that moment, I realise I'm being restrained by CJ. "Amelia, stop! It wasn't your fault!"

I grip my head in my hands and wince, feeling like I've been punched or slapped. It's a feeling I know well. "What was I—"

"Biting your hand. Meredith told me to tell you it wasn't your fault if you did something like this today."

I wrap my arms around him and bury my face between his pectorals. The sound of his steady heartbeat works to regulate mine—I am safe here.

"I'm sorry that I'm so screwed up." He rubs my back gently and rests his chin on my head. I bet that he never imagined for a minute that being with me would be such a roller-coaster, or that he imagines 'Amy' of The Bystander Effect to be so flawed.

"Come into town with me, Amelia. I want to do something." He throws some random articles of clothing at me and shimmies out of bed. I lift said clothing up for closer inspection. He won't be finding himself head hunted for a career in the women's fashion industry any time soon, that's for damn sure.

"You want me to wear your Halo 3 t-shirt and a pair of shorts?"

He shrugs and sticks out his tongue suggestively. "And New Rocks. Yum." I'll indulge his request, just this once. His t-shirt drowns me but when I'm still sporting last night's sex hair, I take grunge to a whole new level. This could catch on.

He growls with approval and pulls me down the steps, grabbing his car keys from the table.

"Going somewhere?" Meredith is all wrapped up in Andy—they've become so close; it's really quite bizarre. She's usually all about sex but she actually seems genuinely taken and so does he. They have conversations and everything, ones that aren't essentially verbal foreplay.

We're all paired off except Erek, poor guy. We must find him some end of tour pussy as compensation.

CJ grins at Meredith and tugs me towards the door. "Ink."

"What?" Me or him?

"I want an Amelia Marsh original." Ah, him. I approve.

I'm standing over CJ with a hand on my hip and a pen in my hand. The tattoo artist hasn't stopped leering at me since we walked in and it's not really helping my ire in this situation.

"Are you fucking joking?" I no longer approve of his craving for ink.

"No. Sign me. You're probably going to be huge one day—too big to stay with a punk like me—so I want to be able to say that I got there first."

I elbow the guy in the stomach to stop him blowing my cover and shake my head.

"You're an idiot. I'm already fucking famous and I'm going nowhere. You've put an obnoxiously large diamond on my finger to ensure that."

"Oh, so _you're_ the faceless and nameless tour bus driver." I glance up at the tattoo artist and scowl. What the fuck is wrong with him—why won't he shut up? "You tied down Amelia Marsh? Yeah, you don't need a tattoo, mate. You need a medal."

I wave a hand as though my point is proven and raise an eyebrow. A medal might be an interesting birthday present actually. No, hang on. Bit conceited.

"See? I'm famous enough for this guy to know who I am. You don't need my autograph tattooed on."

CJ leans back coolly against the wall and nods at the artist with a smirk. Why do I feel like I'm about to be bullied into something?

"Hey, did you know she curses when she comes?"

My mouth drops open in horror. "CJ..."

"Yeah, and she's got this tattoo right above her—"

Nobody needs to know about _that_ tattoo. "All right, I'll fucking sign you!" I narrow my eyes and scrawl across the top of CJ's biceps, and I make sure it's huge for good measure. "You're in deep shit, Caspian." I step back to survey my work then pat the creepy tattooist on the shoulder. "He's your problem now, love. You're going to need a sharp needle for that." I sit myself down on a spare stool and steal a lollipop from a jar on the side. He's still leering at me. "Chop, chop."

"Sorry. I would love to tattoo you." I bet he would. Somewhere that involves me undressing no doubt. I'm not saying he looks like a creep, but he makes Gary Glitter look like an ideal spokesperson for Childline.

CJ raises an eyebrow at me and runs his teeth across his teeth.

"Would that turn you on?" He shrugs and gives me a smile that says 'yes'. Why is he getting all the treats when it's _my_ birthday tomorrow? "Weirdo. Get on with that autograph and I'll try to remember if I have any spare skin."

The growl of a tattoo machine ignites the mischief in me and I suck on my lollipop illicitly, doing my best to distract the pair of them. It's working. I move around the back of them and watch over the tattoo artist's shoulder and do the moan of approval I reserve for CJ's pre-cum. "Not bad, not bad at all."

The creep leans back when he's done, cleans up CJ's arm and looks at me eagerly. "So..."

I hand CJ the pen and smile sweetly. "Anything anywhere but on my neck and face." He looks up at me, horrified. "Yeah, it's not great being put on the spot, is it?" He rolls his eyes and hops down from the couch, patting for me to jump up with a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"I want your leg, kitten." God fucking damn that 'kitten' business. He scans my thigh for my dedication tattoo and furrows his brow as he draws two eyes behind the lettering; the same two eyes from his ring. He's so talented that it sickens me, and then turns me on, then makes me sick because it turns me on. Ugh. I'm just a complete sucker for him and it's disgusting. I think he's knocked my IQ down into double digits.

The tattooist nods in agreement and starts setting up with new equipment. "Do you want these in colour?"

"Green." I look up at CJ and smile, pointing to his eyes. "That green."

CJ spends the whole time smiling at me, like he's really honoured that I would do this for him, but I think I'm the one humbled. He carries a genuine Amelia Marsh autograph on his arm, though he has no idea just how significant it is. I sincerely hope that all these little things will make a difference when he finds out who I really am.

And he looks kind of surprised that I don't bat an eyelid and flinch at all during the process. Not really sure why when I'm covered—maybe it was my volatile reaction to that tetanus jab. But as long as he's looking at me like that, I know he's hooked.

The tattooist sprays my leg and wipes it clean, whistling at my glowing skin with self-satisfied approval. "Can I add you two to my portfolio?" I'd sort of be offended if he didn't. I don't imagine he gets a lot of celebrities in here. To his benefit, what he lacks in tact and personality he makes up for in skill and I might just end up pulling him in a lot of business.

"Sure."

He peels off his gloves and pulls his phone from his pocket, looking up at me cautiously between the intermittent shutter sound of the camera. "There are no published pictures of you two."

I laugh as I recall the picture of our bathroom antics. I still have those pants. "Yes, there is. It caused quite an uproar."

"I meant of you two in public as a couple. Can I be the one to take it and put it up on the wall in here?"

I raise an eyebrow at CJ and he nods enthusiastically. He wants to be public. I'll do whatever I have to in order to prove that my status means nothing.

"Sure. Put online; sell it; do whatever. I'll make sure an autographed copy gets to you." The guy's jaw hits the ground with a thud and I slide down from the couch, pulling CJ up from his seat and wrapping my arms around him. "Go for it." We're momentarily blinded by the flash before he shows us our first public image. We're a fucking hot couple.

We spend the rest of the day relaxing in Plymouth city centre, eating crap food, window shopping and looking at the boats like any other normal couple. Everywhere we turn there are gushing fans, but CJ takes it in his stride like he was born for this. Nobody mentions our band's name, nobody mentions Chase, and some of them even ask for his autograph, too. He's totally in his element and I feel awful when I have to bring him back down to earth from his little cloud of elation.

"I have to go to do the sound check." I pout at him with genuine disappointment and wipe ice cream from his nose. "I've had the most amazing day with you."

"So have I, Amelia. If this is your life, I am more than happy to be a permanent and very public fixture." So am I, but there's a lot more to it than being followed around like a mobile landmark.

I rest my head against his chest and tug at his t-shirt as I breathe him in. "This is just the good part. You haven't seen the stalkers and shitty rumours side."

"Bring it on." He drags me by the hand back to the Mercedes and passes me his iPod. "Go on, pick something for the drive." I flick through and find the _Paranoid and Sunburnt_ album, winking at him as he settles down in the driver's seat. "So, last gig of the tour."

I kick my feet up onto the dashboard and wink at his flinch. _Don't be so anal, they're clean. "_ Yep, then a nice six weeks of relaxation before Download."

"So after tonight, the next time you play will be my birthday." I swallow down a lump in my throat. That's kind of a short time frame.

"Uh huh." My voice waivers but I'm almost certain he doesn't notice.

"Awesome. I can't wait to hear your Wendy James."

I half laugh and shrink down a few inches in my seat. It's come around so fast and there's so much I wanted to do before it all went to hell. What do I do if he's angry? What if he leaves me? What if he changes? These questions swim around my mind like piranhas, chewing and gnashing at my happy little bubble.

"Amelia, your phone is ringing."

"What?" I feel a vague buzzing in my shorts pocket. He's not wrong, that's my phone. "Dad?" These phone calls are becoming inexplicably frequent.

"Hey sugar, just seen the picture of you and your guy in Plymouth. Very nice!"

I roll my eyes and lean my head back against the seat. That sure got out fast. "Thanks, Dad."

" _Are you with him now? Any chance of some speakerphone action?"_ Ugh, god, I'd rather die. He makes it sound so sordid and erotic. Gag.

"He's driving, Dad, I don't think he—" CJ pokes me in the ribs and nods furiously. Oh hell. "Ah, jeez. Hang on."

"Mr. Marsh!" He grins as he shouts over the purr of the engine. "Nice to talk to you, finally. I'm CJ."

"Shit, baby bear, he's polite. Call me Bobby, man. Mr. Marsh makes me feel kinda old."

CJ frowns at me and I can see the little hamster in his brain thrashing around on its wheel. " _The_ Bobby Marsh?" _Oh shit_. "As in _Love My Baby_ Bobby Marsh?" Oh for fucks sake, he knows my dad's name but not mine.

"That's me, kid! My girl treating you good?"

"She's getting there." I blow a raspberry and stare out of the window. How rude, I treat him superbly. I always apologise for my hissy fits and I give him ample sexy times. What more could he possibly need? Oh... _that_.

"Glad to hear it. She can be stubborn but she just needs to be told when to stop being a prick."

My face flames violently. My father didn't seriously just call me a prick. "Dad! Fucking hell, you're wounding me here."

He howls with laughter and sighs dramatically. "Well, enjoy your last gig and be nice to your sister; the poisonous bitch troll. You're still going to see Creedance tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course."

" _Good. Tell her pops says hi. Laters, CJ!"_ I hang up and rub my temples. There was not a single aspect of that conversation that wasn't embarrassing.

"Bobby Marsh?" I wrinkle my nose and turn to CJ slowly. "Your dad is seriously Bobby Marsh?"

"Unfortunately."

"That is so fucking cool." It's so not. I mean, it was when I was thirteen, but now, it's _so_ not cool. "Any other famous relatives?" I shake my head and roll my eyes. Apparently my identity remains guarded.

"No, Mackenzie doesn't have a musical bone in her body, and my brother and mother are in Africa building churches for orphans or something. If not for my dad, I'd swear I was adopted."

"I hear that, but in regards to my mum, not my dad."

He pulls into the car park next to the tour bus and swoops around to open my door. He holds a hand out to lift me up and scoops me into his arms. "Can I ask you something?"

I run my hands up to his tensed muscles and squeeze with a slight groan of approval. God _damn_. "You can ask but I'm under no legal obligation to answer." But with my mind so consumed by his stature, I'm likely to answer anything without thinking.

He eyes me warily and puts me back down on the ground. Oh boy, it's another biggy. "Are you really going to marry me?" Not the question was expecting.

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course I want you to. I told you, life is way too short."

I step back slightly and look at him, desperately searching my soul for answers. I love the bones of him but I'm only twenty-two, twenty-three tomorrow. There again, life _is_ too short, I've seen that for myself.

My grey eyes meet his green gaze and I'm pulled into him. Even from a distance I can feel his warmth.

"You just try and stop me."

"We could get on a plane to Las Vegas tomorrow."

I scoff and pull him close to me, secretly hatching a plan in my mind. "That's stupid. Romantic, but stupid. Let me surprise you with an idea on your birthday." I wink and give him a brief kiss on the cheek before I walk into the sound check.

I'm instantly hit an interrogation—the identity of my secret lover is officially big news and my band mates are enthused and relieved. Maybe now he's in the limelight, it'll be harder for him to run away, but that just seems like entrapment to me. Entrapment is crap and should be avoided at all costs if one wishes to walk through life with a fully intact conscience.

Andy pats me on the back and strolls out while I sling my Stratocaster around my shoulders and test our sound levels unenthusiastically. Plato wraps himself around me from behind and nuzzles the back of my head. There's always something pissing on my bonfire and nagging at me when I should be screaming from the rooftops, and he can tell it's there.

"What's up, honey bee? You looked so happy in that picture with him."

I turn around and frown as I untangle a few of his dreadlocks. "I _am_ happy," _HOLD THE PRESSES—SHE JUST SAID SHE'S_ HAPPY _!_ "I'm just scared of his reaction when he finds out who we are. I don't want him to feel like he's been the butt of any jokes or like he's been betrayed."

"Just trust him, honey bee. That boy loves you so much—you have no idea. You're not the only one with secrets, you know." Now that piques my interest. What secrets does he have?

Meredith coughs next to me and shoots Plato the death stare. "Stop stirring, Marcus." Oh dear, it must be big if she's using his name. "Ams, do you know when CJ asked Andy to make that engagement ring?" Oh, so Andy is the master jeweller. "He put in that order when you were sat in the _RAE_ offices and he had no idea if you'd come back as his girlfriend. That's how crazy he is about you. But I still think you should be careful."

"I am, Meredith. I still haven't kissed him." She looks almost happy at my news. Definite case study.

CJ sneaks backstage with a bottle of white wine and yet another red rose while the support acts play. Our usual mischief seems to have set a trend, because Andy and Meredith emerge from a dark corner both covered in lipstick and stinking of shame. At least we have the decency to keep it private, dirty skets!

They're subjected to a perfunctory ribbing until the first support act walks off stage, and we congratulate them for travelling with us and surviving their first proper tour. It's amazing to see how far they've come and how much their confidence has grown since we went on the road in Cardiff. There again, maybe we've all grown somehow.

We're all sat in a circle on the floor while the second support act sets up, just chatting absent-mindedly. The three couples amongst us curl up in each other's arms and make plans for our break before Download while Big Dave and Louise play blackjack on top of an amp. This is so far removed from the manic piss up we had last year because the gig happened to fall on my birthday. There was blood, there were ambulances, and there was crowd surfing—not mine.

Erek purses his lips and looks out across the stage. "Hey, CJ? If you could play any song on stage with us and duet with Amelia, what would it be?" We all turn and look at Erek curiously, then fold our arms and look at CJ expectantly.

He slumps down on the floor next to me and rubs his chin. "I dunno, I guess it would have to be _Broken_ by Seether." Now everyone's eyes are on me, knowing how much I love that song.

"So let's do it." Did I just say that? "The very last song after our set list before we leave stage." Yep, I definitely just said that. I must install some sort of brain to mouth filter. I expect to be subject to a verbal pile-on but to my surprise, everyone is nodding in agreement. Holy shit.

"It'd be a good way to announce your engagement." Meredith sticks her tongue out at me playfully. What the hell happened to being careful? "Andy could push you out there when it's time, CJ—you're still not allowed to hear us until your birthday."

CJ pouts moodily at me. "Why can Andy listen but I can't?" He shouldn't pout, I want to bite that lip.

"Because it's not his birthday and he's heard us already. It's no surprise for him." Andy shrugs and nods, way past the realms of surprise. "So will you do it? Will you come and play rockstar with me?"

CJ leans across and whispers into my ear. "I'll play anything you want, girl."

I'm standing in the middle of the stage, sweating and exhausted, singing the final strains of our last number and feeling an intense sadness for the end of our tour. I know that we do this every year, and will soon be touring America, but there's nothing like roaming the homeland.

And this year has been particularly memorable. We've only known CJ for a short time but he's affected us all so deeply. I've never seen my friends take to an outsider so well and advised him how to win my heart. They obviously have far more belief in us than I do, and frankly, that's a bit depressing.

The crowd cheer wildly and beg for an encore, a request that we never fulfil. I wave to Andy and feel an unpleasant tug at my stomach as I turn and notice the huge The Bystander Effect projection on the wall.

Big Dave reads my mind and has the technicians cut the lights. A single spot light falls on me and I'm racked with nerves. Everyone is focused on me, watching me eagerly in anticipation. Singing is different, it requires no forethought. I never meaningfully speak to the crowds.

"Ladies and gents, it slays us every year when we come to the end of a tour. We start off in Cardiff feeling hollow and out of practice, and then end here, in Plymouth—mine and Meredith's hometown—having had some amazing experiences and met some amazing people.

"This year has been no exception. We've had some blazing rows, danced on the roof of the tour bus and ruined a career or two. But most importantly, we've made new friends, confronted demons and made some huge changes in our lives. That said, I would like to introduce you to the latest addition to our crazy little rock and roll family. The love of my life, Mr. CJ Pearce."

I exhale shakily as CJ steps out onto stage with unexpected confidence and strides up to me, bold and beautiful, playing one of our spare guitars wonderfully and singing like an angel. The band joins in behind him and I stare at this marvellous god of a man.

I feel my chin quiver as I'm completely overcome with the intense love I feel for him. He's stepped out, as brazen as anything like he's been performing alongside me from day one. My musical motivation pushes me to play and sing through my tears as the crowd screams and cameras flash madly.

When we draw to the outro, he holds the guitar out for Louise to come and fetch, and tugs at my hand. "Will you marry me, Amelia? Please? In front of all of these people, say you'll be mine forever." I look at my band mates and they're all open mouthed and slapped by genuine surprise.

A crazed fan screams out, "Get down on one knee!" and he does. He's down on bended knee before me in front of all my fans, proposing to his dream woman from his favourite band and he doesn't even know it. How could he possibly be pissed off by the truth?

"Yes, I will. I'll fucking marry you, for the thousandth time!" The crowd whoops and cheers around us—CJ removes my Stratocaster from around my neck and slings me over his shoulder.

"Laters, folks!"

He tear-arses through the building, onto the bus, up the steps and throws me down on the bed, tearing at my clothes with carnal lust. Without even pausing for breath, he thrusts into me and makes my spirit soar. His jaw is gritted, his face determined, his eyes desperate and his love for me wholly apparent. Every movement is calculated and becoming more skilful; he is learning how to tame my body and please me in every way.

I lean up and bite his bottom lip, tilting my hips to meet his. "I love you, CJ." He dazzles me with a smile and leans his head against mine, our sweat mixing together like a formidable and potent elixir. I scream his name as we climax together and cradle his head against my bare chest.

I want to give this man my all—I want him to command my demise. Maybe now, whatever this mental block is that keeps me from my surrender will pass.

# XV

#

#

Meredith creeps into bed next to me and rests her cheek against my bare back. She doesn't care that I'm naked and that I smell of stale sweat and sex, she knows that I need this today. She knows how to make this easier and tells everyone how to make it easier, too.

Everyone has gotten up and left me alone, nobody wishes me a happy birthday, and nobody asks why we do this every year.

She combs her fingers through my hair and sings to me like I'm a child, sweetly and cajoling, and it tears through me like a dagger.

"Please stop singing. I used to sing like that."

"Sorry, Ams. Do you want me to go?" I grab her arm and tug it around me. She's going nowhere. Today is as bad for her as it is for me. Almost. "Do you want to go and eat breakfast with the guys? They have their orders."

"Sure." She helps me out of bed and digs through my clothes for a pair of Raven SDL trousers and a black shirt with huge bell sleeves. She has a similar outfit; we wear them every year and it's the only time we show any real modesty.

I put on my New Rocks and my aviators and head downstairs where there's a palpable tension as my friends try to make this day seem as normal as possible. I sit down at the table—Meredith sits opposite—and we link hands, and stay that way for most of the morning.

CJ sits down next to me and pushes a McDonald's breakfast across the table to me, unwrapping a bagel and sorting out my coffee so I can eat and drink one handed. He looks sad, guilty even. I mean, I know that we're probably bumming everyone out but he looks like he's on our wavelength. "What's wrong?"

He looks up at me with an awkward frown and glances hesitantly at Meredith. "I picked up flowers for you to take to the graveyard." I raise an eyebrow and look at him over the top of my aviators. What a strangely generous and selfless act. "Do you want to take the Mercedes?" And another.

Meredith looks at me and it's clear that she's impressed, maybe even humbled, by his actions. She tugs at my hand for me to release it and heads off to the bathroom.

CJ wrinkles his nose as she leaves and he still looks guilty. He's been wearing that expression a little too frequently.

"CJ, what have you done? I can see it in your face that you've done something."

"I broke one of Meredith's rules." He sighs and pushes a rose and an envelope to me. The amount of roses this guy buys me, I'll be able to open a flower shop before long. "I don't know what happened to make this day so painful for you, but I still love you and it's still your birthday. I'm sorry if I've overstepped the mark."

I slide a finger under the flap of the envelope and pull a card from its depths. The first birthday card I've received in eight years. It's a tacky cartoon card trimmed with black fluff and the words 'Rockstar' in gaudy pink glitter. He's written inside.

Amelia, queen of my world, the light in my darkness, my one day wife and my everything,

Happy Birthday, and it will be.

Love,

Your hopelessly in love and devout fiancé,

Caspian

For the first time in eight years, I smile on my birthday. I don't know how he does it, but he just lightens up the darkest corners of me and accepts all of my tweaks without thought.

I take my aviators off and brush a small tear from my eye before I throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me." I surrender my gratitude without questioning if there's an ulterior motive, and that's really new to me.

I feel him bury his nose in my hair and inhale deeply. "It's an honour to make you smile through your sadness, Amelia." Jesus, nobody can be this amazing without some major drawbacks. I need to know his secrets so I can feel slightly less inferior in the face of his perfection.

Meredith's phone rings as she leaves the bathroom—she rolls her eyes and looks sternly at my birthday card as she answers. I might be in a slightly better mood, but she's certainly not.

"Nancy. What, no, it's _that_ day of the year. You know she doesn't talk business today." I tap her hand and nod. Nancy always has a little somethin' somethin' to offer in the way of a distraction.

"I'll take it." She looks at me, baffled, and passes me the phone. "Hey, Nancy."

" _Amelia, I am so sorry, I completely forgot it was your birthday. Happy Birthday!"_ I shake my head and laugh, watching the light reflect off the ring on CJ's hand. I look down at the hand I used to wear it on and smile to myself as the diamonds glitter at me jubilantly.

"Thanks, sweetness. What can I do for you?"

"I've seen the pictures of you and your man and the footage from your gig last night. You two make quite a team."

My eyebrows slowly begin to rise in interest. "There's footage?"

"Oh yeah, there are a few dozen camera phone videos on YouTube. Some of them are pretty good." Now this I have to see. I'll bet my ass that we look as good on video as we do in still image. "I was wondering if you and CJ would do a photo shoot when you get back to Birmingham. I'm happy to train it up from London." Very interesting.

"Hang on," I lean the phone against my shoulder and purse my lips at CJ. "Uh, photo shoot?" Hell, that face is a picture. He doesn't even need to answer. I raise the phone back to my ear and roll my eyes at Meredith mockingly. "He has a mouth full of breakfast but I think the general opinion from his side is 'fuck yes'. How about in two days?"

" _That would be awesome, I'm more than free. Though, there's something bugging me."_ Oh jeez, a journalism 'bug'. This is bound to have come hand and hand with an all-night trawl through Internet search engines and a sweat beaded brow over Google Images.

"Hang on, let me put you on speaker phone. My breakfast is going cold," I put Meredith's phone down on the table and get her to do whatever she has to, to make this thing talk out loud. I pick up my bagel and dig in. "Okay, go on."

"Well, I've been looking at these pictures and something is really baffling me. Your man is CJ Pearce, right?"

"Right." But I'm considering bestowing upon him some sort of title or designatory letters for being a wicked hot sex god of perfection.

" _As in Caspian Pearce? Arnold Pearce's son? The multimillionaire?"_ Andy and CJ simultaneously choke on their breakfasts and shoot the daggers at each other across the bus.

I scoff incredulously and cover my mouth with my hand. "I don't think MP's are _that_ well paid, Nance."

" _I didn't mean Arnold, you silly bitch."_ I freeze, bagel mid-air and look up at Meredith. Her face is stony and perturbed. Pieces of the grand jigsaw puzzle of CJ begin to slot together in my mind: Mercedes, private luxury yacht, black diamonds, a spare couple of months to drive a tour bus. Holy shit. " _Oh my god, I'm so sorry, you had no idea."_

CJ is completely still and staring down at his pancakes, and everyone is staring at him. I start to chuckle inanely and shake my head in disbelief. "That's fucking awesome. Of all the guys to approach me in uni then insult me, take me to McDonald's, seduce me and propose, it had to be the millionaire. How rich are we talking?" Nancy stammers and I see the colour drain from CJ and Andy's faces. I point at Andy and mouth, 'you, too?', and he nods reluctantly. Dark horses!

"I don't know the exact amount but I think he's worth around one hundred and seventy-five million."

"Seventy-six." I raise an eyebrow at CJ and smirk. That extra million obviously makes _all_ the difference.

I shove his shoulder and sigh dramatically. "Mr. Way Richer Than Me speaks. At least I know he's not with me for my money and fame. Fucking hell."

"I am so sorry if I've just gotten him in trouble. I'll see you two in two days, okay? That's if you don't kill him for keeping secrets, but that'd make you a hypocrite."

"Yeah thanks, Nancy." That was really helpful and really helped to diffuse the situation. _Not._

Meredith turns off her phone and the bus is immersed in a deathly silence. Okay, that's kind of more the atmosphere I'm used to on my birthday but I was quite enjoying the hilarity.

CJ claps his hands together and lowers his head in an attempt to skirt around the issue. "So... Pancakes." Too funny.

I tut and roll my eyes. He's barking up the wrong tree. "Bagels are better."

Meredith gapes at me, eyes wide and confused. "Fucking bagels and pancakes? Isn't there a conversation to be had here?" Is there? I think it's all been said already. Stinking rich _fiancé_ who obviously isn't that new to being in the spotlight, though somewhat more silently than us and in a more 'respectable' circle. No wonder he wasn't fazed about coming on stage with us last night. He probably paid for an ego enhancement. Oh well, no pre-nup's necessary, obviously!

"I don't care how much money he has."

CJ splutters on his mouthful of pancakes and stares at me. _Wow, get over it. I said I didn't care about your money, not if you were transgender._ Wait... Is he—? No, surely there's no surgeon good enough to make it that functional. Is there?

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it? I have my own money, albeit nowhere near as much as you, but you eat fast food, drink hard liquor, fuck rough, listen to rock music, play guitar, sleep in late and scratch your arse crack like everyone else. I don't love you any more or any less for knowing that it was a multimillionaire eyeing me up across the study hall." He looks at me in disbelief and puffs out his cheeks. "I mean it, CJ. I don't care. No more than you say you'd care if I was your dream woman." And maybe, just _maybe_ , I've set a precedent for his reaction to our own little secret.

"You _are_ my dream woman." Smooth talker, but totally unnecessary.

"Oh baby, you have no idea."

Meredith and I trudge through the cemetery paths slowly, arms laden with the two extravagant bouquets CJ got on our behalf. This walk brings me down with a bump after our somewhat light-hearted morning and not even the prospect of marrying a multimillionaire can dull this hurt.

We stop at a small black headstone in the children's section and curse over the grave's neglected state. I'm furious that Mackenzie and Lucien haven't kept this tidy. Meredith removes the old dead flowers and puts ours down in its place. I kneel down and run my fingers across the engraved letters.

Creedance Marsh

Died so young, lived so little.

"Rock on, lil sis." Meredith puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls a face. "I'd have her playing guitar by now."

"You've been saying that for eight years."

"You know she's kicking it with Hendrix and Cobain, now."

I sneer and wave my hands to negate that ridiculous notion. "I fucking hope not—she's _seven_." We erupt into barely suppressed laughter and give the finger to the mourners who glare at us in disapproval. We're entitled to commiserate how we see fit and no amount of funeral processions are going to take away that right.

"Come on, let's get back to our millionaires, get horrendously drunk, and then trash Mackenzie's house." I crouch down and Meredith hops onto my back. We race through the cemetery, whooping loudly, and jump into the Mercedes, drowning the perpetual sorrow with death metal. This has been by far my most cheerful birthday since I turned fifteen.

When we arrive back on the bus, the sight before us wraps us in overwhelming confusion. Everyone is wearing black suits and talking quietly. Our tour bus looks like a wake but lacks the mandatory lemon drizzle cake and grandma's best china.

"Fucking hell, who died?" You're all about eight years too late for the funeral.

Plato raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "We don't know, you won't tell us." There's a bloody good reason for that.

I roll my eyes and kick my boots off, pulling my trousers down around my ankles and throwing them at Plato's face. "You look depressive. You know how this works by now: we mourn for the morning, visit the grave at 12pm, we get tanked up with you guys until 4pm then you have a merry old time while I try not to kill the bitch troll." It's a very effective itinerary that allows for the remainder of the evening to be open for traditional celebratory birthday acts such as shots, skinny-dipping and, on occasion, a few hours in A&E with broken fingers.

Levi stands up and folds my trousers up neatly as he shakes his head in that camp, anally retentive way he does. "She's setting nine places and I haven't eaten a real home-cooked meal in months." Not my fault the fag can't cook. Wait. Oh hell, they've dressed up to join us.

"Ah no, Levi. She's a crap cook, a crap host and a crap sister. And just generally a crap human being, actually. She will go out of her way to judge and berate every single one of us."

"I love a bit of berating; just ask Plato."

Gross. I crack open a can of Strongbow and shake my head pitifully. "Which one of you restocked our beer fridge? Fucking hell. Dire straits, man."

Meredith purses her lips at me with her 'I know what you're doing' face. Why is everyone so determined to make this birthday as weird as possible?

"Fine, come to Mackenzie's. It's your funeral." No pun intended. "Just do me a favour and put some normal clothes on." Everyone looks down at their suits and raise a collective eyebrow. " _Our_ version of normal."

They make a hasty grab for their shirts and ties, clearly glad to get out of the constraints of social acceptance. I sit down on the table in front of CJ and shake my head, taking a begrudging sip from my can of piss water. "Do you wear a suit like this for your millionaire business?"

He smirks at me and crosses his arms. I'm not one to drool over suits, but he's wearing a waistcoat like it's a second skin and I have the unmistakable craving to tear it off with my teeth.

"Rarely. I have a shit ton of bitches to make my money for me." So he's powerful, too? Hot, but a challenge on my boundaries.

"Are you suffering from a touch of megalomania, Mr. Pearce? Because I can fuck that right out of your system." I have no qualms about asserting my authority with corporate pillow talk. I can spout off crap about company acquisition and mergers until he messes his pants _and_ make it sound like I know what I'm talking about if that's what gets him hot.

Levi fans his face theatrically and swoons. "All this talk of money and dominance is pushing my hot buttons, Amelia." I sneer in distaste as he grabs Plato by the hand and pulls him up to the top deck. Fuckers. I'm pretty open-minded but I refuse to screw in the same room as two arse-invaders going at it.

"I have a Mercedes. Just sayin'." I glance back down at CJ, caught a little off guard. My man is becoming a real deviant and a capable mind reader. Everything south of my waist burns with need and my breath hitches unexpectedly.

"Stop talking filth or I'll have you on this table."

"I wish you would." I bite my lip and heave a desperate growl, grabbing him by his silk tie to pull him out of the bus, and throw him against the side of his car.

"Get in."

"You get in." Where the fuck has this cheeky son of a bitch come from? I like him. In a calculated move, I sprawl out across the bonnet and blink impassively. What man would resist a hot blonde with no trousers on sprawled across the bonnet of a Merc? Oh right, possibly the two lubing up on the bus.

CJ leans an elbow on the roof and looks at me with the slightest trace of a smirk. "You think I wouldn't." I kind of did, until I saw that look in his eye, and now I'm not so sure. But I have the gift of bravado to encourage him to back down.

I nod towards the bus and all the faces pressed against the window egging us on. "You put on one hell of a show on my stage last night, but how do you perform under pressure?" I tease him, licking my lips suggestively and wrapping my hair around my fingers. He walks over to me slowly and leans over me, one arm by my head, and pulls me down towards him. I feel him bulging within his suit trousers and give him a salacious groan. "Don't worry, I know danger-fucking isn't in your repertoire."

"Isn't it?" His eyes gleam at me with white hot intensity as I hear his zipper undo and feel his erection against my bare skin. I glance in horror at the bus and the guys are all going insane. _Stop encouraging him!_

"Uh, CJ? You're a high profile millionaire, I'm a high profile recording artist and this is really, _really_ public."

"You going to pussy out on me, Marsh?" And there he goes, making a fatal mistake by challenging me.

"The hell I am. Go ahead, get us both arrested for public indecency. I'm sure you own the police station." He pulls my underwear to one side and brushes against me before pushing his way into me.

"Relax, Amelia. You're so tight."

I blush crimson and wrinkle my nose. I was embarrassingly unprepared for this and he's just smiling down at me like he indulges a penchant for broads across cars every day.

"I've never done it, you know, al fresco before." He raises an eyebrow at me and stifles a disbelieving laugh as he fills me up and sets my nerves on high alert. I talk big but I usually screw small, and rarely in front of an audience. "Don't look so fucking surprised—I'm not a whore." Much.

He ducks down so our noses touch and his breath is strangely sweet and enticing. Ah ha—he's been at the Dutch courage. "Happy birthday, bitch." He seals his crass endearment with his teeth clamped downed on my bottom lip and ploughs into me like his life depends on it, and his soul motivation is to screw me blind. The yelling and cheering from the bus is a distant sound compared to our jagged breathing against each other, my grey eyes burning into green.

This is hot, it's exciting and I—

"Mother fucking tit wank shit bags!" I fling my arms over my head in embarrassment as a crackle of hilarious laugher erupts from the bus. Bastards! CJ zips himself up and stands up to take a bow before pulling me up off the bonnet.

I flail a leg out to kick him playfully and peek out from beneath my elbows "You dirty exhibitionist!"

"Shut up, Marsh. You loved every second."

I scowl at him because I'm crippled with humiliation for my extremely vocal climax. I scowl because he looks totally unfazed, and I scowl because he's right. I fucking loved it.

Mackenzie's face is a picture when she opens her door to the nine of us looking dishevelled and tipsy. She leans against the door frame and drums her fingers on the wall, regarding us like a horde of unwelcome religious callers selling double-glazing through the medium of Christmas carols in April at dinner time.

"Look at the fucking state of you. You look like you've been dragged through a hedgerow backwards."

I blow a raspberry in her face and push past her. "Actually, it was the bonnet of a Mercedes SL."

She huffs in disgust and leads us through to her prim and proper sitting room. I can barely believe that we share DNA. Her house is immaculate and right on the beach at Cawsand Bay. There's not a single shred of self-expression in her ripped off manor house sitting room and the overly pretentious portrait of her over the fireplace.

"Jesus, you still worship yourself."

Tutting, she grabs a handful of my hair, seeking to blast my accurate observation out of the water with cynicism and altruistic snipery. "You obviously don't. What the fuck have you done to yourself? You look like a cheap ho. You looked good as a brunette with no tattoos."

I furrow my brow at her and her Stepford wife cardigan. I haven't actually really changed aesthetically since she saw me last year but she just loves to reiterate the fact that she hates the way I look. I don't detect a note of jealously. I detect an entire sonata.

I throw myself down across her couch, pulling CJ with me and kick my legs across his. "I have never been a brunette and I'd rather look like a cheap ho than a librarian. No wonder nobody will marry you." Or date her, or talk to her, or even willingly be in the same room as her.

"Yeah, let's get on to marriage, shall we?" Mackenzie grabs my left hand and looks down her nose at my ring. "It looks cheap." A cheap ring for a cheap ho.

Andy laughs next to Meredith and shakes his head. "I'd wager that it wasn't."

Mackenzie flares her nostrils at him with a fleer. "And you would know how?" Ooh, making enemies of the millionaires already. There goes any chance of a successful plea for funding for extensive plastic surgery and a lobotomy.

"Because I made it. Custom designs don't come cheap, lady. The stone alone is worth around eight grand."

She glances at me, at a complete loss for words. This is a rare occurrence and I drink it in like fine wine. I think she's genuinely surprised that anyone would cough up that kind of money for me and again, is entirely jealous. I'm mentally donning a cheerleader outfit and crumping a victory dance in her face.

She leans back in her seat and scans around us for her next victim. "So, you're well off, then." Oh fuck, not CJ already. Straight for the jugular.

"I make a good living." If that's his business face, I'm going to work with him every day for the rest of his life, whether he likes it or not.

"Doing?"

He meets her hard unforgiving glare with equal contempt. "I run a few companies."

"Such as?"

"Pearce & Parker Chartered Accountants. We have fifteen nationwide premises." This news sends a leap of jubilation through me—I can't believe I didn't make the connection earlier.

I lean forward in my seat and smirk as Mackenzie sucks on the back of her teeth, sharing my train of thought. "I'm fucking your boss. Give me a few months and legally, I'll _own_ you."

"You are aware that you have to kiss at wedding ceremonies, Mia?" Spiteful bitch. She picks herself up from the ancient looking mahogany-legged couch and walks over to the doorway. "I'm putting dinner out in five—help yourselves to drinks."

And that is a surrender in the form of the extension of alcohol. Go team Bystander plus two!

Andy curls his tongue over his teeth as she wanders down the hallway and nods. It's the same knowing nod that Erek, Plato and Levi did when they had the misfortune of meeting my sister four years ago. "Yeah, you were right. Massive bitch troll. I don't know a single guy who'd give her a sympathy screw and I know some pretty desperate blokes." Meredith and I snicker to ourselves and head open to a large wooden liquor cabinet. Andy is dead on with his observation; Mackenzie is dowdy and butt-ugly, face like a badger's arsehole and a nose like a rugby player as a result of the many times I've punched or head-butted her. I can't see that tonight will be any different, though with the way it's going, it could be any one of us launching at her.

We sit down at an oversized antique dining table to a sumptuous banquet of fresh lobster with butter sauce, garlic stuffed mushrooms, fresh olive oil dressed salad... Wait, something isn't right here.

"You hired a cook." Mackenzie looks up at me and shoots me the death stare. I'm not stupid enough to believe that she suddenly became an ode to Nigella Lawson overnight or took cooking lessons, and if she did, they most likely kicked her out and said "Uh, bitch, you're turning our ingredients sour with your face". I give her a scathing laugh in return and sip on my Jack and Coke. "Happy fucking birthday to me; she takes hints."

"I hired a chef for your friends, not you." Figures, any excuse to show off and try and make me look bad—but she's fooling nobody. They all know she's as ugly on the outside as she is within.

She blinks at me lazily before shaking her head. "You really look like shit, Mia."

"I have a few hundred thousand people who think otherwise, Mackenzie. I don't see you on any 'Hottest Girl Of Rock' lists." I ignore CJ's look of interest and dare her to challenge me further. But she doesn't. Not yet. He reaches under the table to my thigh and squeezes it gently. I know he's trying to diffuse my irritation but it just turns me on. "Not here."

He raises an eyebrow at me and winks. "Dirty girl." _Yes, yes I am, and you're a very dirty boy with what is now a_ very _dirty car_. Wow, this isn't helping.

"Does he know you're a slapper?" Everyone's eyes shoot around and glare at my sister. What a dick.

"Yes, he's aware that I have a reputation for being loose, thanks." She stares at me venomously and stabs her fork into a mushroom. She's not used to my retorts; she usually gets through these agonising meals looking like the victor. "Why do you invite us here every year?"

"You know damn well why I tell you to come home, Mia. Some things should be faced as a family."

"Don't call me Mia, I hate being called Mia. And yes, things _are_ better faced as a family, but I have all the family I need on that bus. Blood does not a family make."

Meredith clears her throat and shuffles her plates around with a stiff face. This 'conversation' is slipping into chaos and, as ever, she has to be the voice of reason that at least gets us to dessert before the claws come out and I fly at Mackenzie like a screaming banshee.

"I really don't think this is a conversation to be having in the present company. If you two want to get into your yearly brawl, do it elsewhere."

Mackenzie purses her lips and pushes her food around her plate. Somehow, she takes Meredith far more seriously than she does me. "How's Dad?"

"Fine. How are Mum and Wills?"

"Fine."

We sit in an awkward silence until we finish our main courses. The tension is palpable and I can tell that everyone is nervous for the next outburst.

Mackenzie puts plates of apple and rhubarb crumble down in front of us. At least she got something right and there's a chance that she might have actually cooked this herself.

"You remembered."

"Of course I remembered. You never forget watching your little sister put away an entire dish of crumble after her first encounter with cannabis." Meredith and I split into giggles at the memory, and Mackenzie soon follows. A minute atom of the tension is released into the atmosphere. "So, Andrew, you design jewellery?" We all sit up straight in shock as she addresses him coolly and politely. I wasn't aware that my sister came with a shred of civility.

"Design, manufacture, distribute. CJ does most of the designing though."

"Do you have any examples?" I wave my hand at her as a reminder. "Right. And you're with Meredith?" Andy and Meredith link fingers and look suspiciously like a couple. That's going to be a real treat to deal with when the shit hits the fan. "And Plato and Levi are still gay..."

"Well yeah, sweetheart. Homosexuality is chronic; you don't grow out of it." She is visibly disgruntled at their sarcasm—my wonderful sister, the homophobe.

"And Erek?"

"Playing the field." She gives us all a tight lipped smile and runs her spoon around her dish. Jea-lous. I'm betting that she'd quite like a piece of the Polish pole.

"Lucien has been asking after you." _Oh here we go._

I roll my eyes and rub my temples, praying for a mercifully spontaneous heart attack—either hers or mine—to end this subject. "You say that every year."

"He asks every year. What the hell happened to you two, Mia? You had everything." I look up at her, mouth agape and grip onto my spoon with a hostile stance. I suppose I can't expect someone like her to have a decent grasp on what 'everything' should really be in a relationship.

"I thought you might have the decency not to bring this up around CJ. Lucien ruined me, you know that." Meredith bites her lip and shakes her head at me furiously, mouthing "no, no, no, shut up" repeatedly. I might just be talking myself up shit creek but I'm almost certain that Mackenzie has at least two fully functioning brain cells to rub together.

"Ruined you? He made you happy." Maybe not.

"I was young, we don't live in a society where you marry the first person you fuck anymore." I wince and slap my head. "I mean don't _have_ _to_."

CJ's grip tightens momentarily on my thigh and I'm sure that my slip up is forgiven.

"It was hardly just a case of you having under-age sex, Amelia. We'd have had him charged with statutory rape if it had been as shallow as that. You two should have a seven old running around now."

I feel the atmosphere around me freeze and hear Meredith swear under her breath. I dip my spoon into my dessert and continue to eat as I can feel everyone's eyes burn into me. Surely if I just ignore that comment, it'll pass. Amelia Marsh—queen of the delusional.

"You're a mother?" Plato gapes at me across the table. I keep my eyes fixed down and twist my leg from CJ's grip. This is exactly why I didn't want them to come here.

"No. I'm not."

"But she—"

"I know what she said, Plato. My daughter died at nine months old. Meningitis."

"Creedance. Surgery scar. Caesarean." CJ's mutters quietly next to me, joining the dots, and my face burns with fear and fury. I've lost him, I must have. It wasn't enough that I lost my daughter and self-respect, my hateful bitch of a sister had to make sure I lost my love, too. Sick, bitter, twisted, resentful—

"And whose fault is it she's dead?" I scowl up at Mackenzie and narrow my eyes. What did I ever do in a past life to deserve being born into a family with such an acidic sister?

"Your fault. You were babysitting. I trusted you with my daughter's life for one night to celebrate my birthday with Meredith and came home to find a dead baby on my bed. Thanks for the fucking nightmares, sis." There's a harsh intake of breath from everyone around me and I feel sick for knowing that I've just divulged the whole fucking warped affair. Suddenly, it's all slotting together for them. The unwillingness to celebrate my birthday, the nightmares, the tendency towards self-destruction, the poor coping strategies...

"You should have known she was ill! You should have known she was ill and we could have saved her life. It was your fault."

And those words are my undoing. Every year it comes down to this. Every year it comes down to me trying to be a normal teenager after getting knocked up by a guy four years my senior and leaving my child to die while I got drunk with my best friend. Mackenzie blames me for being stupid. Lucien blamed me for being reckless. My mother blamed me because I didn't have a termination.

And I blame me, too—with a mother like me, I may as well have just tied the noose around her neck myself and let her hang. I was stupid and I should have known.

My eyes fill with tears and I flee from the house, running across the beach as fast as I can. Rarely used coping strategy number four. I run out of sand and head out into the sea, wading out until it reaches my chin. The feeling of the water around me is a soothing release from reality and I remember doing this so many times before. I silently plead to the tide to sweep me away from this life and take me to the next so I can apologise to my little girl.

"Amelia!" Fuck, CJ.

I take a deep breath and duck my head under the water, and swim a few yards to escape. The tide is against me and pushes me back to the shore, but maybe the more I battle, the easier I'll tire, and the faster I'll fall victim to the waves.

Something tugs my arm and I'm thrust back to the surface, gasping and afraid. No, I don't want to be up here; I want to be down there, under the water where all my senses are obstructed.

"Amelia, it wasn't your fault!" CJ pulls me back to the safety of the sand and sits me down. Why would he drag me back out of the sea just to torture me with the same false beliefs? "Your sister is a poisonous bitch who doesn't want to accept that she should have known, too, and she should have taken your daughter to hospital whether you were drinking with Meredith or not."

"I should have seen the signs. I saw the rash. She told me it was probably viral. Mackenzie was twenty-two, I thought she knew best."

"Amelia, I'm twenty-five and my mother is a paediatrician, but I still wouldn't know meningitis if I saw it. If you'd known, would you have taken her to a hospital?"

"Of course!" I'm offended that he even has to ask.

"Then you can't possibly blame yourself for this. You were young and you had no support. How could you possibly have known?" He sweeps the sopping hair plastered to my forehead to one side and cups my face in his hands. "Now I know why Meredith made me say it, and it's true. It wasn't your fault."

I bat his hands away and claw my fingers into my hair. I don't want a pep talk—it means nothing when he's looking at me and thinking 'damaged goods'. "How can you be so okay with this? I got pregnant when I was thirteen, had a baby at fourteen and buried her at fifteen. I'm so damaged."

"Amelia, I'd still love you if you still had a child in tow." He nods at me and smiles. "I would."

His eyes see through me and shine into my soul, clearing a thick fog over my mind. I twist around onto my knees and hook my arms around his neck. I get no hint of anything deceptive in those green eyes and like it or not, whether he's going to walk away from me after this or if he'll stay by my side as nobly as he has since he took over the wheel of the bus, he's broken down all my defences with those four words.

It wasn't my fault. I'm not scared anymore.

"Amelia?"

"Don't talk. You've said enough."

I steel myself and lunge forward, pressing my lips to his. He doesn't move, afraid to kiss me back, but runs his hands to the small of my back and pulls me in close.

I wrench back and rub my nose against his before I kiss him again, more forcefully and insistently, willing him to reciprocate. And he does. Our lips twist together in a melancholy ballet of relief and shed fears. My heart opens and he pours into me—he is granted access to the deepest reaches of my love and trust. My tongue teases his and he groans with elation. This feels dangerous, forbidden. It's a thrill and an anathema rolled together into a heady concoction of emotion. The taste of his love is far more delicious than the taste of his lust and I am spiralling down inside him, straight down the rabbit hole and I don't care where it takes me.

I am his.

# XVI

#

#

Meredith squeezes my face between her hands and desperately searches for a hint of sadness. I can tell from that look in her eyes that I'm about to be subjected to some severe mollycoddling.

"You look different. What did CJ do? I didn't hear you going at it last night; did he freak about the whole Creedance thing? Are you over?" Ah ha, the infamous Cho interrogation. If she talks any faster, she might take off like a jetpack.

I prize myself from her hands and persistent questions, and ruffle her hair. "If we were over, would I be going home with him now? We're fine—we're great. He doesn't care about my past." _Yeah, I don't really believe it either._

"But you didn't screw." Ugh, this girl. The sooner she realises that sex isn't the basis of a strong relationship the better. Jeez, never thought I'd be thinking that.

"He just held me, Mer. It was blissful." Not post-coital blissful, but somehow just as satisfying.

She snorts at me incredulously and shuffles her feet. I know that she's too cynical to be optimistic, and has seen for herself just how treacherous the path of 'love' can, and has, been for me. She's still incredibly protective over me, even though she knows that I can hold my own and that she actually encouraged me to get to this point.

"I'll fucking kill him if he hurts you. By the way, I gave Mackenzie a bitch slap for you and pointed out that she damn well could have taken Creedance to the hospital herself. And I may have made some modifications to that obnoxious portrait over the fireplace."

She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of the horrendously defaced artwork. 'I am a poisonous lesbian bitch troll' has been scribbled onto the canvas in red lipstick and the sentiment is spot on. I give it two years before Mackenzie admits that she's gay.

Out of the blue, Meredith throws her arms around my neck. I hug her awkwardly, disturbed by this uncharacteristic display of affection. "I'll miss you, baby doll."

"Miss me? You'll see me in two days, I'm not dying." What a sap.

She sniffs into my neck and squeezes me like a python. "I've seen you every day of my entire life. I gave you chicken pox, sneaked you cider into hospital when you had your tonsils out and saved you from that really unhealthily obsessed groupie in Germany who locked you in his car. This is going to be weird for me."

I roll my eyes and lean my head against hers. Beneath her bossy and bitchy exterior is my best friend, my confidante, and my sister from another mister. But I'll never admit that I'll miss her, too.

"You can call me or FaceTime me. We'll both be in the same place, I just have to go and spend some time with CJ before he..." My voice trails off and she pulls herself from my shoulder.

"He is not going to leave you when he finds out, Ams. If he can deal with 'by the way, I had a baby at fourteen' he can deal with 'by the way, I'm the super famous rockstar you fantasise about when you're screwing me'."

"He does not!" I slap her arm and laugh. Even if he did, he pretends I'm her—her being me—he pretends I'm me when he does it. Jesus, what a muddle. I kiss Meredith on the forehead and pick up my bag of clothes, slinging it over my shoulder. "Call me, bitch. I'll come running if there's a Cho emergency." I wonder if I should explain what classifies as an emergency? Car accidents, deaths and split condoms, yes. Spilled drinks, sniffles and split trousers, no. That should be obvious, right?

CJ sneaks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "Ready to come and practice being Mrs. CJ?" Oh shit, that sounds ominous, despite the smile in his voice.

I provide a quick off the cuff refusal of the banal tasks which I presume are associated with being 'the missus'. "I'm not doing your laundry and cooking your dinner." He scoffs and knocks knuckles with Andy and the rest of the guys before taking my bag from my shoulder and waving. "See you all on D Day." I wave helplessly and pout. Fine, I admit it—I'll miss my friends.

CJ passes me his iPod Touch when we're on the road and puts a hand on my leg. I have a whole three and a half hours to enjoy his company before we're back on home turf and I face yet another obstacle. Well, two. His birthday and that evil bitch Chrissie.

I'm too distracted by this notion to pick music, so I just hit shuffle and clip the iPod onto its stand on the dashboard. "So what does being Mrs. CJ entail if not your dirty pants and food poisoning?" I've never cooked in my life. I skived home economics at school and have been loaded pretty much since I was seventeen so I've never been in a position when I've had to. I'm not even sure if I own a stove, so death by culinary disaster is a dead cert.

"I thought you were quite partial to my dirty pants." CJ smirks and sticks his tongue out at me. "Nothing menacing, Amelia. Just normal couple stuff." _What the fuck is 'normal couple stuff'?_

"You're going to have to help me out here, you know. I've had all of two relationships and that's including you."

He shakes his head at me in disbelief. "Amelia, Creedance and Lucien. Jesus, how am I supposed to compete with a family like that?"

What? I wrinkle my nose in distaste and push his hand from my leg. "Don't compete. Lucien was a dick—he was four years older than me and he made sure I knew it. Not one single day of our relationship was 'normal'." Well, maybe one day of it, then it went horribly wrong.

CJ puts a hand on my shoulder and massages it briefly. It's possible that Creedance may not be the only thing to slur my willingness to commit and I think he can tell that he's poking a raw nerve with the relationship talk. "Hey, girl, I'm sorry, I just meant you all have such awesome names."

"Your name is Caspian, for fucks sake. I might buy you a crown for your birthday to match your regal moniker."

"You're so hot when you use clever words." How can I possibly stay mad at that? I roll my eyes at him with a smile and put his hand back on my thigh. "So anyway, 'normal couple stuff' for me is eating out, drinking, watching bad television—that kind of thing." Yawn. Boring. "What's your definition?"

I open my mouth and pause. My only other experience of a relationship was being pushed into sexual deviancy, being tied up, hurt and changing nappies. By no means was that 'normal'. "I guess photo shoots, interviews, binge drinking and crazy sex." Sounds like a perfect arrangement to me.

CJ wrinkles his nose at me and sighs. "Let me romance you, Amelia. I can hear it in your voice that there are a lot of painful memories of love for you—" _No shit. "_ —but I want to make you happy by any means necessary. Besides, we _do_ have a photo shoot tomorrow." Ah yes, our first real public appearance is the day before it could all go wrong. What the hell was I thinking? I rest my head back against the seat glumly and try not to dwell on that fact. "You tired, girl?"

"Kind of. I slept too well last night, I should have gotten up earlier."

He leans over and turns the music down, then strokes my face with his knuckles. I love that touch. "Get some sleep. I have my other woman to keep me company." Oh wonderful, I get to sleep listening to myself. Like I'm not sick to the back teeth of hearing these songs.

I close my eyes and try to tune out my own familiar warble and bask in the progress I've made in such a short time. This man—he does strange things to me; he stormed into my life and fixed me. How is that even possible? Now he's in the advantageous position that I never wanted anyone to be in and my will is no longer my own. I drift off and find myself pulled into a dream of unclipping my seatbelt, opening the door and bailing out onto the road, watching him drive off into the distance without me.

"Amelia, what the hell are you doing?"

I jolt awake to find that the car is stationary, and CJ is _fuming_ . "What?"

"You were about to open the door." All my knowledge of sleep paralyses is rendered inapplicable.

"What? I was?" He sighs at me and refastens my seatbelt with a scowl. "I was asleep, CJ. I promise."

"I believe you. Look, I know that this is foreign territory for you, but you have to start trusting me. If you don't, we have nothing." That is so untrue that it's unreal. He has _everything_ of me.

"I obviously trust you or I wouldn't have kissed you."

He looks up at me cautiously and nods slowly. "Fair point." He points at the seatbelt and wags a finger scathingly. "Don't do that again or I'll be forced to see if these doors have child locks." Fucking child locks, how patronising. He's reverting back to the arrogant bastard who I first met and I'm struggling to command my subconscious not to kick him back to the kerb like I usually would. Less than thirty minutes into our journey home and I'm already mentally exhausted. This doesn't bode well.

I kick my boots off and curl my feet underneath me, fully reclining my seat so I'm almost horizontal. This may be a Mercedes but it's still not the most comfortable of sleeping places. I'm just drifting off when CJ's phone rings. _For fucks sake._

"Sorry, Amelia, it's my assistant." Assistant? Right, of course, he doesn't handle his own problems unless they're huge. "Rita, what can I do for you?"

" _Good morning, Mr. Pearce."_ Wow, she sounds so freaking pleasant and well-spoken. " _Good tour?"_

"Good is too weak a word." Maybe. Intermittently. Too strong a word at the moment.

"That's great, sir. I'm sorry to put a dampener on your day, but we have a situation at the office that needs your input." Terrific, my last two days to enjoy CJ being blissfully ignorant are already being thwarted by distractions.

"Do I need to come straight in? We're at least three hours off Birmingham."

" _Oh no, sir. We have a visitor and she's demanding money."_ This sounds like a conversation that I really don't want to be hearing.

CJ growls and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "What for this time?" This time? How frequently does he get chicks in his office sniffing around for the dollar? And why?

"She wants one hundred thousand or she'll set about breaking up you and Miss Marsh." I sit bolt upright, alarmed and terrified. Not her again. Not Chrissie. Pay her off—pay her off!

CJ frowns at me and shakes his head apologetically. I can see him silently imploring me not to worry but human nature is taking over and I can feel myself shaking and beginning to fade. "Keep her there and say we're coming in with the money. Get onto George and have him pull out all the stops to get injunctions against her. I'll swing by and sign the forms when we're back in Birmingham. Tell George to let me know if he needs more time." Jesus, he's serious.

" _Anything else, sir?"_ CJ glances at me awkwardly and scowls. There _is_ more, but how?

"I need to cover Miss Pearce, Mr. Parker, Amelia and her bandmates." Holy shit.

"Their names?"

"Amelia May Marsh, Meredith Cho..." He wrinkles his nose and looks at me for help.

I shuffle forward slightly and twist my hair around my finger nervously. "Marcus Swanson, Levi Richards and Erek Wozniak." Bloody hell, that was as scary as speaking on stage.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Marsh."

"Uh, hi." All the blood in my body floods to my face and I hide behind my hand. This is all just so... Business-like.

"See you in a few hours, Rita."

I gape up at CJ, scared shitless, hopelessly embarrassed and extremely flattered. "You didn't have to do that." He really didn't, we have a lawyer of our own through our label.

"Of course I had to." He throws an arm around the back of my seat and strokes the back of my neck gently. I kind of get the feeling that it's more for his comfort than mine. "I'd never forgive myself if Chrissie hurt any of you. I doubt you would either." Well, he's not wrong there. "Andy and my sister are used to this and sick of it. Actually..." He flicks through his phone and dials a new number. Jesus, aren't we all very talkative today? _Stop monopolising our last moments!_

The call opens out to a dull roar of music and an almost disgustingly cheerful woman. " _Yo, lil bro!"_ I don't know why, but I recognise that voice. I just can't place it, but I really know it.

"Hey Ems, how's it going?"

"Your ex has been driving me insane but otherwise great. You're coming home today, right?"

"Yeah, I am. And I've just filed new injunctions against Chrissie, so if she hassles you again, just call the police."

"Aw, always thinking of the women in your life! Speaking of which, do I see my potential sister-in-law today?" My nostrils flare and I sink down in my seat. What the hell, when did I become a nervous person?

CJ snickers at me and pats me on the head. _Don't mock me, twatbag._ The last time I did the family thing it ended up in some pretty childish name calling, and for once, not by me. "Ah, not today. I'm wining and dining her today."

"Pfft, you're whining, all right."

"Hah."

" _Tomorrow then?_ " I nod reluctantly, still wondering how I know her. She's got to be in Birmingham, so roadie? Diehard fan? Hmm...

"Sure, we'll come by after our photo shoot."

"Photo shoot? Swish! See ya!"

I cross my arms and raise a petulant eyebrow. My life is becoming far too 'normal'. "So in the space of ten minutes, you've got me coming into work with you and arranged for me to meet your sister?"

He furrows his brow and those beautiful eyes are dulled with panic. "Are you upset?" Yes. But I have no idea why.

"No, I'm just not used to having my schedule dictated. You have to meet me halfway with this relationship stuff— you know how it all works properly, I just know how to be tied up, blindfolded and burnt." I wince and once again wish I had a fully functional brain to mouth filter. Really, this is my own fault for allowing myself to get distracted by this peculiar man and his ability to loosen my tongue.

"Burnt?" CJ looks at me, utterly horrified, like I just told him that I ate the Easter bunny for lunch.

I half laugh and scratch my head, trying to look as casual as possible. You had to fucking open your mouth, didn't you, Amelia? You couldn't have just taken the dominance with a pinch of salt like you used to. "Ah, yeah. Creedance came about from a mishap with a candle and the withdrawal method."

"Weren't you thirteen?" I can't help feeling like I'm being judged.

"Lucien was older than me. I didn't know any better that it wasn't normal. It sort of bodes well for me that you're not sexually compatible with Chrissie." He exhales slowly, looking sickly and disgusted. I feel about three inches tall right now. "Do you hate me?"

"No, I hate the freak who scarred you physically and emotionally," he snaps, narrowing his eyes at the road ahead. "He took advantage of your inexperience." _Oh finally, someone who sees it my way. "_ Can I ask you one last thing before I stop probing you over that chapter of your life for good?"

"Go on."

"Why did you keep Creedance? I mean, he doesn't sound like the ideal male role model and legally he was raping and abusing you." Make that two inches tall, maybe just one.

I stare out of the window and draw my knees up to my chest. "Two reasons. Firstly, he was elated to have knocked me up and told me I wasn't allowed to kill his child. I was freaked out and had absolutely no inclination to become a mother so young. But then reason number two came along and stuck her nose in. Mackenzie—she's infertile. I was made to feel guilty for squandering the opportunity to have what she couldn't, so I kept her. I spent nine months feeling dog rough, went through the most horrendously painful experience of my life and was told I was a failure for needing an emergency caesarean section. Then she took over."

It's terrifying but strangely freeing to part with these tales of my childhood. I obviously trust him more than I dared to entertain.

"No wonder you don't see eye to eye. She seems crazy." Understatement of the frickin' century.

"She's _The Hand That Rocked The Cradle_ crazy. My life stayed relatively normal." Using the term 'relatively' normal—it stayed the way it did before I got pregnant. "She took Creedance out for walks, bathed her, clothed her and played with her, and all I did was flop my tits out for her every few hours." I catch sight of CJ taking a glance at my chest with confusion and laugh. "Boob lift."

"Ah. Well, it sounds to me that Mackenzie was even more responsible for making sure Creedance was taken to hospital. I can't believe you've spent so long being bullied by her. Did _anyone_ support you?"

Once again baffling me with his acceptance of my very unhealthy teen years. He just talks through it like it's as normal as sneezing and gives nothing away. I've been like that for years, or at least I was until he came along. He's got to be thinking _something_ bad about me.

"Meredith and my dad. Meredith was with me when I found Cree and she was devastated. She treated her like a little sister. She called my dad and he laid into Mackenzie for blaming me. My mother kicked him out and we moved to Birmingham with Meredith's family. We all got on really well."

I turn back to CJ and try to gauge his emotion. I'm at a loss because he looks like he did the morning of my interview with Chase. Lost and complacent. "Can we put this behind us now?"

He immediately pulls over to the side of the road and undoes my seatbelt, pulling me over onto his lap so I'm straddling him, and wraps his arms around my waist. "If you can trust me enough to kiss me and let me in after all of that, then I think we're past it." I lean down and flick my tongue across his lips before I press mine to them. This still feels improper and it sends a burning ripple of desire through my core that settles between my legs. I trail my hands down to his waistline and start to undo his belt. "Amelia, we're on the side of a road." He murmurs to me between our lips and pulls my hands up to his chest.

"We screwed on the bonnet while our friends developed a new found interest in voyeurism yesterday. How is this different?"

"Passing cars full of police, pensioners and children." I freeze on the spot and heave myself back over into my seat. That's the least sexy thing he's ever said. "You'll thank me when you're full of pent up sexual frustration in a few hours." I highly doubt that.

CJ pulls me by the hand through the doors of a looming office block in central Birmingham. I have no idea which of his businesses this is, but I don't want to be here. I'm tired, hungry, horny and I still smell of sea water from my frantic escape attempt yesterday.

He tugs me into a lift and pushes me up against the mirrored walls as we travel to the top floor.

"Whoa." Before I know it, his mouth is on mine and his hands are in my hair, clawing at me frantically. This is doing nothing for my aching libido. I pull him up close to me by the collar of his t-shirt and bear down on his lip, basking in his guttural purr of arousal.

He glances up at the digital display over the doors and steps back to examine me. "That'll do." It most certainly will bloody not!

"What?"

"Look." He points at our reflections in the mirror and grabs my hand. "We look turned on, ravaged and totally ready to devour each other. I want Chrissie to see that you affect me the way she never did and she might just get the hint."

I pull my hand from his and hit the emergency stop button on the lift. I'm completely appalled by his sentiment. "I am not some toy for you to use to make your ex jealous. Saying that makes me think that you still harbour some kind of emotion for her." I shake my head with a huff and hit the emergency stop button again followed by the button for the ground floor, irritated when the lift continues it's journey upwards.

CJ stares at me horrified, our lust completely liquidated. "That's not what I meant."

"Stop talking. I'm not interested in being the middle man."

"Middle man?" This time, he hits the emergency stop button and pulls me towards him by my hips. "I just want her to leave us alone so there's no black cloud hanging over us."

"You mean other than the black cloud that makes her centre of your universe every time her injunction expires?" I avert my gaze from his and seek cover under my hair. I'm not going to do this every few months just for shits and giggles.

He stares at me, mouth open, for a moment before his hand dives into his pocket for his phone. Again with the phone! "George. What's the expiry on those injunctions? Make them 'until further notice' please." He hangs up and raises an eyebrow at me. "Happy?" His eyes burn into me furiously and I wilt a little under his ire. I don't like that look in his eyes; he is powerful and I am weak. I step back into the corner of the lift and cower. "Amelia?"

"Don't hit me." I clap my hand to my mouth and flare my nostrils. There's something I didn't think I'd ever have to say again.

His face drops and the fire in his eyes is extinguished. "What?"

"Lucien used to look at me like that. Please, don't hit me."

"For god's sake, Amelia." He holds an arm out and encourages me to seek solace in his embrace. "Stop waiting for me to hurt you because you've kissed me. It's not going to happen. What happened to the cock-sure ice queen I fingered backstage in Manchester?" He broke down her defences, clawed his way inside her and found the real person underneath. He somehow got past the impenetrable guise of her stage face.

I look up at him and scoff. "Do you really want her back? Because she thought you were an arrogant prick who was hers to control like a robot and was threatened by your ability to make her feel."

"Did she think I was a sexy bitch?" I raise an eyebrow as he dips down and lifts both of my legs around his waist, pinning me against the side of the lift. "I didn't explain myself well. I don't want Chrissie to see that you're threatened by her presence because she'll think she's winning and she won't relent. I've been down the injunction route with her before and she doesn't care, but the least I can do is protect the people I love."

"But I _am_ threatened by her presence."

"You won't be when you see her." He pushes his hips against me so I can feel his raging erection and grazes my jaw with his lips. I melt into him and comb my fingers through his hair, moaning with satisfaction as my thirst for his touch is quenched.

The lift jolts back into motion and he lowers me to the ground with a devilish grin. "That's better." I scowl at him, angered by the fact I've been left hanging again and shake my head. "You didn't think I was going to screw you in the lift, did you, Amelia? Please, I'm a respectable businessman."

The lift doors open out into a spectacular marble paved hall with _Pearce & Parker Enterprises_ emblazoned in bold gold lettering on the back wall. The quiet tapping of computer keyboards is accompanied only by the constant ringing of phones and occasional cough. I look down at my scruffy polka dot swing dress and tattered Dr. Martens, and suddenly feel very under-dressed and totally out of place. CJ threads his fingers between mine and strolls out across the floor, completely at ease in ripped jeans and a Slipknot t-shirt. This is a far cry from the stadiums and recording studios I'm used to—way out of my comfort zone.

"So, is this command central?" My voice is hushed and I'm scared that security will spot me and toss me out on the street.

CJ looks down at me and blinks in amusement. "Why are you whispering? Yes, this is command central. Everything centres here. Our four businesses collaborate, so this is easier."

I stop in my tracks and lose my grip on his hand. " _Four_ businesses?" Why did he battle so much with his Sociology dissertation if he's got the brains to found and run four businesses? I've seen enough of Andy now to know that he's obviously not the brains behind the operation.

CJ rolls his eyes and leads me forward with a hand on the small of my back. I know what that hand does, and I want it to do it now. His business acumen is getting me hot around the collar. "Yes, four. Jewellery manufacturing and trading, accounting, legal and..." He pauses and looks at me awkwardly.

"And?"

"And we help to organise charity fund raising events. We recently auctioned off a lot of jewellery and raised a hell of a lot of money for Meningitis Trust."

I spin him around to face me and give him a weak smile. I'm struggling to find a single bad quality in him. Nope, I got nothing. "You're amazing. Too amazing for me."

He wraps a hand around the nape of my neck and rests his forehead against mine. "You're the amazing one, Amelia. You've survived through so much and come out of it so beautiful and successful and strong. I am in awe of you." Every last piece of me melds into his body and I feel complete with his love and undue reverence. Yeah, I guess I _did_ survive and do pretty well out of a shit situation. I suppose life is what you make it, and I made it a crazy ride around Hell with a guitar and some awesome fellow musicians.

He kisses me briefly, leaving me hanging for more _again_ and leads me to the far end of the hall. "Afternoon, Rita." A petite brunette in a white and navy paisley shirt smiles up at him warmly and passes him a stack of mail.

"Afternoon, sir." She stands up and extends a hand to me. "Miss Marsh. Lovely to meet you." I look down at her hand vacantly. Oh crap, I'm supposed to shake it. I take her hand tentatively and smile falsely. This is so not me.

She seems satisfied though, and sits herself back down at chrome desk, drumming her fingers on her mouse mat. "You-know-who is in the side office looking like Mistress Pain meets Carmen Electra meets Humpty Dumpty again." I stifle a laugh and raise my hand to my mouth. Rita winks at me and nods towards the impassive millionaire sorting through his mail.

His nostrils flare at her comment and he sucks on his bottom lip. "Is George here yet?"

"In your office. You and Miss Marsh just need to sign the paperwork and get your friends to drop in and sign theirs so I can get someone to go out to her house to serve them." CJ nods slightly and takes my hand, leading me into his office.

There is only one small window, a filing cabinet and a desk with two chairs. He obviously spends little to no time in here. A balding middle-aged man jumps up from the desk and greets us both warmly—another time where everyone is being so damn touchy feely. He mutters something legal which I don't understand and hands me a few neatly stapled sheets of paper. Jesus, another injunction to add to the pile.

"Just sign on the dotted lines, Miss Marsh."

I roll my eyes, and sign the form. I know how to handle an injunction. "I'm accumulating quite an impressive collection of these, you know."

He raises his eyebrow in surprise. "Oh?" Not sure why he's so shocked; you don't accumulate a good few thousand fans without picking up a few weirdos along the way.

"Yeah, I think this is number fourteen and fifteen. First one for a woman though." I smile politely and pass the form back to him.

His gaze lingers over my fingers, completely bypassing my tattoos, and he nods in approval.

"It suits you." I glance down at my black diamond ring and warm a little to this strange little man. Yes, it does rather, it's almost like wearing myself as an embellishment. I don't know if CJ just got lucky or if he somehow managed to encompass my personality in jewellery form, but nothing else would look better.

CJ wraps an arm around my waist and pats him on the shoulder. "Thanks for pulling this out of the hat so fast. It means a lot to me."

"Not at all, Caspian. I just hope she breaches it again so I can get her arrested. I'm bored of writing her name. I think it's Rita's turn to serve them this time." Jesus, how often do they do this?

We follow George out to Rita's desk and watch as she gleefully rubs her hands together, gathers the paperwork and heads off around the corner. After a few minutes, we hear a few muted shouts from the side room and the door crashes open. A chunky woman with shocking red hair just like that bloody session drummer from Sheffield stomps out, barely covered by a latex mini-dress and shin high patent leather Demonia boots. I glance at CJ and he gives me an 'I told you so' look. This has to be Chrissie. Rita wasn't wrong; she's Mistress Pain meets Carmen Electra meets Humpty Dumpty. I suddenly understand why he's not into red heads.

She drags a stubby fingered hand through her hair and turns to us, hiking her mini dress up over a barely covered nipple. She glares at me with vacant eyes ringed with thick, smudged black kohl and bares her teeth. "I _will_ finish you, Marsh. He is mine and I'm going to wait until you're completely vulnerable to take him."

"Bring it on, you pathetic little wench. Try threatening me again after you buy some clothes that aren't five sizes too small and you wake up from your feeble little sadomasochistic wet dream, and I _might_ take you seriously. Failing that, I know a bus full of psychologists who would have a fucking field day with you." If they weren't too scared to catch something by standing too close. She looks rife with disease.

She takes a lunging step up to me and squares her shoulders. "You reckon?" I can't believe I'm locked in another playground slagging match over CJ. "You're boring. I'm exciting. He's going to love my dungeon."

I roll my eyes and put a hand on my hip with a smirk. "He didn't love your dungeon enough to stick his dick in it. He loves _my_ dungeon—he loves it daily, sometimes twice or three times. And he loves all I am and all I have. You're _nothing_." I whisper my final word venomously. She's not as easy to verbally bash into submission like the drummer was, but I could do this all day.

"I told you, sweet cheeks, you just broke him in for me. You're keeping him warm for me."

"I don't think anyone could keep him as warm as you could, Chrissie. I might be a bit doughy in places, but I had a fucking baby. What's your excuse?"

She raises a hand to look at her nails and curls it into a fist. I've used that trick enough times to know when it's coming and catch the impending blow in my left hand, twisting it round beyond her physical tolerance so she can see my ring.

"I suggest you get the hell out of my fiancé's office before I bitch slap you with eight grand of diamond." I release her fist and wave a hand to shoo her away, then turn back to CJ with a satisfied grin and quickly find myself slung over his shoulder.

"Got to run, guys. Thanks."

He ploughs through the hall to the lift, passing Chrissie in our travels and hits the button for the ground floor. I give Humpty Dumpty the finger as the doors close and CJ pins me against the mirrored wall again.

"That was hot." He tugs at the zip on his jeans and before I know it my underwear is around my ankles, the lift is still and he's sinking into me, pounding me furiously with an animalistic glaze across his eyes. I hook my arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, pushing my tongue past his lips and absorbing every vibration from his throaty groans. He rears into a brutal assault, sending my head into a dizzying spin, digging his fingers into my thighs for leverage. My back arches and I bear down on his lip as we climax together, then my head droops down onto his shoulder. I'm a little starry eyed from the quickie and being caught off guard like that. It's a struggle to catch my breath and his fingers still kneading my legs are making the thrill drag on.

He lifts my head back up to kiss me and I can taste his blood on his lips. It reaches down to something beastly within me and I'm desperate to engage him in another battle. That's the first time I've ever kissed during sex and, holy shit, I have been missing out.

"Hell, girl, give a guy chance to recover!" He sets me down and pulls my underwear back around my hips, leaning forward and kissing my Heaven tattoo.

"What happened to being a respectable businessman?"

He raises an eyebrow and hits the button to restart the lift as he fastens the zip of his jeans. "I lied."

I set my cutlery down after a much needed meal courtesy of Café Rouge outside the Bullring. CJ is sporting new mirrored aviators to match mine and is updating Andy on the day's events.

"Yeah, it was amazing. Chrissie launched at her and she caught her hand like in the Matrix and told her to fuck off or she'd get a bitch slap. Hah, yeah of course I did. No, you just need to sign them." It's actually pretty hilarious to watch how animated he is and I'm struggling to suppress the smile that's lingering across my face. His head moves slightly and I know he's looking at me. "I'm kind of enjoying having her to myself, mate. We're going to see Ems tomorrow, how about after that? I find that hard to believe. Have fun." He puts his phone back in his pocket and shakes his head. "Andy reckons he's overworked Meredith and she's all shagged out already."

I scoff into my glass of wine. "Not likely. She's lulling him into a false sense of security before she tangles him up in her web and eats him like a black widow." My eyes wander the dessert menu for a moment before I raise an eyebrow. Even through mirrored aviators, I can feel those eyes burning into me. "You're staring at me."

"Admiring, girl." I blow a raspberry and smirk. I think like 'normal couple stuff' like this. "So, do you want to come and see the place you have a key for?"

"Your flat? Yeah, why not. You can come and see my loft tomorrow." I purse my lips and shake my head. "Stay here, I have to do something."

"What?"

"Stay here or meet me at the car. I think you're good for lunch." I heave myself up from my feet and ruffle his hair before I wander through Birmingham to the locksmith who I'm only too familiar with.

The guy looks up at me cheekily and rolls his eyes. "Who lost it this time?" I laugh and pass the key to my loft over the counter. The guys are really terrible for losing their phones and keys in pubs and clubs between tours. I should probably get these cut in bulk.

"Nobody, this is a new one."

He nod knowingly and pulls down a blank black key from the wall. "Ah, the millionaire boyfriend."

I raise my hand and tut. The news about his bank account got out then. I wander how many people knew before I did. "Millionaire fiancé." He nods in approval, as most people do when I flash my hand and heads over to his machinery. I flick through my social networking accounts while he works and find myself tagged in about five million tweets and tagged by Andy in several pictures I didn't even know existed. I find the one of me and CJ in the Plymouth tattooists and hatch yet another idea.

CJ pulls up outside his flat and I frown at him in disapproval. I expected a luxury penthouse on the top floor or a ground floor flat with glass walls. This is an ultramodern one storey house with a huge garden. This is—

"A bungalow. You live in a bungalow. You said you had a flat."

He laughs and walks around the car to let me out and holds a hand out. "Well, it _is_ flat. I never specifically said _a_ flat. You asked me what the keys were for and I said 'flat, car, boat'." Smart arse. Nobody likes a smart arse.

I stay seated in the car and fold my arms grumpily. I wanted the luxury penthouse—this is an embarrassment.

"I'm not moving into a bungalow with you. Take me back to my expensive George Street loft." My loft has finesse and class, it's suave and sophisticated. People walk in and think upper-east side New York urbane chic, not domiciliary.

He shakes his head at me and grabs my hand. "Get out of the car, you twat. You've only seen the front."

I groan and allow myself to be pulled up from the seat and dragged through the front door. My cold front thaws when I look around and I'm totally floored. I'm surrounded by beech hardwood floors, sparsely decorated cream feature walls between bare brick, minimalist leather couches, black painted glass surfaces and Andy Warhol artwork. I turn around, confused, and look back out through the door. Nope, definitely in a bungalow.

I narrow my eyes at CJ and head off through the hallway to find the bedroom. Black leather sleigh bed with cream carpet and cream sheets, black cabinets. Kitchen: black and white chequered floor, black cupboards and black granite worktops. This is too weird. I have déjà vu.

CJ sneaks up behind me and leans an arm on the door frame as I open the kitchen cupboards and shake my head in disbelief. "Problem?"

"No, I just walked into my place, that's all."

"I'm glad you feel like that." Soppy bugger. _Take it literally, you fool_ .

I hold my hands up and shake my head. "No, you don't get it. You'll see tomorrow." I wander through to the bathroom and roll my eyes. Black tiles, square whirlpool bath and a pedestal sink. "Give me a fucking break." I'm not even checking out the other rooms, this place is like a freaking tardis and I'm scared where I'll come out.

I walk back through the house and find CJ sprawled out across one of the sofas with a come hither look. He pats the seat next to him and curls an arm around me when I sit. "Watch a film with me."

I wrinkle my nose. How droll. "Is that 'normal couple stuff'?" I'm starting to miss my definition. This is 'too hungover to do shit' stuff, not 'normal couple stuff'. Right? Ugh God, is this what my life is going to be now?

He nods and waves a hand towards an extensive Blu-Ray collection on a black shelf under his wall mounted television. "Take your pick. Let me know when you're hungry and I'll order greasy Chinese food and crack open the cheap wine. See if you can find your favourite in there."

I roll my eyes and scan the row with mock disgust. "You alphabetise your DVDs." Yup, me too.

"Blu-Rays." _God help me_.

I bite my lip awkwardly as all my favourites fall into view. I shake my head helplessly and lean back. "No good. You're going to have to pick something. I'm absolutely disgusted by your collection."

"What, why?"

"Because it's the same as mine!" He grins at me slyly and smugly, clearly elated by our common ground. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Perfect woman."

"Hah. _Battle Royale_?" And now he's reading my mind. Again. I don't know why I'm sulking, I'm sure anyone else would be elated by our similarities, but I can't help but feel like I've lost some of my individuality.

We sit nude on a faux fur cream rug in front of the sofa, rosy cheeked and glossy eyed while we eat Chinese food in a post-coital stupor. We didn't watch most of _Battle Royale;_ all he has to do is breathe too loud and it makes me want to ride him like _Ghost Rider_. _Cube Zero_ was played as background noise, and then we ran out of energy.

I stab at my meal, feeling a little wistful as the day draws to a close. CJ leans over and sweeps hair from my face gently, those beautiful eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong? You look like you're about to cry." _That's because I am._

"I've really enjoyed today. Well, most of it. I think I've enjoyed it too much."

"You're tired?"

I glance up at him and reach for my glass of the previously promised cheap wine. "No. Well, yes. But that's not what I meant. I don't want to get too attached to feeling like this when it could all go wrong at any minute."

CJ sighs and clambers round behind me to massage my shoulders. His touch is heavenly. I know I should make him stop but it's just too good. "Stop being so negative. If something goes wrong, we'll work through it. That's what people do when they love each other."

"I didn't work through it with Lucien." I don't even know why I said that. Escaping Lucien was the best turn my life could have made for the better.

His hands pause for a moment then continue their sturdy caress over my muscles. "Can you honestly say that you loved him?"

I grab his hand on my right shoulder suddenly. "What did you say?"

"Did you love him?" My eyes glaze over for a moment as I consider his question. I never felt this way with Lucien. CJ makes me feel warm and cherished. Lucien made me feel cold and subservient. I never questioned a word he said because I was scared of the consequences. I shudder involuntarily and tighten my grip on his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you just helped me make a very important realisation is all. No, I didn't love him." So it was all fear, it had to be.

"So I'm your first love?" I can hear the smile in his voice. I guess marrying your first love must be kind of a romantic notion.

"I guess so. Am I yours?" I turn around with an inquisitive eyebrow and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He slides his arm underneath my legs and lifts me up.

"If you weren't, would I have been a virgin when you met me?" Touché. He shakes his head by way of an answer to his own question and carries me to bed, and I am humbled in knowing that I will be the first and only woman to soil those crisp clean sheets.

# XVII

#

#

CJ is feeding me muesli when my phone rings urgently to the sound of Nancy Sinatra. He raises an eyebrow at me before looking down at the screen and rolling his eyes at me for being so corny.

Sod off, I thought it was quite witty. "Good morning, Nancy."

I can hear the sound of the train behind her and I'm entirely sympathetic. She must _really_ want these photos. " _Meels, hi! You two still going strong?"_

"Obviously." And what a way to cut to the chase.

" _I have to get photographs of this ring, Amelia. It sounds amazing. But I have a minor issue."_ I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. 'Minor' issue in Nancy-speak invariably means 'I made a major fuck up'.

I switch on speakerphone and let CJ shovel another spoonful into my mouth. It's not exactly being spread across a loveseat being fed strawberries, but it'll do. "Go on."

" _I have a photographer available but no location."_ I roll my head around on my shoulders in irritation. Yes, that would qualify as a major fuck up.

"How do you not have a location?"

"I didn't know that her studio had gone under." How could she not know? This was only planned two days in advance. "She was at one of those rip-off 'free makeover with your extortionately priced professional photography package' places, you know the type. So do you have any ideas? I don't know Birmingham so well."

I close my eyes and wrack my brain. This so should not be my problem. "My place, I guess but—"

"Or here." I raise an eyebrow at CJ and shake my head, mouthing 'no'. Journalists can be like vampires: once you invite them in they come and go as they please. "That or my office, but I don't think Rita would approve." I brush aside my unprovoked fantasies of screwing in that seldom used office and the memories of our lift antics.

"Does he have a nice place?"

"Yes, Nancy. Sickeningly so." Because it's my place in bungalow form.

"Pool room, garden, swimming pool?"

I roll my eyes at my phone and tut. She really needs to socialise with a few people who aren't rockstars and curb those exaggerated expectations. "Don't be—"

"Yes, yes and yes." I look up at him slowly and narrow my eyes. How the hell did I not notice a swimming pool? "You can do it here, it's fine."

"Awesome! My train gets in at 2pm. Text me his address."

_Damn it._ He'll regret this. I'll make sure of it. "Okay. Wait, is this one of those times I need to call Louise?"

"Afraid so, Meels. See you later."

I growl at my phone when she hangs up and sulk. I like being prepped and preened by professionals in a swanky studio, and I wanted CJ to have that experience, too. It seems almost rude for him to be deprived of the full rockstar experience. I'm almost surprised by how pissed off I am.

I send a couple of quick texts to Louise and Nancy and take my empty bowl to the kitchen. CJ follows watches me with apparent interest as I wash, dry and put the bowl back in its rightful place.

"How do you know your way around my flat so well?"

"Bungalow. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I twist around on the balls of my feet and put a hand on my hip, smacking my lips with a pop. "Can I shower?" My head cocks at the dark expression of contemplation on his face.

"No." He says slowly as he leans against the door frame and crosses his arms at me. "You can meet me in the bathroom in five minutes." I match his stance and eye him critically. I'm sure refusing me my right to wash is classed as abusive.

"I would really prefer to wash before we fuck again."

He tuts at me and leads me from the kitchen by the elbow. "You always have your mind set to porno. As much as I love your dungeon, I'm also quite keen on just resting with you." Tsk, boring. He kisses me gently and urges me back to the lounge. "Watch TV, call the guys, call your dad, send a hit man to your sister. Do whatever you want for five minutes then come to the bathroom."

Part of me quite hopes to be stooped over that pedestal basin spread eagled and howling in about ten minutes.

I sit down on the couch and pull out my phone. Meredith is probably sleeping. They're all probably sleeping. My hit man is in Morocco. CJ is in the bathroom... Oh jeez. I lift my phone to my ear in disbelief at my actions.

" _Baby bear?"_ He sounds as surprised as I am.

"Hey, Dad."

"Is something wrong? Did you kill Mackenzie? Is there a party?" God bless this man.

"No no, I'm great. Mac is still alive but Mer trashed her portrait because she told CJ about Creedance."

There's a brief silence before he speaks. " _How did he take it?"_

"Surprisingly well. Well enough for me to kiss him."

His voice floods with enough relief to flood a small Japanese village. " _Oh, baby bear, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that. He's a keeper, then."_ I have serious doubts that my willingness to keep him is going to come into play. _I_ need to be the keeper.

"Yeah, provided he doesn't freak out tomorrow when he finds out I'm the woman responsible for the music he probably wanks to." I hear weird thudding noises and my Dad's heavy breathing on the line. What a disgustingly inappropriate time to commence such activity. "Are you screwing someone?"

He laughs at me and the noises stop. " _Hell no, baby bear. I'm in the gym."_ I snicker at the idea of him donning sweatbands and _Fame_ style leg warmers.

"Good god. You'd never catch me in one of those torture chambers."

" _You'd never need to, you've got that fiancé of yours to help you burn calories."_ Also, I'm just one of those hateful bitches who can eat anything without gaining weight. I blame the amount of times I've ended up slumped over a toilet bowl after going _too_ heavy on the sauce, and the way I throw myself around a stage.

I wrinkle my nose and fake retch down the phone. "Sex, me? No way, I'm an angel. Please never speak of my exploits again, it's gross that you approve." Craning my neck to look at the time and narrowing my eyes I decide, CJ's had long enough. "I have to go be romanced before our first photo shoot together, look out for us in _RAE_ , okay? Love you, Daddy." There's another brief silence and when he next speaks, I can hear the tears in his voice. I haven't said those words in years.

" _Love you too, Amelia. Tell that boy to look after you or Bobby Marsh will on him like rehab wardens on Lindsay Lohan."_ I hang up, momentarily marvelled by his uncharacteristically witty word play and traipse down to the bathroom. I pray dearly that CJ gives me some dignity to wash before he unleashes the beast again.

I push open the bathroom door and find myself confronted by something most clichéd and unexpected: my man soaking in a bath full of sweetly scented bubbles and surrounded by candles. Baffled by the smoochiness but I know that the tub has jets. Hmm.

"Room for one more." He flicks water at me as I step across the rose petal covered tiles and shed the shirt of his I stole from his wardrobe. The water is perfect and soothing, all of my tension over my impending confession of fame is washed away by what I presume isn't _Matey_ bubble-bath. I submerge myself up to my shoulders and let myself drift into a state of utter relaxation.

"You like?" I nod, unwilling to exert any energy by speaking, and groan as he takes one of my feet and begins to massage the arch. "You don't take baths often, do you?"

"Showering is faster and bathwater makes my hair feel gross. Don't care right now though."

We relax in the golden shimmering silence of the bathroom for what feels like an eternity, the heat of the water retained wonderfully by this whirlpool tub. "Do you have a jacuzzi? I mean other than this—I know it makes bubbles." And as soon he stops trying to force a footgasm, we're going to turn them on.

CJ smirks and nods at me. "What kind of millionaire would I be without a jacuzzi?" A pretty crap one, I suppose.

"Multimillionaire." I correct him and close my eyes, ducking my head below the water for a moment to soak my hair.

"You look good wet," he says when I emerge. Duh.

I stick my tongue out at him and open one eye. "I always look good, Caspian. Rain or shine, wet or dry, bent over the bonnet of your Mercedes or in the midst of a panic attack. Always sexy." And obviously he can't disagree, because that would make him a bad partner, delusional and a liar.

He shifts forward and leans over me, putting his arms either side of my hips and dips down to kiss my chest. "What have you got me for my birthday?" Oh I see, the bath is to loosen my tongue.

"Stuff."

"What stuff?"

I raise an eyebrow and shake my head. "It's not your birthday until tomorrow." I resist his adorable puppy dog 'tell me' eyes and stand my ground. I am immune to such underhand tactics. "You get a private gig, that'll be surprise enough."

"Why, are you rubbish?" I splash him and pretend to be moody. My guise is unconvincing, as my face splits into a smile when he runs the tip of his tongue across my lips. "You need to wash your hair, right?" He climbs out of the bath next to me and turns on the shower.

He looks magnificent as ever, but even more so with water dripping down every muscle and his damp hair sticking to his face. "You've got that look in your eyes, Amelia." That's hardly a surprise. I climb out of the bath and slowly push him under the cascading water of the shower before I step up onto tiptoes to kiss him. This comes so naturally now but it still makes my heart race when his lips are on mine.

My hands slide over his skin and I memorise every dip and dimple of his body in case it's ever torn away from me. He pulls himself away and locks his eyes on mine, rubbing a _Lush_ shampoo bar between his hands and working them through my hair. He drinks me in as he works the suds through my mane with a smile in his eyes that makes him, quite simply, the most beautiful man I've ever seen. I tip my hair back into the stream of water and curl my arms around his shoulders.

"Show me where he burned you."

"What?" I break our gaze momentarily and my eyes flit down to my side. "On my ribs on the left side. You can't see it anymore."

"Are there any others?" I look at him uncertainly. I have no idea what he hopes to achieve by torturing both of us with the memories of my premature introduction to sadism.

"CJ, I don't—"

"Please."

I sigh and shake my head in resignation. "A branding iron scar under my H.R. Giger tattoo, scarring from restraints on both wrists and a cigarette burn on the back of my right hand." He nods, silently repeating the ugly list to himself, and then takes both of my hands in his. He kisses the back of my right hand, then each wrist, then ducks down and kisses my ribs, my thigh, then rises again to my Heaven tattoo. And there he lingers, hooking my leg over his shoulder and slowly trailing kisses downwards. His tongue lances across my clit quickly and my knee buckles slightly.

"Grab the top of the shower screen."

"Will it take my weight?"

CJ looks up at me and shrugs nonchalantly. "Only one way to find out." He eases me up so I can reach the top of the glass screen and hooks my other leg over his shoulder. I am left suspended, half of me cold and dripping, the other half bathed in hot water, and his tongue and fingers working me over. It is a full on assault of my senses with exquisite effect, my toes curl with pleasure as his fingertips nurse my sweet spots and he feasts greedily on my excitement.

And then he makes a bold move. I feel a finger stray towards my rear and I flinch violently. He looks up at me apologetically and I shake my head nervously. If he were anyone else, I'd be out of that door like a shot, but again, I'm pushing my limits with him.

"It's fine. Do it." He looks genuinely surprised, but also extremely pleased. His finger sneaks back between my buttocks and slowly pushes inside. The sensation is so overpowering that I come immediately and loudly.

He stands up abruptly and pulls me down from the shower screen, carrying me out of the bathroom and leaving the shower running.

"That was too hot. I have to be inside you. Right now." Fuck, that was brazen. I thoroughly like it. He throws me down onto the bed and rams himself into me selfishly. My fingers claw at the sheets as he pounds into me, breath ragged and impassioned utterances disjointed. He slings my ankles up by his ears and strokes my backside nervously. I find myself inexplicably irritated by his hesitance.

"Just fucking do it, Caspian. I liked it." He raises an eyebrow at me and withdraws momentarily to flip me onto my front and lower my feet to rest on the floor. He penetrates me again and reaches areas of me I didn't know existed, hissing meanly as my muscles clench. And then he eases that finger back inside and my body feels fit to explode. I hold onto that feeling for as long as I can and let him tease me with another. My mind is a flurry and I can't see straight. My synapses misfire and for some stupid fucking reason I'm thinking about the rising price of train fare. I am so full of him and pushed so far into a state of ethereal bliss that I can barely feel the carpet under foot.

And then I'm swept from my haze by the full extent of his girth forcing into me slowly where his fingers were. It's a peculiar kind of pain, though not entirely unpleasant. My body tries to push him out up to a point, then almost welcomes him in. I breathe through the discomfort of my body stretching to accommodate his intrusion and absorb every second of this new forbidden experience. When it has, he feels like part of me, nothing unusual or foreign about it.

He eases in and out gently for a moment before gently running his fingers across the small of my back. This small touch is all I need to tip me across my threshold and I grab a pillow from the head of the bed to scream into and bring literal meaning to the phrase, "Bite the pillow, I'm going in dry.".

I'm vaguely aware of a warm sensation over my back and CJ leaning over me to kiss my shoulders. "I'm sorry, girl, I don't know what came over me."

I look over my shoulder at him and raise an eyebrow. "I know what just came over me." I speak with a laugh and push myself up from the bed and turn into his arms. He's rosy cheeked and looks a little ashamed of himself, and so he should. He's a very, very naughty boy who just unleashed the beast of sexual curiosity and pent up frustration from his teen years all over me. I wrinkle my nose and kiss his chest. "Proper shower now, yes?" After which he can make me a coffee then unleash that beast again.

Electric Six serve as our background noise as Louise updates us on the latest Plato and Levi domestic. Jeez, I leave them alone for a day and they all fall apart.

"He seriously walked in on Levi going at it with his ex? Jesus, Lou."

She shakes her head into her coffee at CJ's question and puffs out her cheeks. They actually should probably be grateful that I missed it or there'd be two very rich dentists rewiring two gay jaws.

"He's totally distraught," she sighs. "Plus Paul and I are having a few issues of our own so poor Meredith and Andy are suffering because they're running around trying to make us all feel better. They need you guys. Both of you."

I glance sideways at CJ and he shrugs helplessly. His gesture reflects exactly how I feel: I don't know how I'm supposed to solve their problems.

"We'll all go out tonight," he offers. "Maybe we can inject some humour back into your environment."

"I hope so, CJ. I really do." Lou smiles at me weakly as he leaves to answer the door and mouths to me 'he's awesome'. I nod in agreement because he is, and stand up when Nancy and her photographer walk into the lounge.

Once she gets over the grandeur and similarities, she flies towards me, eyes wide and begins to gush relentlessly. "Bloody hell, Meels, you look disgustingly radiant. Nice work, Louise!"

Lou raises her hands and shakes her head. "She looked like that when I walked in, mate. That's all CJ." It's mostly CJ. The rest is post-nooky smugness.

I offer Nancy a seat and wince slightly as I sit down, a little sore around the general ass area. I may have to consider a sex sabbatical, like Mr. Making-Up-For-Lost-Time would let me. Like I'd let me. I'd crack in an hour.

Nancy raises an eyebrow at me and begins to chuckle lewdly. "I've seen that look before."

"London?"

She shakes her head and continues to laugh. "Yeah, okay, you filthy bitch. Anyway..." She stifles her laughter and tries to look at me dead pan, failing miserably. "I know your feelings on the matter but how does CJ feel about semi-nude?"

I scoff at her in disapproval. My feelings might have changed. I might be too committed and mature to take my clothes off for a camera. I might also be Mary Queen of Scots.

"Break him in gently, why don't you?"

"Is that what CJ said to you earlier? Break you in gently?" I slap her arms and shoot CJ a look when I hear him snort under his hand. Jesus, is it that obvious? I notice that his shame has converted to cockiness with the arrival of company—someone has his own stage face. Copycat.

He holds his hand up in surrender and smirks. "I'm fine with semi-nude." No surprises there. He's probably looking to show the country that he's the pretty one in our relationship. That could be quite a tough call, actually.

Nancy shrugs at the photographer and looks around the lounge, scoping out her scene. "Rug, floor, white underwear?"

"Okay." I nod and head into the bedroom to change quickly, catching sight of the state of CJ's bed. I sincerely hope he knows a good dry cleaner. It's like a collaboration of five sleazy motel rooms and a horror movie. He should have known better than to let me scratch him.

Louise knocks on the door behind me and walks in, taking an uncaring glance at the bed. "I've seen worse. Anyway, I think they're going for a whole pure angelic thing so let's just go really neutral and leave your hair loose." I do feel bad for the situations she and Big Dave have to walk in on sometimes but I'm eternally grateful for their loyalty to us and dismissive attitudes to it. If half the stuff they saw got leaked to the media, we'd all probably end up arrested and harshly sentenced for just being downright skanky.

I head back into the lounge in my one and only white lingerie set and bare minimum makeup. I catch CJ's eye when he's mid-conversation with Nancy and the photographer and a salacious smile creeps over his face.

Nancy purses her lips and glances over at me. "Okay, so maybe we'll keep the jeans on after all, if that's his reaction to her. We're not a top shelf publication." _Heh_. "Come on then, CJ, let's see what I'm working with." He tugs his t-shirt off over his head and her jaw drops. Hmm, yes. He _is_ delicious. She waves a finger to make him turn around and presses her lips together with an expression of expiration. "Wait, do you have Amelia's signature tattooed on you and the same H.R. Giger piece? Oh, for god's sake, I don't even know where to start." She claps her hands together and sighs. "Okay, let's get a picture of these rings. Uh, the rings on your hands, Meels."

I rub my eyes as we trawl through photo after photo after bloody photo on the photographer's laptop. They're all flawless, of course—endless poses of us standing like reflections in identical stances, shots of our matching tattoos, my hand spread across CJ's arm under the tattoo of my autograph... The guy is an innate poser and has done his damnedest to outshine me, and it doesn't even look intentional.

Suddenly I hold up my hand to stop Nancy and point at a picture of us lying on the rug. I'm on my back with my hair fanned out and CJ is leaning over me, holding my left hand and kissing the black diamond ring. Something beautiful calls out to me in that shot and I know that it could become the iconic picture of us.

"I don't care if you use it in the magazine but I have to have that picture."

Nancy raises an eyebrow at me and nods in confusion. "I can burn them all to disc, but you never ask for your pictures." That's because there's only so much you can look at yourself.

I shrug and shake my head. "I know. I just want that one. I just—" It encompasses all the calm that I feel when he's around, my willingness to let him exert a certain level of authority over me and the way he's filled my life with light. It's perfect; it's our relationship in a nutshell. I sigh and look at CJ wistfully. "I just want to frame that moment." So I can keep it forever and remember the person who made me whole. He leans down and kisses me softly, squeezing my shoulder gently before he leaves on a hunt for DVD-Rs.

Nancy pokes me in the side and scowls. "You never mentioned that you confronted your fear." Jeez, I didn't realise that all my actions needed to be officially documented.

"Sorry, I'm kind of distracted." I lean back on the couch and crane my neck to determine CJ's location before I explain. "We're playing a private gig for his birthday tomorrow. I'm preparing myself for the worst."

She pulls a face and rubs my arm comfortingly, or what she perceives as comforting with an attitude that's generally as cold as glass unless she thinks there's a story to be had. "For what it's worth, I don't think a little bit of fame is going to deter him. He's clearly crazy about you. He'd be insane to dump his dream woman because he found out you're his—" She cuts herself off quickly as CJ walks back into the room with a couple of disks. "So, I'll get you a mock-up of this done for tomorrow and drop it by before I get my train the day after. Private gig tomorrow, right?"

CJ nods smugly and sits down on the arm of the couch next to me. I wonder if he ever secretly hears any of our conversations but just feigns innocence. It would make my life easier if he did. "Sure is. Feel free to drop by."

"Really?" Nancy glances at me nervously and I shrug. It's not my party after all, he can invite who he wants. "I'd love to. Strictly off the record, of course." She winks at me in encouragement and passes us back two discs containing our pictures. "Let me know when the fun is going to start." At this point, I'm not entirely sure I want to know her definition of fun.

We pull up outside some swanky looking house in Edgbaston and I feel my heart jump up into my throat. I'm bad with my own family; how can he possibly expect me to get on with his lovely straight edge upper-class clan? I chew on my lip and wish I'd dressed more appropriately than Ironfist stilettos and a Collectif Fabiola dress, though this is probably the most conservative outfit I own apart from my mourning clothes.

I weave my fingers between CJ's and kiss him on the cheek. "I apologise in advance for making a dick of myself."

He rolls his eyes and climbs out of the car. "I told you, girl, you and Emily will get on like a house on fire. She's a musician, too." He opens my door and holds out a hand. "Come on, you pussy." Pah, he's done that on purpose knowing I'll take it as a challenge—he knows me too well but yet not well enough.

I walk up to the front door tentatively and it swings open in front of me before we've even knocked.

"Aaaaaameeeeeliaaaaa!"

My jaw drops as I'm pulled into a hug with the face of tours past. "Oh my God, Ems! _You're_ CJ's big sister?" We both turn and look at CJ's little boy lost expression and laugh. "Emily was our session guitarist when Plato broke his wrist three years ago." And what a fucking session guitarist she was. Bitch be crazy.

"Hah, no way. She's been a session guitarist for The Bystander Effect as well." Yeeees, hopefully he won't calculate the logistics. Though if he did...

Emily struggles to stifle a laugh and points down the hallway. "Go and say hello to your nephew, CJ. He's been missing the shit out of you." Nephew? What the fuck? She must have gotten knocked up right after she left us. Maybe during. Holy shit, what if her son is Erek's?! Nah...

She cranes her neck around the doorway and waits until CJ is out of ear shot before raising an eyebrow at me. The family resemblance is wholly apparent now. They share the same amazing green eyes and chestnut side-swept hair, but Emily's has been dip-dyed purple. She's the closest thing to another female friend I've ever had other than Meredith and by far the best session musician to join us on stage.

"My god, Emily, you vanished off the face of the earth. You're a mother!"

She nods and splays her hands out, looking for an explanation. "And you're engaged to my little brother." Oh hell, yeah, this could get awkward. Haven't seen the chick for three, nearly four years and now she's going to be my surrogate big sister. "He really has no idea who you are, does he?"

I pull a face and lean back against the wall. "Not until tomorrow. Will he be pissed when he finds out?" She half laughs at me and pulls me into the kitchen by the wrist. She looks kind of out of place in a house so swanky because I _know_ she severely lacks class.

"Are you joking? If he hadn't already, he'd drop to the floor and propose. Actually—" She makes a grab at my hand and whistles. "Ho-ly shit, I bet you're getting a pounding in the bedroom." Wow, inappropriate. But if I remember correctly, Emily doesn't do tact.

Pulling open a cupboard and the fridge, she pulls out two glasses and starts to pour drinks. "I'm sorry you've been subjected to the fat whacko. I assure you implicitly, CJ has absolutely no feelings for her. He met her in Scruffy's a couple of years ago and she's done nothing but stalk him since. She knew him for a whole two days before she dropped the sado-bomb." Bloody hell, nothing like a bit of flogging with your third base.

"Jesus Christ, full blown psycho." Emily pushes a glass of Southern Comfort and Coke into my hand and shakes her head at me. She really looks no different than she did three years ago and she's still got a wild look in her eye that suggests a desire to put her feet through amplifiers and eat fire.

"I still can't believe he doesn't realise who you are. What a fucking plank." How affectionate. "You know, I have a babysitter tonight, I'd love to catch up with you all." I nod and take a large swig of my drink with a grimace. I really don't like SoCo at all.

"Come out by all means but Plato and Levi are in another one of their gay bitch fits and Meredith is screwing CJ's best friend."

She howls with laughter and rolls her eyes. "Jesus, I don't know which of them I feel sorrier for. The gay bitch fits are ten a penny but I've had my encounters with Andy and he is _wild_ even by Meredith's standards." Jeez, I wonder what state she's going to be in tonight. Maybe there was a grain of truth to Andy's claim of her being 'shagged out'. I pull my phone out of my pocket and I'm suddenly concerned by the usual lack of communication. Surely Louise would have said if something was wrong and there was a Cho emergency, but still I'm burdened with disturbing images of her being slumped over in an alley comatose from an orgasm overdose.

Emily pulls a face at me and shrugs apologetically. "I've worried you. I'm sorry. Andy is nothing she can't handle, she's mega bitch."

"Do you mind if I call her?" Mega bitch or not, she should have an RSI from hitting the speed dial to me by now. "I don't want to be rude, but I haven't spoken to her since yesterday morning."

"Jesus! Go on, by all means. After some of the stuff I saw you do, I think we're past rude. I'll be with the boys." Emily heads off down the hallway and I sincerely hope that no tales of my past antics reach CJ's ears while I call Meredith. Her phone rings for an eternity.

" _Hey, bitch."_ Oh, thank god. Alive and sentient.

"It's so good to hear your voice."

" _Bloody hell, what's wrong with you? Anyone would think you were missing me."_ Yeah, she's totally fine. I run my finger around the rim of my glass and suck my teeth. Now I have her on the line, what do I say? Do I talk tough and go for witty nonchalance? _"I can hear the cogs grinding, Ams. You're scared about tomorrow."_ And still, she knows me so well.

"Of course I'm scared. Have you signed your injunctions against that weirdo yet?"

" _Yeah, we all went in with Andy yesterday. Fucking swish, baby doll—you're on to a good'un there."_ It hardly seems worth pointing out that she's sailing on the same ship as me. Or yacht. We're sailing on the same luxury fucking yacht.

I blurt out, "I'm too happy," completely changing the subject. I could make that omission to nobody else. Any degree of happy is 'too' happy in my world and I know that this kind of bliss comes at a price.

The line is silent, then I hear Meredith sigh and the creak of leather. "I know you are. But I think that in meeting CJ you've not only developed the strength to survive with him, but the strength to survive without him. That said, I'll be the first one to knock him out if he flips tomorrow. Subside tonight?" Miss Mercurial Meredith Cho—Mistress of the rapid subject change. I learned from the best of the best.

"Oh god, you're making me go clubbing?"

"It's that or we get the train to the Giffard Arms in Wolves." Bleh, early night, public transport and tightly corseted uber-goths. "Yeah, that's what I thought. We'll meet you there."

A few minutes later, I creep through Emily's house and stand nervously in the doorway of the lounge with my drink in hand. She's going on about the YouTube footage of our Plymouth gig and CJ has her son balanced on his knees. He's so at ease and interacts so naturally with the little boy, who shares the typical Pearce features. I detect some seriously dominant genetics.

Emily waves and pats the couch next to her. "Come on, don't be shy but I'm not going to promise that he won't bite." CJ or the kid? I sit down slowly and push aside the thought that he could have been balancing my daughter on his knees. "Yo, Leo. Show Amelia your CJ impression."

Her son jumps up and down on the couch next to CJ and plays air guitar. "I'm a virgin rockstar loveeeer!" I raise my hand to my mouth and try desperately not to laugh. Poor CJ has even been subjected to bullying by toddlers, though he just brushes it off with a grin, clearly more than used to the jibe.

"You're corrupting your child, Ems."

"That's what he's there for," she grins. I wonder if I would have been saying the same about Creedance... "You going to knock this one up and have rich babies, CJ?"

He clenches his jaw and looks at me apologetically. "Sore subject, sis."

Ems glances at me, half horrified and half amused. "You're not."

"Not what?" She raises an eyebrow and I instantly understand what she means. Holy fuck. "Oh, good God no. Implant." Wow, that didn't come out even slightly innocuously. I was aiming for a tone of being too young, reckless and traumatised but I fear that it may have come across as repulsion at the idea of specifically harbouring and growing a mini-CJ. I mean, he'd probably be a great dad. Super attentive and really kind but still setting firm boundaries for our kids... What the fuck? Why did I just think _our_ kids?

"You know they're not totally effective, right?" Ems laughs wickedly as I splutter into my glass. "I'm messing with you." Is she though? I mean, no form of contraception is one hundred percent effective and we do have a lot of sex. Nah, it's got to be fine. Mer is a raging ho-bag and she's never gotten caught out. Has she? Oh fuck, would she even tell me? Crap...

"You've just had a photo shoot, right?" CJ pulls one of the discs from his pocket and throws it over to Emily, simpering at the fading look of panic on my face. I'm over-reacting. Of course I am. She just said it for the blag. "Sweet! Get over here and sit with your woman, CJ."

He moves across the room and throws himself down next to me when she moves to the computer desk, and pulls my legs over his. I feel about ten years old, worrying about catching cooties and getting pregnant by French-kissing. "Relax, girl. These two are near enough family now. Make yourself comfortable." Relax? When has that five lettered word ever worked on me?

Emily looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at me. She spent most of a tour with us so she can read me almost as well as Meredith can. She can see that I'm terrified to get to comfortable in more ways than one. "You'll always be welcome here, Ams. No matter what happens." Fucker. That didn't make me feel better. 'No matter what happens'? Why not just say, "Don't worry, I'll be here to get your drunk when my little brother dumps you for being a big, fat liar."

She gives me a sly smile and loads our photographs with a confused stutter. "Jesus, CJ. When did you get so grown up? You two look fucking awesome." _Obviously._

"Obviously." _Jinx_. Yup, definitely suffering a mental regression. "You're coming out tonight, right?"

"Huh?" Emily turns back around to us and nods. "Yeah, Kyle is coming in an hour to babysit. Why don't you take your woman home to get tarted up and I'll meet you somewhere later? Say goodbye, Leo."

"Bye, mofo." Oh my God! Funny little foul-mouthed munchkin alert! I burst out laughing as Emily shakes her head with shame.

"I did _not_ teach my two year old 'mofo'."

I pause outside the door to my loft and look at CJ thoughtfully. Everyone is so damn sure that he's going nowhere and that I can trust him with everything I have, so surely I can trust him with my home. I do a brief mental scan of the place to assure myself that there is no The Bystander Effect merchandise with my face hanging around. No, just Andy Warhol knock offs. That is going to be embarrassing.

I pull my keys out of a pocket on my holdall and glance up at him and find myself knocked sideways by how beautiful he looks, and the knowledge that he's had me in every way possible. I roll my eyes at myself for being soppy and set to work removing the newly cut key from my key rings. Let's do this 'normal couple' shit.

I raise a sardonic eyebrow at him and pass him the key. "11pm curfew, no wild parties and no rockstars." He eyes me warily and looks down at the key. _Christ, I offered you a key to my home, not arsenic._

"You're giving me free entrance to your loft?"

"Who said it was free?" My eyes flare momentarily before I open the door with my own key and wave a hand for him to go crazy.

On his first step through the door, I'm sure his expression is the same as mine was when I walked into his bloody bungalow. He looks back at me with a confused frown and does the same circuit of the rooms that I took; lounge, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Obviously I don't have a pool room or a garden like this extravagant arsehole but visually our homes are practically identical, even down to the placement of the furniture and artwork.

He comes back to me looking bewildered and I nod knowingly. "I know, right. You thought you'd walked into your own place."

"This is kind of bizarre, yet oddly romantic. Of all the designs and buildings we could have chosen, we chose the same." Always with the romance.

I head through to my bedroom, pull open the wardrobe and start to unpack my tour bag. He sits down on the bed behind me and watches me quietly as I hang my clothes. "You have The Hattress."

I look at him in the mirrored door of the wardrobe and smirk. "Evokes some memories, does it? It's bespoke; nobody else has one like it."

"Will you wear it tomorrow?" I pause mid-movement. I rarely wear the same outfit twice on stage. There again, we don't play private gigs for millionaires—sorry, _multi_ millionaires either.

"Sure. There are security monitored garages out back if you want to put your car away safe. I'd like to come back here tonight."

He frowns and a flicker of disappointment mars his face. "Okay, but why?" Because I may never have another opportunity to wake up next to you in this bed.

I close the wardrobe and sit down next to him on the bed, running my hands down his arms to ensure that the feel of his skin is a memory permanently etched in my brain. "It's closer to Subside here, I have to do some stuff in the morning, my car is here, and I've never christened this bed."

Another flicker of disappointment. "You're not spending the whole day with me tomorrow?" God damn, he's so clingy. I roll my eyes and stand up to strip. If anything should stop his sulking, this should be it.

"You want gifts, don't you? I only have to shoot out to collect them and then I want to take you out for lunch." He pouts, so I throw my bra at his face. "You can survive without me for an hour or two. Go and see your parents or Emily or something."

"Hmm, okay," he says sulkily and scoops my dress from the floor to fold up neatly. "I still want you to move in with me, Amelia. Would you give this place up for me?"

"Maybe." Not today. "Let's get your birthday done first. Come on," I hold my hand out and cock my head, "Let's get you drinking. It's not a birthday unless you wake up hungover."

We track the guys down to Scruffy Murphy's and the atmosphere is dire. Plato and Levi look indiscriminately hostile, Erek looks bored out of his mind, Andy and Meredith look totally exhausted, and not in an 'up all night making the beast with two backs' kind of exhausted. They are, however, holding hands and that can only be good.

CJ pulls a chair out for me like the gentleman he is and I sit down a little too fast. I wince silently and look up just in time to see Plato arch his brows and start to do the same lewd laugh Nancy did earlier. Levi nudges him enquiringly and joins in with the laughter after Plato whispers in his ear. These gays are overly perceptive.

Meredith's head jolts up, barely awake and blinks dopily. "Huh, what? Why are you laughing?" I know that the explanation will come with a crude euphemism.

Levi wipes a tear from his eye and sighs. "CJ and Amelia have their brown wings." Yeah, thought so. I bury my head in CJ's chest as the titter crescendos to a dull roar of raucous laughter, but when I catch sight of Levi and Plato holding hands, I know that my sexual deviancy has restored the natural order between my friends. I don't know how that works exactly, but what matters is that it has.

Once the laughter dies down, I reach over and squeeze Meredith's free hand gently. She grabs my fingers and pulls me into a one armed hug. She knows that I'm hurting, and not physically, and I know that she's trying to snuggle the fear out of me. I don't want to point out that it won't work without a penis and a surname that rhymes with 'fierce'.

"CJ, switch seats with me, would you? You've had my baby doll for two days. It's time to share." He moves begrudgingly, even though he's only moving to the other side of me, and Meredith runs her fingers over the green eyes tattooed on my thigh. "We can cancel the gig tomorrow, you know. You don't have to tell him." Her voice is low and cautious of pricking ears. As much as I would love to postpone the inevitable, it is precisely that. Inevitable.

"Yes, I do. He seems to be really looking forward to seeing us perform and I can't keep sneaking around in the shadows like this."

She sighs and chews on her fingernails—Meredith's one and only sign of nervousness. "I just have a really bad feeling about tomorrow. These guys keep telling me to stop being such a pessimist, but I just can't shake it, Ams. Promise me that you'll be ok if this all goes wrong." Wasn't she the one telling me that I'd be fine a few hours ago?

I pull her head onto my shoulder and cradle her. I know that in times like this, I have to comfort her as much as she comforts me. "Last time it all went wrong I ended up with a new home, a new family, a great band, a record contract and a multimillionaire fiancé. I think I'll be fine." She knows that my words lack conviction but she nods anyway and pulls herself back up straight. "So, you'll never guess who CJ's sister is."

I nod my head towards the doorway and find myself left in the presence of Andy, CJ, and four people-shaped clouds of dust as the guys fly across the bar to accost Emily.

She shoots me a look and rolls her eyes. "Good god, are you still worrying? If he flips and runs off, I'll kick his arse right back to you, alright?" CJ's ears twitch and he looks up in alarm. Did I mention Emily doesn't do tact? "Relax, bro. Why don't I have a drink already? Slacker!"

He jumps up to the bar obediently and leaves me with Andy, who looks at me casually before sticking out his tongue and going cross eyed. Clearly he's past being starstruck and I'm grateful for his manner of ease with us.

"It'll be great, you know. You'll give him the best birthday of his life."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

He reaches over and taps my left hand, on the knuckle just above my ring.

"Trust me." Everyone keeps saying that. What the hell does anyone ever do to earn my trust?

#  XVIII

#

#

I wake up face down on CJ's chest and wince. I think I'm still drunk.

I glance up at the time on my radio alarm and groan—it's 11am and I haven't done a single damn thing I'd planned to. Wiping a shining patch of drool from his skin, I realise that this is almost a direct replication of London. He's still inside me and throbbing with morning glory. I don't remember getting to this point in the slightest but I'm definitely going to make the most of it while I can.

I will my eyes to focus on CJ and nuzzle at his strong chiselled jaw. He smells like sweat and whiskey. I run my tongue across his morning stubble and he tastes like me. I gently run my fingers around the lines of his features; his mouth, his nose, his hairline and the contours of his ear. I am completely heartbreakingly in love with this man and the idea that this could be my last morning with him tears me to pieces.

"I love you, Caspian. No matter what happens today, I will _always_ love you." He inhales sleepily and opens his eyes slowly. The sight of those green eyes knocks the wind from my sails, and his smile as he focuses on me is a dagger in my heart. I kiss him gently and reservedly to spare him of my morning breath and nod downwards. Time to put on my stage face.

"Good morning, birthday boy. Looks like we've been fucking all night." He rolls me around onto my back without speaking and begins to ease in and out of me. The fingers of his right hand weave between the fingers of my left, and he pulls me into another kiss.

This is tender and rapt with emotion. We are making love but somehow this seems so final. I wear my stage face, well but inside I'm sobbing with regret. I should never have invited him to drive the tour bus. I should never have sold my blackmail story to be with him. I should never have fallen in love. I should never have kissed him. I should have told him who I was from the start.

My orgasm is just a drop in the ocean compared to all of our previous encounters, but it coincides with his and he moans contentedly against my cheek. I run my fingers into his hair and breathe him in as our jagged respirations even out. He looks up at me with a mischievous 'I'm twenty-six today' sparkle in his eyes and lifts my hand up to his lips. "More birthdays like this, please, Miss Marsh."

"You got it." _Maybe_. He pulls out of me and sits up, making a face I know only too well. "Hanging?"

"Like a bull." How dare he make me laugh when I'm so full of woe? "Is it really 11:20am? We're running so late."

I frown and climb out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the floor. "It pisses me off that your birthday is on a schedule." I've had virtually unhindered access to him on tour and now I'm being assigned an allotted time slot. What a joke.

He pulls the t-shirt from my hand and slaps my behind. "Quit stealing my clothes. To be fair, Amelia, we're on a schedule so you guys can play your set." I groan resentfully and pull his arms around my waist. I don't want to play that stupid fucking gig.

"I still have to go and get your gifts. You have a key; feel free to shower here, eat, drink coffee, head back home—whatever you want. I'll call you when I'm done so I can pick you up for lunch. It's the only time I'm going to get you on your own today."

"Except bed time." I smile at him weakly and pull a purple hoody and a pair of worn out jeans from the wardrobe. The temptation to knock him out with chloroform until tomorrow, then claim that he's suffered a head injury and knew who we were all along is unrelenting. Where _does_ one find chloroform in Birmingham? "Aren't you going to shower?"

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. "No. I'm going to go out smelling of you and love every second of my skankiness. I'll pick up my stuff later and shower at your place." I lean down to kiss him and bask in the moment for a while. "I'll be quick. I promise."

I grab my keys and wink as I head out of the door, and then fracture the moment I'm standing at my Porsche. Fuck my life.

I pull my car out of the garage and I'm instantly soothed by its rumble. I've missed this motor. No matter what happens, I will always have my Porsche to make me feel like a rockstar.

I travel around Birmingham at supersonic speed making four stops, arriving back home at 12:30pm and making amazing time. I'm a shopping machine.

I look at my purchases and roll my eyes; I don't have the faintest idea how to wrap gifts and they seem trivial and insignificant compared to a huge engagement ring. I'll call Meredith. She must know.

" _Hello?"_ She sounds like how I feel.

"Hey, how do you wrap gifts?"

She's silent for a moment. "You... I... Hmm. Gift bags and crepe paper. I have two degrees and I don't know how the fuck to do wrapping paper, what's up with that?" Gift bags, she's a genius.

"Okay so, autographed photos. Good or bad?"

"Which photos?"

"The photo from Plymouth tattooists, one from yesterday and one from the Sweden shoot." I _did_ promise to show him after all, and it seems like a fairly appropriate combination of pictures.

She laughs and I hear her groan as she hauls her ass out of a seat somewhere. " _Good, very good. Are you as terrified as you sound?"_

"Yes." Though I thought I was putting quite a brave face on it.

" _Me, too. Andy is already at CJ's. What are you doing?"_ I stuff The Hattress and my makeup case into a holdall and scowl at my reflection. I am haggard and smelly. This'll never do.

"Making myself look like a rockstar, and then picking CJ up for lunch."

"I'll get your gift bags and meet you at the loft in fifteen. Andy said to meet him at CJ's flat when I'm done, so two birds with one stone. Laters, bitch."

I snicker at word 'flat' and have the world's fastest and most thorough shower. My original idea to wander around stinking of sex now seems wildly inappropriate. I want to give CJ reasons to stay and I doubt poor personal hygiene will help my case. Opting for a _Reservoir Dogs_ look with black leggings and tie, a white shirt and blazer, I leave my bedroom just in time to catch Meredith walk in wearing a similar outfit. Good god, I really have no individuality any more.

"Hah, great minds!"

Ignoring her because my mind really ain't so great of late, I stuff the frames holding the photographs into the gift bags and sling my holdall over my shoulder. "You're not going to believe CJ's place."

A quick call to CJ from the car ascertains that he's home but his voice stabs at me and leaves me tender. It's 1pm, and getting ever closer to the moment of truth, literally. Meredith smiles at me sympathetically and scans through her iPad. "So, have you thought about a set list?"

I look at her sideways and shake my head, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. "No, it was the last thing on my mind. But he's requested Transvision Vamp, and _Meet Me Halfway_ and _Weak_ are definites."

"I don't think he's going to be too happy with a three song set." Well done, Miss States The Obvious, though I think it would be more than enough for me.

I purse my lips and scour my mind for a spark of inspiration—a task nigh on impossible with one of the world's most tremendous hangovers looming. "When I take him for lunch, borrow his iPod and find out which of our tracks he's five-starred. Failing that, find out what it's synched to and see what's on his frequently played list." A touch of genius brought to you by Amelia Marsh.

We pull up outside CJ's place and Meredith looks around in confusion. "Flat?" I wave a hand to the house and she shakes her head. "That's a bungalow."

"Thank you! It's 'flat' apparently." She scoffs and jumps out of the car to retrieve the bags from the boot, plus another one which I didn't notice. "You got him a gift?"

She tuts at me and rolls her eyes. I don't remember the last time she bought anyone a drink, let alone a birthday gift. "Of course, he's practically family. I'm not sure about it though." She shrugs and heads up the path. I can't wait for her reaction.

She steps in through the door and takes a step back, looks over her shoulder and shakes her head before she heads into the lounge. Andy and CJ look up from the couch and raise an eyebrow each.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I think I'm still hammered. I swear blind we drove to CJ's place but I'm in Amelia's." Me and CJ stifle a laugh and exchange doe-eyed smiles. He's changed into the same Halo 3 t-shirt that he wore on the day we met and is still as delicious as he was when he told me that I wasn't his type. If I'd known that we'd get to this point, I would have set him straight the instant we realised that he didn't know who we were.

Mer blows a raspberry at me and dangles the bag in front of CJ's face. "Happy birthday, money bags." He blinks in surprise and pulls a photo frame from a sea of black crepe paper. He's obviously as shocked by the gesture as I am and frankly, I'm eager to see what she's pulled out of the bag. Or what he's pulled out of it, either way.

I lean over his shoulder and I'm surprised to see a photograph of us all—the whole band plus Levi, Louise, Big Dave, CJ, Ems and Andy mid-air in Matrix poses. "I don't remember this being taken." Or who the hell took it.

Meredith smirks at me. "I'm not surprised, you were plastered. It was taken last night. I got up early today just to get it printed." She got up early as well? Bloody hell, wonders will never cease. She squeaks involuntarily as CJ launches across the room to hug her and pats him awkwardly on the back. "You're welcome? I think you'll prefer Amelia's though."

He looks up at me inquisitively, bright eyed and irresistible. I'd planned on keeping them until later but when he's giving me those big puppy dog eyes, I just can't. I pass him the giftbag and watch as he pulls two of the photographs from their bags with a smile. "You wait until you see the other one."

CJ raises an eyebrow and looks at me, clearly curious as to what mischief I've concocted. "I did promise to show you the Sweden shoot." He pulls it from the bag and bites his lip as he surveys my largely naked form across the frame. I can't say I blame him, it's ridiculously provocative and should probably come with a triple X certificate and a health warning for those of a weak disposition.

"I know where this is going."

I snicker and lean over him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, knowing that he's only aware of half of it's value. "You're the only person in the entire world with an autographed copy of this photograph. If you leave me, I'll be most offended if I find this on eBay." Though this is verging on pornography and I'm fairly sure that trying to auction it would contravene one or more of their regulations.

He looks up at me incredulously and bites my chin. "As if." And rightly so. I'd like to think he'd be smart and wait for it to increase in value, or treasure it forever.

Andy pulls Meredith down onto the couch next to him and leans over to look at the picture with a leer. Hmm yeah, I wonder if she's told him about the pictures of her. The way she's staring at me might suggest that she hasn't.

"Nice! Anyway, where are we setting you up to play?" I look at him vacantly and shake my head, unwilling to switch my head into gig mode. _I was quite enjoying perving over myself, actually._

"How many people are we looking at?" He looks up at me cautiously and pulls a face. "Did it get leaked?"

"Maybe." _Yes then_. Meredith and I growl in irritation and shake our heads. We should have known better than to think that this would remain a small intimate affair.

"Write an approved guest list and we'll call in Big Dave and some of the Birmingham roadies as security." This is going to cost us a bomb in t-shirts and compensatory six packs.

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" I glance down at CJ and blatantly ignore his comment. He'll understand when the time comes, and all going well, will be jumping in front of me as my personal bodyguard.

"Where is big enough for everyone to watch us?"

Andy laughs and looks around. "The garden."

"Great, so check the weather forecast and get some extension cords and tarpaulin..."

"I was jo—"

"I'm not. Extension cords, tarpaulin and a guest list. Please." You'd think he'd know better. If we can jump up onto the roof of a tour bus, a garden is child's play.

I rub CJ's shoulders and lean down to his ear. "Are you ready for lunch? I have another gift for you." He jumps up gleefully and grabs his car keys without hesitation. "Uh, no," I wag my finger for him to discard the keys. "There's a sexy black Porsche outside who's insistent on not playing second fiddle to your Mercedes." I take his keys from his hand when he fails to surrender them and thrust my hand into his pocket. He looks at me, half aroused and half confused. "My iPod is feeling neglected, too," I offer in the way of an explanation and throw his iPod over to Meredith, grab my aviators and lead him out through the front door.

He pauses at my car and blinks. "Jesus." I smirk and slide into the driver's seat. This car suits me much better than a Mercedes. Black is slimming.

"So, where to?" He looks at me numbly and I tap the clock on the dashboard. "It won't be lunchtime anymore if you keep looking at me like that and I want to dirty up that bed one last time before—" I wrinkle my nose and start the engine, revving it loudly and turning my iPod up to full volume.

"Before what?"

"Sorry, can't hear you!" I scowl at myself and hit the accelerator, sending us flying forward at super speed. Distraction, distraction, distraction. I have no qualms about reckless driving when it's my own motor. "So, where are we going? Free reign of Birmingham's finest culinary establishments. Preferably somewhere with parking."

CJ reaches over and turns down the music. Christ, it wasn't _that_ loud. "What the fuck is wrong with you today, Amelia? I haven't seen you like this since Peterborough. You're shutting me out." I pull over on to the side of the road and cut the engine. So, distraction doesn't work on millionaires. Who knew?

I drum my fingers across the steering wheel and turn to him hesitantly. "Tonight changes everything." Well, it might. It would be nice to think that he just says, "Well, Amelia, you're the woman of my wet dreams and that's just peachy. Now slide into my bed right here and show me how rockstars _really_ screw". Hmm, if only.

His eyes search mine and narrow slightly. "How?"

I turn back to the steering wheel and restart the engine. "Do you remember when we were on the bus in Cambridge and got snapped naked on the bus?" He leans back in his seat and starts to grin. "Stop reminiscing. I told you that I'd introduce you to the singer of The Bystander Effect."

"Yeah, so?" I roll my eyes at him and start driving again. I watch him cautiously as his eyes widen and the realisation dawns on him. "You—... She's coming tonight?" Yeah, with any luck, she will be 'coming' after a fairly brutal ravishing from her biggest fan.

"All of them. The whole band. But don't let it slip to anyone." He's starry eyed and beautifully elated as he sits in my passenger seat mouth agape. And then he frowns at me. His frown is still beautiful.

"So what changes, other than the fact you're just slightly more amazing for pulling a gift like that out of the bag?" _EVERYTHING._

"You won't want me anymore. I'm wearing my stage face because this could be my last day with you." I really can't offer any more honesty than that.

"McDonald's." I turn and look at him in confusion—he looks grimly determined. Have I pissed him off?

"What?"

"I want lunch in McDonald's." You have _got_ to be kidding.

"I'm not—"

"It's my birthday, Amelia. And if you're leaving me after this, then you owe me this much."

"I'm not leaving you. Y—"

"Shut up and drive."

"Would you stop interrupting me? You're upsetting the Porsche!"

We both split into hysterical laughter as I pull into Birmingham City Centre and search for a secure parking space, completely glad of the opportunity to provide uncharacteristic humour to fracture the tension.

"I'm not going to leave you, Caspian. It's just... The idea of losing you terrifies me more than you could ever know." I finally find a space in the Bullring Centre car park and put my hand on CJ's leg. "I'm never taking this ring off unless you tell me to, okay? No matter what happens, I promise."

He leans over and kisses me on the forehead. "Stop bumming me out and buy me a burger, Marsh."

I blow a raspberry in his face and climb out of the car. Here was me expecting some kind of gourmet cuisine—I dressed up and everything. What a party pooper. CJ grabs my hand and leads me through the streets to Mc-fucking-Donalds. Here again, back where my judgmental lapses began. I should have said no to coffee. I should have run the moment I saw those golden arches. I should have just called Dad for help. I shouldn't have invited CJ to the gig. I—

"I'll have a Big Mac meal and whatever the man wants."

I roll my eyes as the staff dawdles over our order and gushing fans point at me and whisper. I hope that they're all smart enough to recognise an unapproachable rockstar when they see one. CJ stakes out the table we sat at last time and it's free, much to my surprise. I amble over with the tray and glare at him disapprovingly. "I can't fuckin' believe we're here again."

"I can't believe we were ever here. I couldn't believe my luck when you agreed to coffee."

"Yeah, I was surprised, too, after you said I wasn't your type." He grins at me and steals one of my fries even though he has his own. "Who'd have guessed that a couple of months down the line, we'd end up engaged?"

"I would." I raise a questioning eyebrow over my aviators. CJ shrugs and unwraps a straw for his milkshake. "Even then, when I was sitting here, shit-scared to talk to you while you made my brain bleed with your talk of having two degrees, I knew that I loved you. I knew that if I could make you mine, I'd make you mine for good."

I look down despondently at my burger. Meredith was right; his intention was to make me his from the word go but he didn't pinpoint me as a girlfriend, he pinpointed me as a bride. That's kind of cocky and ambitious. Also kind of creepy. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

"No amount of obscenely famous and sexy rockstars will ever change how much I love you."

"You don't know what she looks like," I retort. "How do you know she's sexy?" Wow, why am I jealous of myself?

He rolls his eyes at me. "Eat your bloody burger, Amelia. I don't care how sexy she is, she's not you." Except she is. Why did I put myself in this situation?

I bite into my burger and examine him carefully. He's just the same as he was the last time we were here, except he's mine. Despite everything I've put him through, he's mine. Finding out your fiancée has a dead child has to be worse than finding out she has a record contract, right?

I dig my hand into my blazer pocket and pull out an envelope. "Happy birthday, Caspian." I push it across to him and he looks at me suspiciously, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin.

"It's not anthrax?"

I half laugh at him and shake my head. "Not by a long shot."

CJ opens the envelope cautiously and pulls out a crude novelty birthday card; a holographic affair with 'Fiancé' emblazoned across it. I've written inside and the words obviously confuse him.

Meet me halfway around the world.

He shakes his head at me and I produce another envelope from my pocket. He tears it open and glances up at me. "A plane ticket?"

I purse my lips and run my finger across the edge of the table, really hoping I haven't overstepped the mark. "I know you have a lot of millionaire-type business over here but we have a US tour coming up and everyone wants you to come. We play every state, starting in Washington, and I thought maybe when we get to Nevada we could drop by Las Vegas and well, you know." His eyes widen at me in disbelief. "But I know it's a pretty big ask."

"Yes." Zero doubt and zero preamble.

"What?"

"Yes, I'll come with you. I—" He looks up at me, eyes shining with tears and grabs my hands. "I would travel to the ends of the earth for you, I'm sure as hell not going to turn down the opportunity to do it _with_ you." I wink at him over my aviators and pick up my burger, resisting the urge to pull him across the table and start dry-humping his leg. If he ever stops spouting romanticism like that, I'll send him back to the rich bastard factory and have him retuned.

"Let's get you fed, drunk and introduce you to some rockstars." If that's an offer he can refuse, I'll eat my hat.

I stare out across the garden to our makeshift stage and suck on my bottom lip. Everything is ready except me. I'm neither dressed nor mentally prepared. Meredith stands next to me, mimics my nervous cross-armed stance and passes me a glass of something that smells lethally alcoholic.

"I mixed a little bit of everything available. Knock it back and go and see your man before he gets too drunk."

I empty the glass and shake my head. I'll be surprised if I make it to the stage if she gives me another glass of that crap. "I can't, it hurts too much to look at him."

She takes the glass from my hand and holds me by the shoulders. "If this all goes wrong, you'll kick yourself for not saying goodbye. The guys are here, Emily and Nancy are here, Andy is raring to go and the security team are securing the garden. We've all signed the gift for him and its hiding behind an amp. Go and do it now and get your minx on." That wasn't really positive reinforcement. It feels more like I'm saying my goodbye's to my friends and family before I head out to a euthanasia clinic.

I inhale deeply and head through the house to the bedroom to find CJ standing there buck naked and ready to go. He turns and smiles at me, his eyes twinkling at me with excitement. He's looking forward to this now, but will he feel the same in an hour?

"Need a hand getting dressed?" I smile at him awkwardly and nod. Yes I do, because I know that this could be my last chance to indulge in his capable pre-show fluffing. "I can't wait until everyone goes home tonight." He grins at me salaciously and slips my blazer off over my shoulders. "I can't wait for Download." He eases me down onto the bed and tugs at my boots, leggings and underwear. "I definitely can't wait for your US tour." He lays me down flat and pushes my shirt up around my ribs, pawing at my skin and easing himself into me. His right hand reaches up to my left hand and his fingers wind between mine like they did this morning. His lips are on mine—his breath is sweet and smoky from a sneaky birthday cigar. "And I can't wait to make you Mrs. Pearce." His pronouncement sends a shockwave of emotion through me and my muscles clench around him. He groans with approval and increases his pace.

I lift his face up to mine and fall into his fiery impassioned gaze. "I love you, Caspian." He winces as my words push him to climax, and his pleasure gives me pleasure. It doesn't really matter that I'm left hanging because I just needed the closeness. That one was for him.

He kisses every inch of my face and smiles down at me. "I love you, too, Amelia. Let's get you dressed and singing." I sigh as I'm pulled up from the bed and led down the hallway to the bathroom. He pulls my shirt up over my head and turns on the shower. "Do you still have stage fright?"

"Of course. This is the biggest gig of my life." He laughs softly and disbelievingly, guides me under the stream of water, and starts to wash my hair the way he did yesterday. I stare up at him and memorise the placement of every hair on his head, every eyelash and every pore. He rinses the shampoo from my mane and leads me out of the shower by the small of my back. _No, that was too brief, I want to stay here. I need more._

Wrapping a large white towel around me and kissing my wet hair, he pats my backside and urges me towards the door. "Let me shave. I'll come and dress you when Louise is done with you." I swallow down a lump in my throat and walk down to the lounge. That could have been the last shower I ever had with him and the last time I had him inside me, and both events were over far too fast, just like our relationship. Everyone stares at me nervously except Louise who rushes towards me with an extra towel for my hair and another of Meredith's lethal cocktails. They're waiting for me to crack, I can feel it. They're expecting another panic attack on par with London's.

"Are you ready?"

I knock back the drink and pull a face at its bitter taste. There is definitely sambucca in there. "Not by a fucking long shot." What a positively stupid question. Meredith passes me a bottle of white wine as Louise sets to drying my hair. I swig from it's neck and wrinkle my nose. "Well, this blows," I announce and I'm met with a murmur of approval. "Are we sound checked?"

"Ready and raring, honey bee." Plato half smiles at me helplessly and grips onto Levi's hand for dear life. They're all as worried as me, it's easy to forget that it's their anonymity about to be shed, too.

I nod and purse my lips. "It's like a wake in here, put some music on and turn this into a birthday party."

I stroll back down to the bedroom smoky eyed and harlot red lipped, and twirl in my towel. I feel bolder for being slightly drunk and forage through my bag for my underwear.

CJ runs his fingers down the length of my spine and winks at me. He seems kind of tipsy. "I'm really looking forward to this, Amelia." I'm not. "I can't believe how much security you have outside. They all have radios—people must think I'm being raided by the police."

I snicker and pass The Hattress to him, holding up my arms. "You can never be too careful with open arenas. You don't know where people can get in from. Any kind of weirdo could find their way in—you hear horror stories." He pulls the dress over my head and eases me around by the shoulders to zip me up. I turn back to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. "Will I do?"

"I should say so. People are arriving. I have to entertain." He stoops over and kisses me gently for what may also be the last time. I pull him in close and lose myself in him, left distraught when he pulls away and smiles at me with a thick ring of red lipstick around his mouth. "See you on stage."

I negotiate through his gathering friends congregating in the garden and rush up to our 'stage' with my bottle of wine in hand to grab my Stratocaster from Louise's hand. I'm double-checking the tuning when Nancy sneaks up to me with her camcorder and smirks at me. So much for being off the record.

"Nervous, Meels?"

I smile at her sardonically and find myself in a battle of wills with my E string. "Shitting it, thanks. How are we doing for time?"

Meredith looks down at her phone and sighs. "7:55pm. Andy is going to run up to us when the whole guest list is here." I nod and exhale slowly before taking a large gulp of wine. "You're okay with the set list?"

"Definitely. No matter what, we do the whole set, okay? We have fans out there, too, and we can't let them down." Everyone murmurs in agreement and the garden slowly begins to fill up. If this is just the guest list, I would hate to see how many people would have tried to cram into this garden for an open event. How many friends does CJ have?

I see him standing right at the back next to Big Dave and he waves cordially. I nod in response and groan lowly as Andy runs up to us looking rosy cheeked and excited. I would give anything to just be curled up on a couch watching bad movies with him instead of standing up here, so far away from him.

"Okay, everyone is here," Andy gushes, red-faced with excitement. "Good luck, guys." I pull a face at him and laugh through my nerves. Good luck? I need more than that.

I turn around to the guys and they all look at me eagerly. The sooner this is over the better. I nod at Erek and he begins to tap his drumsticks for eight beats. We all freeze and feel our audience stir. He does it again and stops. I feel every atom of my love for the stage bubble and turn around face my crowd.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR." We split into the intro of Transvision Vamp's _I Want Your Love_ and a cheer ripples through the garden. I sing the lyrics straight at CJ and I can see him laughing at how appropriate they are. I don't want his money, his car, his friends or _anything,_ I just want his love.

Andy gives us the thumbs up and makes a crude sexual gesture at Meredith. Jesus Christ. CJ waves to me and holds up a finger before heading back into the house. I nod and continue to jump around like a lunatic, soothed by our music.

When he hasn't returned by our third song, I'm starting to get nervous. Has he heard us and run? I glance down at Andy and he shrugs. I wave at Big Dave and he shrugs, too. I turn around to the band and they're equally as clueless. Why the hell doesn't anyone know where he is at his own party?

I lean down to have a drink between songs and Louise creeps across to me with my iPod.

"Ams, it's CJ. He's FaceTiming you."

"What?" I take my iPod from her hand and sigh irritably. This isn't the time for games. I accept his request but I don't see his face. I watch for a moment before I open my mouth to give him a bollocking but I'm struck dumb.

Chrissie's face snarls at me and mouths 'fuck you', and then she turns the camera to show me CJ tied up and blindfolded on his bed—our bed—pants down around his knees and she's riding him like a seaside donkey. I can hear his groans of approval through her taunts.

"You like being tied up, don't you, Cas?"

"Fuck yes. You feel so good."

The iPod drops from my hand and I feel my face drain of all colour. My world collapses in on itself and I am numb, devoid of all compassion and love. I think I feel sick but I don't know. Was this why he really wanted us to play a gig—so I'd be distracted and give him a window to get under Humpty Dumpty? I _was_ a bench warmer. How could he?

"Baby doll?" Andy frowns at me and grabs my iPod from the floor. His eyes widen in alarm and he flies through the crowd. "Amelia?"

"He's fucking Chrissie. Right now." I hear drumsticks and guitars drop and a murmur of gossip ripple through the crowd, then a commotion from within the house. Andy drags CJ out into the garden by his collar and he looks horrified. _Oh, did you not plan on the sado-bitch providing front row seats? Didn't think you'd get caught?_ I turn my back on the crowd and inhale deeply, tears burning the backs of my eyes. "We finish the set."

"Honey bee, we don't have to."

"Yes, we do." Not for him but for our fans. And for me because I won't be beaten down again. I'm stronger than that now. "Louise, pass me my phone, take the gift down to CJ and pull my Porsche round to the front for a quick exit."

"Of course." She ducks down behind me and flies down the garden at full speed, the crowd parting around her like the Red Sea.

"What's our next track?"

" _Meet Me Halfway."_ Meredith shrugs at me apologetically. "We can skip it." I shake my head and type a message to Big Dave. I am in no mood to spare feelings. I wrote that song about one man who ruined me and I have absolutely no qualms about using it to hurt the man who's trying to do the same thing.

"No, we play it just to wound him." I turn around and wave a hand at Big Dave, trying my best to ignore CJ staring at me all pale faced and remorseful, and indicate for him to look at his phone.

Security standby for fast exit. Think Oslo.

Oslo was by far our most aggressive gig and I know that I can trust him to get me out of this situation.

I lean down into the microphone and start to sing the acapella introduction to _Meet Me Halfway_. The guys join in slowly and I hazard one final glance at CJ. This is it, now he knows that he had his dream woman and lost her. He mouths 'I'm so sorry' at me and I have to tear my gaze from his. I don't want to look at him, I want him to hurt like I do.

I sing the rest of our set with my eyes closed until we reach our final song. Big Dave pushes his way through the crowd slowly and stands guard close by. Nodding at him, I pull the microphone off it's stand.

"I was told a few weeks ago that I'd be owed a left nut if we played this song live. So if someone could get my address from our record label and get it mailed to me, I'd really appreciate that." I set my guitar down and nod for the guys to start playing _Weak_ by Skunk Anansie. As I sing the words my mind is plagued by memories of how CJ broke down every defence I had and intruded my heart, his every broken promise and every fear I ever had realised. I wipe tears from my eyes and fall to my knees. Nobody is that perfect—I knew that and I should have trusted my initial judgement.

Retrospect is such a bitch.

Big Dave holds out a hand to help me up and leads me out into the middle of crowd up towards CJ. I turn my back on him, spread my arms out to the crowd and sing skywards until the bridge. I'm right in the middle of everyone and nobody dares to try and take a step too close. My hurt forms an effective barrier to keep everyone away.

And then I turn back to him and stare him dead in the eye, numb and immune to his once soul penetrating stare. Louise crams my car keys into my hand and I sing at him, switching the words to 'I am too much for you'.

I am. So very much too much. I would never do to him what he's just done to me. I wouldn't even think of it.

I drop the microphone at his feet and make for the door. Chrissie steps out in front of me looking smug, with her arms crossed and opens her mouth—to say something bitchy I'm sure. I don't give her chance to breathe before I plunge my left fist into her face, run full speed through the house away from the crescendoing clamour of voices and jump into my car, hand throbbing with pain from the impact.

Ever reliable coping strategy number four: flee like my life depends on it.

# XIX

#

#

I stare out weakly across the open ocean, sticky eyed and both mentally and physically exhausted. I don't know why I came here, maybe because it's the last place anyone would think to look, but there is no food on here and I've been surviving on tap water for twelve days.

I haven't slept. I won't. I close my eyes and I'm haunted by the image of that FaceTime encounter.

I fled from the gig and went straight home to change my clothes. I looked at my bed and knew that I couldn't stay there. Everything reminded me of _him_. I left my phone on the table and my Porsche in the garage, and then I made a dash for New Street Station with nothing but my keys and my wallet. I stared up at that departure board and saw Plymouth. I saw Birmingham International Airport but I didn't have my passport. And then I saw Southampton and felt that key in my pocket...

I've been hallucinating for days. I keep seeing my friends dancing around me on the deck and hearing music and voices. I don't remember the last time I went to the toilet. Maybe I'm dead. I don't know. Do ghosts feel pain? My bones ache from sleeping out on the deck in the dark and damp. I can't be in that bed again but I have enough self-respect not to sleep in a bed that my friends have screwed in. Erek may not be a Lothario but I know what he does at night, too.

I stare down into the water and there's another one of those hallucinations. Andy this time, I think.

"Meredith, I know it's a long shot but you said that about Mackenzie's house. Shut up and think about it logically. We'd never think to look on this boat, would we?"

I roll my eyes at my crazy mind and brush it off. Nobody will come. I don't want them to. I don't want to be found.

"Would you calm down? We'll find her. I... I told you so. Yes, she's here. I'll call you in a minute. Let the guys know." I sing softly to drown out my dementia. "Amelia." There's a hand on my shoulder, but I'm not falling for that again. I feel a hand on my shoulder every day and I always turn to find that there's nobody there.

"Been trying to get my head around the words I had to say..."

"Amelia."

"...to make you step into the darkness with me and meet me halfway ."

"Girl, come on."

I inhale sharply and ignore the insistent hand shaking me. "I can tell you that I love you but it'll never be enough, because you'll never be a lover if you do not have my trust. And I could say what a wonderful man you were today, ignore the words you make me heed, the wax and irons that make me bleed..."

"Meredith, she's completely out of it. She's just singing _Meet Me Halfway_ like she doesn't know I'm here."

"...and I can cry, hoping that my wounds will heal, I'll find a heart to make me feel..."

"You got it, babe."

My singing is cut off by the bizarre feeling of my body floating. I look down and see legs that aren't mine. Maybe this isn't a hallucination after all. I hear leather creak underneath me and a car door slam to my left.

I look at the badge on the steering wheel with a frown. "Audi?"

"It's pronounced 'Andy'." He glances across at me, heavy eyed and pale. He might looks as bad as I do, I don't know, I haven't looked in a mirror.

I resist the urge to tell him that he looks like shit and cross my arms, turning to look out of the window. "Put me back on the boat."

"Yacht, and not a chance. Meredith would have my balls. Put your seatbelt on." I glare straight ahead and ignore him. He can't drive if I'm not wearing it. "Don't make me do it for you." I roll my eyes and fasten my seatbelt sulkily. I didn't want to be found.

I'm harassed by images of iPods and bondage, and being torn apart by my lingering love until I feel myself lifted from the car and carried up some steps. I'm too tired to open my eyes but I swat at Andy weakly, slurring at him to put me down. I feel more leather underneath me and open my eyes to Meredith standing over me. She looks as drawn and heavy eyed as Andy.

"Why did you carry her?"

"There's no food on the yacht, Mer."

"Oh hell." She looks down at me severely and shakes her head. "What the hell were you thinking?"

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Probing me when I'm feeling lower than dirt has never worked before, why would it work now? "I was thinking that I wanted to be left alone." I open one eye and look around. Cream and brick walls spotted with Andy Warhol. Surely they're not that stupid? "Where am I?"

"The loft."

"Oh." I sag back into the couch and pinch my aching temples. Why did part of me hope that I was with _him_? "Good."

Meredith stands up and walks over to Andy—they speak in hushed whispers and it's patronising. _Speak in front of me, I'm not a child_. Andy comes back over and lifts me up again, carrying me down the hallway.

"I don't want to sleep in that bed."

"Who said anything about sleeping?" He kicks open the bathroom door, puts me down in the shower fully clothed and turns the water on. It's so cold at first, chilling me right to bone, and then scalding hot. "Clean yourself up." He storms out and leaves me soaking wet on the floor, and then I hear the loud slam and rattle of my front door. Why is everyone so angry with me? They should be angry with—... No. _Don't say his name._

I pull my clothes off and sit down in the bottom of the shower unit hugging my knees. All of me feels bruised and beaten—I'm barely present in my own body. I pull myself out of the shower after a while and sit myself down on the couch, dripping and naked. The cold leather chills my skin further and I ache even more. My best friend is here but I feel so lonely. I hate this. Why couldn't they have just left me there?

Meredith crouches down in front of me and runs her hands down my arms. Her hands are warm. "You've lost so much weight, Ams. Why didn't you eat?"

"I didn't want to be seen." I tap my fingernail against my teeth and sigh. "Can we go out? This place reminds me of..." I stop and look down at my feet. I won't say his name.

"Sure, let me get you some clothes." She comes back in less than a moment and passes me a towel and pair of jeans and a hoody. They're warm, too, like they've come straight out of the dryer. There again, it's May now, isn't it? Maybe that's it. "If it makes you feel better, he feels like the world's biggest idiot." _Yeah, that's great compensation for my fiancé fucking Humpty Dumpty._

"What about Chrissie?"

She raises an eyebrow and sits next to me as I dry off. "Arrested for breaching eighteen injunctions and charged with sexual assault."

My hands stall. "Sexual assault?" Her face twitches uncertainly. Why would she be charged with sexual assault?

"I think you should hear him out." I scowl and put on my clothes and aviators. He has a better chance of being crowned the King of England.

Twelve days of hunger nags at my stomach, and seeing as I've been forced back into living like a functional human being, preserving my vitality is now top priority. "Feed me, Seymour."

We sit in a far corner of Scruffy Murphy's and I lean my head against the wall to doze behind my mirrored aviators. A feast of fried chicken and pizza has put an end to my feeling like a ghost and it's a struggle to bat away the feelings of being coherent, because with them comes the reality of having to live with my hurt. And also, indigestion.

I'm pulled up from my seat by Levi and Plato and entombed in a _Lynx_ scented camp man hug before I'm lowered back down. Everyone looks so gaunt and lifeless. I can relate.

"We were worried sick, Mimi. Your dad is going spare."

I look over the rims of my aviators in horror. "You called my dad?"

Plato looks at Levi hesitantly and twiddles his fingers. "We called everyone. Your dad, Mackenzie, the record label, even your mother. Your disappearance is all over the news and Internet." For fucks sake, what an over-reaction, wouldn't it have made more sense to check the boat _before_ they freaked everyone out? "Have you seen _RAE_?" From the deck of a boat? Uh...

"No." Levi pulls a magazine from his jacket pocket and puts it down in front of me. _He_ is staring up at me from the cover looking scorned and beautiful behind the headline ' _Chasing Amy'_ . Fucking hilarious. I flip it over and push it away in distaste. "Wonderful. He cheats on me with his ex and then piggy backs off my career." I bet he's laughing his tight, rich arse off beneath a gimp mask.

Meredith growls at me and opens the magazine. " 'The worst moment of my life: The moment I heard that band play, I was utterly heartbroken. It was bad enough losing the one and only love of my life, but then to find out that she was everything I ever dreamed of made the hurt so much worse. Now I understand how much she gave up for me and why she was so scared that I'd leave her after that gig, but I would never. How could I throw away someone so amazing? As soon as we find her, I hope the band will help me find a way to make her hear me out. Amelia, this wasn't what you think. That night, I—' "

I tear the magazine from her hand and throw it down on the floor. "Shut up," I hiss, "I don't want to hear his feeble excuses." And I certainly don't want to hear how he's made money from them. Andy walks in, sits down opposite me and pushes over a glass of whiskey. What is this, an apology? "Why did you bail, Andy? Why are you so pissed at me?"

He raises an eyebrow at me and glances sideways at Meredith. "Because you're loved by so many people and you just vanished off the face of the planet. You could have gone to a hotel and called us so we knew you were safe until you were ready to come home—we would have covered for you. But instead you spent the best part of two weeks on a boat and starved yourself. Do you have any idea how selfish that was?" I'm glad that I'm wearing mirrored aviators so he can't see the guilt in my eyes. They should know better than to worry about me like this.

"I was fine."

"You're a mess, Amelia. Lose the stage face and admit that you're hurting."

Meredith leans across the table and takes my hand gently, trying to soften the blow of being scowled by her bitch. "Our label wants us to record _Weak_ as an official cover version and do a video for it. Are you in?"

I take my aviators off and blink at her. She should know only too well that I'm a sucker for a video shoot. "Are they set on a theme?"

Meredith looks up at Levi and Plato nervously. "They want to base it around you and C—"

I raise a hand to stop her speaking the next syllable. "I'll do it. I know how I want it to look."

She raises an eyebrow at me right as her phone starts ringing. She peers down at the screen and trades anxious glances with the guys before she answers. "Hey, bitch. Yeah, Andy found her on the yacht. Not good, not good at all. I _have_ tried but..." She looks up at me warily and lowers her eyes to my hands. I curl them into fists and tuck them away under the table. I know what she's looking at, and unlike some, I don't break promises. "Yes. We're in Scruffy's but I don't think— You really need to— Stop interrupting me, arsehole. She needs space." I look at Plato and Levi and they're both clearly bricking it. "Yeah, she wants to do it. No, I... I'll see you later and tell you." She puts her phone down on the table and sucks her bottom lip, gauging my reaction. 'See you later'. That means they're still talking to him like nothing happened. "Ams?"

"Have you all spent the last two weeks hanging out with him like he never had his dick inside another woman?" Everyone shuffles uncomfortably in their seats, and so they should.

"It was hardly 'hanging out', baby doll. You were missing and we were trying to find you."

"But you've been eating, drinking and listening to music together? Just one dishonest bastard getting cosy with his favourite band?"

She looks at me, mouth agape and stammers. She looks half guilty, but not really. She enjoys his company and values his friendship more than she respects my feelings and her twenty-three year loyalty.

"This is low, even for you, Mer. Our friendship no longer exists beyond being in the same band. That goes for all of you." I push myself up from the table feeling deeply betrayed and scan the room, examining the men for an acceptable specimen.

"What are you doing, Mimi?"

"Coping strategy number one." I'm met by a roar of protests and I couldn't give less of a damn. "Fuck off." There's a sweet looking skater boy at the bar, badly dyed blue-black hair, slogan t-shirt and baggy jeans. There's a fair chance he's in here drinking underage, but he'll do. I tap him on the shoulder and he gapes up at me like all of his Christmases just came at once. "Ever fucked a heartbroken rockstar on the rebound?"

"Uh, no."

"Attached?" He shakes his head silently. I look at him for moment and narrow my eyes. "Virgin?"

He laughs and raises an eyebrow at me. "Puh-lease, what kind of a loser is still a virgin at nineteen?" I return his raised eyebrow and smirk before I lead him from the bar by the elbow. Nineteen and keen on satire, that'll do me nicely. "Sorry, that was—"

"Dead on. He's a fucking loser. Come with me." I reach the door and my path is obstructed by two people walking in: Erek and _him_. I glare over my aviators shoot Erek the daggers before I find myself tugged into an eye-lock with two familiar celadon irises. He reaches up to touch my face and I shove past him to make my exit with my new plaything. Now I _definitely_ need a coping strategy.

I drag the skater through my loft and throw him down on my bed. He looks as pleased as punch and I don't like it. I don't even really like him. The little squirt spent the whole walk over here trying to make idle chit-chat, which I hate at the best of times.

"Stop smiling." I pull off my hoody and jeans and grab a condom from a drawer next to my wardrobe, throwing it at him. I tap my foot impatiently as he fumbles with his zipper and roll my eyes at his less than impressive size. That's going to take a lot of work on my part. In fact, I'm hardly sure that it's worth it.

I climb on top of him and pin his hands above his head with one of mine, and pull the fabric of my underwear to one side. "Don't look at me, don't touch me unless I tell you to, and don't talk to me. Are we clear?" He nods at me and grins, childlike and excited. I sigh and shake my head, guiding him into me slowly. It's not the same as... As with _him_ but it provides a small amount of relief for being the good old emotionless sex I can rely on. Small being the operative word.

I look down at him briefly and he winces. _You have got to be kidding me. "_ Did you just—"

"Sorry, I kind of got swept up in the moment. I'll be good to go again in—"

I stand up, completely disgusted, and pull him off my bed by the collar.

"Get the fuck out of my loft." I growl skywards and lash out with a punch on my wardrobe. Stupid idea. Nothing about that was worth it. All I wanted was a half-decent fucking and all I ended up with was a bent ear and some stupid kid about to go and tell all his friends he banged me and gave me the time of my life.

I'm beyond irritated when my phone rings. "What?"

"Baby doll." Ugh.

"Judas."

"Don't call me that. We're booked into the recording studio tomorrow morning then we start filming the video straight afterwards. Thought you'd want to know." Fast turnaround on our label's part. I like that.

"Great. Bye."

"Wait! Did you fuck the guy from the bar?"

"Barely. He unloaded as soon as he was inside me." I can hear her stifling her laughter, probably because _he_ is with her. Wonderful how my lifelong friend will spare his feelings but not mine.

" _Come back to the pub. You know you can't stay mad at me."_ Yes, I can. She encouraged me to lower my defences, she urged me to let him in, and she promised to cave his head in if he hurt me. But now she's sharing a cosy drink with him. " _We wouldn't be talking to him if he thought he was to blame, Ams."_

"He was fucking his psycho ex!" I can barely contain my rage. "He had to have a lob on to achieve that and he told her that she felt 'so good'. How can you honestly expect me to get past seeing something like that?"

" _He thought it was you."_ That has to be, by far, the most pathetic excuse that she could have presented on his behalf.

I scoff and roll my eyes, knowing that she can't see my expression but she should know me well enough to know how I'm reacting. "I'll see you at the studio tomorrow." I toss my phone down on my bed and bury my head in my hands. Why is everyone defending him? I told them all that he'd ruin me and they all said I was being stupid. They should be apologising to me and providing comfort and moral support, not calling me selfish and pushing me to talk to him. I am not the one in the wrong here.

I look at myself in a full length mirror hanging on my wall and scowl. I'm pale and skinny, I look frail but I'm carrying weight in all the wrong places. My eyes don't shine like they did two weeks ago. I'm not the sexiest woman of rock anymore—I'm a husk, just like I was eight years ago.

It's 4pm. I stare at my phone thoughtfully and make an unexpected phone call. "Dad."

" _Baby bear! I'm so glad to hear your voice. Where did you go?"_ He sounds completely exhausted but there's that pumping again in the background.

"Southampton. Are you in the gym?"

" _Sure am. The endorphins keep me young."_ I doubt that. The man has looked exactly the same for twenty years and doesn't seem to age. I'm hoping that it's hereditary.

I glance back at my reflection and run my tongue over my teeth. This could be interesting. "Can I come down?" I think my dad drops his phone, because there's a loud crash.

" _Sorry, baby bear, you took me by surprise. Of course you can come down, I haven't seen you in an age."_ I hang up and sneer at my reflection. That's quite enough of flaky Amelia Marsh. I will not be ruined.

I drive out to a gym in Aston via a sports store and spy my dad mindlessly jogging away on a treadmill. He's the same as ever; tied back blonde hair the same shade as mine, slate grey eyes and a classic ripped off Elvis sneer, but he's gotten lean and muscular. Not bad for a fifty-something glam rocker.

I sign in as his visitor and head into a surprisingly open changing room. Amelia Marsh in sportswear, this is a first. When dressed, I march over to his treadmill and lean on it casually.

He nods to me uncaringly in his arrogant 'I'm too famous to talk to you' way. "Hey." Then he blinks in shock and slows his pace. "Holy shit, I didn't recognise you for a minute."

I look down at my lycra clad body and my tattoo covered limbs and raise an eyebrow. "What gave me away?" He passes me a hair band from around his wrist as I limb onto the machine next to him and get my active on. Running feels good. I feel free. I can sort of understand why he always seems to be in here because this is nothing like an aimless sprint around the city in tight shorts.

Dad reaches over and turns down the speed on my console, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Don't notch it up so fast, you'll do yourself an injury. You can't run away from your problems in here, you know. God knows I've tried." I grimace at him apologetically. He also looks exhausted and weary. It wouldn't kill these people to develop a little hardened apathy but he's my dad so I'll forgive him.

"I'm sorry that I worried you."

"No sweat, baby bear, I knew you'd be fine. You're tough."

We both jog in silence for a while until something wonderful catches my eye. A finely muscular man in a gym uniform meanders through the room and winks at me as he walks. His sports vest and shorts show that he's impeccably toned and his piercing blue eyes are heaven sent. His hair is jet black and short, gelled back into spikes; he's extremely 'normal' but I could still do him some serious damage. I make a solemn promise to myself to not make the same mistakes I did last time I though that.

"Mmm, god damn."

My dad looks sideways at me and laughs, following my line of sight. "That's Jason, my personal trainer. He's married."

I scoff and cast him a cheeky grin. "So?"

" _Happily_ married." Ah, well, that puts the kibosh on that idea.

"Bugger. A girl can take a man like that to bed in her mind though." I stick my tongue out crudely and wiggle my eyebrows.

"I imagine half the women of Birmingham have done the same thing, baby bear. But you have a pretty fine looking man of your own gagging to win you back." Ugh, here we go. Daddy-daughter pep talk time. "I met him, you know. He looked like he was dying inside. Too cut up to be starstruck." My heart bleeds. Wait, no it doesn't.

"Fucking diddums. He shouldn't have been screwing his ex while I was outside singing my heart out for him and have her treat me to the whole show."

Dad sighs and shakes his head at me. "The girl is madder than a bag of frogs, Amelia. She sneaked up behind him in the bathroom wearing a blonde wig and blindfolded him. He thought she was you." There's that steaming pile of bullshit again. He's got everyone finely tuned in the key of crap.

"That's pathetic, Dad. She's twice the size of me. He'd have known that when he felt the weight of her."

"So no hope for him then?" I roll my eyes and increase the speed of the treadmill against his recommendations.

"No."

"So why are you still wearing your engagement ring?" I glance down at my hand momentarily and keep my lips firmly buttoned. "Please talk to him, baby bear. It's a request, not an order. I never asked you to talk to Lucien because he was wrong for you, but C—"

I hold up my hand and shake my head. "Don't say his name unless you want to break me."

He wrinkles his nose at me and hits the cool down button on his treadmill. "He's a good guy. He just fucked up. He's forgiven you plenty of times." I don't think being a bitch and telling him to get off my bus is the same somehow.

"I never cheated on him."

"Have you had sex with anyone while you've been wearing that ring?" I feel my face heat and my mouth twitch. I'm not sure that it really qualified as sex. "Then aren't you as bad as him?" Dad slings a towel over his shoulder and wipes the dripping sweat from his brow. "I'm beat, baby bear. Will you come down again?" Only Bobby Marsh can get away with being mercurial enough to unleash a bollocking and then follow it with an endearment and request for more quality time.

I nod reluctantly and give him my 'don't hate me' look. "I'll come down after we've done the video tomorrow. I don't know how long it'll take."

"Just drop me a text. Laters!"

I scowl at him because he was supposed to make me feel better not worse. I scowl because he's supposed to be on my side. I scowl at him because he's right—I'm as immoral as _him_ because I took that kid home with me while I was wearing this ring, and I'm still wearing this ring because I can't let go. But I still don't see how I can be expected to forgive him. Being told he thought that whore was me is just rubbing salt into the wounds. He can't possibly be _that_ stupid. He probab—

Hello, what's this disturbing my inner monologue? Mr. Blue Eyed and Happily Married standing in front of my treadmill with a grin.

"Bobby's daughter, right? Nice to see you here, I'm—"

"Jason. I know. My dad told me when I was mentally undressing you." An impish smile plays on his eyes. He may be married but what man doesn't like a little flirting?

"Your stamina is pretty good."

"Oh baby, you don't know the half of it." Our eyes are locked and all my misery is ebbing away as my arousal grows. I glance down quickly at his shorts. I bet he's hung like a buffalo. Skater nerd might have been a non-starter but Mr. Personal Trainer...

"I don't suppose I could interest you in becoming a member here? Open access, a designated personal trainer—me, an initial fitness consultation and additional..." He looks me up and down and purses his lips, "...benefits."

I trap my tongue between my teeth, with what I believe to be a fairly accurate assumption of what his 'benefits' might be firmly lodged in my brain. "I daresay you could, Jason." I hit the cool down button and smirk at him. I don't even need to put on my stage face, this guy has my complete attention. "I presume this involves paperwork."

"Lots. Step into my office." I raise an eyebrow as he leads me into a small consultation room just off the gym floor and flips the sign to 'occupied'. He sits down in a cheap office swivel chair and pushes a form across the desk to me. "Just fill that in and we can discuss what you hope to achieve from your time here." _An orgasm with any luck_. His eyes wander across my body and settle on my left hand. "Engaged?"

"Not anymore. Married?"

"Seven year itch."

And with that I'm suddenly lying across the desk on top of scattered paper work with his mouth on mine and his hands tugging at my lower garments. His kiss is aggressive and uncaring, but teeming with lust. When I'm stripped bare from the waist down, he pulls a condom from the drawer underneath me. Odd, for a 'happily married' man to keep protection in his work place.

He sheaths himself quickly and rams himself into me, keeping his mouth on mine to muffle my moans. Every cell of my body shudders and swells with relief and satisfaction as he bores into me like a pneumatic drill. He's the perfect fit for my body and already committed to another so there's no threat of intimacy. I feel no fear by his lips being on mine—that is a hurdle well and truly jumped. There's just dirty, selfish fucking.

I wrench my face from his and grip the sides of the desk as I reach my climax and sigh contentedly. Now that is how I like my coping strategies, rough and straight to the point. Jason stands up and pulls his shorts back up around his waist with a wink.

"You look like you needed that." He passes me back my clothes and helps me down from the desk. My legs are rubbery and my brain swimming with lovely, distracting endorphins. He has no idea just how badly I needed it. There again, if he reads magazines and internet articles like anyone else, he probably does.

"Additional benefits?"

"Exclusively extended to you, Miss..." He smirks and glances down at my half-completed membership form. Coy. "Amelia Marsh. Very nice. Come in whenever you want, I'm here most of the time. I love my job." I stoop down to complete the form and hand it back to him with a trace of a smile on my face.

"Consider yourself hired."

I glance down at my left hand as I drive home and roll my eyes. My dad's words are echoing in my mind— _"Aren't you as bad as him?"_ No, I just screwed my dad's married personal trainer; I'm probably as bad as Chrissie. I shake off the thought and head straight to the shower to wash away my sins. There again, I am quite fond of my sins.

# XX

#

#

I lean over the desk, thoroughly satisfied, and pull my phone from the pocket of my gym bag. Jason stares down at me complacently and ties a knot in the end of a condom with an expressionless sigh. The man couldn't care less whether I came or how many times, or that he has a wife sitting at home wondering what time he'll be home tonight. As long as he got his end away. I love his reckless attitude, he's like the male version of me—or the me I used to be— living life between quick fucks and counting down the moments between orgasms.

There are a few texts from Meredith.

08:45: Booked in at 11am. We'll be in Wetherspoons for breakfast at 10am if you fancy it.

10:30: Okay, I get it. We're in the dog house. Please don't be late.

10:45: We're already here. How far away are you?

I roll my eyes and look at the clock on my home screen. 10:50am.

"Shit!" I spring up and drag my shorts back up around my waist, and for some reason I'm laughing. "I'm in so much trouble."

Jason raises an eyebrow at me and passes me my bag. "Late for something?"

"We're recording _Weak_ and doing the video today." I lift my arm up and sniff my armpits. Oh good god, I smell like sweat and mischief and I don't have time for a shower.

"You'll be back tonight though, right? Your dad comes in every day at 3pm and stays until 8pm." Jesus, Dad is hardcore.

"Just try and stop me. " He couldn't if he tried. I'm quite keen on his new brand of exercise.

I jump into my car at 10:55am and my phone rings urgently. I wheel spin out of the car park and hold my phone between my ear and shoulder. "Meredith, I am so sorry, I'm driving now."

"I set your phone's clock to be ten minutes fast two years ago, baby doll, I was just checking that you were going to turn up." Devious bitch.

"Of course I'm coming, I'm just a little behind schedule." I hang up before she can inquire and make a hasty journey to the recording studio. Luck is on my side. There are no red lights to slow me down, traffic is somewhat lighter than usual and there's ample parking. Jesus, I am on _fire_ today.

I thunder in through the door and throw my bag down next to a rubber plant, completely disregarding any kind of over-swing, and knock it sideways. "I am so—" I raise an eyebrow and stop in my tracks because everyone is looking at me.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

I scowl at Plato and straighten out my shorts. "It's a gym kit." I wouldn't expect him to know that with the size of his beer gut.

"You smell like sex and shame." I narrow my eyes and slump down on a red couch next to the plant. It certainly isn't shame, I can tell him that much.

"Exercise has the same chemical effect as sex, you should know that by now."

"Yes, but it doesn't smell of semen." I suppress a smile and pull out my phone so I don't have to spare any attention on the traitors, every single one of them more than well acquainted with the smell of semen—some more than others.

Meredith rolls her eyes at me and lifts her bass over her shoulders. "This isn't going to go away with an hour on the exercise bikes and a dodgy leg over in the sauna, Amelia." _You reckon?_ I stand up and push past her into the recording booth. She is not going to tear me down. I'm the old Amelia again, and I like it.

I'm just about ready to drop when we leave the studio at 4pm and head out to shoot the video in a shelled out warehouse which is big enough for us to park inside. There's a huge stage set out, surrounded with lighting I think is decorative.

The director of our past five videos, Monica, rushes over to me, completely bypassing the rest of the band. "Amelia, I'm so glad you agreed to this. We can make this one of two things: a stab at his heart or a plea for his love." Wow, straight down to business. I like that.

I snort at her and wave to Louise, who regards me with a half-smile that says that she would love to be on my side but she's been overpowered. "A stab, obviously. Plea for love indeed. I want him to see exactly what went through my mind when I got that FaceTime request."

Monica grins at me warmly and leads me through to a dressing room. I can't help but get the feeling that she's going to get some sort of kick out of this. "I knew you'd say that. I found YouTube footage of your tour bus performance, your backstage breakdown in London, the Plymouth gig and Nancy's footage of your interview with Chase and the birthday party. Can I assume this is a 'life flashing before your eyes' type of affair?" I frown at her wearily as the other guys file into the dressing room next to me and are descended on by stylists and makeup artists. She pretty much hit the nail on the head, which is a little disconcerting. "I've been there myself, Amelia, so I don't blame you for hating him." Ah, finally, someone on _my_ side. That makes me warm up to her perceptiveness considerably.

She rubs her hands together gleefully and nods in approval. "Write me a list of prominent memories in chronological order. We'll get a full run of you all playing on stage and then we'll start recreating them. I've already hired his doppelganger." A tall cute, chestnut haired emo boy waves at me from the other end of the dressing room and seeing the uncanny resemblance, it suddenly dawns on me that this video is going to be a lot harder for me to make than it's going to be for _him_ to watch.

During our three hours in the dressing room, I drink too much coffee, read too many articles about my disappearance, write and rewrite my list five times and hear too many hushed conversations about _him_. We're just about set to start shooting the video when Louise taps my shoulder nervously, my phone in her hand. Oh jeez, I remember what happened last time she looked at me like that.

"It's been ringing for a while but I don't know the number. I didn't want to answer it myself."

I wrinkle my nose and answer the call cautiously. "Hello?"

" _Aren't you coming?"_ Not right this minute. Oh, it's Jason. Wait...

"We're only just about to start shooting. How do you have my number?" I secretly question whether phone calls to absent clients are a routine duty for personal trainers.

" _Your membership form. I was looking forward to your private training 'session' tonight."_ I trap my tongue between my teeth and turn away with a smirk from the critical and confused looks of my band mates. Jason is certainly keen, very keen. I'd be worried if he wasn't married. I must just be a great lay. Who am I kidding, of course I am.

"So was I, but I'll make a point of coming in tomorrow morning."

I hear him suck his lip and cluck his tongue. " _All right, I suppose I_ _do_ _have a wife at home. See you in the morning, vixen."_ Vixen? Yep, okay, I like that.

I laugh in disbelief and turn around to find myself confronted with contempt and fury. "What?" Meredith takes my phone from me and sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. I'm not seeing how she could find anything wrong with the situation having only heard my side of the phone call.

"You've met someone else already. It's over, just like that." I snatch my phone back and scoff. How is it 'just like that'? The termination of our relationship is not a revelation for her, or at least it shouldn't be.

"It was over when he fucked someone else, Meredith." Stomping out of the dressing room, I clamber up on stage and raise an eyebrow at Monica. "Do you need these guys beyond the band shoot?" She pulls a face at me and shakes her head. "Great, so get on this stage, play, then tell them to fuck off and I'll see them at Download."

I see Levi roll his eyes at me and wander off back to the dressing room, phone in hand as Erek, Plato and Meredith clamber up next to me reluctantly. I should really consider a solo career.

My eyes are fully drooping when we're finally shot from all angles and almost done for the night. There have been broken strings, snapped drumsticks, missed riffs, and I can't help but feel like they're doing this intentionally to piss me off and prolong the experience.

I sit down on the edge of the stage and let my chin drop to my chest, yawning at Monica when she walks over and rubs my arm sympathetically. Maybe hitting the gym early on a hangover after bugger all sleep and no breakfast wasn't one of my smartest ideas.

"While you look so exhausted and complacent, can we get some shots of you holding your iPod? I have a plan, don't worry." I nod begrudgingly as Louise passes me my iPod and smiles awkwardly. I haven't seen this since... since that night. I wilt at the weight of it in my hand and find myself plagued with all those memories I have to recreate tomorrow. I'm going to lose the edge I've only just reacquainted with—these bastards are dragging me down and refusing to let me heal.

"I see your pain, Amelia, roll with it, please." Monica waves to the cameramen and I hear our music play in the background. And then I hear something that really wounds me. _His_ voice.

"Meredith, please, this is killing me."

"I know, I'm really sorry but she's shutting us all out. She doesn't want us to be around when she finishes the video tomorrow."

"But—"

"I know, CJ. But please don't write her off yet."

"As if. I love her. Please tell her that. Please tell that despicably beautiful and famous woman that I love her."

Levi nods his head toward me and cringes. "You're on speakerphone and by the looks of her, I'd say she heard."

I drop my iPod and rub my temples as tears start to flow for the first time in thirteen days. No, I don't want to cry over him. If I cry, then I'll have to admit that I feel more than hate. I'll have to admit that I still love him and that if he pushes me hard enough, I'll forgive him.

Monica waves Meredith away when she runs over to comfort me and stares at me with rigid determination.

"We can use this."

Meredith curls a lip at her in disgust and marches up to me, pulling my head onto her shoulder. God, she's right. She's my best friend and I can't stay mad at her. I cling onto her, needing her comfort. It hurts so fucking bad...

"Don't try to monopolise her sadness. You still get your money at the end of this either way, don't you?" She lifts my head up and sighs at me. "You still love him, I know you do."

I roll my eyes at her and wipe away the streams of running mascara from my cheeks. How could I not when he so relentlessly tore me apart and left me unguarded? "Of course I do. But regardless of the circumstances, he still slept with someone else while he was mine."

"He's _still_ yours and you're screwing someone aren't you?" I look down guiltily and flare my nostrils. He might be mine, but I'm certainly not his. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

"No. No, I'm not." I don't know why I have this compulsion to lie about it. "I need to go home, I'm exhausted."

"You can't drive yourself, Ams, you'll fall asleep at the wheel. Come back to my place with the guys. Stop hating us for wanting you to be happy."

Mer pulls me up by the hands and leads me to a familiar looking Audi, guiding me into the front seat. "Andy's car is the only one big enough for the five of us," she explains. "I knew you'd be coming back with us tonight." I nod sleepily and pull my phone from my pocket to text Jason, choosing to ignore the fact that I'm being completely manipulated. There's no way I'm going to have the time or energy for a 'session' tomorrow.

Can't do tomorrow morning. Sorry.

"Who are you texting?"

"Personal trainer. He works with my dad, too." Not lying this time.

Plato raises an eyebrow as he, Levi and Erek cram into the back, and strokes the back of my hair. "Cute?"

"Rugged."

"Straight?"

I look over my shoulder and tut. "Married. _Happily_ married." That shuts them up. That one word should enforce the 'hands off' rule, but it doesn't. Not if you're me.

I fall into an old familiar dream of _his_ lips on mine, kissing me hard and furiously, holding my face steady. I can feel his tears on my cheeks and hear his sobs between the breaks in our kiss. I fall into him and reciprocate, even though it stabs at my heart and leaves me empty.

"I'm so sorry."

Daylight wakes me. I sit up and run my fingers across my lips. That dream always changes but feels the same every time. It's always like an epiphany or a cry out to my soul to set me straight.

Meredith throws a screwed up ball of paper at me, alerting me to the presence of my band mates and Andy. I look up at her for a moment and blink myself to my senses. It was just a dream.

"What's up, baby doll?" I shake my head and look at my phone. There's a text message from Jason—of course there is. I really wanted a healthy dose of guilt with my morning confusion.

Shame, it's my night off. Tomorrow?

I throw my phone down next to me and comb my fingers into my hair, resting my head against my forearms. I could have really done with my coping strategy tonight.

"I repeat, what's up?"

I suck my bottom lip and shrug at Meredith. "It's stupid." It _is_ stupid. It's just another dream, though maybe I could classify it as a nightmare now.

"Try us."

"I keep having dreams that he's kissing me." Everyone stops in their tracks for a moment before looking at Meredith. She fixes her eyes on me and takes a sip of coffee. I can see something calculating flicker in her eyes. It's that look of guilt again, the one they used to trade.

"For how long?"

"Since London." She drops a slice of toast mid-bite and looks at me, eyes wide. "Meredith?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." It's very obviously _something_. The only other time I've seen that look on her face is when she couldn't keep her mouth shut over my surprise party for my twelfth birthday.

Andy huffs and rolls his eyes at her in irritation. What the hell is going on? "Just fucking tell her, Mer."

"Tell me what?" She shoots the daggers at him and wipes her fingers on her shirt, quite clearly steeling herself for an adverse reaction.

"When you had that string of panic attacks in London, he kissed you. When he felt like he was losing you, he would kiss you while you slept. He was here last night and kissed you. You kiss him back every time. That's why he told Nancy that he had everything he needed of you, and that's why he had sex with you. If I'd known for one minute that you were aware of it, I would have told him to stop."

I raise a shaking hand back to my lips and struggle to absorb this new information. It's a major breech of my trust but it always soothed me and kept me by his side. I want to be angry with him and I want to be angry with Meredith for not stopping it, but part of me is glad that he didn't. That feeling of his lips on mine, I need that. I need him. I hate that I need him.

I look up at Meredith numbly. "He was here and he didn't wake me?"

"He just wanted to kiss you, Ams, in case he never gets the chance again." I heave a wrenched sob and laugh, rubbing my hands together. He knows, deep down in his heart, that it's over and he knows that this is irreparable. If he can accept that, then so can I. I have to.

"Well, now he's got it out of his system, he doesn't need to do it again."

I'm met with a flurry of flying objects and protesting groans. "You're not fooling anyone, Amelia."

Monica jigs at me excitedly as we walk in and my eyes widen at her weirdness. The warehouse has been split into several sets, the tour bus is here and there's something big and square covered with a sheet in the corner. Hmm, not keen on surprises.

"I have something so fun for you later but I want to go through all the memories in order, okay?" I roll my eyes at Meredith and get dragged off to the dressing room to run through the list of sets. Monica has everything covered—there's a mini set for every single monumental event I wrote down, some of them almost look like direct replicas. Each shot is only going to be a couple of seconds long but she's really pulled out all the stops. It would have been far easier to do a location shoot. What's the rush to get this video finished?

And then I turn around and see something horrifying. The Mercedes. "Please tell me he isn't here."

"He isn't here." Monica shrugs and smiles at me, putting an instant end to my suspicion. She is on my side, after all.

I struggle to stay straight faced through all the 'intimate' scenes with the actor. Everyone is in hysterics when I have to fake shock, surprise, and most of all when I'm faking orgasms on various sets. I'm a terrible actress—most of our other videos have just involved smashing stuff and live performances—and I'm feeling both nostalgic and disgusted by how many of my memories of him involve sex. Weren't we more than that?

We work through all the defining moments that led up to that birthday party at a crippling pace but my day is lightened when the sheet is pulled off that big square object in the corner: a giant tank of pale green water.

"You want me to do an underwater shoot!" I dance around on the spot with glee. I've always wanted to do an underwater shoot and she knows it.

"I figured 'drowning in his eyes', you know. We'll get some stills in there, too, for the single cover." I squeal at Monica and run to the dressing room to get made up with waterproof make-up. I'm absolutely elated and wish she'd told me earlier so I could have forced her to have the whole bloody video underwater.

I pause at the doorway and gape at a huge bouquet of roses. They're stunning, huge blooms and all a vivid blood red. I can guarantee that these aren't from my dad, though if they are, we need to talk about his inappropriate feelings for me.

Mer pulls a card from the stems and reads the message to me. " 'A rose for every day I've known you. You don't need to shoot a music video to show me how much I hurt you. I already know. I love you, Amelia'." She wrinkles her nose and passes me the card. "I have no idea why it says 'not Amy' in brackets but I think this is a pretty clear apology bouquet." Of course, because all acts of infidelity can be redeemed with flowers. I'll be sure to let Jason know. I roll my eyes at the card and stifle a laugh, denying to myself that there's a lump in my throat, tossing it down to wriggle into some bizarre PVC bikini with black and green organza strips trailing out. Okay, whatever makes me look good underwater.

Meredith stands over me while I'm set up with a fresh coat of war paint and crosses her arms. "Please talk to him. It's a request, not an order." I scoff at her, I've heard that before.

"My dad said the same thing." I roll my eyes, which are now weighed down with ghastly looking fake eyelashes. I'm going to get nagged until I cave, aren't I? "All right, I'll hear him out. But I'm not promising that I'll jump back into his arms and we'll ride off into the sunset for a happily ever after fairy tale ending."

I don't know why the hell I just agreed to that. Part of me is saying 'it'll take more than a bunch of roses to win me over' and the other is saying 'you remember how good those hands felt on your skin'. Even my mind is betraying me now. Maybe they'll all back off now at least.

"Okay, we want a dramatic fall backwards and a dramatic immersion. I can't stress enough that it needs to be—"

"Dramatic. Yes, okay, I get the dramatic point." If she said it once, she said it a million times. _Dramatic. Got it._

Monica fleers at me and waves a hand. "When you're ready." I lean back off a platform above the tank of water arms outstretched and make a tremendous splash when I hit the surface. I look through the glass and get the thumbs up to resurface. I do so with a Hollywood style head thrown back gasp and look down at her smugly. She should have known me and drama are keen bed fellows and that I could produce that shot in one take.

"Dramatic enough?"

"Nobody likes a smart arse, Amelia. Okay, let's get you singing the bridge underwater. Give her the oxygen."

I shake my head and blow a raspberry. "I don't need oxygen. Oxygen is for pussies. I can hold my breath for a fucking long time, just ask C—" I bite my lip and wrinkle my nose. I nearly shot myself in the foot there. "I can hold my breath."

"Fine," Monica scowls, "duck under and give me the thumbs up when you can hear the music." I nod and submerge myself in the pleasantly warm water. It feels safe and womblike in here. It's a comfortable solitude like being in my own bubble, and even though everyone can see me, they can't reach me. I wonder if they'd let me take this home.

I hear the music playing surprisingly clearly and give her the thumbs up with a grin before I come up for air. This is so awesome.

"Okay, go back down, give us the thumbs up when you're ready to sing and we'll start the music. Don't push yourself, come up for air when you need to."

I clear the bridge in two takes and get a nice couple of twirls and poses for stills before I'm unwillingly dragged from the water. I could have stayed in there all day. Meredith wraps me in a towel as I peel off my eyelashes and stick them to Erek's forehead. We walk over to a monitor and start to watch my underwater antics while Louise twists my hair up into a clip and covers me in a large fluffy robe. I turn around to grab a bottle of water, feeling like a big shot, and collide with a camera.

"Jeez, sorry. Wait, are you filming me?"

"Urm..." The camera man stutters and shrugs at me flippantly. "Backstage footage."

"Oh." I lean back to the monitor and squint. "Good god, I look magnificent." There's a general ripple of laughter around me and then a voice. _His_ voice. I hate that it feels so good to hear it again in person. I've missed it so much.

"You always look good, Amelia. Rain or shine, wet or dry, bent over the bonnet of my Mercedes or in the midst of a panic attack. Always sexy." My grip tightens around my bottle of water and I close my eyes. That's why the camera is here. They want a reaction shot and he's made it so much harder by remembering something I said two weeks ago, word for word. He really paid attention.

I slowly turn around and look at him the way I did in the university library. I start with his feet, move up slowly, I reach his chest and all the light from the room fades. _Don't do this, don't have a panic attack. Don't let him affect you. Don't let him see that he affects you_. I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to his face. I hold his gaze for a moment before I feel myself subconsciously pulled towards him.

I take a step back and shake my head. "I can't do this." I look at Meredith apologetically and shrug. It's just too much. "I'm sorry, I just can't let him hurt me again."

"I won't." He steps towards me and his fingers brush against my hand. And now I'm right back to square one, just like I was in that dressing room in Manchester when he first touched me. His skin on mine dizzies me and I don't know whether to throw myself at him or roll with coping strategy number four again.

"Please, Ams. You said you'd talk you him." _I didn't mean_ now _!_ "We have to hang around while they edit this footage; this is neutral territory."

I pull my robe cord tight around me and sigh. I've been rail-roaded. "All right, let me get dressed." I raise my hands as he steps towards me and shake my head severely. "Alone. I haven't forgiven you, not by a long shot."

I sit down on one of the chairs in the pub set surrounded by the band and try to resist looking at _him_. My playsuit clings to me and he can see the effect of every ounce I've lost in the past two weeks, and I'm glad. I want him to see how bad he is for me.

My fingers drum across the table impatiently and I wait for him to speak but he doesn't. I refuse to sit here and hang on with the rest of his captive audience.

"Come on. Spit out whatever you think is going to excuse you for screwing Chrissie while I was in your garden singing for your birthday." Meredith frowns and shakes her head at me, trying to encourage me to loosen the grip on my hostility. Obviously I don't.

"I only ran in to use the bathroom," he gushes. "I broke the seal about an hour before you started so I was already backwards and forwards. I was drunk—really drunk. I was preparing myself to lose you after everything you said at lunch."

"So this is my fault?"

A roar of protest rises from five mouths. "No way. I was washing my hands when I saw a blonde reflection behind me. I was blindfolded and dragged out of the bathroom. I heard The Bystander Effect. I thought it was you blindfolding me to surprise me with how they looked. But then I was pulled into the bedroom and tied up. I honestly thought it was you."

I look down at the table blankly for a moment and sigh. There's no mistaking that he sounds tortured and genuine, but I can't forgive mind-numbing stupidity. "Okay, first off, you know my feelings on bondage. Secondly, Chrissie is twice the size of me. Thirdly, I have never called you 'Cas'."

I catch sight of him looking up at me in alarm and shaking his head. "How do you know she said that?" I look around at the guys and they're all avoiding eye contact with me. My god, they haven't told him.

"She FaceTimed me from your iPod. 'You like being tied up, don't you, Cas? Fuck yes, you feel so good.' I saw the whole thing. How am I ever supposed to get my head around something like that?" I see a small drop of water hit the table and I realise that he's crying for me. My breath catches for a moment before the bitch inside me stamps her feet. _Good. I hope he cries a lot_ . Maybe he'll understand why I can't look at him now.

"I am so sorry. I was so mad when Andy took that blindfold off. I would have killed her if he hadn't been there. She's still got a bruise from you though. She needed stitches."

"Good." I hope she has a scar to remember me by, too. God knows she's left plenty on me, you just can't see them.

I raise my head when I hear a whistle and see Monica wave at us with one hand, the other pointing to a large, white projector screen above her head. Our video starts to play and I feel Meredith's hand creep onto my shoulder

The video is a perfect show of us performing in the warehouse intertwined with clips of me watching the videos of my memories on my iPod and swimming in the water. Every memory I have—our coffee in McDonalds, finding out he didn't know who we are, our backstage encounters, his proposal—everything is there.

And then there's footage I've never seen before, Blair Witch type footage of Nancy chasing Andy through the house and bursting in on that bedroom abomination. _He_ screams at Chrissie in horror and lunges at her before running out to see me standing at my microphone utterly broken. Then the bridge switches between the water and me screaming my words in his face before running away and punching Humpty Dumpty in the face. I look so soulless and cruel.

The outro is the footage of me standing at the monitor scared to look at him and then I plunge backwards into that green water. I'm biting my lip so hard that it hurts when the show ends and we sit in a deathly silence.

"I'd like to see Nancy's footage of the party on it's own," I say, finding my voice again. "In full with audio." Maybe it'll help me understand. It sure looked like a misunderstanding but he could have been acting well. Maybe it'll just give me closure, and I think I need that.

His fingers creep over to my hand and rest their tips by mine. "You're still wearing the ring, Amelia." _Only because I promised._ And he swore that he wouldn't hurt me, so I guess that all the promises we made are void now.

I move my hand away and pull the ring off, then push it across the table. "Auction it. eBay it. Give the money to Meningitis Trust."

He picks it up between his fingertips and grabs my hand, shoving the ring into my palm and closing my fingers around it. The skin on skin contact feels like plunging my hand into fire, and the eyes on that ring on his right hand stare up at me sullenly, reflecting both our hurt. "A noble sentiment, but no. I promise, there is going to come a time when you want to wear that ring again, Amelia. You're going to forgive me. If you walk away, Chrissie has won. You still love me, don't you? Of all the places in the world you could have run to, you chose _my_ boat."

"Yacht. I need time to see that footage and digest this. I'm making no promises."

"But you still love me?" I look up from the table just enough to catch sight of those beautiful, sad eyes.

"Yes." I answer him honestly. "But I need time." Maybe it's time to forgive him or time to get over him. I just can't tell him one way or another.

He nods, eyes boring into mine. "I can wait."

I find my dad at his usual treadmill and hop on the machine next to him. I start off slowly to avoid a scolding and match his pace. "I talked to him." He looks at me for a moment and smiles. It's a young carefree smile that takes years off his face and says 'thank you for indulging me'.

"Good, I'm glad. Do you believe that it wasn't his fault?"

I maintain silence for a moment and shake my head. "I don't know yet. I want to see Nancy's footage from the party before I jump into anything."

"So why are you in here trying to run from your problems again? Are you scared that you'll forgive him?" When did my dad become so perceptive? That's precisely why. If I forgive him, I have to welcome him back into my life and I don't know that I can tear down my newly built barriers enough to do that.

"I came to see you, actually. Can't a girl come to see her papa bear after a video shoot without getting the third degree?"

Dad steps down off his treadmill and leans over to hit my cool down button. Well, if the father says I'm not allowed to work out... "As much as I like to see you adopting a healthy lifestyle, baby bear, I think you should go and take a shower, then get your behind home to watch that footage." He waits until I stop and then hooks his arm around mine and leads me to the women's changing room. "Running can wait until tomorrow, so can I. Laters." I roll my eyes and head in for a shower but I find myself pulled backwards by a hand over my mouth. I turn around to see two piercing blue eyes looking at me. What is it with these men having such incredible eyes?

"Jason? I thought it was your night off?"

"Overtime." He grins at me and pulls me into the heavily misted steam room, creeping into the furthest corner and shedding my clothes. "Not a sound in here." I nod and my eyes flare as he lifts me up against the wall and eases into me. I lean my head back against the tiles and suppress my moans as he bites on my neck and slides in and out of me slowly, being careful not to make a sound. His arms are so strong and never falter under my weight. The intensity of this danger-fuck is mind-blowing and I grab my own legs to dig my nails into when I reach climax. I know better than to mark a married man.

He sets me down on the ground and I hear the indiscriminate flop of a condom hitting ceramic. That will be interesting for the cleaners. "See you in the morning, Miss Marsh." He shoves my clothes into my arms and I watch him casually wander out of the steam room. Jesus Christ, he loves it as rushed and soulless as I do.

I walk back into my loft and I'm caught off guard by Meredith and Andy sitting on my couch. I narrow my eyes and wander into the kitchen to make coffee. I can see that they've already helped themselves. Charming. It's a good job that caffeine is one of my major food groups and is the only thing I keep in abundance in my kitchen. I don't think I even keep food in here.

"Um, hello? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where the hell have you been?"

I poke my head back into the lounge and laugh at her. "I'd have thought the gym bag would be a dead giveaway."

"Fucking hell, you're really working out." Amongst other 'additional benefits'.

I walk back in with a giant mug and raise an eyebrow. "I look like crap after twelve days of starvation and a broken engagement, I need to make myself worthy of the sexiest woman of rock title again. But I'll refer to my earlier question—to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Andy pulls a disc from his pocket and throws it down on the table. "Nancy's footage." A fairly terse but concise explanation. Emailing it would have done, even a YouTube link. I didn't need a personal delivery and a hard copy. The fuck am I supposed to do with it afterwards—stick it in a case and add it to my DVD collection?

"Oh." I look down at the disc as it shines at me meanly. Why the hell did I ask to see this? It means seeing that ugly whale sitting on my—... not my man's cock again. "Ugh." I pick it up and put it in my DVD player. No time like the present. I sit down on the arm of the couch and Meredith reaches for my hand.

The footage starts out with Nancy walking through the crowd up to me and focusing on me tuning my guitar.

"Nervous, Meels?"

"Shitting it, thanks. How are we doing for time?".

"7:55pm. Andy is going to run up to us when the whole guest list is here. You're okay with the set list?"

"Fast forward this, I don't want to see myself playing, it's not important." Andy sighs and hands me the remote control. The less of this I have to relive the better.

I start it again at the point where I'm waving to Big Dave and leaning over for a drink. Louise creeps across with my iPod.

"Ams, it's CJ. He's FaceTiming you."

"What?"

I watch as my face drops and the iPod tumbles to the ground. I look as soulless as Death and stiff as a cadaver. Andy picks it up and the camera focuses on the screen. They both run through the crowd into the house and Andy slams through the door of the bedroom.

"CJ, what the fuck are you doing?"

"What? Get out, I'm—" Andy yanks his blindfold off and he looks up at Chrissie in horror. "Get the fuck off me, you psychopath! How the fuck did you get past security? Andy, I swear, I—"

"I don't want to hear it, Caspian. You've fucked up big time."

"I thought it was Amelia! I could hear The Bystander Effect playing, I thought she was coming to get me."

"You fucking idiot. She is The Bystander Effect!" Andy unties him, grabs him by the collar and drags him outside. "Take a look, genius. She's going to sing in a minute and you're going to realise that you just lost everything you could ever dream of."

The camera pans round to Louise plummeting down the garden with a gift bag and me waving at Big Dave.

" _I thought you were better than this, CJ."_ Louise pushes the gift into his hands and slaps him around the face. Go Lou! He pulls out the contents of the bag and winces as a large frame with a fully autographed picture and one our cherished platinum discs greets him. Then my voice appears in the background singing _Meet Me Halfway_ and his face goes pale.

"It's really her up there. The whole time—it was her. I listened to that fucking music fantasising that it was her and it was. You're right, I am an idiot. I am so sorry, Amelia, please forgive me."

I pause the footage and shake my head. That made for hard viewing- "—but this proves nothing."

"Fast forward it to the end of _Weak_." I roll my eyes and begrudgingly hit play again at my fist making contact with Chrissie's face. It's almost as satisfying to watch as it was to do. The camera spins around to Plato and Erek hurtling down the garden after Meredith, holding her back to stop her from killing him.

"I fucking knew you'd do this! They all told me I was being stupid but I knew you'd ruin her tonight."

"Meredith, I swear to you, I didn't know it was Chrissie. You know she's not allowed anywhere near us, Amelia was there when I signed the injunction."

"They're until further notice, you dick, all you had to do was tell your lawyer."

Emily emerges from the crowd holding Chrissie by the scruff of the neck. " _Tell them what you told me, you dirty whore."_

She laughs and winks maliciously. "I jumped him wearing a blonde wig, tied him up and fucked him stupid, and I made sure your precious Amelia knew I was doing it. Now I've had a taste of what should have been mine and frankly, I'm disappointed in you, Cas. I thought you'd be a much better lay considering the size of that dick. But at least I have the satisfaction of knowing you'll never have her again. But you have me. You always come back to me."

"You're fucking delusional! Tell me how to fix this, Meredith. You have to tell me how to fix this."

I turn off the DVD player and rub my chin. Okay, that was fairly definitive, but it means I seriously have to consider forgiving him. Or do I? I've spent two weeks without him and yes, admittedly I spent twelve days of that starving myself and having a mental breakdown, but I'm okay now. Aren't I?

Meredith squeezes my fingers and stands up. "We'll leave you to it. We need to start rehearsing for Download tomorrow; you're going to feel like shit when you're in front of people again and you need to get your stage presence back up to standard."

I nod despondently and slink down onto the couch when they've gone. I've been where I imagine he is now, feeling as though I was responsible for something awful and that I should have done more. My hand feels bare without that ring on my finger but he's been weak once, who's to say that he won't succumb again?

I hug my knees and consider my options. There's a very real possibility that he'll pursue me, but there again he may get bored of hanging around. I still need time and I don't know if that image will ever stop haunting me but... I love him. I grab my phone from my bag and for the first time since I've known him, I send him a text message, and hope that the words he said to comfort me work as well in return.

It wasn't your fault.

# XXI

#

#

I've fallen into a pretty rigid routine. Wake up. Throw up from a hangover. Cry. Go to the gym. Fuck Jason. Rehearse our Download set. Go to the gym. Fuck Jason. Drink copiously. Cry myself to sleep. Lather, rinse and repeat.

I've muddled through the endless gossip speculation over my frequent visits to the gym and sightings with Jason by smiling sweetly and lying through my teeth. It's well known that I don't take suitors or groupies, Jason is happily married and he's just mine and my dad's personal trainer. It's as simple as that.

I never received a reply from my text and I've been trying to get past feeling wounded by drowning my sorrows with a bottle of whiskey every night and two orgasms a day. It's not working. It's Download next week and the thought of being on stage makes me feel positively sick. From what I can tell, the guys have stopped talking to him and things have gone stale between Meredith and Andy. Life is pretty much back to normal.

I storm into my lounge and point at my face. Meredith looks up at me questioningly, picking at a handful of Cheerios and snickers as soon as her eyes reach my face.

"Glasses. Can you fucking believe it? Where the hell do I find prescription aviators?" I roll my eyes behind my thick black rimmed Gucci spectacles, completely unwilling to admit that my vision is significantly improved.

"Do you have to wear them all the time?"

"Yes. But I won't. Not unless they come with a free superhero costume and I can jump into a phone box to strip off and fight crime. I had to skip out on the gym to wait for these fuckers."

"Laser surgery?"

I fake a retch and shake my head. "Weird hook things on the eyelids and slitting open the—bleh. No, I'll just accumulate a glasses collection to rival Elton John's." It might become my 'thing'.

She laughs at me and nods her head towards the iPad. "If you think glasses are bad, you should see the latest gossip about you." I march into the kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the fridge. Will the world never tire of making up rumours?

"Go on, amaze me." She puts her tongue in her cheek and flares her eyes in a 'you're not going to like it' kind of way.

" 'The Bystander Effect's Amelia Marsh may have become a health nut in light of her recent broken engagement with entrepreneur—"

"Don't say his name." I see her roll her eyes as I sit down next to her.

"—Mr. Money Bags, however there is a rumble of speculation over the size of her mid-riff. Marsh has been spotted on numerous occasions walking between her gym and her car with a barely restrained bulge hanging over her sports shorts. We doubt that her personal trainer is letting her off the stomach crunches, so what _is_ the story with that flab?' " My jaw drops as I look over her shoulder at several unflattering images of my spare tire but it's not _that_ bad.

"Bastards!"

"To be fair, Ams," Meredith pokes a lump of flesh hanging over the top of my jeans. "What is up with this?"

"Uh, a bottle of whiskey every night to make me sleep and the inability to turn down the lustrous advances of a chicken fillet burger. That is what's up with this." I stand up and undo the button of my jeans. Ugh, okay, maybe they have a point.

Meredith wrinkles her nose at me and sucks her teeth. Oh wonderful, she thinks I'm a chunk, too. "You really need to start tipping that personal trainer of yours." I think if I start bunging him a twenty now it classes as prostitution... "Come on, let's take you shopping."

I wander around Blue Banana with a lip stuck out in contemplation over all the pretty little rockabilly swing dresses hanging up. I'm not entirely sure how I can make any of my favourite fashion work with glasses, what the hell do I do? Maybe I do need to suck it up and get my eyes lasered but... Man, that's right up there with needles. Meredith throws a few pairs of jeans at me and ushers me into a changing room.

"Find me a maxi dress, too."

"What?" She pokes her head around the curtain with her brow furrowed. "Why the hell would you buy a maxi dress?"

I stare at her over the rim of my glasses and struggle into one of the pairs of jeans. "I'm feeling a little self-conscious for some reason. I wonder why—oh yes because I've been hit with the fat stick." I tug the jeans off and throw them at her. "And stop trying to force me into a size eight. I have an arse, get a ten."

"They _are_ a ten."

"So get a twelve." I hiss venomously and cluck my tongue in irritation. Why am I expanding _now_ , at a time where my getting back into shape is most crucial? The next time I'm on the front of a magazine, I want to be a goddess.

Mer soon passes me another pair of jeans and a full length black empire cut dress. It'll do. It's black, so I'll sweat buckets in the heat, but it'll cover the lumps.

I pull the jeans up around me and battle with the button. "Meredith, get in here." Maybe these just need a helping hand, wearing in maybe.

She opens the curtain and laughs. "Maybe you need a fourteen."

"Maybe you need to buy a coffin in preparation for my killing you. Help me out here." She grabs both sides of the waist band and bites her lip as she tries to fasten the button. There is just no way that they're fastening, despite her very best and painful efforts. "Ah, okay stop helping, hurting me now!" I grab the dress from the hanger and pull it over my head. I'm instantly soothed by the relief of an untethered bottom half. Thank god it's summer and I can get away with this. My phone starts to ring as I'm undressing. I pass the maxi dress to Mer along with my wallet. "Can you pay for that so I can wear it out?" I answer my phone as she nods with a cheeky grin. I'm glad that my personal image issues amuse her. Oh wait, no, I'm not. "Dad?"

"Hey, baby bear, what are you up to?"

"Shopping. I got hit with the fat stick." I pout as I say the words.

"Ah, I saw the articles. You should have a word with Jason and get on the weight machines." I've been on the weight machines... Oh boy have I been on the weight machines.

I hide a reminiscent grin and dare to peek at my reflection in the mirror. Some core exercises might actually help. "Yeah maybe. So what's up?"

" _Are you and Meredith still coming to the Meningitis Trust charity fundraiser tonight?"_ Oh hell, I'd completely forgotten. It's not like we don't go every bloody year or that it's an emotionally significant event or anything. Jeez.

"Shit, you should have reminded me. Hang on." I poke my head out the curtain of the changing room and wave to Meredith. "Charity fundraiser tonight." She mouths 'I know' and nods. Good god, I really need to start putting these things on a calendar. "Yeah okay, we'll be there."

"Awesome, go and buy something shiny and pretty. And ignore those stupid articles, I saw you last night—you look... healthy. Laters." I open my mouth, completely appalled and blink up at Meredith as she hands me back the dress.

"What's wrong with your face?"

"My dad just said I look 'healthy'." She stifles a laugh and looks at me with much scrutiny as I dress. He might have said 'well' and gotten away with it, but 'healthy' carries as much tact as 'jolly'.

"To be honest, Ams, you look fucking pregnant." I slap her arm and pass the ill-fitting jeans to a heavily pierced shop assistant. The adjectives just get more and more insulting.

"Thanks very much, you're doing wonders for my self-esteem. And anyway, even if I hadn't rendered that a virtual impossibility with an implant, I've been using protection with—" I scrunch up my face and wait for the onslaught of questions. I am still yet to source that brain to mouth filter, and honestly, I'm impressed that I've managed to get away with it for so long without slipping up.

Meredith spins me around by the wrist and purses her lips at me. Uh oh, Mummy Mer. "You _are_ screwing your personal trainer. All this time?" I roll my eyes and pull her through the streets of Birmingham to Debenhams. The last thing I need is a guilt trip or an 'I told you so'.

"Additional benefits of membership. I'm being safe, neither of us are emotionally attached. I'm just coping."

"Are you?"

We flop down in Starbucks after finding two impressive dresses with matching shoes for the charity fundraiser and I can feel my attention waning. I push my glasses up into my hair and rub my tired eyes. I'm only twenty-three; I should not need to stop and recharge after a couple of hours at my age. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I feel thoroughly shitty.

Meredith waves a mocha under my nose and points at an espresso on the table. "You look ready to drop, Ams. You can't even blame your morning 'work out' today. Are you sure you're not, you know, harbouring a fugitive?" I wrinkle my nose at her and wrap my hands around the Starbucks mug. She just loves to make drama out of anything.

"Fuck off. I told you, I've been using protection and I'm covered by a five year no accident guarantee." She both frowns and raises an eyebrow. The physics of that expression boggle my mind to no end.

"Three years." Moron.

"No, five."

"Didn't we get our implants on the same day?" I sigh at her impatiently. I remember the experience with painful clarity. The nurse was a butcher and I bruised like a peach.

"Yes, we did."

"So you had a new one fitted?"

"Why would I when I still have a year and a half of life left in it?"

She looks at me for a moment, eyes glazing over before she bursts into laughter. "You nearly had me there, baby doll." I pour the espresso down my throat and shake my head at her. She knows I'm no comedienne. Well, I was for a bit but that wasn't my fault.

"What _are_ you talking about?"

She stops laughing quickly and looks at me gravely. "Oh shit, you're not joking. Ams, I swear to you, implants only last three years. I reminded you about a thousand times six months ago and you grunted at me every time so I—" I put my mocha down on the table slowly and pick up my bags of clothes. "Pharmacy?"

"Yes. Now."

I stare at the pile of pregnancy tests on my lounge table and shake my head in disbelief. I scowl at myself because I can't believe I'm in this situation again. I scowl because I can't believe I was so stupid. I scowl because I should have paid attention to Meredith. I scowl because this could potentially make my life _very_ complicated.

"I'm going to need a hell of a lot of water to pee enough time to do all those." I shake my head again at the entire shelf worth of tests.

Meredith looks up at me from the back of a box and shakes her head. "Don't you remember doing this last time? Just do it in a container and we'll do them all at once."

"I'm not pissing in Tupperware."

She glares at me and points at the kitchen. "Get a fucking container and pee in it before I extract it myself." She shakes her head in exasperation and stares back at the box. "You really are a total twat."

"Thanks, that's really, _really_ helpful." I grab a measuring jug and head into the bathroom miserably. What the hell do I do now? _He_ hasn't made contact since my text so he's clearly not interested anymore. I can hardly just turn up on his doorstep and say 'hey, know your attention has waned but you knocked me up so you have to associate with me again'. Unlike others, I'm not into entrapment having become only too familiar with the experience myself. So that leaves just me. I can only just look after myself, how the hell do I look after someone else? A tiny needy someone else who cries more than I do and shits more than Big Dave.

I head back out into the lounge and stare at the row of white packets on the floor. Meredith has pushed the table back and sat down on a cushion, and laid one down for me. She taps it sympathetically and puts an arm around my shoulder. "It'll be okay, baby doll. They might be negative."

"And if they're not?"

"Then they're not and we deal with it one day at a time." And I know that she means that because we've been here before. She loves being Auntie Mer. She hands me a packet and flares her nostrils. "Let's do this shit."

Two bathroom trips and an hour later I'm lying on the floor with my arms over my face. Meredith tugs on her lip and drums her fingers on her leg with a laugh.

"So, I'd say that's a fairly conclusive fifty-four positives and zero negatives." How can she stay so calm?

"Maybe they're faulty. Maybe there's something amiss in the Boots stock room and—" She folds her arms behind her head and gives me a look that says 'stop fooling yourself'.

"Ams. They're not faulty. You're up t'duff, chick. Hah, look—I made a stick man with a guitar." I roll my eyes as my phone buzzes in my pocket. _Stop making light of this, you fool, this is serious!_ There's a tiny mini-me growing inside me, probably with his eyes. Oh god...

"Hello?"

"Amelia, it's Emily!" Oh Jesus, the would-be sister in law. "I've just seen the articles online, what the hell?"

"What?" I sit up and grab Meredith's iPad, type my name into Google and I'm horrified. _Amelia Marsh and Meredith Cho raid drug store family planning section. "_ Oh my god!" God damn cameras get everywhere!

" _I know! I saw the articles commenting on your gut as well. Are you, you know?"_ Meredith shakes her head at me slowly, eyes wide and face deadly serious. Yeah, telling the sister before the man would be very bad indeed.

"Aha, no, implant remember?" There isn't an ounce of sincerity in my answer. How the hell did I mistake three years for five?

" _Oh yeah."_ Oh. Crisis averted. Well, sort of. " _How are you doing, Ams?"_ Her voice sounds genuinely concerned but I'm quite sure that she's probably laughing at me and fishing for gossip to take back to her brother.

"Uh, right now? Feeling fairly awful and I haven't had my endorphin kick."

"Nothing a bottle of liquor can't solve temporarily until the morning." Not anymore.

I sigh wistfully and reach for my mug. Damn it, empty, and I think I have to ration my dietary staple now, too. "I wish, I can't drink anymore." Meredith waves her hands at me frantically.

" _Why not?"_ Please god, send me a stroke of Meredith Cho genius and not something to do with dicks.

"I'm, uh..." She leans over and arranges the tests on the floor to spell a word. "Detoxing?" Okay, I can't deny that 'detoxing' is inspired.

" _You're insane. Uh... did you watch Nancy's footage?"_ My stomach churns uncomfortably at the reminder. I'm detecting the real motive behind her call.

"Yeah, I watched it with Meredith and Andy."

" _And you still think it's his fault?"_ I frown at Meredith in confusion and turn on speaker phone for her to hear.

"No, and he knows that. But he hasn't tried to contact me since I text him so I figured that this chapter was finished."

The line is silent for a while except for the sound of her son laughing nearby. " _You texted him?"_

"Yes, the day of the video shoot. I said 'it's not your fault'."

"Oh my shit, that was you? Ams, he doesn't have your number on his phone and he thought it was someone playing games with him. He's been sleeping on my couch because he won't go back home and face those memories. It's been five weeks and he's getting worse, not better. I'm scared for him—I've never seen him so cut up before." My eyes meet Meredith's and our mouths are both open in shock. I sincerely hope that 'cut up' is a euphemism. "Amelia, I know you can fix this, I—"

"Who are you talking to, Ems?"

"Uh..."

I look at Meredith in a panic. "Please don't say I'm on speaker phone."

"Uh... hah, well... I needed both hands free to..."

" _Amelia?"_ I quickly end the call and hide my head in my hands. Meredith pulls a face at me and yanks me up from floor to hug me. _Please ground, open up and swallow me down._ Again, I have the distinct impression that I've been set up to force my contact with him.

My phone rings again next to me and Meredith glances down. "Don't look. I've got this, okay?" She leads me by the shoulder to my bedroom and nudges me forward. "Take a power nap or else you'll never get through the night." I sit down on the end of my bed, mind spinning in confusion and bewilderment. There's just too much to take in right now and I need to snooze, but I can hear her talking. And _him_. Speakerphone. Set up. "Hey, it's Mer."

"Please let me talk to her. I had no idea that it was her who text me."

"I know. She knows, too, now. But she's indisposed."

" _Indisposed? I know her version of indisposed."_ Oh charming. Consider that a lost brownie point.

"Not like that, stupid! Definitely not like that. She's had a rough day, she just needs some sleep."

"Oh. Okay. I don't know what I'd do if she was sleeping with someone else, I don't think I could deal with it." I groan into my hands and I'm sure that Meredith hears me because her tone becomes harsher and aggressive.

"To be fair, mate, she's not exactly dealing with seeing you balls deep in another woman. If she _was_ screwing other people, at least you're broken up and you're not having to watch it." Go Meredith, _finally_. "Trust me, after her day, her outlook on life is completely different." _Wow, make it sound like I'm dying or something why don't you?_

"Is she okay?"

"Not really. She's stumbled up to a ball buster of an emotional hurdle." No! She's supposed to say I'm great, I'm fine, I'm wonderful. I'm tap dancing on rainbows and chasing butterflies through meadows full of daisies and buttercups. She should be lying to defend my honour.

"I really want to talk to her."

"You will. Trust me, she _has_ to talk to you at some point. Anyway, when did you lose your fighting spirit? What happened to fast cars, unexpected romantic gestures and defying her?" I creep out to the lounge and watch her pick up fifty-four white sticks from the ground. My arms and legs are crossed, my brow arched and I am not best pleased. I mean, maybe I should be—she's encouraging him to chase me but... ugh, my poor brain.

" _I don't think I really have the right to be pushing her."_ Damn right he doesn't. Brownie point regained for not being a _total_ idiot.

"You do. Trust me. You'll _want_ to push her. Meet us out tonight." Now she's the idiot, because we have plans. Unless millionaires get unhindered access to charity events.

"I can't, Mer, I have a work function. It's kind of important." Why am I secretly a little disappointed by his refusal?

"Okay, I'll call you tomorrow." Meredith turns around and looks at me deadpan. Bitch, she knew I was listening. "You're going to thank me."

I'm trying not to fall asleep when the cameras start flashing at Meredith, my dad and I outside some archaic building in the middle of nowhere. I would look worthy of Hollywood in this dark blue, satin panelled, open back maxi dress if not for my abundance of tattoos and geek chic specs.

Meredith has sensibly covered her tattooed arms with a long lace sleeved shift dress and tights. As refreshing as it is to see her looking feminine, I deeply resent that she looks better than me. I'm exhausted and depressed, and it shows through my false smiles.

My dad looks unspeakably handsome in his tux and he's even wearing 'normal' dress shoes. They both look so fluid and at ease while I stick out like a sore thumb, and for once in my life, I don't want to be centre of attention. In the midst of all the media speculation about me, I'm stood outside a black tie event in a dress that clings to me in all the wrong places and emphasises my extra weight. I'm sure I've puffed out since this afternoon because this dress looked good in the changing room. I'm uncomfortable in my own body and painfully aware of my additional occupant. Or two. Or three. Oh hell.

My phone rings in my clutch bag but I ignore its insistent buzzing. I know that my bag is concealing another pregnancy test and I'm honestly in no hurry for it to get caught on camera. I tug at Meredith's hand and she scoops an arm around me with a grotesquely disingenuous but convincing smile. "You look frazzled. You're not going to zone out on me, are you?"

I glance up at my dad for a moment and shake my head. Coming to these events means a lot to him, I can't let him down. "I'm trying my best. Let's just get me to the bathroom with minimal interference." She nods once and leans up to whisper in my dad's ear. He looks at me and rolls his eyes before waving us off. Meredith pulls me into the building and leads me into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. "What did you say to my dad?" I ask her, promptly delving into my bag for doomstick fifty-five.

"That you broke the seal an hour ago." _Classy_ . She takes my bag from me and ushers me over to a cubicle. "Come on, make it snappy. I can only keep the door locked for so long." I stick my tongue out at her and set to affirming that which I already know—that I'm completely fucked. "Ams, your phone is ringing."

"Speaker phone it." My face is set with stony determination as I desperately will my bladder to relax and let go.

"Amelia?"

"Jason?" Oh, that did it.

" _Where are you and Bobby tonight?"_ He sounds almost frantic. Does he work on commission or something?

"At a Meningitis Trust charity thing in the arse end of nowhere."

"Oh, pisser. I've actually had to do some work without you around today." My heart bleeds, I haven't exactly had a great day either. "You'll be in tomorrow morning though?"

I stroll out of the cubicle and pass Meredith the test—she flips it over and I'm instantly greeted with a 'Pregnant 3+' display. "Shit!"

" _What?"_ I bite my lip and wash my hands. Well, if Clear Blue are telling me I have a problem, I obviously do have a problem. I have to start righting some wrongs.

"Nothing, sorry. Uh, I'm not coming to the gym anymore."

" _Why? Don't you like your 'additional benefits'?"_ I roll my eyes and shake my head at my phone. Talk about fishing for compliments.

"Your 'additional benefits' are great, Jason, but I have to step back for a whole host of reasons."

"Name one valid reason."

"You're married."

The line cuts out suddenly and I shrug at Meredith. That was easier than I expected. I shove the test into my bag along with my phone and steer her out of the bathroom by the elbow to find my dad standing right outside schmoozing with the likes of compassionate celebrities and white collared businessmen with more money than brain cells. I grab two champagne flutes from the silver tray of a passing red waist-coated waiter and wander off into the dining area to find our names on the seating plan.

Meredith makes a lunge at one of my drinks and I scowl at her, lifting the glasses above my head. "I need these more than you."

"Fifty-five positive tests say you don't." She makes another lunge and I step back.

"This is a very easily remedied situation." She stares, utterly appalled at my comment, and honestly, so am I. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I glance down at my podge and mentally apologise for even suggesting it.

"You know you couldn't do that, and even if you could, don't you think someone else deserves a say in this?" I purse my lips and march past her into the dining room, ignoring the hushed whispers and many sideways glances at my shapely figure.

By the time my dad locates us, I'm twitching uneasily and riddled with guilt over my two glasses of champagne. Obviously it's not going to reverse any damage that I would have already done through my binge drinking, but somehow it's worse for _knowing_ that I've done wrong. Meredith is tutting at me disdainfully and scrolling through her phone, presumably for some kind of medical statistics to scare me with.

"Could you two look any less enthusiastic?" I look up at my dad briefly before committing my eyes to my dinner plate and refusing to look up. "Uh oh." He sits down next to me and sighs, grabbing my hand. "I've only ever seen that look on your face once before in your entire life and it was followed by my holding your hair back every morning while you threw up cornflakes over your school uniform." Okay, this universal ability to read me is starting to piss me off. "Are you making me a grampy bear again?"

I pull my hand from his and keep my gaze fixed on my plate. "Don't be stupid." He knows full well that my answer means 'yes' in the unwritten Marsh language, along with 'fuck off' meaning 'you're right'.

"Oh, Amelia." He grabs my head and holds it against his chest next to a red silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. It seems suspiciously like he might be pleased. "Have you told him?"

"As if. That would mean talking to him and I'm not ready."

"Well get ready, baby bear, because he's going to want to be there. Every single damn appointment, every contraction, every hiccup and every birthday. You're stuck with him for good now." He sounds almost amused as he speaks. Has it occurred to anybody that I may not want to be rail-roaded into a relationship with him, or that he may actually not want to be with me anymore?

The sound and lighting in the room dips as some stuffy charity representative strolls up onto a raised stage section of the room and starts to drone on about depressing mortality statistics and the importance of awareness and early detection. _Sure, make me feel worse by reminding me that I knew nothing and left it too late._ Meredith pinches my arm and points at the stage, where two figures linger to it's side.

"And finally, I would like to thank our organisers at Pearce & Parker Enterprises for helping us set in place this event in such a wonderful location, and an even deeper thanks to the pair of them for honouring us with their presence tonight despite their unfortunate personal... circumstances." She stumbles over her words as everyone's gaze shifts to me. They may as well hover a spot light over me. _Coo-ee, yes, that's me, the unfortunate personal circumstance_ . And I just got a whole lot more unfortunate. "Um, Caspian Pearce and Andrew Parker, ladies and gentlemen."

I wilt a little at the sound of his name and cover my face with my hands. Meredith and my dad both rub my back comfortingly as Pearce and Parker break into a speech, and I use the time to examine him from the distance. His hair is shorter and neatly swept to the side and his body is covered in a finely tailored suit. He looks bold and confident, but even from here I can see that those green eyes are sad. I see his mouth move but I hear no words. I crave deeply for those eyes to fall on me.

"Maybe he doesn't know that you're here?" My dad nudges me in the belly and raises an eyebrow. "There again, how could he miss you?"

"Thanks, a fat joke, very helpful." My attention is dragged away by Andy's voice and I can see that he looks extremely smug. Mer wilts the same way I did and it's obvious that she's suffering some serious millionaire withdrawal, too.

Andy's voice booms out across the room. "Now, I'd like to kick off the party with a little mischief. I know that there are two girls hiding out there who would kill for a first dance with two multimillionaires. So if all the ladies in the room could stand, we're going to whittle you down by process of elimination." Meredith drags me up to me feet with a snicker and jigs on the spot. Ever the optimist, even if there are a few hundred people here. "Now, remain standing if you're a musician." Around two thirds of the women in the room take their seats. "Remain standing if you have tattoos." Only a few women are excluded. Andy pulls a face and confers with his partner on the stage. "Remain standing if you're in a band called The Bystander Effect." I roll my eyes as a spotlight falls on Meredith and I and the rest of the people in the room titter slightly. Fucking set ups everywhere. "Interesting, very interesting. Front and centre, ladies." I shake my head severely and sit down. "I said front and centre, Amelia. Don't make me tell these lovely people what I've seen you do on the deck of a yacht." I gasp in overly dramatic offence and can't help but laugh as Meredith shoves my bag into my hand and pulls me up to the dance floor. The stage towers over us and I keep my eyes low. So much for not being centre of attention.

Andy grins down at us and shakes his head. "Meredith Cho, you stand accused..." the crowd ripples into laughter, and so does he. "I'm joking. In case you hadn't figured it out, this is completely set up." _Duh._

A familiar warm hand settles on my shoulder and gently strokes the back of my neck. My insides swell and ooze with completeness at his touch and my breath catches.

"Dance with me, Amelia." There's a small gush from the crowd as I turn around and fall hopelessly into his arms. I nestle my face against his chest as the music begins to play and he rocks me gently. "I can't believe I'm dancing with the chick from The Bystander Effect." I give him a small bemused murmur of acknowledgement and hazard a small look up at him. The heat of his eyes is beating down on me attentively and he's watching my every move. I'm suddenly excruciatingly timid and can't hold his gaze. "Glasses?"

"Blind as a bat apparently."

"Ah." I feel him rest his head on my crown and inhale my scent deeply. "I'm sorry, Amelia."

"So am I. I've been numbing my pain by sle—"

He puts a finger on my lips and shakes his head. "I know how you cope. I don't care. I just want you back in my life." I open my mouth to tell him just exactly what my life now involves but I'm interrupted by my phone ringing. I try to ignore it but it rings over and over again. "Just answer it, Amelia." I pull my phone out of my bag carefully, entirely aware that it's contents are now even more incriminating.

"Hello?"

" _I just left my wife."_ I freeze on the spot and step back from my handsome dance partner.

"Why the hell would you do that?"

" _You said that was the problem."_ I scoff in disbelief and scuttle away to a quiet corner, eyes following me as I abandon that wonderful man on the dance floor.

"You told me to give you _one_ reason. You hung up before I could give you more."

" _Fine, come outside and tell me the others to my face."_ What? Oh hell no. I tap Meredith on the arm urgently and tug her away from Andy. My lips flatten into a line and I wave my hands aimlessly before combing them into my hair in frustration.

"I have a problem. My personal trainer is outside." Andy frowns at me as I lead Meredith outside. "He's left his fucking wife."

"What?" I pull her out into the warm night air and there he is; Jason sat with his arm sticking out the window of a Citroen Xsara. He gets out as soon as he sees me and scans my body with his eyes. I've never seen him wearing anything other than his uniform and in no way does he rock a pair of suit trousers and a loose shirt like my biggest fan. "Jesus, he's hot." _Eh, he's all right._

"Shut up, Meredith. What the hell are you doing here, Jason?"

He wrinkles his nose at me and looks at me with a face that says 'I'm not actually sure anymore'. "You look really fat in that dress."

My jaw drops open in disgust and I pace over to slap him. "How fucking dare you. You want a list of reasons why I don't want you? Well, here we go. You're arrogant, you're married—" I hold up my hand to stop him interrupting, "— _married_ , you're narrow-minded, you're not my type—"

"I've been your type for three weeks."

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms. "When I'm depressed, _everyone_ is my type. You were just there. Moving on. I love my career too much to fuck it up over this sex scandal, I love my friends who tell me time and time again that this is wrong, and most of all, I love that rich bastard in there who can forgive that I have some very poor coping strategies."

Jason puts his hands on my arms and purses his lips contemplatively. "I've read your article, Amelia. We kissed. You gave yourself to me." Wow, way to look for a non-existent subtext and demonstrate unjust self-reverence. He initiated everything. _He_ kissed _me_.

Meredith groans next to me as the gravel behind me crunches with approaching footsteps. "You kissed him?"

I turn around slowly and stare at _his_ feet. "It meant nothing."

"It means everything. I had to fight until I was blue in the face to get that from you but you gave it to him without thinking?"

My eyes rise up to his face and I can feel myself shaking with fury at the nerve of him getting annoyed with me. "You fought for it? You took it when I was most vulnerable! You abused my trust and took what I held dear with neither my knowledge nor my consent. You may as well have changed your name to Chrissie and raped me."

He stares at me guiltily and fiddles with the ring on his right hand. So yeah, nervous habit. "It wasn't like that."

"So how was it?" I hear Jason laughing behind me and I turn briskly. "Stop that right now. This isn't funny."

"Get the hint, Pearce. She wants me more. Get in the car, Amelia." What a conceited prick. I wouldn't get in a Citroën Xsara if it was being chauffeur driven by the Pope.

I put my hand on my hip and raise an eyebrow. "You just called me fat and I've already told you, I love him, even if he is a lying, conniving dick. There was no emotional attachment and you know it."

Jason grabs my wrist and wrenches the car door open. "Stop being a prick tease now, Amelia. It doesn't suit you. Get in the fucking car before I make you." I pull myself free and step back, turning around just in time to find myself in the collision course of a fist. My cheek bone throbs with pain and my skull feels as though it's split in two when it makes contact with the edge of the open car door. My glasses fly off and shatter and my bag bursts open and sheds its contents across the gravel.

I'm surrounded by a rush of people and they create an effective barrier between me, Jason and _him_. Meredith scoops my car keys up from the ground and I hear her make a rapid retreat. _He_ pushes through the crowd and kneels down next to me, reaching out but I can feel his fear to actually touch me.

"Amelia, I am so sorry. I meant to hit him."

"I know." I hear a car door slam shut and feel the breeze as it speeds away behind me. Why couldn't he have just disappeared in the first place?

The crowd slowly starts to trickle away from me and _he_ grabs my hand earnestly. "I am so, so sorry." I sigh and let myself look at him properly for the first time. He is as beautiful as ever and while my world feels so complete when I'm staring into those eyes, it also feels so empty and fractured.

"I have to tell you something." My lungs fail me and I battle to verbalise my omission. I don't want him to think that this is my only reason for letting him back in but I want him to know that it's the reason that tipped the scales, like he said it would.

"Hey, Amelia, is this yours?" I glance sideways to see Andy holding a white foil packet in his hands, and he's about to look beyond the tear.

"No, Andy, don't—" Too late. I grit my teeth as it passes between their hands and hear a sharp breath next to me. Meredith speeds around the corner at precisely the right moment and I scramble to the safety of my Porsche.

Coping strategy number four. Flee. Again.

# XXII

#

#

I stare at 'Amelia Marsh is now single' on my Facebook profile bitterly and lean my head down on the table. I have got to stop willing that to magically change back. Why would it? I changed it when I got home from the charity event and thought all hope was lost. And it is.

Meredith pats the back of my head as she talks on the phone and frowns at me sympathetically. The tour bus jolts when it hits a pothole and my insides judder unpleasantly. I fly into the bathroom and secure myself over the toilet seat, disgracefully voiding my breakfast.

Thus is the downward spiral of morning sickness and it isn't exactly pleasant on a moving vehicle. I eventually emerge and take my place back at the table. Mer pushes a bottle of Lucozade to me and shakes her head.

"The guys are starting to ask questions, Ams. They're not stupid; they're going to figure it out eventually and you're practically expanding by the minute." I sneer at her and steal a glance at my waistline. It's got to be bloating or water retention.

"Why hasn't he called?"

She looks at me wearily and clenches her jaw. "He feels like crap for hitting you. Plus he's still trying to absorb the uh, new information."

I blink at her impassively and reach for a mint. "You've spoken to him." I'm not sure why I'm surprised or if I'm actually pissed off. I'm just miserable.

She purses her lips and nods curtly. "He's pretty pissed that you kissed someone else." I'm pretty pissed that I saw him screw another woman but hey ho. "And I don't think he believes that you forgive him. You think he hasn't seen Facebook?" I sigh and rub my stomach with a wince. My muscles ache and burn furiously. I remember this feeling well. "Are you sure you're up for a three day camp out?"

"I'm sure. Just empty a cider bottle and fill it with water for me so nobody asks questions." I grab my drink and stomp up to the top level to crawl into bed. So many conversations swim around in my mind. He told me he'd still love me with a child in tow. He told me he'd chase me no matter what. He told me we'd work through it if it all went wrong. But he's not. I have really screwed this up beyond all repair.

I reach into my bag and pull out my black diamond engagement ring. I should really send this back to him but I really don't want to. I want to wear it again, I want to be his. I push it on to my finger and it's snug, too snug. It hugs my skin and feels like a knife to my heart. I try to pull it off and blanch. Stuck. Oh jeez, I've been here before but the circumstances were much more pleasant.

"Meredith!" She pounds up the steps quickly and throws herself down at my side. "I have a problem." I wave my hand at her and laugh weakly.

"Why were you even wearing it?" She looks sideways at me and rolls her eyes with a smirk. "Oh well, seeing as it's there..." She snatches up my phone and snaps a picture of my hand. "Send as MMS..."

"What the fuck are you doing?" She jumps up and backs away for a moment before tossing my phone back to me with an impish grin. I scroll through my outbox and find the message she just sent, and my insides wrench in horror.

The ball is in your court. Meet me halfway.

"You're trying to kill me, right?"

"Don't be stupid. Both of you stand equal and afraid to make the first move. I've just done it for you." I glare at her and stand up to make an advance to strangle her. She holds up a hand, stifling a laugh at my expense and pulls her phone from her pocket.

She glances at the screen and raises an eyebrow. "Hold that murderous thought, baby doll. I need to take this." She sticks her tongue out at me and answers the call. "Hello, you. Yes, it's legit. The silly bitch was feeling nostalgic and now it's stuck." Oh wonderful, Andy has called to have a good laugh, too. Her face suddenly becomes more serious. "No, she's feeling pretty awful. Both—depressed and projectile don't do it justice. Yeah, they all know what to do. Okay, hang on," she purses her lips at me and sighs. "You know who says thanks for the picture." Thanks for the picture. Is that it? "No, I don't think it did." I roll over in bed and pull the covers over my head. Well, that was definitive.

I stomp through the crowds in my black maxi dress and leopard print wellingtons, aviators firmly attached to my head, VIP pass around my neck and bottle of water in hand. It's hot, too hot, but it's busy and people are drunk enough for me to not get accosted by fans. I can get lost here. My phone is back with the guys on the bus so there's no chance of being disturbed.

"Ams!" Spoke too soon. I spin around and smile weakly at Emily as she bounds over, excessively cheerful and hyperactive in cropped jeans and a tie-dye tank top. "Bloody hell, you could look a bit happier to see me." I could, but I won't. She looks too much like him.

She looks over her shoulders and presses her hand to my stomach. "Aunty Emily, get in!" I roll my eyes and brush her hand away. I can't stand how people think that my being impregnated means that I no longer require personal space.

"Please don't draw attention to it. The guys don't know yet."

"You and your bloody secrets. You should be hired as an international spy." I roll my eyes and turn to walk off. I'm really not in the mood to be reminded that I'm deceptive and false. "You're wearing his ring, Amelia."

I pause and look over my shoulder at her. "Swollen fingers. It's stuck."

"Do you want to take it off?" Jesus, she's as bad as her brother.

"No. I don't. But I know I have to." I skulk off before she can answer and she's smart enough to not follow me.

We all sit on the tour bus roof with our guitars and play quietly as the moon shines down on us. Emily has found her way to us with the aid of a pilfered VIP pass and is gossiping quietly, so quietly that I can't hear what she's saying. There's the occasional conspiratorial glance towards me. I'm so sick of everyone looking at me like they feel sorry for me. I don't need pity, I need a complete do over on the past couple of months.

They all pause to look at me simultaneously when Meredith's iPad starts ringing. I shake my head and continue to play. "It's not my iPad, it's Mer's."

She passes it over to me and shrugs. "It's for you." I purse my lips and look down at the screen wearily. FaceTime request from him. I remember what happened last time I accepted one of these.

"Not my iPad," I repeat. "I don't want to see him tied up again."

Levi growls at me and takes the iPad from my hand. His confused voice rings out and forces a lump in my throat. Just keep playing your guitar, Amelia, keep your mind busy.

"Levi?"

"She has facetimeophobia."

"To paraphrase her dad: Tell her to stop being a prick and pick up the fucking iPad." I snatch it from Levi's hand and prepare to launch into a full verbal assault.

"You've got a fucking n-... erve." I don't see his face but I see beautiful rich mahogany cot surrounded by in wicker furniture in a beautifully painted cream walled room.

" _Level pegging, Amelia. Make your move." I_ turn away from the guys and dare to smile. I know that I don't have a spare room in the loft, so that can be in only one place. And that place only has one spare room which holds a pool table. I see no pool table.

"Where are you?"

" _Bungalow."_ I stifle a laugh and roll my eyes. So he's definitely converted his pool room into a nursery. That's kind of superfluous if he's not planning on being a fulltime fixture.

"Are you playing games with me?"

" _Unexpected romantic gestures."_ The call ends and I'm left feeling oddly bereft. Why would he show me that and keep me hanging?

Levi raises an eyebrow at me and coughs expectantly. "Why, pray tell, was he showing you a nursery?" I force an awkward grin and slink down the side of the bus to hide from the conversation. Well, they know now.

I greet the morning with my head down the toilet bowl and Emily trying not to laugh at me as she holds my hair out of harm's way. Meredith barges in with a camera and immortalises the image with a cackle. I'm so glad I have such supportive friends. I thought that of everyone, the two women in my company might have a little more sympathy, especially Emily.

I groan as a man's voice booms so loudly it makes the walls of the bus shake. This is like the worst hangover of my life. "Whoever he is, please make him shut up."

The voice's owner pokes his head into the bathroom and laughs at me scathingly. "You look like shit, Amelia."

I glare venomously and swing my leg out to kick him. Of all the faces, it had to be his. "I'm pregnant, Andy. What's your fucking excuse?" He scoffs at me and continues to laugh. Everybody is so annoyingly cheerful.

"You're going to look so awesome tonight." I grab the door and swing it shut, catching his fingers in the hinges. Hah. Serves you right, piss taker.

"You're nervous about headlining, aren't you?" I flush the toilet and turn around to look at Emily. Screw being nervous about headlining—I'm nervous about getting on stage fullstop.

But I shake my head at her and explain the real crux of the matter. "We go straight to the US from here. I left it too late."

She pulls a face at me and nods. "Huh... yeah. Pisser. Breakfast?" I stare at her, mortified by how dismissive she's being. She said it herself yesterday, 'Aunty Emily'. How can she possibly not have more to say on the matter?

She pulls me up to my feet with a smirk and leads me out to the table. Meredith pushes a bagel towards me and ignores my grimace. Pancakes are better. His pancakes. Wait... that sounds creepy.

I pick at the bagel unwillingly and pout at myself. Jesus, I feel extra miserable today. This is supposed to get easier but all I can think about is how much I'm going to have to do on my own without him. He'll miss so much—will he be angry with me?

Plato swings his arm around my shoulder and pats my stomach gently. I wish people would stop touching me. "So, you kept that quiet." I look at him scathingly and don't speak. "Ah well, at least you'll always have a little piece of him with you." The guys all start laughing hysterically and I can't for the life of me understand why my so called friends are being so callous. I jump over Plato and hurl up the steps to my bed and hide there, away from all the bitter bastards who find this all so fucking funny.

I'm swimming in clear green water, leisurely and freely. I pop the bubbles of my air as they slide from my mouth and float contentedly, glad for the serenity. I am alone, I am peaceful, I am calm. I revel in my little game, popping each bubble with a different flourish and smiling in delight as their remnants rise to the surface.

And then nothing. No bubbles. I am devoid of air and stripped of life. I swim frantically upwards but make no headway. These waters are endless. I float lifelessly and watch the waters slip away.

But then I'm approached by smiling green eyes and beautiful face that I love so much. He wraps his lips around mine and pulls me close by the waist, giving his air to me. I can breathe again. He smiles and pushes me up towards the surface, leaving himself down below, empty and doomed.

"Caspian!" I wake up panting, eyes streaming and drenched in sweat. Just saying his name has reopened the floodgates of all the love I feel for him. I search the top deck urgently, but see no sight of him. I fly down the stairs and frantically pull open the door to the bathroom, the cupboards, everywhere, but he's nowhere to be found. Meredith stares at me in surprise and clears her throat.

"Where is he? I know he was here."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"CJ! He's been here while I was sleeping, I know he has!"

Levi grabs me by the elbows and sits me down at the table firmly, shaking his head. "He's not here, Mimi."

I lean my head against the window behind me and pick up my phone. He was here, I know he was! I quickly sit back up when I see that I have a text message. From him.

I would give you my last breath.

It comes with a picture of me sleeping on the bus.

"He was here!" I stare imploringly at Meredith as she snatches my phone and shrugs.

"He could have taken that any time, Ams." What the hell is wrong with these people? Why is everyone trying to make me feel completely hopeless today? Maybe I am just going crazy and grasping at straws. "Come on, you've been sleeping all day. We're on stage in an hour."

We all sit in a circle backstage waiting for the roadies to set us up. The evening sun beats down on us furiously and the crowd outside is one of the largest for the year. We're the Saturday headliners and it's imperative that we play on top form, but I'm so overheated, feel so sick, so rapt with nerves and so tragically overwhelmed with heart ache.

Erek rubs my back and shakes his head nonchalantly. "It's just not the sa—"

"Don't say it." He slaps my leg and tuts.

"It's not the—"

"I said don't say it."

He puts his hand over my mouth and rolls his eyes. "It's not the same without CJ." I bite his hand with tears in my eyes as Big Dave gives us the okay to make our way onto stage. He had to say it and send me out there with envigoured woe stabbing at me. Well done, you've just set a precedent for one sucky performance.

There is a roar of cheers from the crowd when we appear but it pleases me none. I look down at our set list and it's long, really long. I don't know that I have the energy for this. Louise runs over and hangs my Stratocaster over my shoulders. It feels too heavy and foreign, like I have no idea how to play it. I run my fingers across the strings but I don't feel the spark that I used to feel. I am tired. I am weary of fame. I am broken without him. I turn around to look at the guys and they all look at me expectantly but I can't do it. I can't play.

Big Dave marches over and takes my guitar from me with a smirk. "Just sing. We've got you covered." I stare back at him in confusion until my attention is caught by a commotion off stage. I crane my neck but see nothing. Erek looks at me urgently and taps his drumsticks over his head, pushing me to turn around and perform like my life depends on it. Someone begins to play my guitar riffs and they play them well. I look off to the side of the stage and see nobody. It must be Levi, sly fox. I didn't even know he could play the guitar.

It's dark when we get to our final song. My throat is dry and my body aches, but despite it all, I have gotten to the end of this set in one piece. I may just survive the US tour. I look down at my left hand as I reach for a bottle of water at my feet and wilt. I don't want to get on a plane tomorrow. Not without him.

The crowd cheer in front of me unexpectedly and I turn around with a frown to find Emily and Andy stood behind me with guitars and t-shirts reading 'I'm with the band'; the words that started everything. Emily has my Stratocaster—that explains a lot but it goes no way to explaining what they're doing on my stage.

She cocks her head and begins to play a song that tugs at my heart. The crowds are now stony silent and buzzing with anticipation. I heave a wrenching breath and raise my hand to my mouth as the most magnificent figure in the world walks out towards me singing Broken and stops in front of me to spread his hand out across my stomach.

Everyone pauses at the second verse, eager for me to continue. I lay my hand over his, and thread our fingers together as I turn to sing to my audience, spurred on by all his warmth rushing back into my heart. His glorious celadon eyes catch mine and I know that I am forgiven, and he knows that he is forgiven, too.

But I turn and I scowl at him.

I scowl because he scared hell out of me. I scowl because he didn't consult me on the nursery's colour scheme. I scowl because he's got a mean right hook. I scowl because he's devious. I scowl because his 'I'm with the band' t-shirt is tacky.

I smile because I am his and I am complete.

# INTERMISSION

#  Seven months later...

#

#

CJ splashes the warm water over my back as I rest my exhausted head on the side of the pool, submerged to my shoulders. He offers his hand as every muscle in my midsection twists and contorts painfully. I bite down on his knuckles and swear loudly through the pain.

He shakes his hand when I release it and tuts at me. "Ah, bitch! That hurt!"

I look up at him, ready to launch, but he's looking at me so lovingly that I just melt. Another spasm sneaks up on me quickly, I'm completely unprepared.

"Motherfucker!"

"Miss Marsh, you're just working yourself up."

I glare over my shoulder at the midwife and bear my teeth. "Do you see a stage underneath me?" She looks confused. "No. So I'm Mrs. Pearce in here, thank you very fucking much. And with all due respect, you look about twelve; have you ever experienced this yourself?" Her face twitches into an expression that says 'no, I'm fresh out of uni and haven't experienced anything more painful than sneeze'. "I didn't think so." I grab CJ's hand as I'm pulled back into a realm of immense pain, and lean my head against his arm with a whimper when it eventually subsides.

"Stop trying to be a hard ass and take the pethidine, Amelia." I blink up at him and roll my eyes. I can never say no to this despicably handsome man.

"All right, stick it in me."

"No time, _Mrs. Pearce_ , its show time."

I squeak up at CJ and pull a face. He leans in and kisses me gently.

"CJ, I'm scared."

"I know, girl. I've got you."

My eyes flitter open to a warm, dimly lit room. I'm tucked up in our bed and he's sat next to me, stroking my hand with a smile.

"Did I do good?"

"You did awesome. You nearly tore my arm off and made one hell of a mess of the lounge, but you did awesome." He nods his head toward a crib next to me and leans forward. "She's perfect. She looks like you."

"She bloody well wants to." He scoffs at me and helps me sit up in bed, sweeping up the mini speck of a person in the crib and lowering her into my arms. He's so confident and at ease with her. I know that she's safe with him.

I look down at her and my heart swells with immediate and unconditional love. "You liar, she looks like you."

CJ purses his lips and shakes his head. "Nope. Too perfect." I stand by my previous statement. He's too perfect.

"Ugh, you two are sickening." Meredith pokes her head around the door and bites her lip as she approaches. I can see the excitement in her eyes. She pulls the blankets back gently and inhales shakily. "You're both wrong. She looks like me." The three of us burst into hushed giggles.

I stand back in the doorway of the lounge with my arms crossed as the guys gush over our sweet baby girl. She's only two days old but she's surrounded by so much love it's almost sickening. Most of it is mine. She is mine to bathe, walk, sing to and guide. _I promise I'll look after you._

CJ sneaks up behind me and snakes his hands around my waist. "Happy?"

"I'd be happier if she had a name and I didn't have a flabby stomach."

He whines next to my ear and kisses my neck. "No personal trainers."

I snicker and turn around to wrap my arms around his shoulders. "No gyms. No fitness. My greasy food and rock and roll diet used to work just fine." I peer over my shoulder and pout. "Can I get away with bringing you two on tour with us?"

"Of course you can, I've got our bases covered."

I frown as he ducks down and retrieves a bag from behind his legs. I peek inside and laugh at its contents.

"You've got to be joking." He grins at me and pulls a small black baby vest from the bag, unfolding it and lying across his chest. 'I'm with the band' is printed on it in white letters. Good fucking god.

"So when are we clear for landing to make number two?" I gape up at him and he's deadly serious.

"Uh, how many are we having?" I dread the answer to this question.

"Three." I raise an eyebrow and shake my head.

"One." He's not the mug who has to eject them.

He sticks his bottom lip out at me and smirks.

"Okay, two. Meet me halfway."

# PART II

#

#

Sometimes you over-analyse. Sometimes you second guess everything around you.

Sometimes old memories come back to haunt you and sometimes miracles happen.

Life can change in the blink of an eye and something completely unexpected happens that changes your outlook on life.

A rich man can become poor overnight or a wife can become a widow.

Paupers might become princes, and those princes could become kings.

These miraculous turns of fate can happen, but you never expect lightning to strike twice, let alone multiple times.

I am Amelia Marsh—sorry, Pearce.

I am twenty-four years old today and, as far as everyone can tell, I've never been happier.

I haven't, but that doesn't mean I'm happy.

Everywhere I turn, I'm looking over my shoulder to make sure that the Grim Reaper isn't hot on our heels.

Running away from everything with an element of danger, no matter how safe it looks to everyone else.

There have been stupid risks I've taken before that I won't take again. I know better than I did ten years ago, and I won't let failure become an option.

My family was my miracle, So surely my lightning has struck and all that's left is the thunder and rain?

At least I have good company in the storm— my friends, my new family, and the love of my life.

I should be considering myself lucky, not battling with the memories that shouldn't even matter anymore.

I never expected becoming a mother again to be easy, but I never imagined that it could be quite so hard.

I don't see myself in her, because myself is standing out there in the storm on her own through her own doing.

I never imagined that I'd have to stray back out into the tempest to pull her back to safety after she seemed so secure.

I never expected to be setting extra seats at my dining table for miracles, nightmares, and all my demons.

# XXIII

#

#

I can't believe I'm back here again, in this room, on another birthday, staring at another huddled mass on this bed. It's so still and lifeless, and I know that I've been here before, but this should be different. He told me that I wasn't to blame. This shouldn't still haunt me.

But still I reach out for that mass and—

"Creedance!" It gets me every time. I look around this room and I can't believe that I agreed to stay here. Everything was easier when I wasn't forced to face these memories head on.

I jump awake and glance around, met by an empty room. I don't do empty, why is it empty? Why has the jackass taken her away? I bolt down into my sister's overly pretentious sitting room and plough in on the people who I love the most casually chatting away over breakfast.

I heave a sigh of relief and sink down on my reserved spot on the couch. "Why did we agree to stay here again?" I honestly can't imagine why I would possibly do this willingly, I must have been bribed. "I want to go home."

"Ams, you know we can't. This is a big deal for your family."

I glare at Meredith acerbically and lean back in my seat, arms crossed and fully pissed off. "Family. Big deal. How is this birthday any different to the other seven my mother missed?"

She raises an eyebrow and nods towards the doorway, where my collaborative ray of light has just walked in. "Because you have them."

My eyes follow her gaze to the two people who've become like additional but completely necessary limbs. They have matching green eyes, which I'm entirely envious of, but are both in totally different classes of their own. She is a beautiful little princess who keeps me on my toes, and right now, he is the major ass-face who ignores every single fucking word I say.

I stride over him to take her from his arms and stamp on his foot. "Dick, I told you not to leave me alone in there."

"Relax, girl. You don't sleep enough and I knew you'd wake her with your nightmares. I was trying to do right by you both."

"Well don't," I hiss, stomping back to the couch with a huff. "You know that I can't not be around her." He stares at me in bewilderment, completely crushed by the fact that he just doesn't seem to be able to do anything right by me at the moment. I've been completely cutting him out, and after all that we've battled through so far, I know that it must be tearing him to pieces. "CJ, I'm sorry. I just really want to go home."

He trudges over towards me looking dejected and is rewarded with a sympathetic smile from Meredith. He looks like a total hottie when he's vulnerable and she never really ever got past hoping that I'd save her some scraps. "I know you do, girl. We'll be home tomorrow, I promise." I nod wearily and simper at the beautiful little sleeping angel in my arms. I know that it must wound him every time I snatch her from him but I find it so difficult to share her. I'm constantly riddled with anxiety over what will happen if anyone else has her and, consequentially, I've gone out of my way to avoid introducing her to my family. My dad has seen her once, my mother and brother have been in Africa for five years, and under no circumstances is Mackenzie allowed anywhere near her. Difficult, when we're sat in her house.

I'm mortified to see that she's had that ghastly portrait restored, and so is Meredith. It would be nice to think that she'll provide us with yet another reason to defile it again, like she does every year, but this time is going to be different in that I'll have to play happy families with the people who abandoned me when I needed them the most. And why? Because I made a few minor adjustments to my life. Obviously I use the term 'minor' loosely—they were major events for me, but to the most part of my family, they're just things that they're morally obligated to pay a limited amount of interest in.

There'll be fake smiles on photos, I'll be forced to pass my daughter around like pass the bloody parcel, I'll be judged for marrying too fast and too young, and then everyone will fuck off back to their pits from whence they came and won't talk to me again until somebody dies—hopefully Mackenzie.

"So when are Mum and Wills due in?"

"Fourish, baby doll."

"Great," I shuffle up from my seat and ruffle CJ's hair. I wish he didn't look so miserable because I don't know how the hell to make him smile again. There used to be a time when he just had to look at me and that was it, his world was complete. Now we lack where we should excel and I know that it's my fault.

I'm not the spunky rockstar who he eyed up across the university library anymore. I'm a shadow of the woman who he busted his balls for. I gave him everything this time last year but now I keep him at arm's length. Jeez, I know what I need to do to fix this, even though I'm really loathed to do so. Unless...

I sigh quickly and sharply, then turn to Meredith and pass her the little dozing beauty in my arms. She looks at me with utter confusion but doesn't object. She knows that she is the only person in the world other than CJ who gets to hold that girl without a fight and relishes every opportunity to do so.

I stoop down to CJ's eye level and sweep his hair back behind his ear. Haircuts for us have become somewhat unheard of and even though he looks as exhausted as I do, he looks like a total god with his hair messily tied back to escape tiny grabbing hands. He gives me a weak smile that breaks my heart when I hold out my hand and he looks at it as though he's afraid to touch me. "Hey, come on. I need to get changed."

"You want me to come with you?"

I raise an eyebrow and swipe for his hand. "Yes, I want you to come with me. I can't be on my own in there, remember?"

He follows me timidly into my childhood bedroom and squeaks a note of surprise when I launch myself at him and send him toppling back onto the bed. These kind of intimate moments have been non-existent over the past three months—not because my body feels like it's not ready or because I don't lust after him, but because it is my _right_ to say no. I can't expect him to understand that and I can't explain it without tainting his view of me with more miserable tales of my past. That stage of my life is over. Well, it should be and even if it still affects me, we agreed to turn a page and move past it. Plus I really don't want to be treated like a victim.

Naturally, CJ jumps at the chance to get underneath me and is making the most of my somewhat rare passionate advance towards him. He's got that amazing keen twinkle in his eye that he had the night he found his way back to me at Download after six agonising weeks and a few major bombshells.

"Fuck, Amelia, I've missed you so much."

"Ah, stop talking!" My toes cramp from being clenched so tightly as he rubs away the hurt of our separation over the bonnet of his Mercedes SL, blatantly disregarding the cheers and cat calls of the surrounding festival campers. I never imagined that I'd be in this position again, no pun intended, and so freely forgiven for the mistakes I've made, the lies I've told, and more than anything, the secrets I've kept.

His free hand snakes under me and grips the small of my back when it arches and I whimper pathetically, unwilling to find my release when he can't. "Amelia, stop trying to apologise to me like this." His hand moves up and tugs at my chin so I'm looking at him, and that twinkle in his eye bathes me and sends a shock wave of relief rippling through me. "That's better, girl." His fingers stroke down and settle over my Heaven tattoo with a very slight and gentle squeeze. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"Caspian, I do, I'm sorry..." I heave myself up and wrap my arms and legs around him, swearing to never let go again. "I should have called after the fundraiser. No, I should have talked to you when Emily called as soon as I found out but I—"

He puts a finger on my lips and gives me a very slow and sexy smile. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?"

"Amelia?" His voice pulls me back from my reverie and I blink a few times before I realise that I've paused in the middle of undoing his jeans and completely zoned out like a headcase. But still he just smiles up at me and cocks his head to one side. "Girl, I can hear that brain of yours chugging like a locomotive."

I sigh and let my head flop down so my chin rests on my chest. Who the fuck am I kidding? My usual coping strategies aren't going to work this time. "I'm sorry, CJ. I just..." I stare down at him pinned beneath me and rub my eyes with my palms in frustration. "I just can't."

"Okay."

I eye him sceptically and clamber onto the bed beside him, frowning as he digs into my suitcase for my Raven SDL trousers and bell sleeved black shirt. "What do you mean 'okay'?"

"I mean 'okay'." He kneels down at the foot of the bed and drags me towards him by the ankles, pulling off my crappy jeans and dressing me into my mourning outfit. "I've seen that look on your face before, Amelia," he glances up at me and nods, "yeah, that one you're giving me right now. You have demons and you can't possibly imagine how I can stand to watch you fight them when you won't let me help." How the hell does he do that, read me so precisely? "Well, I've stood by you before and I'll do it again."

I heave myself up so he can pull the trousers up and fasten them, then hold my arms out to be dressed into the shirt. "Don't you get pissed off with all my secrets?"

"No, because you invariably tell me what they are when you're ready to. I know better than to push you." He purses his lips and lifts my hands up to them to kiss the stunning engagement ring on my left hand and the rose tattoo that he know covers a cigarette burn on the right. "But you have to remember that nothing you tell me about your past is going to send me running."

"You're perceptive. Stop it." He laughs softly and pulls me into the warm snug of his arm and rests his cheek on my forehead. "Come to the cemetery with us."

He shifts to look down at me with genuine surprise. "Really? I'd be honoured."

Jesus, what did I ever do to deserve this guy?

Creedance's grave looks like crap again and for another year running, Meredith and I are fuming that nobody down this end makes the effort to keep it tidy. Seriously, she had two parents and the one closest to her is the reason why she was ever born. I have to wonder if he bothers coming here at all.

Meredith nudges me in the ribs and tips her head towards CJ frowning down at the headstone. His expression is entirely unreadable but his protective stance over the car seat suggests that maybe he's feeling just a tiny piece of my personal hell singeing at his toes. "I'll wait at the car." I nod to her and regard him warily as he leans down and runs his fingers over the engraved words.

Creedance Marsh  
Died so young, lived so little.

" _Love My Baby."_ I furrow my brow as he looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. "Your dad's song. He wrote it for her."

"Oh," I smile weakly and nod, "yeah, he did. He was on tour when... Well, you know. He was gutted. He loved being a grampy bear. You should have seen his face when he realised I was knocked up again—never seen a man quite so proud of a contraceptive boo-boo." He coughs a suppressed laugh and scoops an arm around my legs. It's weird to think that at this time last year he had no idea that I was obscenely famous and now he's quite at ease with both me and his tragically iconic glam rocker for a father-in-law. I think my dad sees CJ more than he sees me; I swear that CJ comes home and confesses to a cheeky whiskey with him almost twice as much as I pretend that I haven't snuck to the gym and ended up being caught out and exposed to a fatherly round of fucks. I think CJ is definitely more bothered that I've been doing too much too soon, but Dad is worried about my tendency to 'put it about'. Jesus, if only he knew how little he should be concerned about that. Also, I figure the gym is no place for a baby...

"Do you want a minute alone?" CJ rises to his feet and kisses my forehead. "Before we take her little sister off to puke over the troll's furniture?" Hmm, shame she's not on solids yet.

I sigh and hum an affirmation, waiting until his footsteps are completely out of earshot to lean down and kiss the cold slab of granite. "You'd love him, Cree. He would have been an awesome dad for you. He would have made up for everything you ever heard and saw." If I'd ever gotten away from it. How the hell do you ever make up for such horrendous first memories?

I'm suddenly completely full of regret for everything that I ever did that lead up to meeting Lucien, never walking away, always obeying his orders and never speaking up to anyone who could stop it. My family thought I was a self-destructive fuck up when really, all I ever did was cover his ass when he marked me and say whatever I had to, to stop him from taking my baby away.

I slump into the back seat of the car with a sigh and pull my phone out of my pocket to scan through the perfunctory emails from my 'mother' informing me of the delays to their flight and oh, by the way, happy birthday but not really, hope it sucks.

"Amelia?" I glance up at Meredith and blink numbly. "Where is she?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? I don't have a satellite link to her plane."

She scoffs in disbelief and glares at the empty seat next to me. "Your daughter, you dick."

I roll my eyes. "CJ has her."

"No, I don't. You told me that you couldn't be away from her."

My eyes burn into the back of his head for a minute before I hurtle out of the car and fly back through the cemetery and throw myself down on the ground in front of the car seat with a sob. She smiles up at me, those immaculate little green eyes staring at me with unconditional love and I just can't look at her. Creedance used to look at me in exactly the same way and look what happened to her. Her death might not have been my fault, but everything she experienced in those short nine months was. I'm not good for my daughter.

CJ gives me that same look of unconditional love when I reach the car again and it makes me sick. I used to make a career of being unlovable and now I'm completely fucking surrounded by people who think the sun shines out of my backside. It doesn't. I'm too tweaked for anyone to delude themselves with that notion.

I pass the car seat to him and take a step back to debate my next move. They would both be better off with each other, he's so much more comfortable with her than I am. Mackenzie took my experience away from me and I don't know how the hell to be a good mother. I've muddled through the past three months like an automaton, the instinct is there but I just haven't had that eureka moment yet. He had it immediately, the moment she was born.

"Hey," CJ steps up to me and brushes my tears away with his thumbs. "It could happen to anyone. You didn't realise I'd left her there."

I put my hands on his chest and shove him away with a snarl. "Would you stop it? Would you stop being so fucking nice and make me feel like shit for once?"

"Amelia..."

"No, Caspian, my god! It wouldn't have even occurred to me until we got back to Birmingham and I saw that cot in our room."

"Don't be stupid; you can't go more than five minutes without being in the same room as her." He leads me around to my seat and leans down into the doorway to give me _that_ look. "There used to be a time when you'd laugh this off, girl. I'm doing _all_ of the night feeds tonight and you're getting drunk with Meredith and trashing Mackenzie's house. I want my wife back—the way you were before."

His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth for the entire journey back to Mackenzie's and I'm not really sure how to approach the sentiment. Before what exactly? Before I fell in love with him, before I overcame my fears for him, before he found out I was a kick ass rockstar or before I married him and bore a child? Have I really changed that much in three months?

"Before what, CJ?" He looks up at me in the rear view mirror and frowns. "The way I was before what?"

I hear him exhale slowly and shift in his seat. "Before you let your fears eat away at you and turn you into a person who let her problems consume her instead of brushing them off and masking them with tattoos." Right, so before I had the baby.

"So you'd rather I mask my problems with a feeble eight word mantra I clearly can't adhere to? You want me to begrudgingly put out or suck cock to make _you_ feel better because you're not centre of attention anymore?"

"No, Jesus!" He looks up at me in the mirror again and his jaw stiffens. He only ever does that when he's about to say something that's likely to cause a volatile reaction. My insides churn slightly at the sight of him pre-emptively flinching. I hate that he's scared of me, I've been in that position myself. "I'm not Lucien, Amelia. And Delilah isn't Creedance. You need to stop waiting for the past to repeat itself."

He was wrong to flinch. He's completely right.

I rub my eyes back into focus with a grunt and turn onto my side to observe the other two thirds of 'family nap time'. CJ has this crazy idea that my paranoia largely whittles down to sleep deprivation and is now insisting on frequent dozing together in the name of 'adjusted attachment parenting'.

What he really means is that he likes to starfish at night and wake up jabbing me in the back with his morning wood, so the real principle of co-sleeping is off the table, but he's dead keen on power naps and baby wearing, so we're going to be one of those celebrity couples seen out with a baby carrier and custom-made changing bag with matching mirrored aviators.

The tiny snoring between us is a comfort and good compensation for all the times I've woken up in the middle of the night to check on her. That's the real reason why I'm so tired. CJ sleeps through it so he doesn't know that she's amazing in that she'll happily sleep all night, but dumb fuck here insists on waking her up and feeding her anyway. I know that I need to take a step back and let her flourish but there's so much that I need to redeem myself for.

My eye is caught by a flash of white teeth grinning at me and a cheekily opened eye. Twat, he wasn't sleeping at all. "Have you been watching me?"

He winks and nods, before tentatively creeping out of the bed and circling around to my side, balancing on the edge of the mattress to spoon me. I remember falling asleep like this on the night I told him about my philematophobia—my fear of kissing. Ever since that moment, when he realised just how deeply damaged I was, he's never pushed me too far or asked me to surrender information that I wasn't happy to provide. He doesn't have an assertive bone in his body. Well, he has one, but that's not exactly a 'bone' so to speak. That's the only aspect of our relationship where we have equal control, everything else is under my jurisdiction. I don't really know if I like it that way.

"There's more to this room than Creedance, isn't there?" I twist my head to look around at him and smile apologetically. I must have been having nightmares again and I hope that I haven't given away too much. He rolls back out of the bed and pulls me up towards him, trapping my fingers between his. "I'll red-eye the drive home tonight."

My eyebrow jerks and on some level, I'm deeply impressed by his hurry to sweep me away from the place where the worst events of my life unfolded.

"You don't have to do that, you'll be exhausted tomorrow."

"A hotel, then. It was unfair of Mackenzie to put you back in this room. She could have put Plato and Levi in here; they don't have any bad memories of this place."

His fingers flex between mine and I can feel every bit of his frustration that he can't just sweep me up and possess my body in the way he used to, that he can't express himself in the way he wants to. We gave each other uninhibited access to each other and I revoked that the minute the gravity of my universe shifted and centred on that baby girl. Why did I let it shift when they couldn't be closer together if they tried?

I glance back at the bed behind me and attach myself to a guise that I've used only too frequently in the past six years. I know that he needs me to show him that I'm still as crazy for him as I was this time last year, when we rocked into my sister's house with our stinking bad attitudes and he peeled me away from a piece of my painful past and earned my trust.

My eyes narrow slightly as I set to undoing the buttons on my shirt with a smirk. "Birthday bump me, bitch." I run my tongue across my teeth salaciously and drop to my knees with a complimentary murmur, making light work of his belt.

"Amelia, stop."

I glance up at him and raise an eyebrow. "Stop looking at me." He stifles a smile and shakes his head at me. "I can't believe you're turning down a blowjob."

"I'll take it if you lose the stage face." My hands fall limp at my sides and I rock back onto my heels. God damn it. I can't get anything past him. I should know better than this by now. "Stop trying to apologise to me with bravado and flirtation," he tells me, pulling me to my feet. "You're too hard on yourself. Don't you remember the premise of our relationship? Intimacy, girl. That's all I need from you."

And that intimacy is gone. We both know it, and we're both afraid to admit it. I've pushed him away while I've been keeping one eye fixed on pessimism and I need to find my way back to him.

There's a whimper and a grunt behind me and our baby girl is awake, griping and whinging for our attention. I usually lunge at her in a heartbeat but... no. I put a hand on CJ's shoulder and give him a timid smile. "Go on. Your daughter wants you." His eyes widen in surprise and in less than a second he's on her, curling his arms around her with a smile that I'm not even sure he's aware that he's wearing. She soon settles and coos, chuckling at his faces like he's the funniest man on the planet. He might be.

He looks up at me and half smiles, holding a hand out to me to pull me close. "I won't let anything happen to her, Amelia. I won't stand over another grave that small." I can see the pain in his eyes and it proves that, yes, he looked at that headstone and understood my grief. He sees what other people don't because he has that emotional connection. To some extent, Creedance is his step-daughter.

"I know. I trust you." And in my heart I do. But my head needs to get the message, too, and I know how. I have to take the path of self-discovery I've taken before but this time, I already know where it starts.

I tap my foot rhythmically against the crappy brown lino of the waiting room floor and cradle my face in my hands, fingers combed into my hair. It's the first time I've sat in this room for nine years and the first time ever without my dad. It hasn't changed a bit, and neither has _he_.

He walks out in the same tweed suit as ever but greyer through age and a little more wrinkled. He smiles and cocks his head when he sees me, like he's not really surprised that I found my way back to his office. His aquamarine eyes still twinkle with knowledge and he's reading me without me having to say a word.

"Amelia Marsh," he laughs. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

I jump to my feet and knot my fingers in front of my stomach. "Dr. Cooper."

The shrink.

# XXIV

#

#

He frowns down at his notepad and scratches his nose with the end of his pencil. I've seen that look before; he's processing information and hatching plans. I've already spent a good half an hour giving him a thorough run down of all the little ways in which I obsess over my daughter, from my unwillingness to expose her to 'unsavoury' relatives to my incessant phone calls to CJ's mother on a daily basis.

"Well," he looks up at me and tucks the pencil in the spiral binding, "I certainly don't think you have postnatal depression," I slump back in my seat and heave an inward sigh of relief. That was my worst fear. "But you're definitely still very rigidly stuck in your anxiety disorder." I didn't need to part with a substantial chunk of my bank account to know that.

I narrow my eyes at him and try to read his mind. "But?" I can feel that 'but' hanging.

He laughs softly and smiles. "But given the circumstances of Creedance's death, I can't see that anything you're doing is irrational. Plenty of mothers frequently check on their child, particularly if they've been exposed to the statistics and horror stories of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome." SIDS? Oh fuck, I hadn't even thought of that. Nice one, Doc. "You trust your husband enough to leave your daughter with him for extended periods—as you are now, you have on-tap paediatric advice from your mother-in-law, Meredith is on constant standby for assistance and you have a wonderful support network. The rest will come with time, Amelia."

"So I'm not crazy?"

Dr. Cooper tuts at me and leans back in his armchair. "Honestly, I would have thought that with your degree and extensive psychological knowledge, you'd know better than to label yourself with something so relative and derogatory. No, Amelia, I certainly won't be calling the men in white coats to section you."

"Okay..." I stare down at my hands and fiddle with the large black diamond embedded in my engagement ring. I can't believe that I've been wearing it for a year and how much has changed in that time. CJ has been so good for me, even if we have had our troubles.

And those are coming up again. This time last year is when everything went so sour.

Dr. Cooper raises an eyebrow at me and smirks, nodding at the door. "You never used to be able to get out here fast enough. Why are you really here?" Perceptive, but it feels like he's mocking me. Things are different this time, the focus of my concerns has changed.

I grunt awkwardly and kick my feet up onto his table. "Being back in the house has obviously sparked some bad memories but it goes beyond that and I don't know why. I need you to fix me so CJ has his wife back."

He looks at me with surprise. I have never given up information so freely in my life. For the first time since we met, he has a patient in me and not a resistant teen. "What goes beyond that?"

"My unwillingness to be physically affectionate. He knows when I'm trying to push through it and won't let me carry on but I know that it's killing him."

"Do you think he needs to have sex with you to know that you love him?" Jesus, hitting the nail on the head much? Since the first time he sneaked into my dressing room and insisted that he was 'helping' me by launching a brutal assault on my g-spot, our relationship has always centred around sex. Hasn't it?

"Maybe. We would probably never have gotten to we are now if he hadn't made a very bold advance on me in Manchester."

The good doctor clears his throat and purses his lips, steepling his fingers under his chin. "So he forced himself on you?"

"No, shit no!" I swing my feet down to the floor and lean my elbows on my knees. "We always maintain eye contact and all I ever have to do to stop him is to look away." I laugh awkwardly and stare down at the floor, flaring my eyes in the wake of my realisation. "He met me when I refused to allow any kind of intimacy into my life. He broke me with sex and tolerance, and he's so tolerant that it drives me insane." I remember implicitly how I once basked in his subservience. "I miss how he used to brazenly walk in on me and trap me in his gaze, leaving me completely helpless." I revere that gaze so much that I had it tattooed on my thigh.

"So you liked it when he had control?"

My eyes jerk up and narrow. "Equal control, Doc. God knows I don't need another Lucien in my life. But now I can't figure out which one of us has the overriding power. If there's anything genuinely intimate I shy away but he puts an end to anything I try and push through."

Coops sighs and stands up to stroll over to a table full of cups, saucers and beverage paraphernalia. Oh crap, I know that when this guy gets the biscuits out he's about to make some kind of wild breakthrough.

"So why do you shy away from anything mutually approached?"

"Because its my right to say no." He cocks his head for elaboration and sets to making my coffee. I can't believe he still remembers how I take it after all this time. He was one of a very exclusive few who never scorned my early caffeine addiction. "I could never say no to Lucien after Creedance was born because it was easier than braving the string of abuse. I'm involuntarily attached to my right to say no and I can't get out of that pattern."

He holds a mug in front of my face and I wrap my hands around it to absorb the warmth. Hot coffee, what a novelty these days. "So for how long was Lucien raping you?"

I glance up with a sneer and shake my head. "He wasn't raping me. It was consensual."

"Oh, really?"

"Ah, Lucien no, it hurts!"

"Stop being such a pussy, Mia, it's been two weeks." He leans over me, the cold metal of his dog tags burning my bare chest. "It's not like you did it properly so nothing is fucked up down there."

"It still really hurts! I'm still bleeding and they said six weeks."

"Get a fucking grip. I've done plenty of blood sports before." He hikes my legs up around his waist and sends a searing wave of pain through the fresh scar across my hips that makes me scream out.

Somebody knocks on the door gently. "You okay, baby bear?" Just come in. Please just come in. I wish I could make him help me.

"Fine, papa bear!"

"Okay then."

I glare up at Lucien and squeeze my eyes shut. "Just get on with it."

"So you think that because you just surrendered and let him do what he wanted to you, it was consensual?" Dr. Cooper takes a sip of his tea and shakes his head. I'm not really sure what flaw he's finding here. I said yes and I didn't put up a fight.

"I loved him, Doc, or at least I thought I did. It took until last year for me to realise that it wasn't really love." I only ever have and only ever will love CJ, and the man himself made me see that.

He leans back in his armchair again and furrows his brow. "Stockholm Syndrome."

I scoff and heat my face off the steam from my mug. "Not applicable. I pursued Lucien at first and I enj **—** " My lips tighten into a line and I clam up with a harsh inhale.

"And?" I shake my head insistently. I'm not ready to make that admission out loud. "Consensual or not, Amelia, your relationship was always illegal in the eyes of society. A seventeen year old bedding a thirteen year old will always be 'wrong', but when he ties her up and subjects her to wax play and scarification, it's abuse. One day you're going to realise that this runs a little deeper than an early introduction to sadism, and well into an over-abuse of seniority. Whether you enjoyed it at the time or not..." I cringe and avert my gaze from his. How the hell do people read me like that? "You let him do things that you weren't happy with and you've been left with the physical and emotional scars. You know that and that's why you're here on your birthday when you could be sitting at home with your family."

"So tell me how to get rid of these demons, Doc," I plead. "Tell me what I have to do to be the person I was before that baby was born."

"Ah." He gives me that annoying all-knowing look he used to give me ten years ago and rests his mug down on the arm of his chair. "How many children do you have?"

I wrinkle my nose and kick my boots off, tucking my feet underneath me. He should know the answer to this. "One."

"But how many did you leave in that cemetery this morning?" I stammer and grunt, and then sigh. "Two, Amelia. You have two very different daughters by two very different men. Delilah is by no means a replacement for Creedance—if you're waiting for some kind of karmic retribution for her death, no amount of co-sleeping and dreamfeeds are going sate your fear. There is no expiry date on grief and nobody expects you to just forget about Cree now. But Delilah is not her reincarnation or second coming and you need to learn to discern the difference between your two daughters."

We sit in silence for a while, the antique grandfather clock ticking away the seconds like it always used to. I remember sitting like this for an hour every week while my dad sat outside concocting new cock and bull reasons for my absence from school. He always knew that something underhand was going on between Lucien and I, and hoped that I might reach out to a stranger—a very expensive stranger. Dr. Cooper would talk me around in petulant circles until I'd crack and blurt out a little nugget of a confession for him to mine. He's the only person who knows exactly what happened in that bedroom and he's never judged me harshly because he's paid too well and has heard much worse.

"How have you coped with your memories for the past nine years, Amelia?" He breaks the silence and reaches over for my empty mug. "Your relationship with your husband has made for some highly interesting reading, but how did you get by before he turned up?"

My face splits into a grin at the thought of Coops scouring over gossip blogs and rock magazines. "I never had you down as an _RAE_ fan." He shrugs casually and its almost a confession that he's a secret mosher. "Alcohol, music and casual sex."

"Which you controlled?" I pull a face at him dubiously and bite my lip. I know what he's thinking—power shift. "And then he came along and grounded you, didn't he? Took away that fear of intimacy that manifested itself in a phobia, and opened you back up to a world you have only known to coexist with pain and degradation."

"He's a walking emotional trigger," I laugh helplessly. CJ might have sent me right off the deep end and very nearly did. "But he has his own mental ex with a penchant for whips and chains, and he's the only one who knows the truth behind my scars. He's safe." And too despicably nice to ever cause me any intentional harm. Any time he ever hurt me was accidental.

Dr. Cooper carries our mugs back over to the table and circles around to his desk. "I think he may be the best therapy that you could have ever hoped to find but I think he needs to learn to deal with that dead stare in your eyes when you put on your 'stage face' and let you push past those barriers with him again, like you've had to before. I think he's inadvertently holding you back." He pulls a diary out of his drawer and opens it when he slumps back down into his armchair. "Why don't you drop by with him and your daughter before you head back home tomorrow?"

I snort and grab my boots from the ground with a snap. "No way. Nobody can know that I came back here."

"You still think that you're weak for asking for help." I raise an eyebrow and scowl. My bandmates would piss themselves laughing if they found out that I'd hired a psychiatrist after spending six years insisting that I could manage my neuroses quite capably on my own. "I think that being able to admit that you need help after all this time makes you a stronger person than most, Amelia."

"You have to say that or you'd be out of a job."

I'm immediately swept up in CJ's arms the second I step through the door into Mackenzie's house and he grabs me so forcefully that it's almost winding. I can feel him shaking around me, like I've been missing for forty years in somebody's basement or something. "Um, hello."

"Where have you been, girl?" He pulls back and grips me by the shoulders, dewy eyed and looking mithered.

"I've been..." My eyes fall on Andy, Meredith, Plato, Levi and Erek all scowling at me, and more unnervingly, my dad standing behind them. Oh crap, I know what they're thinking. They're mentally reliving my twelve day disappearance to Southampton after CJ's birthday last year. It only occurs to me now that I didn't tell anyone that I was going out. "Nowhere. I'm really sorry that I took off without a word—I promise that I wasn't running away." I do a double take around my captive audience and narrow my eyes. "Where's Delilah?"

"Sleeping, girl. I have the monitor in my pocket."

"In _my_ bedroom?" I tut and growl, stepping back to retreat down the hallway, just about ready to kill. "Why don't you just throw her into the fucking motorway?"

"Ams, she's in the sitting room in the Moses basket." I freeze and slouch back around apologetically. My fuse is way too short these days. Meredith paces towards me with a grimace and steers me through to my little girl. "We're not stupid, you know. He's as scared of this place as you are." Her eyes dart towards CJ, who is lingering over that basket as nervously as I have been for three months. Taking him to Creedance's grave has obviously put the frighteners on him and that really wasn't my intention. I don't want him to torture himself like I do. "You took the car, baby doll. The car seat is in there. We couldn't come and look for you."

I join CJ and cast a doting smile over my daughter. _Not Creedance. Not her second coming. "_ You didn't need to come and look for me, Mer. I just needed to bounce around a few ideas and notions."

My dad's hands clap down on my shoulders and squeeze. "Bounce them around in 'Nowhere'? Do I know this 'Nowhere'?" Can't get anything past this man. I nod once and glance sideways at CJ. He's noticeably stiffened and the little person who runs the command central in his brain has vacated the area. Saying 'it's not what you think' will both incriminate me and push me into explaining myself, plus I'm a little annoyed that he's automatically jumped to the assumption that I've found myself another Jason.

I look to my dad and hope that he's still as skilled in blaggard as he used to be. "We had some good times in 'Nowhere', didn't we, baby bear? I wrote some awesome songs there." _Okay good, keep it vague. "_ Does 'Nowhere' have Skype?"

I raise an eyebrow and turn to him with an uncertain stammer. "I didn't think to ask."

"I'll find out." He winks at me and gives CJ a reassuring thump on the back. "You'll like 'Nowhere', it's good for her." He looks more confused than he did when Mackenzie blurted out about Creedance last year.

Somehow, we've ended up in another 'family nap time', but this time it's in the sitting room and CJ is being used as a human pillow. We rest like this at home and I feel like myself when we're together like this, wrapped up in each other and almost secluded from the outside world. Everyone is still milling around and laughing as loudly as ever but it's easy to tune out when all I can hear is his heart beating underneath me.

Dr. Cooper has given me a lot to think about and consider, which I knew he would, but I still don't know how I'm supposed to move forward. I'm not naive enough to believe that my past is going to stop hanging over me once we're back in Birmingham, which means that I need to confront it or somehow drown out it's influence. Which means I have to do something about everything that happened in that bedroom. I have to change it's association. It's not as simple as just demanding that CJ buys a new bed like I did at home.

A shadow casts over us and rouses me from my cat nap, and I open my eyes to the bitter gaze of a troll. "Oh fucking hell, you're home."

"You three need to wake up and get changed. Mum and Wills will be here in ten minutes."

I roll my eyes before I close them again and wriggle up closer to CJ. "There's nothing wrong with what we're wearing." Her eyes slide across our matching 'I'm With The Band' t-shirts and baggy jeans, and she greets my smirk with a sneer. She knows damn well that there is nothing better than this in my suitcase. Despite having a newborn, I didn't hang up my rocker style and ditch the fishnets and New Rocks. In fact, I had a whole bunch of outfits custom made while we were in the US and I got massively pregnant in style.

"You look like a family of tramps."

I lift my head when I feel CJ shuffle underneath me and stifle a laugh when he opens one eye to glare at her and mutter, "Fuck off, Mackenzie". Atta boy.

He opens the other eye when she's safely out of the room and gives me a wicked sexy smile that makes all the muscles south of my waist clench. That's the same smile he gave me after I slapped him in Manchester and look at us now. He made claims to taming me and, boy, was he ever right? I might not be in the frame of mind to jump on him, but I'm glad that he still pushes my hot buttons.

His hand creeps up to my face and tucks a strand of messy blonde hair behind my ear. "Dig into my pocket, girl."

I run my tongue across my teeth and raise an eyebrow towards the baby curled up on his chest. "It's a bit of an inappropriate time to be requesting a helping hand."

"Filth," he tuts. "Your birthday present is in there." Birthday present indeed, that's a synonym and a half. He grips my chin with a bemused groan and tries to admonish me with an unconvincing frown. "Ugh, you're disgusting." I nod in agreement and delve my hand into his pocket with a pout. Oh Jesus, another ring box.

"We're already married, CJ."

"Yes, I am aware." He taps it's top and looks at me expectantly. "Just open it."

So I do, with a sigh, but get caught off guard by it's contents. Not one, but two rings. Matching platinum bands, but one is twisted slightly, and they're both engraved with ' _Meet Me Halfway_ '. If I thought that the lyrics would ever stop being applicable to our relationship, I was dead wrong. I need him to meet me halfway now more than ever.

"We didn't have rings in Vegas."

"What do you mean you forgot?" Meredith glares at me like I've just told her that we'd forgotten the rings for her impulsive wedding. "Haven't you two been talking about this since we got on the plane to Washington?"

"Yes but, you know," I nod down at my ever growing gut, "the child knows what it wants."

"What you want, Ams. I'm surprised you haven't broken CJ." I shrug none too apologetically and wrap an arm around my man's waist. He's been a real trooper through my raging sex drive, and on the odd occasion that he tries to roll over and go to sleep, I do remind him that it's his fault. "You can't get married with no rings."

"Bullshit—just watch me. And, you know, hurry up. I'm achin' for some consummatin'."

"This will wrap right around your engagement ring." CJ tugs the black diamond off my finger and replaces it with the new ring around its base. Well that's it, it's bloody official now. Mrs CJ Pearce. Who'd have thunk it? "Happy birthday, bitch."

I snicker and pull the other ring from the box to slide it onto his ring finger. That's him tethered, too. "Doesn't that sentiment come across the bonnet of a Mercedes?"

"It can come across anything you want."

"Ugh, you've watched her squeeze a baby out and you're still sickening." Andy throws himself down on the couch opposite us and sticks his tongue out. He's jealous. He's 'joked' about popping the question to Meredith and she pretty much told him that she'd have his balls in a jar and abandon him if he did. I think he forgets that she's still twenty-four and absolutely _terrified_ of commitment. Watching me muddle through two somewhat unorthodox relationships might have tainted her preconceived notions of 'the whole package' and she won't even label Andy as a boyfriend. "So are your mother and brother as inhospitable as Maccuntsie?"

My jaw drops at his new affectionate pet name for my sister and I have to say, it might catch on. "Mum is. Wills doesn't speak. I think he's socially stunted."

"Hereditary, that."

"Hah." I'm not socially stunted, I just choose to treat everybody with the same contempt with which they treat me. "Watch him though, he's hot for Mer."

"He is not." Meredith saunters in and narrows her eyes at me. He's hot for her and she knows it. "Even if he was, I'd rather chew wasps. No offence, but your brother is a mutt and keeps poor company."

"None taken." She's actually being generous. He looks almost as much like a pit bull as Mackenzie does but is stocky and a total computer geek. I've said it before and I'll say it again—if not for my dad, I'd think I was adopted. I look nothing like my mother or my siblings and can't relate to them in the slightest. "Where is everyone?"

"Bobby is on the phone with some guy he keeps calling 'Coops'. He very rudely shoved everyone out of the kitchen. The gays and Erek are out on the beach." Wonderful. My 'family' is going to be outnumbered by my tribe and between them, I know that they have more than enough wit and snipe to slap down every shitty remark that they throw in my direction.

And there they are, right on cue, barking like hellhounds down the corridor with no regard for the child they know is sleeping in here. I can hardly say that I'm surprised. They live in a fantasy world in which they are royalty and everyone else are but lowly peasants. Luckily for me, I stopped being one of _them_ nearly nine years ago, when Dad and I hotfooted it to Birmingham after Creedance's funeral. I consider that a bullet dodged.

They gossip with Mackenzie for what seems like an eternity and make no effort to hide the fact that they're quite blatantly talking about me. It's hard to discern exactly what they're saying, but we all hear mine and CJ's names connected to 'tattoos', 'stinking rich' and 'too good for her'. Loving the family solidarity. And then I hear _his_ name and Wills grunt in response. As coherent as ever, I see.

My mother eventually strolls in and grabs at my arms, lifting them up and examining them with deep disdain. Her eyes centre on my wrists and she wrinkles her nose. "You covered them then?"

"Hi Mum, lovely to see you after just short of nine years. I'm well, thank you, yes, my career is fabulous, my husband is wonderful and your granddaughter is amazing, healthy and still alive under my care." CJ raises an eyebrow at me and I think he's actually genuinely surprised by how much like Mackenzie she is. He looks almost sympathetic.

"You look like your father." Awesome. She eventually releases her bony fingered grip on my arms looks over to Meredith. "Cho."

"Marsh." She flashes her own stage face—the impassive raised eyebrow with a curled lip that she reserves for our most aggressive songs and photo shoots. She hates my mother as much as I do. "Nice time in Africa?"

"As nice as it can be watching orphans die from HIV." Happy birthday to me.

Delilah wriggles on CJ's chest and he scoops her up with a croon, shifting to sit up and dislodging me from my comfortable lounge across him. Spoilsport. He was essentially a human barrier but it means my mother gets to see how great he is with her and wipe the snarl from her face. Which it does.

CJ scoops Baby D over onto my lap and throws an arm around my shoulders, settling his other hand on my thigh so she gets a full view of his wedding ring. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Marsh." Not nice enough to offer a hand to shake though. I know he's doing it on purpose.

My mother blinks slowly and circles the couch to crouch down in front of us. "Caspian, I presume."

"You presume correctly but I prefer CJ. Amelia is the only person who I comfortably allow to call me by my full name." I look over her shoulder at Andy and he nods. Jeez, I never knew that I was the only person allowed to call him Caspian, it's something I've always taken for granted. I'm actually a little humbled.

"Fine, _CJ_." My mother clears her throat and gives the smallest of sighs. "You're well off?" Bloody hell, straight in for the kill.

"Very."

"You know about Amelia's childhood?" I feel myself pale a little. I can't believe she's gone straight for the jugular without so much as an introduction.

CJ's arm tightens around me and he stares her dead in the eye. "I know your daughter better than you do."

Her eyes flit over to me for a second and I feel the air chill. No doubt that she's thinking that I've filled his head with lies and shifted the blame but it was essentially Mackenzie who told him about Creedance. He _does_ know me better, so she's got nothing on me and she knows it. She can't so much as step foot on the moral high ground.

Our glares separate and she lunges towards Delilah. "Give her here then."

"Fuck off!" I lift her out of reach and scowl.

"Watch your language," my mother hisses, making another grab, so CJ stands up and sweeps her off to safety.

"Sorry. Fuck off, _please._ " I shake my head and cross my arms over my body defensively. "This one is mine, Mum. You and Mackenzie don't get to play dollies this time. You don't get to pick her up and take her away from me and take away those precious first moments that I'll never get back. You don't get to take away those first smiles, the first time she rolls over, and you don't get to be the first one she calls 'mama'. Not this time."

For the first time in my life, I see guilt flash in my mother's eyes and the realisation that she failed me finally hits home. She never once let me grieve and told me that I didn't have a right to cry at the funeral. She never gave me chance to be close enough and she never let me bond.

I lean forward towards her and sigh slowly, aware of all of the eyes eagerly watching me. "I haven't seen you for nearly nine years and if you'd have come back this time last year, you would have seen the mess you helped to create." I glance up at the clock and narrow my eyes. "No, actually, if you'd come back at _exactly_ this time last year, you would have found your son-in-law rebuilding everything that you had a hand in destroying after Mackenzie very spitefully announced that it's my fault that Creedance is dead. It's not, Mum. It wasn't my fault."

She looks up at me and closes her eyes, nodding slowly. "I know, Amelia. I know it wasn't your fault."

# XXV

#

#

I sag back in my seat at that revelation and cradle my face in my hands with a whimper. I waited so long to hear her say those words, but it sickens me that I had to get married and have another baby for her to drag herself back from Africa to do so. I held myself responsible for so long and it shouldn't have been up to CJ to take that weight from my shoulders. I shouldn't have had to put myself through so many years of self-destruction but ultimately, those experiences made me who I am now and I wouldn't have CJ without them.

I peer up through my fingers and raise an eyebrow at Meredith, who is wrapped around Andy and making a series of crude gestures behind my mothers back. I can tell that this is a weight off her mind, too, and in the spirit of birthdays, I'm going to make sure that we celebrate. I crane my neck to look back at CJ, who is milling around the room singing quietly to Delilah, and he winks at me with a beaming great smile that's positively contagious.

"Well then," I announce with a laugh, "now that's out of the way, how about we get some music on and make up for nine years of crappy birthdays?"

"I hear that." My dad appears in the doorway and throws me a bottle of Red Square. "CJ said he's making you take the night off motherly duties, so drink up and sing with your papa bear."

I wrinkle my nose at the bottle and flinch when he throws me a bottle opener. Do they even make this anymore? "Red Square? Bloody hell, Dad, dire straits."

"Consider it a blast from the past, plus Mac is fresh out of Jack Daniels so Plato and Levi are out getting supplies."

"Boo." I open the bottle with a groan and have it just to my lips when I realise that my mother is still in front of me and regarding me with wide eyes and a faint smile. "What?"

"How did you grow up to be so strong?" Strong? She doesn't have a fucking clue how wrong she is there, however—

I nod my head to my dad and CJ in turn, and shrug. "Them. Dad took me away and gave me music, and CJ gave me hope and love. My friends kept me alive." It's all I can do to stop myself from telling her that she gave me nothing.

My first taste of alcohol in almost a year hits me like a speeding train and I very quickly start to flag under its influence. I can't believe that I used to throw it back like Meredith does—my poor liver must be glad for the reprieve. Dad takes pity on me and begins to swap my drinks for plain Coca-Cola when nobody is looking, and gives me that reassuring fatherly 'I've got your back' look every time he does it.

The whiskey clouds my judgment enough to let my mother hold Delilah under CJ's _very_ close supervision and she's been gushing for fifteen bloody minutes. He is poised and ready to pounce at the first sign of bitterness and I can see his car keys in his pocket ready to go at any second. I fucking love that man.

"Delilah, what a lovely name. Tom Jones reference?" I shoot her an incredulous look and shake my head. Tom Jones reference indeed. "Samson and Delilah?"

"Stop guessing, Mother, you'll never get it. She's named after a burlesque dancer." Her eyes widen and I can tell that she's unimpressed. I'm almost daring her to say something derogatory. She doesn't. Shame really. "Delilah Patience Pearce."

"Patience is pretty." I hum my agreement and let my head flop down backwards against the couch. Okay, my alcohol tolerance is just about reached. I'm done. Levi leans over me and tuts wistfully, silently berating me for my lack of 'game'. "Shut up, you queen. I'm not the woman I used to be." My words stab at me and I instantly jolt up and hold out a hand. "Give me another drink." I _need_ to be the woman I used to be.

"Girl, that wasn't what I meant." CJ ably exercises his powers of telepathy and reads my mind in that way only he can. "Don't make yourself ill to prove a point. I can keep up with you better if you're a cheap date." A smile very slowly spreads across my face and my eyes swivel around to the doorway. He nods his head towards Meredith and shows me that she is in no fit state to be providing any kind of child care assistance so we can slope off and embark on another mission to battle my demons. Damn it, how dare he be so delicious but so unobtainable!

My mother glances between us with great curiosity and raises an eyebrow. "You two are really mad for each other, aren't you?" She's obviously seen the spark between us that she never saw in Lucien.

"Bat shit crazy, Mum."

"Language, Amelia."

"Sorry. Bat shit crazy, _Mother_." She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Delilah, who is quite happily bouncing on her knee and staring dopily up at CJ with those stunning green eyes. I'm so glad she got them and not mine, they kind of seem like a Pearce legacy. I have nothing of my own that I want to pass on, except maybe my singing voice. That _will_ happen.

"She looks an awful lot like Creedance."

"No, she doesn't," I snap defensively. "She looks nothing like Creedance."

"Don't be daft, love." My mother waves a hand to my dad and nods down at Delilah. "Doesn't she look like Creedance, Bobby?"

"Nope." I mentally high-five him and flop back down into the couch. So tired. Would it be bad to skip out on my own birthday party at 7pm?

For the first time today, the prodigal brother skulks through the room and makes his way directly to the liquor cabinet. Meredith stops in her tracks and blinks at me, then looks in his direction with a look of distinct confusion. I follow her line of sight and it's suddenly very clear why.

When I last saw my brother, he was the most tragically ugly and virginal nineteen year old imaginable, totally stuck in his manga comics and insanely dorky computer games. I'm talking thick glass bottle bottom specs, acne and a choir boy haircut. Now he's twenty-eight and, dare I say, kind of hot. He obviously got better with age.

I shoot Mer a look of warning and frown at him when he walks past. "Bloody hell, Wills, when did your balls drop?"

He glares down at me and I feel twenty-four years of pent up resentment and hatred burning into me. I should have known better than to think he'd be the bigger man and let the past go. Oh well, no love lost. We never really saw eye to eye anyway. His phone rings down in his hand and he answers it with smirk after a thoroughly altruistic "fuck you, Mia" and a stomp back out into the corridor. Charming.

My mother clears her throat and leans over to put Delilah down on my lap. I'm genuinely surprised that I didn't have to tear her away but definitely grateful that she's got the message. I'm forced to scooch over into the middle of the couch where I find myself sandwiched between my dad and CJ, and I have to smile to myself because its like I have a couple of bodyguards. Best guys ever. Seriously.

"She definitely looks like Creedance."

I groan and lean back with my head on CJ's shoulder. He's not wearing any kind of aftershave but just his natural scent makes me want to eat him up. God, he's just so... perfect. "Change the record, Mother. No, she doesn't. Cree didn't look anything like me so they can't possibly look alike."

"Nonsense." I stiffen when she moseys over to a cabinet and starts to rifle through some photo albums. _Hell no, don't you dare get those out_. "Look, she was the spit of you."

I screw up my eyes when she passes CJ a picture of me when I was fourteen, looking thoroughly miserable in the middle of my family with Creedance on my lap. I've never realised before just how gaunt and unhappy I used to look. I seriously have to question how nobody could tell that I was going through a hard time and thought I was happy. There again, Dad could and he sent me to Coops.

CJ runs his finger over the photograph and glances sideways at me. I don't know if it's because he knows what went on, but I think he sees it too. There's a thick bandage around my right hand and the slightest hint of blood around my nose. If there was a 'worst memory' my mother could have pulled out of that photo album, this would be it.

"Untie me, Lucien. I can't see what you're doi—... what is that noise?"

"Blow torch."

"No. No, you promised!" No branding, he promised. He swore to me that he wouldn't brand me after the wax play. Where did he even get it?

He grabs my leg and pins it down at the knee by sitting on it. His weight is crushing and I think my shin is going to snap. "Chill out, Mia. You know you love the burn. By the way, scream and I'll slap you. You know that your mother is cooking and everyone else is in the sitting room."

The iron touches my skin and it's the worst pain I've ever experienced. Worse than labour. Worse than the wax. I can smell my flesh burning and it makes me feel sick. I can't help it, I have to scream.

He undoes the bindings around my wrists and lifts me to my feet. I can't stand up properly because I'm dizzy but he slaps me hard enough to send me face first into the wall. "That's for screaming."

This is the worst Christmas ever.

I swallow down the bile that rises into my mouth and clutch Delilah close to me. I can't believe that he used to do that shit with Creedance in the room and then tell me that I had to go to her and be a mother when I was still bleeding, just to have her taken away by Mackenzie.

"You okay?" CJ drops his head to catch my gaze and furrows his brow. He knows that it's a stupid question and doesn't really expect an answer. He looks back at the photograph and sighs, trying to be casual. I'm the only one who knows that he's analysing the situation. "So," he points to two dark haired and sour faced people standing on either side of my parents, "they must be your brother and sister." I nod slightly and unconsciously run my fingers over my thigh. He eyes me wearily and grits his teeth. "So that must be—"

"Lucien." My mother completes his sentence and retakes her seat opposite us. She always says his name so warmly. "He's putting a very brave face on there. The photograph was taken just after one of Amelia's little..." She purses her lips and waves a hand around while she tries to place her words, "... self-directed mishaps. She was a very troubled teen."

"I'm still troubled, Mother."

CJ scoffs quietly next to me and bumps our shoulders together. "No, you're just trouble." And just like that he's shone a little light on a dark situation and plugged up a hole in a sinking ship.

"He took her self-harm quite badly and not even he could find out why she felt the need to hurt herself. She wouldn't even talk to Meredith."

I take the picture from CJ's hand and stare at myself. I can see every bad experience echoing around in my vacant eyes and not a single bit of me in Creedance.

"He looks like Chase Garret." I laugh involuntarily and pass the picture over to my dad. He nods in agreement and snorts something about it being no surprise that I wasn't interested in him. I never saw it at the time, but there really is a resemblance in the slicked back blonde hair and lifeless blue eyes. It figures that the two men who sought to control me would look very similar.

CJ leans over to kiss my cheek and nuzzles me gently. "Troubled or not, you were always beautiful."

I raise an eyebrow and smirk, dipping my voice to a whisper. "Would you have given me the Manchester treatment ten years ago?"

"No," he returns my raised eyebrow and hazards a glance at my mother. " _Eight_ years ago maybe. I would have waited until you were legal." He gives me the smallest of smiles and leans down to kiss Delilah's head, keeping his eyes fixed on mine at all times. He mouths 'stop looking at me' and I mouth 'never' in return. Even when my darkest moments are being shoved at him, he still looks at me with the same wonderment and reverence that he did last year.

"Is it the big grey eyes and the long blonde hair?" Our attention is dragged to my mother, who is staring at us with glassy eyes. "That's what attracted all the boys, wasn't it, Bobby? That ethereal glow she has is how she won such a prize in Lucien. She flips her hair and licks her lips—she knows exactly what she's doing. And I'll put money on that being how she snagged you." I make no claims to being unpredictable.

I roll my eyes and scoop Delilah over onto CJ's lap to get a drink. I should have known that this would come up—the way that I would bat my lashes at every boy who passed because I knew that I was hot and having a famous dad made me desirable. So I liked the attention, big deal. What thirteen year old girl doesn't spend her lunch breaks gossiping with her friends about boys and kissing?

Meredith joins me at the liquor cabinet and sticks her tongue out in my mother's direction, knowing that I'm almost at the point of walking out. My family always go out of their way to make me look bad, but why? How can they honestly justify purposely trying to humiliate me, in front of my husband of all people?

Wills wanders in and throws himself down next to my mother, phone still glued to his ear. Still socially stunted for the most part, obviously. "No, we're back for the foreseeable, mate... Yeah, stuck here tonight. Rapunzel's birthday, obviously." I freeze on the spot and stare down at my hands. Only one person ever called me Rapunzel and in only one place. "No, looks more like a giver than a taker—no pigtails for leverage." He catches my horrified gaze and gives me a smug grin. The bastard. The absolute bastard. "I should probably go, I'll see you tomorrow." He shoves his phone back into his pocket and picks the photograph up off the table, looking thoroughly amused.

And then he looks me up and down and shakes his head. "You haven't changed a bit, Mia."

"How do you know that he called me Rapunzel?" He shrugs at me and smirks at CJ, and I can see him drawing comparisons. There are _none_. "What else did he tell you? Beyond Rapunzel and the pigtails?" He blinks lazily and shakes his head, he's not going to say a damn word. But I know already. "You knew everything, didn't you? You knew and you never told anyone. You let him do it and now you're laughing about it. You're laughing with _him._ You're no brother of mine."

"Baby doll, what's going on?" Meredith puts a hand on my shoulder and I shake her off. I don't want to be touched.

"You know the truth behind that photograph, don't you? I was fourteen, why didn't you say anything?"

"You could have said something yourself if you didn't like it." Wills raises an eyebrow at me and I'm completely disgusted by the fact that he's right. I never told anyone and I should have. It's my own fault for sitting in silence. I could have stopped it.

I make a hasty exit from the sitting room and find myself standing in my bedroom, looking at that god damn bed and wondering why the hell I never spoke up. I could have screamed for help at any time and I never did. I tear the sheets off the bed and it's still the same mattress—the same blood stained mattress where he scarred me and my daughter died. And I just... I can't understand why I let my life get so out of hand. This was all self-inflicted and all my fault for chasing Lucien. My brother's best friend.

My hands twitch at my sides as I pace into the adjoining bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. I haven't changed, not at all. I'm still little Rapunzel covered in scars and inexplicably calmed and pacified by being mutilated. I will always be flawed and fucked up, and he will always laugh at me.

"You'll always be my little Rapunzel, Mia. I'll climb up into your ivory tower every day because you always throw down your hair."

No more. I yank open the drawers in the bathroom and rifle through, eventually locating a pair of scissors. No more fucking Rapunzel.

"Amelia?" CJ walks in and charges towards me the minute he realises what I'm about to do. I look up at him in the mirror. Our eyes meet the same way they did in the mirror at MoHo Live and I'm completely entranced. He's my therapy. He can fix me.

I turn around slowly and reach for his hand, slapping the scissors down in his palm. "Cut my hair."

His eyes widen and he raises his hands, retreating backwards a few steps. "Hell no."

"If you love me, you'll do it, Caspian." I know that I've trapped him but I don't care. "Sever that tie. Please."

"Are you having some sort of breakdown, Amelia?"

"Yes!" I nod my head vigorously and jig on the spot. "Yes, I am and I promise that I'm dealing with it productively but I need you to do this for me. Meet me halfway, please."

He sighs and looks down at the scissors in his hand with a frown. Anyone would think I'd asked him to sever a limb, not a tie to my painful past. Eventually, he reaches out and turns me back to face the mirror by the shoulders, digging into the drawer for an elastic band. "How much?" he asks me, gathering my hair in one fist.

"All of it. I trust you." He raises an eyebrow at me when our eyes meet in our reflections again and nods, setting to secure my hair in the elastic. I squeeze my eyes shut when the blades glint and wince when I hear the slice.

He half gasps and then laughs, running his hands through the remaining strands of my hair. I open one eye and catch his grin.

"You look awesome." And he's not wrong. I look lighter and freer, and not just for the hair that now only catches my collar. The man did good. "Delilah is with Bobby, let me wash it."

"Yeah," I nod and ruffle my mane. "Yeah okay, let's shower." CJ reaches for the hem of my t-shirt and pauses with a doubtful grimace. "What?"

"What happened in that bedroom, Amelia?" He looks at me apologetically and leads me back out to the bare mattress. "What happened on that bed?"

I bite down on my lip and take an apprehensive step away from him. I don't want to bog him down with the specifics of those demons. "Everything."

"Okay." I frown in confusion as he steps back into the bathroom for a moment and returns with the scissors. "Go on then." What the hell is he talking about? "No? All right." He jumps up onto the mattress and separates the blades in one hand. "Allow me."

The scissors tear into the thick fabric loudly and he rips through it with a flourish, stabbing and gouging between the springs.

"What the hell are you doing? Destroying the mattress isn't going to take those memories away."

He looks up at me and shrugs uncaringly. "No, but it's sure as hell making me feel better." He steps down from the mattress and pushes the scissors into my hand. "Try it."

I look up at him and he's deadly serious. He wants me to tear shit out of that blood stained mattress. Ah, go on then, it looks like fun. I grab it's edge and flip it onto the floor, and lay into that undamaged side with all the anger and hatred that has been allowed to fester since that first restraint when I was thirteen. Every scream that my mother turned a blind eye to and every cut and burn that I took the blame for—they aren't gone. But at least I'll never sleep on that bed again.

I step back and survey my handiwork, a little out of breath but a whole lot revitalised. He wasn't wrong when he said that I'd feel better but something is missing. CJ's hand claps down on my shoulder and he hums in his usual tone of telepathic agreement. "Yeah, it's not done yet, is it? Hey, Andy!" Footsteps approach quickly and Andy ploughs through the door, raising a confused eyebrow at the mattress. "Help me shift this outside, will you?"

I'm hot on their heels when they hike it up between them and pull it out onto the beach, and everyone else is behind me asking what the fuck I've done to my hair. Of all the things they care about right now, it's my bloody hair. Jeez, these people.

The mattress is thrown down at the shore and CJ squats to undo the laces on my DC trainers. "What _are_ you doing?" I ask him, not arguing, but leaning on his shoulders for support.

" _We_ are sending this fucker to Valhalla, girl." He looks up at me and toes off his own trainers. "Viking funeral. Pushing it out into the water and setting fire to it."

I scoff and ruffle his hair. "Ass, it'll sink and be here forever."

"So?" He rugby tackles me down to the ground and pulls me into a kiss that has me clawing at the sand. I might be starting to worry about his reaction to impending arson. "We're never coming back to this house again, Amelia. You have all the family you need in Birmingham. No more meals with Mackenzie, no more lies about Lucien. Everyone you need has their bags packed in their cars and have set designated drivers. We've got you."

He lifts me up to my feet and drags me out to wade in the sea, pulling the mattress behind him. We walk out until we're submerged to the waists before we set fire to the fabric with a Zippo lighter loaned from Erek and shove it out over the water as far as it will go.

This is the second time and the second birthday that he's saved me on this beach, and while I may be weaker today than I was three hundred and sixty six days ago, I am surrounded by strength and belief. That sinking mattress may be one demon put to rest, but I know that there is still so far to go before I am pure again.

# XXVI

#

#

"So this one is for meningitis?" I hover around at CJ's shoulder awkwardly, wringing my hands and trying to keep my eyes off those two huge needles. He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. Of course I don't expect him to understand but they're big and stabby and they're about to put gross germy crap in my baby girl. I blanch when they're taken from their packets and dig my nails into his shoulder. I think I'm going to be sick.

"For god's sake, Mum, will you get her out of here?" He shakes his head severely and nods at the door when I scowl. I am _not_ leaving her side. "Just wait in the office, Amelia. You know I've got her." My jaw stiffens resistently for a moment before I throw my hands up in surrender and march out grumpily, closely followed by my mother-in-law, Dr. Gabrielle Pearce.

She has the same stunning green eyes and chestnut hair as her children and looks so much like them its unreal, and _way_ too young to have a twenty-nine year old daughter. As much as I'm embarrassed to admit it, she's kind of like the mother figure I never had and has welcomed me into the family with open arms even though we've only met twice, and the first time wasn't until Delilah was born.

_"No, CJ, don't wake her up—she must be shattered." Voices out in the hallway rouse me from my sleep and it takes a minute for me to remember what happened last night. Crap, I had a baby! "Just bring the little sweetheart out here in the basket and I can do it in the lounge."_

_"It's okay, I'm awake," I call out hoarsely. Jesus, I can't believe how much lighter I feel. "who is it, CJ?"_

_He pokes his head around the door and gives me a nervous smile. Oh jeez, what has he done? "It's my mum, girl. She's come to do the newborn examination." Hell, I can't argue with that even if I do look like crap. I nod and hike myself up to sit with a wince. I'm definitely in no hurry to do_ _that_ _again but it's not a spot on recovering from a caesarean._

_A petite woman creeps in and grins at me, and I can instantly tell that there's not a bad bone in her body. She seems a little dewy eyed and is looking at me like I just shat out a sack of diamonds. This is weird, everyone was so ashamed of me last time. She holds out a hand when she's close enough and hasn't once stopped smiling. "It's lovely to finally meet you, Amelia."_

_"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly, "I'm sorry that you're meeting the wife and kid, and not the girlfriend." Possibly should have made the effort to meet the in-laws before we were legally bound and reproducing but... you know._

_She shakes her head and pats my hand, sneaking over to the Moses basket with a bitten lip. "Don't you worry about that, we know you had a rough pregnancy." Rough isn't the word, hyperemesis is a bitch. CJ deserves a medal or, I don't know, some kind of Olympic honour for the speed at which he can carry a fat whale to a bathroom._

_She gasps and claps a hand to her mouth when she pulls back the blankets, and looks at CJ and I with a teary eyed whimper. "Oh guys, she's absolutely stunning. I mean, I see a lot of babies but... Come on!" Wow, that is one seriously biased grandma. "Thank you both so much."_

"She's doing wonderfully, Amelia." Gabrielle pulls me from my thoughts with a smile and a leaflet about immunisations from a rack on the wall. She must get so sick of my fussing and incessant questions, so I can hardly blame her for throwing the written information at me. No doubt she'll start charging for all of the telephone consultations before long, and none of them have really been justified. Delilah hasn't had so much as a sniffle since she was born but still I panic over the slightest sneeze or cough and insist on thorough physical examinations every time we come into the office. Thank god Gabrielle is private, or I'd be tearing my hair out over the waiting lists. "She's actually a little advanced."

I gape at her in surprise. "What, really?"

"Mm-hmm." She nods and unlocks the door to her office, waving a hand towards her desk. "Consider baby-proofing now, I think she'll be walking before Christmas."

"That's insane," I half laugh, thinking that the idea of having a tot hobbling around on her own is erring on optimistic. I'm really not comfortable with planning ahead. I think she can tell how out of my depth I'm feeling because she leans over to pull the leaflet from my vice-like grip and lays a hand over my fists. "I'm sorry that I call you so much, Gabrielle."

"Oh, nonsense. I'd be offended if you didn't. And call me Gaby, doctor's orders." She winks at me and flips through Delilah's medical records on her desk, turning them to face me. "Look, there are two more boosters, but the vaccines are _very_ effective. And even if you did fall very unlucky, you know what you're looking for now and medicine has come a long way in nine years. Everything will be fine." I can't for the life of me understand why I actually believe her. The whole Pearce family just seem to exude calm and it seems to be catching. I'm hardly going to start drafting in my mother for babysitting duties but I don't know, maybe I can stop obsessing at night.

"So I was just really unlucky last time?" Jesus, what an understatement.

"I would say so. Was your daughter up to date with her immunisations?" I stare at her blankly for a moment before I look back down at my hands. "Amelia?"

"I have no idea. My sister did all that stuff." What kind of mother was I if I didn't even make sure she was protected against disease? That mail would have come to me, so why did I never check? That was my responsibility but I was too busy emotionally detaching myself to bother.

Gaby clears her throat to catch my attention and shakes her head slowly. "You're not a bad mother, Amelia. Teenage mothers are ten a penny these days but back when it was your time, if I saw fourteen year olds in my office, they invariably came with parents or social workers. I now get thirty year old women in here who look more lost than the kids and they may have already had four or five of their own. Babies don't come with manuals or guide books, it's all improvisation. But for what it's worth, you and CJ are doing a great job. You only have to look at Delilah to see that. You're doing Arnold, your father and I very proud."

I bow my head to hide a blush and shuffle in my seat the same way I did when my first music teacher told me that I was extraordinarily talented for an eight year old. And look how that turned out! There might just be something in these pep talks and she's my mother-in-law, for god's sake. It's her duty to put me down and point out all the areas in which I fail.

This tender moment is disturbed by CJ when he sticks his head through the door and wiggles his eyebrows at me with a cheeky grin and nods down at Delilah. "She's already forgotten about it. My ears were burning. Were you talking about me?"

"Jesus, conceited much?" I stick my tongue out and wave my hands to claim my baby girl for a cuddle. She's kind of glassy eyed and red faced so I know that she's been crying. "Mean asshole needles." I clap my hand to my mouth and grimace. I probably shouldn't be teaching my daughter to curse just yet. I mean, ever. Crap, I'm really bad at this responsible mother shit. I mean, poo. Fuck it...

Gaby leans back in her seat and smiles very slightly at the three of us huddled together, doting on Patient D. Patience Pearce. It's almost as though she's admiring us like a work of art in a gallery and is genuinely pleased by the way we fit together. But she never saw us before so she can't see the latent tension between us. My birthday sucked _again_ and the fact that CJ broke Wills' nose doesn't really take away the sickness I feel from knowing that he knew about everything Lucien did and let our family think I was dysfunctional. And I feel doubly as bad for Dad for knowing that two thirds of his offspring turned out so poisonous. Why the hell am I so different?

"Would you like me to find out if your daughter was immunised, Amelia?" My head snaps up to Gaby and my brow creases.

I stammer for a second and trade glances with CJ, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "Can you do that?"

"I can certainly try." She jerks a shoulder in a shrug and pulls a face. "It's a long shot as it was nine years ago and a child's medical records are often destroyed eight years after... well, afterwards. But I could dig around on the off chance that they're still archived if it would offer you some peace of mind."

My mind swims with the prospect of seeing that kind of information on paper. I don't know that finding out that Mackenzie didn't look after Creedance as well as she should have would necessarily set my mind at ease but I just can't imagine sitting on that kind of information. "Okay," I sigh, "if you can get it, I'd like to see it."

Gaby nods and digs into a drawer of her desk for a memo pad and a pen. "All right, sweetheart, give me her name and I'll call around for you."

"Creedance Marsh." She stares down at the memo pad for a moment and slowly raises her eyes to look at me.

"That's a very unique name."

"That was sort of the point. I don't know of anyone else with the spelling."

"Two E's and an A?" My eyebrow twitches suspiciously—I'm used to having to spell it. "In Plymouth? Hmm." She shifts uncomfortably and scrawls down the name with a frown, tearing the memo off and folding it in half.

I scowl down at Delilah and try to read Gaby's mind with no success. I've dealt with enough secretive care givers in my life to know when one is keeping a lid on something. "What 'hmm'?"

"Nothing," she smiles disingenuously. "I'm sure it's nothing. I just..." She stutters and twists her hands around her pen, "I'm sure I've seen her name before. But," she waves her hands and passes Delilah's red health record book to CJ, "I'm sure it's coincidence or crossed wires." Those are some fucking crossed wires. "So what are you doing for your birthday, CJ?" And a swift change of subject. Not helping.

"Anything but a private gig in the garden," CJ answers with a laugh but quickly silences when he catches sight of my fierce glare. We are _so_ not at the point of joking about it yet. I still refuse to step out onto that grass. Just the slightest reminder has that FaceTime encounter flashing back through my mind and I really struggle to keep telling myself that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault and Chrissie was charged, because it _wasn't his fault._

"I think it'll just be a quiet day in with my girls."

Gaby squints at me for a moment and traps her tongue between her teeth. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I may have withdrawn slightly into myself and may look a little vacant, so I busy myself by fussing over Delilah and avoid making eye contact with anyone. "Why don't you come to us for lunch and then we'll spoil you and your friends to a meal? Your father is back from Glasgow in the morning."

"Oh man, Mum," CJ groans and buries his face in the crook of my neck. It's almost comforting to know that even his idyllic nuclear family has rifts and tension. "You had me right up until you said the D word."

"Oh, Caspy-pants..." Hellooo embarrassing family pet name. Cutting, pasting and saving that into the 'use to get one's own way' file... "You know he hasn't met Amelia and Delilah yet. I'll buy you a puppy." She pouts mockingly and flutters her lashes, and it all becomes clear as to why he's such a soft touch. He's been worn down.

"Fine," he huffs, pulling me up to my feet and passing me the car seat, "but leave him at home for the evening meal. He's not rockstar material."

"And I am?"

He glances up at his mother and there's the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. What I would have done for a relationship like that with my mother—one that involves a light ribbing and not cathartic jibes. "Shut up, Mum."

My head pounds like a bass drum and everything seems so scattered. I'm struggling to piece together the fragments of everything that I thought I knew so well. Carelessness, I thought, an oversight. A tragic oversight. But now, negligence? Mine or my family's? I don't know and my answers might have been wiped from the system.

But why does Gabrielle recognise the name? Why is Creedance notorious? Was it that bad, I mean, was she _that_ ill?

I invited this into my life. I have nobody to blame but myself. I've been poison since the day I was born and I stalked that boy until he gave in. I thought he was just my older brother's hot friend—a challenge. I was so self-righteous and conceited and I thought I could have anyone. I'm still like that now but it's all for show. It was for show then but it spiralled out of control. I thought he was wise and I thought he was right. I thought he knew better. If only I could go back to that moment and say no.

_"You know, if you kissed me, it would make you my girlfriend." I giggle breathlessly and blush. Lucien's the hottest guy in sixth form, what the hell would he want with me?_

_I roll my eyes and twist my hair around fingers, curling my tongue around a lollipop. "You wouldn't dare. I'm a big fish in a little pond, Fellows, you wouldn't keep up with me." I'm going to be a singer, I'm going to be_ _huge_ _._

_His eyebrow raises slowly and he reaches over to take the lollipop from my hand. He looks like he's about to say something and he wants to hurry up about it because I have an English class in five minutes. "You've never been kissed before, have you, Mia?"_

_I stammer and avert my eyes. God, how embarrassing. "Well, you know," I murmur, "it's kind of a big deal."_

_"Oh no, I completely agree," he steps up to me and brushes his fingers across my cheek. I can feel my face flaming. "Kissing someone means that you're letting them into your heart. It would make you my girl and I'd be allowed to do all the things I've imagined since you started spying on me and your brother."_

_"You think about, you know, 'stuff'?" Holy cow, older guy stuff! Meredith will bust a gut with jealousy!_

_"Sure, I think about 'stuff'. You've had Wills pass me enough notes about 'stuff'. So, do you want to do 'stuff' together?"_

What I would have given for a big neon sign flashing over his head with his definition of 'stuff' written all over it. Saying yes was the biggest mistake I ever made. He never kissed me again after that because he just didn't want to. I was just a toy to him.

"Amelia, wake up. You're having a bad dream." My eyes roll open to CJ but only stay open for a moment. The lights are too bright and my head is still pounding. "You're burning up, girl. Are you sure you don't want me to call your doctor?" He brushes his hand over my forehead and pulls the quilt up to my shoulders. I don't need to look at him to know that he's worried. I crumbled without warning when we got home from Gabrielle's office and have been shivering and largely incoherent since.

I nuzzle against his fingers and open my eyes just enough to frown up at him. "No, don't be silly. Maybe it's a cold, maybe a migraine. I don't know but I'll be okay. I'm just run down." I don't remember the last time I was ill when it wasn't pregnancy related. I have an immune system like an ox. "Just turn the lights off and give me an hour. I'll be chasing you around the bedroom like old times before you know it." I close my eyes again and roll onto my front away from the door. "Stop looking at me like I know you're looking at me, CJ. It's a headache or something, not a brain tumour."

He crawls onto the bed behind me and throws one arm and one leg over me. I love this. I love being wrapped up in him. His breath tickles my exposed neck and, even through the searing pain in my skull, I'm completely soothed by his embrace.

"Tell me what I need to do to take away all of your bad memories," his voice is unmistakably riddled with pain and sadness. I must have been talking in my sleep again. "Tell me how to bring you back from the edge." How do you tell a man who hurts for you so deeply that he can't do anything at all? That the memories are permanent and all he can do is wait and watch you wallow?

I grip his hand and pull it up to my face to kiss his wedding ring. "Never change," I whisper, knowing that I need him to be the arrogant twat with busy hands who I met at university now more than ever. "Push me to get better and trust me to tell you if you're pushing too hard, because I trust you to stop. Meet me ha—" He crams his hand over my mouth and shushes me. See, that's exactly what I need from him.

"Rest, girl. I've got Delilah, and I'll cook tonight."

"Cook?" I shift around to face him, ignoring the intense throb in my head. "You don't cook." I don't think we even have real food in the house. Not that I've ever looked for it.

He grins and kisses my forehead, and then dips down to nip my lip. "Just because I don't, doesn't mean I can't. I'm a new age domestic god."

"Goddess." He fleers sarcastically and creeps out with a wink, leaving me to relax in the gentle darkness of our bedroom. I stare at the silhouette of the frame holding the pictures of my nude photo shoot for a Swedish magazine, our first public photo in Plymouth and our photo shoot in this very house three hundred and sixty five days ago. I _can_ be that woman again.

My dreams are as scattered as my thoughts, an assortment of flashbacks from my youth intermingled with the memories of last year's UK tour. Sometimes the faces switch over and it's Lucien driving our tour bus and CJ pinning me down to hurt me. But somehow, his face there makes the memories less painful and being burnt is a rush, being tied up is a thrill, and being demeaned is a turn on. He could do all of those things to me and it would be okay, so why was it so awful when Lucien did it? Was it age? Am I just programmed to enjoy it now? Am I one of _those_ people?

I creep out into the lounge and spot CJ milling around in the kitchen. It's too dark outside. He's left me for longer than the hour I asked for. I'm sure he was just trying to be nice but... _No, Amelia, accept the fact that he's tried to do what he thought was best for you._ My head still pounds and I feel barely present in my own body. It's like I'm looking down on myself and my body moves independently. What the hell has happened to me since we went back to Plymouth?

Delilah is sleeping in her Moses basket under the dim light of the television playing music channels. All the other lights are off except in the kitchen and the place is almost oppressive. Maybe that's just me.

I fold my arms over my body and stand in the doorway of the kitchen, watching CJ manoeuvre around the appliances like he cooks every night. How _have_ we gone a year without cooking? Are we that elitist that we're too good for domesticity? Did my private education and privileged lifestyle as a child turn me into a total snob? God damn it, I want to be normal.

CJ winks at me from the cooker and sings along to the music from the television. It's one of ours, _Learn To Fight_. He knows the words like the back of his hand, obviously. But I don't. I've forgotten. I don't even recognise my own voice right now.

"I told you I was a domestic god, girl. How hungry are you?" His words hover around me and echo but I don't really absorb them. My eyes are fixated on the flame under a saucepan and it's all I can see. Everything fades around it and it's the only thing I can focus on. "Amelia?"

I join his side at the stove without a word and shift the saucepan over to the back burner. "Burn me." I hold my hand out to him and keep my eyes fixed on that flickering fire.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" CJ spits his words at me and grabs my arm by the wrist. "I'm not the one having the breakdown. You can't ask me to do that shit to you."

"I wasn't asking." I wrench my arm back and hold my hand over the flame. "Just... just hold my hand there so I can't move it away. Please." My hand balls into a fist and jolts away when the heat gets too much. I don't have the kind of discipline to do that to myself. I need him to do it for me.

He glares at me for a moment before his fury cracks and he knows that I'm not telling him to do this for shits and giggles. "This is because of your brother, isn't it? Because he implied that you must have enjoyed it. You think that if I burn you, it'll turn you on." Got it in one.

I raise my eyes to his and shrug. "Maybe I'm that kind of person. He'd do it and I'd fly at him afterwards."

"You're not a masochist, Amelia. You are _not_ that person. That is _not_ your preference."

"Are you sure?" I hold my hand back over the flames and grab his sleeve. "I mean, I haven't been exposed to it for so long. Maybe I _am_ that person."

CJ sighs and pulls my hand away, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and putting his hand in its place. "Okay, so burn me."

I slap his arm and yank it away with a snarl. "Are you fucking kidding me, I know how much that shit hurts!" He raises an eyebrow at me and pulls me close to him, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. So I don't get a kick out of _inflicting_ pain. That proves nothing.

"That isn't us, girl. Neither of us are sadists, so this is a non-issue." No it's not, how can he be arrogant enough to think that just because he says I don't enjoy it, I don't? "You know damn well that if I intentionally hurt you, you'd rip my balls off and divorce me. It's not you." He's not wrong, I guess. It might not be me now, with him. But why?

I sag against him and close my eyes wearily. I'm so exhausted, mentally and physically. My body feels like lead and my skull still feels like its splitting open. I whisper, "I'm sorry" and slump away back to bed, and hope that this whole conversation was a nightmare.

"Hold it right there." I look back over my shoulder in surprise to find CJ standing with a plate of food in the doorway to the kitchen. "You haven't eaten all day, Pearce," the corners of my mouth twitch at the sound of my married name, "you're not going to fade away just yet, girl. I'm not done husbanding you yet, not by a bloody long shot." He jerks his head toward the lounge and doesn't move until I do, standing guard over me like an exam invigilator. _Do not pick up your pens before the time starts, write only in black ink, do not cheat, do not talk, do not write in the margins and listen to what the man says because he clearly knows you better than you know yourself._

He leans over me and kisses the crown of my head before taking his place beside me and tucking into his own meal. The man cooks a mean steak and has obviously listened to every excruciatingly specific order I've lodged in a restaurant. Medium, singed one side only and still slightly bloody. I can only presume that he's noticed how pale I've gotten and is trying to fill me with iron. So thoughtful. So caring. So perfect.

My eyes flicker open to two familiar green eyes burning into me and I feel my back against something cold. I hazard a glance around the room and spot The Hattress hanging over the back of a chair and a bottle of wine on the sideboard next to me. I've been here before, this is... this is MoHo Live.

"Yeah, I know. It's all you. You're a bad influence." My attention turns back to CJ and he's grinning at my Heaven tattoo. What is this? Have I imagined an entire year?

I grab his face between my hands and scowl. If I can kiss him, it hasn't all been an illusion. "We've been here before, haven't we, Caspian? This is a flashback or something, right?" My grip releases at the instant he pushes two fingers inside me and I'm hit by a wave of overpowering lust and relief.

"If you don't like it, stop looking at me." He flashes that sterling grin at me and works away furiously at my insides, nudging me closer and closer to boiling point. I'd forgotten how good this felt, how amazing he makes it. His thumb runs over my lips. He leans in and presses his lips to my ear. "I've got you, girl." The promise is sealed with a kiss and my eyes screw up tightly when I hit my peak. It's the most intense sensation I can recall and washes away so much of my resistance.

So I like to be overpowered and bossed around on occasion. Does that make me weak? No, not when he lets me control him as he controls me. We are something that I never was with Lucien. We are equal and we always have been. We are king and queen, I am not his court jester. We're the same.

I open my eyes expecting to see the dressing room again, but instead I see our bedroom. It _was_ a dream but... I shift in my place and feel its residual affects across the valance sheet underneath me. I raise my head and see CJ sprawled out in a rocking chair next to the Moses basket with Delilah contentedly feasting away on a bottle. Crap, how much has he seen? What was I doing? Was I... oh shit!

He raises an eyebrow at me and stifles a laugh. "I hope that dream was about me."

"Was I...?" He smirks and forces his gaze down at Baby D to quash his urge to cackle at my flushed face. "Oh my god!" It was, it was self-inflicted. I pull the quilt up over my head and seek refuge out of his line of sight. I have _got_ to get over this 'right to say no' bullshit and reignite our sex life because that was embarrassing beyond belief.

# XXVII

#

#

"Feeling better?" CJ squints up at me mischievously from his unfortunate position over one serious nappy explosion and flashes me the smile that has, and still does, make me want to pole vault at him and land none too gracefully on his face. His question has definite undertones of 'thanks for the 3am peep show' but he masks them quite capably behind his genuine curiosity over whether half an hour in a red hot bath has unclogged me from the phlegmatic state in which I woke.

I snuffle at him piteously and slump down on the couch, bundled up in flannel pyjamas and a thick fleece dressing gown. "No. I think I'm dying." I pout at him, watery eyed and miserable, and he graces me with a sympathetic frown.

"Let's see here..." He cups my face in his hands and seemingly examines me with utmost scrutiny. "Blocked nose, sore throat, headache, hampered will to live?" I raise an eyebrow and await his slipshod diagnosis. He juts his bottom lip out and nods affirmatively. "Yup, I'd say you've got a generous dose of man flu." The corners of my mouth quirk slightly at his verdict and I tenderly run my fingers down his face across his hair line.

"So if it's a man thing, it should be easily appeased with pornography and Xbox?"

"You want me to own you at Call Of Duty?"

I snicker at his overconfidence and recall my frequent triumphs over him. "I'd find great amusement in watching you try."

He laughs softly and leans up to kiss my forehead. "You're not as hot as yesterday..."

"How rude." I smirk and wrinkle my nose at my poor joke. He rolls his eyes and springs to his feet, ruffling my hair on his way to the kitchen after scooping Delilah up from the changing mat.

"Not as _feverish,_ but you still need rest, girl. You need to sweat that sucker out and sleep."

"Not likely," I call after him, "I have to go and fetch your birthday present." Whatever the hell that's supposed to be.

Delilah's head pokes around the door frame in a foreboding 'don't test me or I'll throw up down myself' kind of way. "No way, Mummy," CJ croons in a pathetic imitation of a kid, "no driving for yooo-ooouuu."

"Using your child as a puppet—shame on you, Caspian. You fail at parenting."

He steps back into view and shakes his head critically. He knows that he's a ridiculously good dad to the point of it being almost repulsive—almost—and can therefore afford to be justifiably conceited and bat off such comments with a well placed, "Whatever, bitch" and a protruding tongue. I'll consider myself told.

"But seriously, girl, I don't want you to drive when you're ill. You're a girl racer and you know it, so you need your wits about you."

"I have my wits," I object, knowing that he's probably right and that I probably shouldn't be allowed to commandeer a shopping trolley, let alone my Porsche, "but if it'll make you feel better, I'll phone Mer and call in that favour she owes us." I'm still considering her act of calling me at 4am for a lift home 'on the off chance you were awake with Delilah' a complete piss take. I _was_ awake but that was beside the point.

"No need, she's already on her way." He throws me a half-smile that almost seems to seek forgiveness and slips into that guilty look he used to wear when he knew that he'd been kissing me in my sleep.

I narrow my bleary eyes at him and scowl. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, nothing," he insists quickly, ducking out of eyeshot into the nursery. Sure, and he doesn't have a guilty conscience over anything.

"I tire of your persistent conspiracies with my best friend, Caspian. I demand that you make it up through the medium of song. And cookies."

My head sags back against the cool leather of the couch and it sets off a ferocious shiver through my body. I can't handle this, feeling so physically battered while my mind is also weak. I've always had my health and now I'm being hindered by some mutant bug. It hardly seems fair that I should be rendered virtually helpless at a time when my responsibilities are paramount. How am I supposed to be a mother when it's almost painful to move? What if she... oh no. She could catch it and it could develop into something much worse. I should move out until I've recovered so neither of them catch my cold, I know that I'll be useless if CJ is laid up, too.

"You don't get ill often, do you?" The couch sags under the weight of him pushing down with a hand either side of my head, then dipping down to give me an almost-but-not-quite Mary Jane and Spiderman upside down kiss. I hold myself, and hopefully my germs, back from any enthusiasm and look at him scathingly.

"It's you, you fiend. You've made me human. I don't remember the last time I was ill." And that's a bloody miracle considering the less than holistic lifestyle I've led since puberty reared its ugly head and the swarming mass of hormones turned me into a rebellious little devil child. I was difficult, I know that much, and I got away with it until... well, let's just say that karma obviously had a score to settle when I pushed the boundaries of decency and began to poach a boy four years my senior. It was clearly the straw that broke the camels back, though he was hardly without fault for frequently breaking the golden rule of 'bros before hos'.

CJ pouts with what I presume to be mock contrition and drapes a large fleece blanket over me. "I forgot to mention, you have a package."

"Eh?" I never receive post outside of my somewhat abnormally cheap phone and council tax bills.

"Mm-hmm. It came while you were in the bath. Return address to Plymouth." Now I'm even more confused.

"Does it tick?" He gives me a small closed-eyed shake of the head. "Huh. Not from Mackenzie then. Put the bomb squad on stand-by anyway."

"It's in the kitchen when you're feeling brave."

CJ sighs slowly and scans the lounge with a frown. Our once sterile and ultra-modern 'flat' now looks more like a crèche, occupied mostly by dirty laundry and small, annoyingly loud baby toys. Consciously, I know that I should be pitching in with the housework but I'm habitually messy and it's a hard habit to break. Besides, every time I pick something up, something new falls in its place. It really makes more sense to leave everything where it is, as it seems to plateau at this level of messiness.

"It's getting kind of cramped in this place, isn't it?" I murmur a non-committal agreement and pull the fleece blanket down around my waist. Now I'm too hot. What the hell? "Are you going to be okay on your own until Meredith gets here?"

I glance up at him, a tad anxious. "Are you going out?" I haven't been on my own since before Delilah was born. I don't like it. I feel empty without him around and I've never been left alone to be a mother. Oh crap.

"I have some..." His expression is tense for a moment while he forms his words. "... business that I need to see to. But I can wait until she gets here to leave."

"Oh," I mutter, most put out by the idea of him actually going to do some work rather than leave it in the capable hands of his minions. "No, I think I'll be okay. Just make sure I have enough bottles for Delilah and bring her in here to mope with me."

"What? No, girl." He ducks down quickly and straightens with the car seat in his hand, carrying one fully suited and booted baby. "She's coming with me. You're too sick to play house." Holy crap, is this guy for real? I'm starting to wonder if we don't screw any more because he traded in his balls.

"Oh."

"Oh," he repeats with a grin, swooping down to kiss my forehead softly. "I won't be out that long but try to enjoy the time you have with Meredith. You don't have to sacrifice your identity to be a mother, you know." My mind boggles at his unexpected insight. Why is he telling me this?

"My identity is... was an impassive ice queen who wrote and screamed aggressing rock anthems about rebellion and hatred, then came home and fucked you until you were raw."

CJ leans his head back and stares into space reminiscently. "Ah, good times." I suppress a snicker and roll my eyes. I lived an adventurous life and did five years of amazing tours but I have responsibilities now. "Amelia, taking a couple of years off the road doesn't necessarily mean that the band has to be in hiatus. I want you to keep going. You didn't stop being my favourite band because you became my friends. I love your music and it's about time you guys released a new album. Come on Marsh, suck it up."

"I'm not Amelia Marsh anymore."

"Yes, you are." His mouth curls up into a breathtaking grin. "What's in a name, really?"

I can see his point quite clearly. I didn't _have_ to take his surname and I still used my maiden name on stage during our US tour. We're still his favourite band? Obviously, but that view is probably a little biased now. A whole new album is a pretty big a— ... Wait.

"Is this you trying to push me?" His sly smile is a sufficient confirmation. Well, I can't really complain when the man has listened and given due consideration to my request, can I? "Okay, hot shot, you got it. We'll write a new album." I grab the collar of his Ramones t-shirt when he punches the air triumphantly and makes to leave. "On one condition."

He looks at me sceptically for a minute and then shakes his head. "I told you, girl, I'm allergic to cats." Not what I was going for but I'm not considering _that_ a lost battle just yet. I can be very persuasive.

"Not that. I want you to sing on a track with me." He blinks a few times and opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. CJ, speechless? Surely not. Now _this_ is a victory. "Not _Broken_ ," I clarify, "I... I mean _we_ will write something new. Sound fair?" I raise my eyebrow and watch his eyes glass over while he zones out. I'm almost certain I asked him to sing and not to sacrifice his left nut, though technically he does still owe me that. I twist around onto my knees and click my fingers in front of his face to reclaim his attention. "Oi, bitch!"

"What?" He shakes his head and blushes violently. What the hell was he thinking about? "Sorry, I was... well... never mind. I'd be honoured to write and record a track with you, Amelia. You've seen the footage of us at Download; we make an awesome team, even when you're trying not to barf on the microphone." Charming. I was choking down emotion, not vomit, and he knows it.

I jut my lip out thoughtfully and try to read his mind. It's not like him to get carried off with his thoughts. I'll refrain from making jokes about his head being too empty and I know that I've seen that face before. It's not his 'mentally boning my wife face' so it must be... Oh jeez. The same face he wore when I read him the article about my three years of blackmail in _Rage Against Everyone. "_ Have you heard from Chrissie?"

CJ's eyes widen in alarm. "Why would you say that?" My 'verging on irritation' expression forces him for a better answer. "No, of course not. She's in some sort of respite care, you know that." I certainly did not know that. "I forgot to tell you, didn't I?"

"Obviously."

He pouts apologetically and paces into the kitchen, calling out behind him. "She had some sort of 'breakdown' and they're in the process of psychological assessment. I don't think they entirely believe that she's not putting it on."

"Oh."

He walks back in towards me, shaking his head slowly, with my package in his hands. "She's going to be locked up for a long time, girl. Stop worrying." I smile weakly and stare down at my hands. He doesn't even need to ask me to know that I'm scared to leave his side in case she somehow ensnares him again. "Open the package, Amelia. The suspense is killing me." Ah, the patented and yet highly ineffective Pearce method of distraction. I hazard a glance at him and he looks as anxious as me. _Okay, get over it. He's not willingly going to bed her again._ Now might be a good time to draw a line in the sand.

The brown wrapped package stares at me from my lap, begging me to open it. I cautiously indulge the request, ever wary of any signs of foul play. There are none. I open out the ends of the paper and frown in confusion at the silver logo that shines up at me. Apple, what the fuck? I throw my apprehension to the wolves and tear off the remaining paper, finding myself confronted with a white box, which has clearly already been opened at least once.

"You bought yourself an iPad3?" CJ breathes at my ear and frankly, he sounds awed. I saw him lusting after Meredith's iPad on countless occasions on tour and I still haven't figured out why he hasn't just bought his own. He's good for it.

"No," I mumble, pulling off the lid with a scowl. Great, yet more technology for me to get my head around. I stare down at it blankly for a moment, and then throw my hands up in surrender. "Come on, CJ, help me out here. I'm not Bill Gates."

He coughs out a laugh and leans over my shoulder to press the power switch. The rush of desire that pumps through me automatically at the feeling of his breath on my neck is cut short by his utterance of, "You dick."

"Pardon me?"

"Bill Gates owns Microsoft?"

"And?" I glare up at him and wear my acidic expression well enough to hide the fact that I've just realised that Apple and Microsoft are two different, and rivalling, companies.

He glances down at me remorsefully and plasters on a grin. "I love you." I cross my arms moodily. I wish those three little words didn't placate me so effectively.

The iPad turns on to a lock screen image of the same H.R. Giger piece that CJ and I both have tattooed on our bodies and I have to wonder if it's intentional. I unlock the screen and scowl down at the image behind the icons; a blank white screen with _Check Your Emails_ in bold black letters. This is all very peculiar, particularly seeing as I'm not even sure that I have an email account.

"Go on then," CJ goads me, bouncing slightly on the spot. Honestly, anyone would think I was about to reveal the all telling missing piece of key evidence in a murder mystery.

The email account holds one single email.

_From: Michael Cooper_

_To: Amelia Pearce_

_Mystery iPads_

_29 April 2012 09:00_

_Mrs. Pearce,_

_I trust that, by now, you are reasonably satisfied that this iPad is no form of incendiary device or a means of smuggling drugs into your home. It is entirely for its intended purpose: a means of communication. There is a significant distance between us and nearly ten years has been too long, I would prefer not to increase that duration to two decades when you have suddenly become so forthcoming._

_I have taken the liberty of configuring the settings on your behalf and creating your Apple ID. You will find the details of which in your Contacts app, along with my phone numbers and email address. I encourage you to ask your husband how to change your password as you never know what kind of weirdos might read your emails._

_Your father is quite eager that we pick back up from where we left off but has mentioned in passing your severe aversion to FaceTime. So how is Skype for you?_

_Please call, email or Skype at your earliest convenience to confirm that this iPad has arrived safely. I am away from the office for the day for what will undoubtedly be an extremely dull work related conference and your correspondence, as gauche as I know it will be, will surely provide some comic relief and a means of escape (a vice of which you are fully aware that I don't encourage. It will be_ _that_ _bad). Also, I have some friends who don't believe that we are acquainted._

_M. Cooper_

Oh, I see. I get where this is heading. Long distance therapy. It's actually not a bad idea. I can just turn the old coot off when I've had enough of his prattle.

"So who's Michael Cooper?" I wince at CJ's almost accusatory tone and tighten my lips into a terse line. The underlying suspicion is only too apparent in the unusually high inflection in his voice.

"An old face. Ancient. An ambiguously ancient face." I may have overshot the age implication. I'm sure that Coops is in his early sixties, maybe even late fifties, but I feel like I need to deter him away from any rogue ideas that I have a secret lover. Actually, I'm a bit annoyed at his lack of faith. "You said you'd trust me."

I catch sight of his reflection in the idle black screen of the iPad and shake my head. His jaw drops and I appear to have disarmed him. "I'm sorry."

"You'd damn well better had be." I feel myself stiffen defensively and I toss the iPad down on the couch beside me. "I thought you had to go somewhere." I'd forgotten how it had felt to be so discredited and isolated by the people who are supposed to love me the most. _Nobody believes a word I say_. My words from appointments past come back to haunt me.

"Hey." CJ jumps over the back of the couch and kneels down on the floor in front of me. _Fucking show off, just bloody walk_. He grasps my hands in his and squeezes my fingers gently, eyes wide and almost fearful. Oh, now that is rue at its finest. "I do trust you. I'm sorry." His thumbs run over my knuckles back and forth and I know he's trying to calm me like I'm a wild beast. "Don't ever think that I don't trust you. Is this about 'Nowhere'?"

"Yes," I snap, pulling my hands free, but he quickly grabs them again and twists around to catch my gaze. Ugh, those fucking beautiful, soul-searching eyes.

"So you'll tell me when you're ready."

My answer is fractionally calmer, my rage soothed by his gentle whisper. "Yes. I told you at Mackenzie's, I'm dealing with my problems productively now. The old coping strategies don't apply. I just need..." I shrug helplessly. I don't know what I need to give me the courage to announce that I've placed my mental well-being in the hands of a professional.

He shakes his head and reaches up to put a finger on my lips. "I can wait. But I really have to go, girl. Call your ancient face, tell him the husband has a name." I nod once and effectively dismiss him with a roll of my eyes. It would take something pretty huge for me to stay mad at him for longer than a minute and in that unlikely situation, I have been assured that his boat docked in Southampton, The Bystander, is frequently restocked with fresh food and a camp bed, and I will be left alone to stew. While I can't deny that their contingency plan provides me and them with a certain degree of comfort, I can't get past the fact that everyone is just waiting for me to run away again. Does nobody appreciate that I might be trying to make a conscious effort to iron out my creases but they're all holding me back? It's not just CJ, it's _everyone._ They're all hindering my process with their negativity.

CJ says his goodbyes with a timid kiss and I can't help but notice that look of exhaustion stricken across his face. It's not Delilah that's doing it, surely, so it must be me. Between my short fuse and my abhorrent request in the kitchen last night, he must be wondering what the hell he's committed himself to. We don't light each other up any more and, as much as I love him, I'm starting to worry that our time has come and gone. I can't bear to see him looking so sad and resigned knowing that it's my fault.

I load up Skype with slightly shaking hands and find that Coops has already set it up with his details. Ease of access or abuse of power? I'm not sure yet. I'm presuming that I just press his name, so I do, and hit video call. Maybe the old timer's face can set me at ease.

" _Amelia!"_ He grins at me for a moment, uncharacteristically dressed in a simple mint green shirt and no tie. His smile soon slips when he looks at me, and I have to wonder if my man flu is making me look _that_ ghastly. " _Amelia, whatever is wrong?"_ His almost grandfatherly concern gives it away. I'm obviously wearing my problems on my face.

"Is the tweed exclusive to the office?"—is the best I can offer in the way of both a greeting and a response. There are people milling around behind him and chatting between themselves. I'm hardly going to launch into a full blown account of the events that have unfolded since I last saw him with a captive audience.

He glances down at his shirt mindlessly and dismisses my question with a shake of his head. " _Come on, talk to the good doctor. You look positively harrowed."_ 'Good doctor'? Wow, talk about self-worship.

"Harrowed? Can't you say 'stressed' like a normal person?" He raises an eyebrow and I feel myself shrink down in my place a little. Christ, bad student in the headteachers office much? I peer over the back of the couch to make sure CJ hasn't left Baby D with me like he did in the graveyard and prop the iPad up against the leather arm. "I was just doing as you asked and letting you know that the iPad arrived. It's very swanky and I don't know how the fuck to use it. Thank you for exacerbating my technological inadequacies. Please send me the invoice."

"The cost has been covered, Amelia. You have a very generous benefactor who is paying me above the odds to be at your disposal as and when you should need me." My forehead creases. What generous benefactor? Who has suddenly taken it upon themselves to sponsor me and my 'issues'? And then it clicks.

"Dad." I roll my eyes and make a mental note to fire into him for the kind but unwelcome gesture next time I see him.

Coops folds his knuckles under his chin and nods intently. "Of course. He told me about what happened on your birthday when you returned back to your sister's house. Did you want to talk about it?"

"With all due respect, Doc, you're not exactly in solitary confinement over there."

"I'm in the company of psychiatrists only, Amelia." He splays out his hands and looks around at his company. "I have an abundance of second, third, fourth and quite possibly seventy-fifth opinions, should you like them. One might call this a prosperous opportunity." Others might call it hell. Idly, I wonder if the vow of doctor-patient confidentiality spreads to other doctor's patients and how ethically driven one might be in this situation.

"Will you all talk about me when this call ends?"

" _Oh yes,"_ his grin returns and there's something more casual about him now that he's out of the confines of his office and that bloody awful suit, _"so you may as well give us something good to sink our teeth into. As suspected, we are all quite bored."_

I huff and sag back under my fleece blanket. "I don't have long. Meredith is on her way to take me shopping. So what do you know?"

"I know that your mother admitted that she didn't believe Creedance's death was your fault, that your brother, William, confessed to knowing all about your tribulations with Lucien, which drove you to flee to your room, have your husband cut your hair—very nice by the way—and destroy your mattress, and that by all accounts, said husband quite deftly rallied and organised your friends and father for a swift exit to remove you from a negatively charged environment." Everything then.

"Talk to my dad a lot, do you?"

"With increasing frequency of late. But from the looks of you, I suspect that more has happened since." Hmm, he's good.

I explain briefly the events over the past couple of days, starting in Gabrielle's office and ending at CJ's negative response to Coops' email. In the back of my mind, I'm wondering where the hell Meredith is, but I'm also glad of the sort-of company in the form of an exhibition centre full of shrinks. A few other doctors have paused to hover around, listening with intense scrutiny, clearly marvelled by how eventful my life is. Coops listens with one eyebrow permanently raised looking almost amused.

"You're just a drama magnet, aren't you, Amelia?"

"Wow, how off the cuff and unprofessional," I scoff with mock-disgust and impatiently fiddle with my wedding and engagement rings.

"I'm off duty," he laughs. "You'll get nothing but my honest and frank opinion today."

"I thought my dad was paying you to be at my disposal."

"Touché. Honestly, Amelia, you and your husband have clarified that your marriage carries no tendencies towards potential re-enactments of your past and I believe that he does trust you implicitly. As for your friends, their lack of faith is their issue to tackle, not yours. So the only new point of concern which I believe you have encountered is the possibility of obtaining Creedance's medical records." 'Point of concern'? Does he really think that the information might affect me so badly?

He raises his hands in response to my silence and graces me with a much needed elaboration. "I believe that it may open a Pandora's Box of sorts. When you're a woman who finds disturbances in your version of normality so distressing, it's unlikely to sit well with you."

"So you think I should tell her that I don't want them after all?"

"That's entirely at your discretion, though I believe that if you could find new point of blame, you might stop secretly blaming yourself for the circumstances beyond your control." There might be something in that. Maybe. I'm unlikely to stop believing that I should have tried harder and I'll never stop wondering how I can restore the karmic balance if not through Delilah. "What do you hope to achieve through reconnecting with me, Amelia?"

I stare at him blankly. What do I hope to achieve? What _do_ I hope to achieve? I can't change my past, but I can change my feelings about them, maybe? Can I? He can throw as many psychological buzz words at me as he likes but the hard work has to be all my own. So why _did_ I go back to his office? "I'm sorry, Coops, I have no idea."

" _Yes you do. You're just over-thinking it."_ He glances behind him and shrugs at me apologetically, a steady stream of people tailing off behind him and vacating the area. " _I'm awfully sorry but that's my cue to leave. I'm about to be subjected to a speech by some students on the psychological aspects of_ The Clockwork Orange. _"_

"A movie review then. You have my deepest sympathies."

"Thank you. Why don't we confer via email over some allotted appointments and set an agreement for out of hours guidance, should you need it? Consider your motives for treatment in the meantime but don't dwell and stop beating yourself up over your rogue notions. You're very tough on yourself. You didn't have a conventional adolescence—a little self-discovery now won't hurt should you practice it safely."

As his face disappears from view and a well-timed Meredith raps noisily on the door with a loudly declared, "Let me in, ho", I'm left considering if that's what this is all really about. Am I really falling apart or am I just piecing myself back together? Were my teen years robbed from me and now I'm trying to reclaim them, or is that what I've been doing all along, masking the memories with music and alcohol in a refusal to face them, prolonging my youth for as long as possible to make up for lost time? Was last night just a normal act of testing boundaries?

I've changed my mind. Coops is a crap shrink because he's left me to answer more questions than I had before. There might a song in that.

# XXVIII

#

#

"What the fuck is that?"

Meredith wrinkles her nose towards the obscene vehicle parked outside my home and nods in agreement, one hand firmly stuck to her hip. "I know. Disgusting, isn't it?"

"Repulsive," I gape and approach it cautiously to run my fingers down the sleek black bodywork. Jealousy surges through me and I have the inexplicable urge to indulge in a spot of grand theft auto. "You bought a fucking Bentley Continental GT."

"GT Convertible," she corrects me, "and no. Andy bought it." Extravagant bastard. But there again, if I had his kind of money, I'd have a whole fleet of these beauties.

"He's letting you borrow his new car?"

"Not exactly." Her jaw stiffens and not in a way that suggests that she might have stolen the keys when he wasn't looking. "Mm-hmm," she answers my suspicions, "he bought me a fucking car. He gave it to me as I was leaving and that's why I'm so late." Holy cow. This isn't a car, it's a four wheeled ball and chain around her ankle and I'm pretty sure that her unusually pale complexion and rabbit caught in the headlights expression is a firm confirmation that she knows it.

I smirk and cross my arms to turn to her. "What did he have to do to get you to accept it?"

"Nothing." My jaw drops. "I accepted it without question and now I feel like I'm standing in a different country and I don't know the language." Oh, poor Meredith. She has _never_ been in a serious relationship and is almost painfully independent. Motherly instinct takes over and I scoop her up into a hug, hoping to provide at least a little comfort. I've never seen her look so lost and honestly, it's a little harrowing. Ugh, 'harrowing'? Snobbery is contagious.

She sags into me with a whimper and looks almost like she doesn't know what the hell she's doing. I can relate. "It's not all car chases, explosions and psycho ex's, you know." She looks at me questioningly and shakes her head. "Relationships, Mer. You two have been seeing each other exclusively for a year now—I think it's safe to label yourself as his 'girlfriend'."

She grunts indignantly and pulls away from my reach to take her place behind the steering wheel. "This is your fault, you know. He wants what you and CJ have." I have to presume that CJ has been skimping on the boy chats because nobody in their right mind would want our marriage right now. I haul my snuffly arse into the passenger seat and resist the urge to groan appreciatively for the soft leather upholstery. I'm thoroughly impressed with Andy; this is Meredith's dream car and she's not likely to have pushed the point. She might have mentioned it once in passing, which means that he's stored the information attentively. Yeah, she could do worse.

"So where are we going?" I raise an eyebrow at her and wait for a more detailed enquiry. "CJ's birthday gift, Ams. That's why I'm chauffeuring you around in my new bitchmobile, right?"

"Bitchmobile? I like that. But I have no idea. I was hoping you might be able to spark some inspiration?" I smile sweetly in response to her look of dismay and make a desperate attempt to stifle a sneeze. I really don't think she'd appreciate my snot all over her new motor.

"You haven't gotten him anything, seriously?"

"I didn't know what to get! There are no big reveals or tours this year and I kind of _did_ marry him and give him a daughter already, so I'm not really sure where to go from there. I'm kind of driving blind. It's not like a new games console is going to cut it for a man with more money than sense. What did you get him?"

Meredith smiles slyly and rolls her eyes, shuffling a little closer to the steering wheel as we hit traffic. 'Aggressive driver' is too weak a description. "Nothing," she laughs, "nothing _yet_."

"You hypocrite. Wait," inspiration begins to seep into my illness addled brain, "I've got it! But I need full team cooperation. Where are Plato, Erek and Levi?"

"I have no idea. Funnily enough, my gaydar doesn't come complete with sonar and GPS. Am I to presume that you have an idea involving music?" With two degrees, I was rather hoping that she'd deduce that much. Meredith Cho never fails to please and presumably that's how she scored a shiny new Bentley. "Try phoning them, arsehole." Hmm, some things never change.

A single phone call locates the guys drinking mindlessly in Erek's flat so we agree to meet there after a minor detour into Birmingham City Centre to collect my stroke of genius. CJ and Delilah's absence is slowly slipping away into an afterthought and being myself is refreshing. Maybe my complete immersion into 'grown up' life is my problem. Maybe CJ was right. I don't need to sacrifice my identity to be a mother.

But that's exactly the approach I took with Creedance. Ill or not, I need to be with my daughter.

"Where is CJ?" Meredith's eyes dart in my direction and she shrugs quickly. My eyes narrow at the same look of guilt I saw in CJ earlier. "I know that you know."

"He's in a business meeting with Andy."

"He took Delilah into a business meeting?"

Her grip on the steering wheel tightens to white knuckle force. "Sure," her voice is strained, "never too early to introduce them to the diamond trade." She forces the same high pitched laugh that she reserves only for the least funny of her poor father's jokes but quickly silences herself with a grimace. She knows that she's a poor liar _and_ she knows that I hate lies.

"Okay, Mer," I say calmly, trying to cool myself down from near boiling point, "you have one chance to answer this question before I unleash my renowned bad temper. Will you please take me to my husband and daughter? I'm asking you nicely."

Her sigh is long, drawn out and resigned. My will is stronger than hers and always has been. She's a sheep, not a shepherd. She can't reasonably deny me access to my fami—

"No." _What?_ She instantaneously flinches, awaiting my wrath, but to her advantage she's caught me completely off guard.

"What?"

"I said no." I don't think she's ever said no as a single word rebuff to me and really meant it. It's not something people are stupid enough to make a habit of. I'm not entirely sure how to react but sitting in silence like a scolded child seems to be working well. "You're ill, Ams, and you're ill because you're stressed. You should know better than most how stress can affect the body, and you're stressed because you do nothing but fuss over Delilah and worry that you're not matching up to everyone's expectations. Don't be mad but—"

"If you're telling me to not get mad, you _know_ I'm going to get mad because you're setting me up to get riled."

"Bitch, please!" She growls harshly and puts her hand up in my face. "Don't disturb my flow, I'm on fire here." _Shutting up. "_ Don't be mad but CJ told me about last night and I understand why you did it. So does he but we're worried about you. We've all let you skirt around the issue of Lucien and Creedance for too long and we're probably quite guilty of putting you up on a pedestal and wrapping you up in cotton wool. Well, we should have known better and we should have practised what we preach. And we will from now on, so if your husband calls me and tells me to take you out for the day, stopping only to dose you up with cold and flu tablets, while he looks after your daughter and attends to some pressing business because he's too scared to leave you on your own, you'll fucking come with me without argument and damn well like it. Don't forget that by doing nothing but rocking that baby you're not only depriving yourself of some clearly much needed downtime but you're also depriving him of the precious moments he needs to bond with his daughter. Okay?"

She's spoken concisely, boldly, quickly and only drawn breath once. I can't fault her on a single word and to some degree, I'm glad that I'm being spoken to like a brat. Of course, I knew everything she told me already but it's taken her sudden outburst to make it register. "Okay."

Now it's her turn to look stunned. "What?"

"I said okay. You make quite a torrent of good points, so I'll sit down and shut up, accepting everything that CJ says and sets out for me because frankly, he knows me better than I know myself right now, and I asked him to push me back towards something resembling sanity. I trust his judgement and I respect that you just came over all authoritative to effectively bollock me. It must have taken some balls." Her face floods with pride and smugness. It's not misplaced, she deserves a medal for dishing out that kind of speech without it resulting in injury, but it is, perhaps, premature. "However, you can't expect me to just turn off my anxiety, so please, take me to my husband and daughter."

The swelling smile quickly drops from her face and is replaced by woe. "I can't, Amelia."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both. I know where they are and what they're doing, but I know that it's important that they're left alone to do it in peace. I'm not going to put any noses out of joint by just rolling up unannounced. I'm sorry."

I can see that she's holding her breath nervously, fearful of my impending reaction. I could really dig my heels in and raise hell... but I won't. It must have been important for CJ to take Delilah with him, so for once, I will respect that boundary. See, I can do this grown up shit, I'll just compromise by sending him a text message instead.

_Are you both okay? Missing you. A x_

At least I know he has my bloody phone number this time. I haven't needed to call or text him since we reunited at Download.

"So, birthday present?" Meredith hazards a wary smile at me and eases into the secured parking area behind my loft. CJ still doesn't know that I never sold the place. I really hope that he's not pissed off when he finds out. I just need that safe haven, just in case I need it and the boat doesn't seem practical. Mer is the only one who knows that I still have my name on the deed and knows that she's sworn to secrecy.

"Apple store."

She squints slightly and cocks her head. "Apple technology or apple the fruit?"

"You dick."

Gift in hand, Meredith forces me to roam the streets of Birmingham with her under the promise of free food and as much coffee as I can stomach. Sounds fair. I get a good amount of second glances when starry-eyed fans walk past us and don't realise that it's me because my hair is so short. It's almost freeing to be left alone, though Mer is still getting her share of pleas for autographs so I'm getting caught in the collateral damage. It's a hard life.

I find myself unwillingly heaved into an independent record shop hidden down some inconspicuous alley and stare apprehensively around the dimly lit cave of a place full of cramped up rows of vinyl records and eight-tracks with a very sparse collection of CDs. I'm just wondering who actually still has a fondness for obsolete music formats when Mer reads my mind.

"Andy," she murmurs quietly, like talking too loudly might startle the greasy haired geek reading an old Marvel comic at the till and send him fleeing into the stock room, "he's a bit of a retro nut. I'm almost certain that I spotted a few Betamax cassettes in his loft..."

"What were you doing in his loft?" She blinks a few times in rapid succession and shakes her head. That would be Cho sign language for 'don't ask'. I won't because I know what falls into the realms of inappropriate conversations in her world and the smell of body odour and dust in this place is already pushing past my blocked nose and making me feel sick. "So are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Hmm no, not really. But if the guy can remember a little factoid which you blurted out while you were pissed last year, I think I might owe him a little something in return. You know, something to say that I pay attention when he talks and I'm not necessarily thinking about skull-fucking him. Not always anyway."

I secretly watch her as she strolls through the cases of records with a furrowed brow, running her hands along the sleeves as though she's waiting for some kind of sign to show her where to search. I see something in her sloe eyes and high cheekbones that I've never seen before. Calm. Life has always seemed like a race to the finish line for her, but now it's a leisurely stroll around a record shop. No rush, no hassle, just a pleasant little mosey through being twenty-four. The stiff, almost mechanical way in which she used to move has gone and she's at ease. I can't help feeling like Andy might be largely responsible. I make a mental note to give him an almost sisterly 'hurt her and I'll have your balls in a jar' talking to and try not to get emotional at what she's become: a little more confident, a little less snarky, and a whole lot happy.

"Ams, check it out!" She hisses at me from the CDs and stifles a laugh when the geek with the comic looks up in alarm at the sudden sound. She brandishes a familiar image at me and I can't help but gasp through my many memories.

"The Dresden Dolls. Bloody hell!"

"I know, right!" She grins at me from under her raven bob. "You used to say that you were the living embodiment of _Girl Anachronism_."

"I still am. Maybe more so now."

"Ugh," Mer groans and combs her fingers into her hair, "your lack of self-worth is boring and tedious. You've achieved more in the last seven years than most people do in their entire life. There's just no pleasing you." I pout a little at round two of my telling off and tuck the CD back amongst its poorly organised companions. I'm used to her being stern with me but this feels different. There's usually a gentle kind of persuasion to her mithering, like she says it in my best interests, but now I really feel like I'm just grating on her nerves. Jesus, am I subconsciously trying to ruin my life?

She eventually settles on an eight-track tape of _Tubular Bells_ and shrugs at me helplessly. It might not necessarily be the right track, but I can tell that she's hoping that the sentiment won't go unnoticed. She's not quite as reckless as me in that she won't go out and get a tattoo for him but she's not even really the type to bother buying birthday and Christmas presents, so this is kind of a big deal for her. Hopefully Andy has spent enough time with her to get that.

"So... what to do about that husband of yours?" I raise an eyebrow as we step back out into the 'fresh' air of the city. "I mean his birthday present, baby doll. I'm still clueless."

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm winging it and hoping for a lucky shot."

"Pah!" She digs her hand into her pocket and pulls out her smartphone with a scowl. "You're useless. This is exactly why I'm fucking his best friend." Hmm, of course. Inside information on appropriate gifts is _exactly_ why she accepted a Bentley. She catches sight of my smirk and mouths 'shut up', scrolling to Andy's number and calling through to him on speaker phone.

" _Sugar plum."_ I suppress a laugh at both his greeting and Meredith's flushed face.

"You cockhole, I'm with Amelia and you're on speaker phone."

" _My bad,"_ he laughs softly, _"what can I do for you, pumpkin?"_ She can try and pout through that smile all she wants but I know that it's there.

She clears her throat and tries to sound as impassive as possible. "I'm not disturbing your very important business meeting, am I?" It really comes out as more of a strangled squeak. She's killing me here.

" _No, of course not. CJ has obviously been the mouthpiece so I'm really here to stop him from making any rash decisions."_ So is he almost like a silent partner? Surely major decisions should be mutual? Whatever, I'm not even going to pretend to know anything about the business world. " _So come on, what's eating you?"_

"I don't know what to get CJ for his birthday."

There's a brief silence and then a sigh. " _Okay, hold on."_ There are footsteps and then the light babble of baby talk and tiny giggles. Good, they're both okay. Crap, I haven't checked to see if he replied to my text. I scrabble into the pocket of my baggy jeans and sigh with relief at the sight of his message.

_  
__We're both fine. We miss you too. ILY x_

" _Hey, CJ."_ My attention snaps back to the phone call in progress.

" _Hey man, so what do you think? Do we move in yet?"_ Hostile take over? Why does he need another business when he already has four?

"Go for it. Look, the wench just text and said they're about to head home, and I need her to pick up a birthday gift for you from me, so spill. What do you want?" Meredith's mouth drops open at the sound of 'wench' but she seems soothed by the way he's taking a bullet for her.

"I don't care as long as I go to sleep next to Amelia tomorrow night and wake up with her the next morning. In case you hadn't noticed, birthdays don't do wonders for our relationship." It pains me to hear the fear in his voice. He's as worried about facing the memories of his birthday as I am.

"Don't be such a downer. I can't make guarantees, I can only provide the material. So unless you want me to send Mer to Ann Summers for some sort of leash or handcuffs..."

" _Not cool."_ CJ's voice cracks with vehement rage. Wow, that is one seriously annoyed man. I wonder how much of it is his own distaste and how much of it is defensiveness over my past.

" _Shit, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... Never mind."_ I suddenly feel really awful for Andy. What a way to shoot himself in the foot.

CJ huffs and his voice gets fractionally louder. "I have a family of my own, you know that's all I ever aspired to..." Jesus, really? Mr. Millionaire only ever wanted to be a family man? "... and Amelia isn't going to turn around and announce that she's pregnant tomorrow," damn right I'm not, "so I dunno. My phone is scratched to shit, I guess." Meredith murmurs in approval and nods. Winner. "But you know what? I'd actually really like a..."

My eyes shoot up to meet Mer's with a look of complete frustration and bewilderment. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

I lean back exhausted on Erek's Chesterfield couch and marvel at his strangely genial and humble home. Anyone would think that they'd walked into the flat of a demure old gent rather than the drummer for a rock band. My wrists hang over the neck of my guitar limply as I desperately try to fathom why he would decorate like a pensioner, even down to the lace doily on the table and the massive oak china cabinet, which is admittedly full of beer glasses and smoking paraphernalia, but still.

"So do you think he'll like it?" Meredith smiles at me hopefully and packs CJ's birthday presents into gift bags. No, even though it's a year on, we still haven't learnt how to use wrapping paper. We did try at Christmas—it was a disaster.

"I really hope so," I snuffle, wiping my nose on a largely sodden tissue. As soon as I started to tire, this stupid man flu took hold in full swing and I only just had time to finish sorting out the gift before I started to ooze. "I can't believe what he really wanted though!"

"Sometimes it's the simple things in life, honey bee." Plato throws himself down next to me and passes me a large mug of coffee. I know that he's right, having made the same claim myself the first time I drove the Mercedes, but now I appreciate that it _really_ is the simple things. Watching TV, wrapped up in a blanket with my sexy bitch of a husband and perfect little angel of a daughter, little giggles and waking up nose to nose with the man I love so much, the man who sees past all my flaws.

And right on cue he strolls through the door, tall, lean and supremely beautiful. Delilah sleeps soundly in the car seat with one tiny hand tightly wrapped around the ear of a pink rabbit toy that I've never seen before. "You've been shopping?"

He dips down to plant a kiss on my forehead and flashes a ball busting smile. I'm going to need more tissues... "Quite a bit of shopping, actually, much to Andy's annoyance. I wanted to treat my girls, plus I'm getting kind of doughy for my jeans."

"Doughy!" Levi snorts, offering CJ a can of lager which he sensibly turns down. "How could you possibly be getting doughy when you're married to a walking work out?"

"You're still a tactless fucker. Grow up," I snap, eyes flaring, and seek refuge behind my mug. I can feel that my face must be flaming and I'm more than eager to pull the attention away from Levi. CJ takes my guitar and throws a reassuring arm around me. I wince a little when he squeezes me but shuffle around to lean my head on his shoulder. "So what did you buy?"

"Stuff." Vague.

"What stuff?"

"You'll see." I scowl at his evasive response and make a grab at his knee cap. "Ah, bitch!" He howls, wrenching my fingers away. "You have to stop doing that! You can wait until we get home!" I whimper and relent, rubbing my hand where he grabbed me with a sulk. If my body didn't feel like lead, there would be no waiting. He would surrender the information immediately. His face floods with panic. "Did I hurt you?"

I gape at his dramatic response and shake my head. Jeez, if he gets in a flap about something so minor, I _definitely_ don't have to worry about him causing me intentional harm. "No, it wasn't you. I just feel like a walking bruise."

"Oh damn, girl. You have proper flu." As opposed to fake flu?

"What does that mean?"

"It means you should have taken the god damn flu jab they offered you while you were pregnant," Meredith hisses, glaring at me with her 'I told you so' look. "Luckily for you, we all had them ourselves so there was no danger of you catching it from us. You of all people should have known the risk of third trimester influenza." Jesus, bollocking round three. I shrink down in my seat timidly and hide in the hug which CJ offers.

"You know, you've been kind of mean today, Mer. There's a difference between tough love and just being a big ol' bitch." Her jaw drops and she visibly bristles in her place. _That told you_. It seems as though she might have gotten caught up in my new found compliance and that confidence needs to be squashed immediately. "Why don't you show your _boyfriend_ what you've been doing today?" I nod towards a newly arrived Andy and raise an eyebrow. We are equally matched in this embarrassment game and she knows it.

Andy pauses for a beat before sitting down next to her and squints slightly, quite clearly assessing the situation. "Did I just hear myself being labelled?" All eyes turn to Meredith and await her answer with a fair dose of amusement.

"Yes," she mumbles, keeping her eyes down as she rummages through a bag, "you did buy me a fucking car. I'm presuming you'd prefer boyfriend to pimp or sugar daddy."

"Sugar daddy?" Andy smirks but holds his hands up when she glares at him viciously. Yeah, you do not want to make light of that kind of admission. "Boyfriend will do. For now." There's a small ripple of laughter at the way her jaw drops open and her panicked slouch back into the couch. "Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, sweet pea. The ring isn't back from our smithy yet." I have some serious respect for that man and his ability to render her silent right now, though I am wondering if his psyche out is a double bluff. If he's anything like CJ, he's a hopeless romantic and optimist. Is there really a ring?

Meredith shoves a small bag at him and reclines back into a nervous strop. He frowns at her in surprise and turns his gaze to me. "Hey, don't look at me, mate. I had nothing to do with it." I give him a half smile and try to telepathically reassure him that it's not anthrax. He shakes his head in resignation and peeks into the bag, then promptly grabs Meredith and whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes boggle and her face turn puce.

"Sooooo..." he grabs her hand and pulls her up from the couch in one swift movement. "We're going to go home and we'll see you all tomorrow. Maybe." They leave with no further explanation and I'm the poor sucker left to speak for them.

" _Tubular Bells_ on eight-track?" I answer the lingering unspoken question. CJ's mouth opens, then closes, and then he folds his arms behind his head with a smirk. "What?"

"I hope you guys have enjoyed having Meredith around because I doubt that we'll see her in that state again. Andy has been obsessed with retro technology and that track for his entire life. She's going to be a knackered husk for the rest of her days."

"That's a fairly extravagant reaction to a gift."

CJ raises an eyebrow at me and scoffs. "He bought her a Bentley 'just cos'."

"Fair point." I roll my head around on my shoulders in a feeble attempt to release some of the stiffness and jut a lip out, hoping to score some pity. "Can we go home?"

"Of course, but first..." I squeak in surprise when he launches at me and pulls me into a fairly intrusive but extremely passionate kiss. I melt into him and grip onto his arms, ignoring the lewd whoops from Plato and Levi, and fall captive to him all over again. He leaves me slightly breathless and hot around the collar when he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. "I missed you today."

"Guys, not on my couch, eh?" Our eyes swivel around to Erek and we both smile guiltily. We know his house rules about feet on the furniture—which we are both breaking—so making the beast with two backs is a definite no-no. He's lucky that my head is so messed up because otherwise I'd ignore him. Nobody in their right mind could keep their hands off CJ and I think it's obvious that a 'right mind' is something I don't currently possess.

_"Mia, you have to stop bugging us, it's annoying." Wills glares at me across the sitting room meanly, Lucien smirking just out of his line of sight. "Seriously, nobody wants you around. Ever." God, he's so horrible to me. Why are he and Mackenzie so harsh to me but yet so nice to Mer?_

_I cock my head prettily and flutter my lashes. "I think_ _somebody_ _wants me around, actually. And I think somebody would much rather be doing something other than advanced trigonometry with your ugly ass."_

_Wills turns his head to look at Lucien, who shrugs and nods. See, he does want me. He likes me better than you. "Fine." He throws his hands up and marches towards me, holding a finger an inch away from my face. "Don't say I didn't warn you."_

"Amelia, come back!" CJ follows me out through the lounge and tugs me into his arms, holding my head against his bare chest. I bat away my tears and bury myself in him, trying to dispel my pang of guilt with the luscious sensation of our skin to skin contact. We were about to break that dam and I freaked the fuck out and started attacking him. What the hell kind of wife am I? Why did that memory have to creep back into my mind at such a crucial moment?

"I'm so sorry." I weep quietly against him. I know that I should set him free from this torment, but part of me is too selfish to let him go.

He pulls my head back and cups it between his hands, kissing away my tears. "Don't be. I don't need this, you know that."

"You don't need a flaky wife, Caspian. You need a rockstar."

"I _have_ a rockstar, Amelia, but that doesn't mean that I need rockstar sex. We were _never_ about that." That's bullshit. We always centred around sex. My eyes dart down to his waist and a brow arches. Yeah, this guy doesn't want to nail me. "Stop it. I told you last year, I've had a permanent semi since you licked your lips at me in the university library. You're a living, breathing aphrodisiac but it doesn't mean that I _need_ it. I _need_ to put a smile on your face, that's all I've ever wanted. I can't stand feeling like you're slipping away from me."

"Is that really how you feel?" I step back from him, stunned and quietly appalled. "That I'm drifting?" I sigh and rub my eyes, then stare up at him tiredly. Of course he feels like I'm drifting, I'm being secretive again. I don't tell him anything any more. "CJ," I stammer and reach for his hand. I need to be honest with him, I know I do. "When Creedance was born, I pretty much became Lucien's property. I think I'm trying to keep control over my life by denying you that piece of me."

He nods slowly, seemingly absorbing my words. "You think you'd be relinquishing control to me?"

"I guess," I shrug, "I know it doesn't make sense."

"It does. But then that means that you control me, too. And you do."

"I don't want to control you."

"Well then." He turns back towards our bedroom and tugs at my hand. "We've reached an impasse, so it's probably best that we just go back to bed and wrap ourselves around each other." I climb back under the sheets and watch him stalk around to his side of the bed, graceful and gloriously naked. His eyes glint in the darkness and I see all of the fear that he usually conceals so well. "You're not the only one who needs reassurance sometimes, Amelia."

And at that very instant, I realise that he's feeling as vulnerable as I am, like he just might not be enough for me. But he is, he's all that I need. "Push me, Caspian. Like I asked you to."

He winds an arm around me and rests his head down on the pillow, pulling me down to lay with him. "Not tonight, girl." He glances with almost frightening seriousness at the digital alarm clock on the table next to the bed just as it clicks around to midnight. "Not today."

# XXIX

#

#

I lean my throbbing head against the cool glass of the doors looking out over the garden and close my eyes. I can still hear it—the buzz of the crowd waiting for us to play and the deafening rush of blood in my ears. It was the most important gig of my career and while we put on one hell of a show, the fallout was devastating. I can't shake off the sound of my voice singing _Weak_ , screaming my words in his face after that awful FaceTime encounter. Not even another 3am wet dream can dull the hurt of these memories. I think it was Sheffield this time, minus the angst over that bloody session drummer.

My head jerks up when the music quickly silences and I feel CJ's body engulf mine. Oh, the music wasn't in my head, it was a music channel. The sound is muted now but I can see the reflection of the video flashing in the glass.

"You woke up wearing the same expression last year."

"Different reason though."

He scoffs gently and rests his chin on my shoulder. "Stupid reason. I can't believe you thought that I'd leave you because I found out you were my dream woman."

"I thought you'd be mad because we lied."

"You didn't really lie," he eases me around by my hips so I'm facing him and pulls my arms around his neck, "maybe a lie by omission. But looking back, it's not like you didn't drop enough hints. The best of it is, I knew that 'Amy' of The Bystander Effect was dating Chase Garret. I could have kicked myself for not making the connection."

"I had a Latin teacher who called me Amy," I giggle in the school girlish way I only do around one man, "so you weren't entirely wrong there." I look back out across the garden and shake my head critically at the pool which I've never bloody used because I won't go out there. "Do you think we'd still be like this if the day had gone better? You know, married with Delilah?"

"Yes," CJ answers with no preamble, "you would have already been so slightly pregnant and we would have gotten married in Las Vegas like you planned when you gave me that plane ticket. But maybe it's better that it happened this way." With us both sleeping with other people, twelve days of starvation, a prolonged period of separation and him slugging me in the face?

"Uh, help me out here. How was any of the six weeks in which we were apart a positive experience?"

"Well," he holds up one finger and wanders off into the bedroom, calling out behind him, "number one, you got to record _Weak_ , and regardless of the depressing video, I now have a proper studio version of my favourite band playing my favourite track." I can't resist the urge to smile and laugh to myself. I can't believe he's still making that claim. "Number two, I got to headline at Download with you. Fuckin' A!"

"To be fair, we probably would have let you do that anyway." He pokes his head back around the door frame and raises an eyebrow. Uh oh, that's his seldom used 'shut up, Amelia' look.

"Don't piss on my bonfire, it's my birthday." I pout apologetically before he disappears back into the bedroom. "Besides, it would have been boring if you'd planned it—" bloody charming, "—and it was incredibly romantic." Well I can't disagree with that. I don't think I ever would have realised just how much I loved him until the moment he walked out onto stage wearing that god awful 'I'm With The Band' t-shirt. "Number three..."

"How many are there?"

"Four. Number three..." he walks back into the lounge with a few bags and Delilah in one arm, dressed up in a snazzy nautical affair of an outfit. "Yes, I bought her that yesterday. Cute, eh?" I nod, completely astounded. The man has good taste. "Anyway, number three. Chrissie would still be looming around like a black cloud. As it is now, we know where she is and that she can't bother us."

Holy crap, he's right. The... sado-thing had no qualms about violating injunctions so we would have had to suffer endless harassment and, without a doubt, arguments over her. It'll never stop hurting that I should have been the only woman to have had sex with CJ but he's right. It might have been the best thing that she could have done. "You're giving number three some serious consideration, aren't you?"

"Shut up. Regardless of the positive effects, I'll still never get that image out of my head."

"I know. That's why there's number four." He brushes his fingers across my cheek and passes me a bag. "I saw this yesterday and thought of you."

"I thought it was your birthday. Why am I getting gifts?" He blinks at me slowly and silently, waiting patiently for me to open the bag. I suppose I can't really complain, particularly not when it's _his_ day.

My hand dives in and reaches something cool and soft, leather maybe, and it's weighty. I narrow my eyes at him and pull it out of the bag with a disbelieving laugh. It's a full length battered leather maroon coat which I pretty much lived in when I was in my late teens. I paid for it with my first royalty cheque. There's a tear in the lining and a dead give away biro doodle of a skull on the sleeve that makes this coat unique. I never thought I'd see this again.

"My god, where did you find this? It got left behind in Oslo after a really awful gig. Everything got left behind except our guitars—we had to buy Erek a new drum kit."

"It somehow found its way to a collector in Wolverhampton." CJ grabs the shoulders of the coat and holds it up for me to shrug into. Wow, I remember this comfort and it still fits like a glove. I can't believe he found this. "I remember the first time I saw this coat."

I frown and shake my head, running my thumb across the biro doodle. "You can't have. The only time it was pictured was on a limited edition copy of our _Make Believe_ album. There were only—"

"... only one hundred copies and you handed them out yourselves to random passers by in the city centre. Anyone who was given a copy would have been an idiot to do something stupid like sell it on eBay." I eye him speculatively and purse my lips. Trust him to have read _one_ interview of ours, one that didn't come with a photo-shoot.

"So you found a copy on eBay courtesy of an idiot?"

"Not exactly." He digs into one of the other bags and pulls out a CD. The limited edition _Make Believe_ album. I fold it out and there we are on the artwork in the sleeve, and I'm wearing that red coat. "That was an interesting day. I was late for a meeting and I was accosted by some leggy blonde in a red jacket shouting 'yo, cunthole, I'm talking to you!'" My eyes jerk up to meet his and I shake my head. Surely not?

_"Ams, are you going to help or what?" I look over the rims of my mirrored aviators at Meredith and roll my eyes. I didn't ask to be sitting out in Birmingham City Centre handing out free copies of our debut album. This was her hair-brained idea._

_"I'll choose the 'or what' if it's all the same. Ah, bitch!" She drags me up by the collar of my favourite red leather coat and crams a CD into my hand._

_"Do one and then you've helped. Come on, you_ _are_ _the front-man... woman... You're a front-thing." I grumble under my breath and look around for anyone who might look slightly interested. I spot some guy with longish dark hair and a stretcher plug but he's in a suit. Ah, what the hell._

_"Hey, you!" He glances sideways at me and flicks a hand to usher me away. What a dick, I'm hardly selling the Big Issue. "Yo, cunthole, I'm talking to you!" He stops in his tracks and raises an eyebrow, forcing me to jog over to him. God damn, those are some eyes. I hold out the CD and return his raised eyebrow._

_He holds up his hands and shakes his head. "No thanks, I'm not looking to extend my musical repertoire."_

_"Just fuckin' take it, arsehole. My bassist will give me shit if I don't hand out one so frankly you'd be doing me a favour."_

_He smirks a little and grips the CD while I'm still holding it. "The Bystander Effect?"_

_"You been living in a cave or something? We're pretty big."_

_"I'll look you up." Christ, I hope I'm not smiling. Feels like I am. There's something about this guy._

_"Ams, come on!" I glance over my shoulder and step back, releasing my grip. I raise a finger to point at him and stick my tongue out._

_"That CD will change your life!"_

"Holy fuck, you knew all along." My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. Of all the people to get the only copy I handed out, it was him, and he was the first person to make me feel like smiling in two years.

CJ pulls the CD from my hands and wraps his arms around me underneath the coat. "I didn't _know_ as such. The guys all looked way different and I never saw your tattoos and eyes."

"I didn't have any tattoos then. I'd only just turned eighteen."

"So no, I didn't _know_ , and your faces are kind of small in that album artwork. But I felt like we'd met before, and you were right. This album changed my life. Never imagined I'd marry the woman who called me a cunthole though."

"Jesus." I titter through a bewildered pant and struggle to comprehend this strange turn of events. The psychologist in me is pouncing on the explanation of coincidence but the recently found romanticist in me wants to call it fate or divine intervention. "Why didn't you say sooner?"

"Because I didn't have the coat," he laughs and collects Delilah's car seat from the hallway. I take another confused glance at the CD and roll my eyes. So much for no big reveals.

I dig my hands into the pockets of the coat and I can't quite believe that they're still full of crap: a faded label from a bottle of Budweiser, seven pence in copper change, a handful of receipts, a disposable lighter and a key. Wait, a key?

"Ah, number four." CJ sneaks up next to me and takes the key from my hand thoughtfully. "Yes, number four. Come with me." He paces towards the front door and holds it open for me with the smallest of smiles on his lips.

"You haven't opened your birthday present."

"Bring it with you. Come on."

"Where the hell are we?" CJ has driven for an hour and I'm fidgeting like an impatient child. "And most importantly, does it have a fucking bathroom?"

He laughs softly and pulls through two wrought iron gates into a large open gravel driveway that could comfortably park four or five cars, in front of a house maybe half the size of a stately home. Jesus, swank. Paths reach around both sides of the building and two columns stand on either side of the doorway, though bizarrely there don't seem to be any curtains hanging in the French windows. Weird. He hops out and opens the door of our new and frankly quite boring Audi A3 for me, then quickly unclips the car seat.

"Caspian. Bathroom. Seriously."

"I did tell you to go before you left." He smiles sweetly and holds a hand out as an indication for me to go first, and then points to the plaque over the door. "Number four, girl." Huh, number four is a house numbered four. Hilarious.

"Super. Please explain the significance _after_ I've taken a piss." He tuts and pulls the key from the pocket of my coat, moving slowly, presumably to do my head in. "CJ, so help me god..."

The door swings open with a creak. "First door on the left." I scurry away and yank open the first door on the left, shutting myself into a cupboard. He taps on the door gently and I can hear the fucker stifling a laugh. "Stage left. Honestly, you should be used to that."

"I hate you so much right now."

I creep out of the bathroom with a scowl. No light bulb and no toilet roll, fucking wonderful. What kind of desolate shit hole has he brought me to? It looked uber posh from the outside so I presumed we were here to see his family.

"All right then, smart arse, lay it on me. Number four."

CJ sets Delilah down on the floor and reaches out for my hand, which I obviously surrender under sufferance. "Okay, number four. If we hadn't been apart, I wouldn't have spent hours driving around on my own and found this place." I glance around at the dark, dank house and shrug.

"You should have kept driving, CJ. It's a dive."

"Hmm, yeah, right now. However..." He leans over and flips a switch on the wall, "Not a dive now, right?"

Three frosted glass orbs suspended from the ceiling light up and illuminate the entrance hall we're standing in. "Holy shit." A staircase creeps around three walls and two huge archways lead through to a massive kitchen and a lounge area.

"Go on." CJ leans forward and kisses my forehead. "Take a look around."

I take a brief stroll through to the kitchen, which attaches to one hell of a wine cellar, and a dining room joins it to the lounge, which branches off into two other empty rooms. This place is fucking huge. I shake my head at CJ as I make my way upstairs. What is he playing at? There are seven bedrooms, all en-suite, and the master bedroom has a balcony over looking a garden. No, not a garden, it's a freaking field with a pool and a patio.

"Well?" He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed and looks at me almost hopefully. "Dive?"

"This place is like the Von Trapp house minus the Nazis." Big enough for them too. Man, the parties you could throw in this place.

He prowls over and drapes himself around me, shifting my hair to one side to lay a trail of kisses over my neck. "This place has been empty for five years." I reach up and bat his face away. He's being very distracting.

"Are you buying this place?"

"Not exactly," he proceeds with his relentless kisses, undeterred by my objection. "I signed on the dotted line the day after I found out you were pregnant. I knew that you'd come back to me."

"Cocky, aren't you?"

He grabs one of my hips and pushes me back against him so I can feel him, rock hard and digging into my back. "Yes, I think we've clarified that. Anyway..." He releases me quickly, and I'm guessing it's so I don't feel pressurised. I don't think he realises how much I want my mind to relax so I can jump him. "The house was pretty crappy when I found it so I had to get it renovated. The contractors finished up last week, so all it needs now is people and furniture. What do you reckon?"

It takes a minute for it to register what he's getting at. "You want to move in here?"

"Absolutely and immediately. I wanted to wait until it was all decorated and ready to live in but we can do that while we're here. We have the basics, we just need to move it all."

I twist around in his arms and sigh. This house is so not me that it's unreal. I'm no Stepford wife and I don't belong in a mansion. "CJ, this place is huge and outrageous. What the fuck would we do with seven bedrooms?"

He purses his lips thoughtfully and presses them to my head. "Well, one for us and one for Delilah, obviously."

"So five..."

"I thought that I might claim one as an office, turn one into a walk in wardrobe and have some guest rooms."

"And the space downstairs?"

"A games room."

"There are two rooms." His face creases into a soft smile and he grabs my hand to lead me back downstairs to look at one of the large rooms branching off from the lounge. It's completely empty and echoes like a chapel. "Christ, the acoustics are amazing in here."

"I noticed. So think studio." What the hell? A home studio? The possibilities surrounding that idea are ridiculous. I could waste so much of my life in this room writing songs. I can't help but form the images of the completed house in my mind. Vintage but not gloomy, surprisingly sophisticated to match the outside but still with our individuality stamped all over it. Crap, I think... I think I'm excited.

"Can we see outside?"

"Of course," CJ grins and pulls me through to the other large room, which leads out into the huge field of a back garden, "it _is_ ours to look at."

The greenery is perfectly trimmed and bordered off with tall, solid brick walls, but it's expansive enough for it to not feel claustrophobic or isolated. One side of the pool is decked in wood and the other edged with marble slabs, and it has a built in hot tub area. I'm laughing inside—this place is unreal. If I moved in, I doubt that I'd ever leave the house. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yes," he sighs and waves a hand out across the garden. "I see me and Delilah running around and laughing out here while you chill in the pool wearing your aviators and sipping on a Jack and Coke. I don't see that at the flat—"

"Bungalow."

He rolls his eyes at me but smiles. "Okay, at the _bungalow_. That place is too cramped and it has too many ghosts. This place is a blank canvas, ours to shape however we want and start afresh as a family in a new and brighter environment." If he really thinks that moving house will solve everything, he's stupid and naive. Admittedly, the bungalow is eventually going to be too small for us, but what's the rush to get in here?

"CJ, I'm living proof that you can't run away from your memories by relocating. What happened last year is going to hang over us no matter where we go."

"I'm not running away from them, Amelia, I'm leaving them behind." I raise an incredulous eyebrow. Hell, if only it was that easy. "Humour me, girl. You want to stay in a house where you can't bear to step out onto the grass? I can't go out there either and no amount of new beds are going to make me feel any better about sleeping in that bedroom. You know how that feels. If I don't have to look at it, I don't have the visual stimulus that makes me think about it. Plus, come on. Imagine the parties we could have in this place." Ah, okay, so we are on the same wavelength.

I roll my eyes at him and tell him to stay put so I can take another look around the house. The longer I'm in it, the less ridiculously big it feels. With all the furniture and some music blaring out, maybe this _could_ feel like home. What do I stand to lose by trying?

"CJ," I head back out into the garden and find him sitting on the decking with his feet dipped into the pool, "this place is an hour away from the city. It's going to be a bitch for us to have a social life."

He bites his lip cheekily and pats the wood next to him for me to sit down. "We're actually only just on the outskirts of Birmingham, girl. I purposely took a few wrong turns and went in a few circles so you wouldn't guess where we were coming." Devious son of a bitch. My eyes track along the walls of the garden and the solid white painted brick of the house before coming back to settle on CJ. He looks placid and more settled, the look of utter exhaustion seems to have faded slightly and he's more of the man I met rather than the man whose wife is an emotional wreck. And I think it's rubbing off.

"Okay. How soon can we get in here?"

I squeal when he launches at me and kisses me furiously with what seems almost like gratitude. I'm suddenly very glad that the walls are so high because this could get indecent, or at least it would have three months ago. "I can have removal vans at the house tomorrow," he murmurs against my mouth, "I spent yesterday buying white goods. we just need to buy new furniture."

"What's wrong with the stuff we have?"

He pulls back slightly and knocks on my skull with his knuckles. "Amelia, _I_ chose that furniture. I want this all to be a joint effort and it's hardly going to fill this place. Come on, let's go shopping. Now." Bloody hell, he's eager.

"You want to spend your birthday looking at couches?"

"Yes, please." Who knew twenty-seven came with a side order of boring? "I'll take you to McDonald's," he adds with a pout. Hell, why not? The more today differs from last year the better, and if the man is telling me that he wants to go and buy a houseful of furniture, who am I to deny him just that? And I know _exactly_ what I want...

"I can't believe you let me buy a gargoyle!" CJ curls an arm around me and sets to muting my jubilant laughter with a kiss. I'm guessing from the look on the guy's face in the furniture place which we've just ransacked that he works on commission. I nearly pissed myself when CJ just handed him a debit card and blinked at him slowly, raising an eyebrow and saying, "I'm good for it," when the bloke gave him the classic look of disbelief. Obviously. Mr Way-Richer-Than-Me insisted on paying for everything because I'm clearly hopelessly impoverished. Patronising twat, but to his credit, I get carte blanche on the studio because he knows nothing at all about the equipment. All of the housey crap is being delivered tomorrow, which means that, in theory we could move in tomorrow morning. Frivolity took over and we ended up buying a new furniture set for our bedroom, so all we need is our personal stuff and the as yet unused furniture from the nursery.

I shuffle awkwardly in my seat in the ever opulent McDonald's and pick at the half wilted lettuce on my chicken sandwich. CJ dips his head to catch my gaze and shakes his head. "I was hoping to avoid that look this year."

"What?" I catch sight of my miserable mug in the window and grumble an apology. _Snap out of it, Amelia. There are no sadists or hidden identities this year._

"What's eating you, girl? You looked like you were coming out of your slump a bit but you've gone distant again." I run a finger across my lips reluctantly and shrug. It's stupid. Really, really stupid. "Don't make me play the 'it's my birthday' card again, Amelia."

"Fine," I huff, shaking off the brain freeze from my milkshake. "I just really don't want to go back to the flat tonight."

"Bungalow." I snicker and narrow my eyes at him for not taking me seriously. He reaches over to squeeze my fingers for a moment, then delves his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone. "Yeah, neither do I. Not tonight. Not ever. Give me a minute." He disappears outside and leaves me desperately trying to resist the urge to feed Delilah fries and McFlurry. Damn it, she looks like she wants it. "Don't you dare." CJ glowers down at me, trying to look fierce, but fails miserably.

"That was quick."

"I only needed to call Andy."

"Oh. I thought you were booking a hotel or something."

He snorts and ruffles my hair, taking his seat back in front of his burger and rubbing his hands together. I'm sure he has a bottomless pit for a stomach. "Hotel, puh-lease. I think we can do better than that."

"Better?"

"Better," he picks his burger up and winks. "Wetter. The wetter the better." What the hell does that mean? He chews a mouthful slowly, watching my reaction but I honestly don't know what to make of the sentiment. _The wetter the better._ Oh unless he means...

"You want to g—" A face at the far end of the room catches my attention—I don't know why—a man, scruffy and wearing a knit hat in April. Go figure, but he's staring right at us. Is he staring? Or is he watching?

"Amelia?" I shake myself back into my senses and rub my arms, which have inexplicably goose-bumped all over. I'm used to being stalked and watched by photographers but that guy just makes me anxious.

"That man is watching us." CJ scowls and cranes his neck around the people at the tables between us. "Black hat, looks like a tramp."

"There's no guy in a hat in here."

"Don't be—" I look back in his direction and he's gone. What the fuck? Did I imagine him? "Oh. There _was_ a guy. I'm not hallucinating." Crap, that came out a little too defensively.

"I know, girl." CJ wipes his mouth with a paper napkin and leans back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head with a smirk. "Now, about this birthday present." Jeez, took him long enough, but he still hasn't explained 'the wetter the better'.

I roll my eyes and grope around under the table for the bag which Meredith packed yesterday. He snatches it and greedily starts digging through the paper with the same gusto with which I've seen him attack a pair of fishnets. Happy days.

I grit my teeth into something which I hope resembles a smile. I hope this has the desired affect because I know that Meredith has gotten him what he _really_ wanted. CJ pauses with his hand in the bag and raises an eyebrow. "Why do you look so nervous?"

"I just want it to be good enough."

"Did you take a dump in a box and put it in this bag?" _What?_

"No," I say slowly, wondering where this is going.

"Then whatever it is, it's good enough." Oh, gotcha. It's hard to stifle a wince when he pulls the gift out of the bag and sets it down on the table in front of him, staring down at it expressionlessly. Oh fuck, he hates it. "An iPad?"

"Yes?" I bury my head into my hands and groan lowly. I should have had Andy do my detective work, too. It's nothing compared to an engagement ring last year and a wedding ring this year. I fail at wifely duties in all mediums.

He runs his thumb over the silver seal holding the box together and narrows his eyes. "You've opened this already." I peer up at him between my fingers and nod. "So there are goodies?" I really hope he means internal goodies because I didn't buy him any accessories for it. Shit, I should have got accessories.

He doesn't wait for an answer before he digs into the box silently and pulls out the black iPad3 looking genuinely shocked. "Should I have gotten white?" He holds up a hand to silence me until it flashes into life and I'm positively squirming here. _Fucking say something._ He's giving nothing away and I can't stand it. "Caspian...?"

"So what did you put on here?" For fucks sake, even his voice is annoyingly flat and impassive.

"Pictures." I glance down at the lock screen picture of us at the altar in Vegas and reach over to slide the arrow across so he can see the first picture of us both with Delilah the morning after she was born. "And a video."

"Okay." He very casually opens the picture gallery and slowly scrolls through the mass of photographs. There is every single picture that was taken during our two tours last year from everyone's cameras, the full set of pictures from our first photo shoot, way too many sneaky pictures I've taken of him asleep with Delilah and all of the candid snaps of us caught by various paparazzi and photographers. So basically every photo that's been taken since we met. It was one hell of a mission to get them all on there.

He looks up at me blankly and blinks once. Argh, infuriating man! "And the video?"

"Use headphones. It's an exclusive." Ah, finally. Emotion in the form of intrigue. I'll take it. He rummages through his pocket for his headphones and watches the video in silence not once, but twice. The suspense is killing me and even though I can't hear it, I know it all word for word. Remember when I said I'd write a song call _Espionage_? Well, I did it.

_"Ready honey bee?"_

_"Fuck no. I just kicked this out in half an hour; it's going to be wank."_

_"Oh please," Levi scoffs and shuffles a few pieces of paper, "you've never written a bad song in your life. I will try not to suck at the humour."_

_I roll my eyes and look at Erek deadpan. "Are you ready?"_

_"I'm already recording."_

_"Fuck! Levi, get on with it, you tart." I wrinkle my nose and whimper. Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? Whatever, I can delete it if it sucks._

_Meredith starts off with a little bass, it's almost blues but too gritty. Levi holds up a sign in front of the camera:_ _The Bystander Effect (minus Erek) presents... Espionage._ _By his own request, he wants to hold up signs of frequently used lyrics and add the humour element. Bloody drama queen, anything to be included. Right, singing._

"Green eyed boy, I saw across the room, you won my heart with your rockstar croon, your fancy boats and your hot fast cars and uniqueness in that you didn't know who we are. Oh lover boy, yeah you got me good, broke down the walls I didn't think you could, and when we drove home in your hot fast car, I thought I'd write a song about you, call it Espionage."

_Levi jumps in front of me with a sign reading 'Espionage' and starts to simulate acts of a sexual nature against my face. "Oh, bitch! Don't disturb my flow!"_

_"My bad, I got swept up in the moment."_

_I sigh, trying not to laugh and do my best to seriously get through the song._

"Oh pretty boy, yeah you had some nerve, strolled in my dressing room and rocked my world, you made me good and boy, I have to admit that even when I didn't know I even wanted this, you were my spy, infiltrated me and mine, there was a line, and I was glad you jumped across it through my fire, and you saved me from the flames that burned my mind... Oh green eyed boy, yeah you make me free, you peel away the many layers of me, break through the shell and when I come apart, oh boy you put me back together in the beat of a heart. Yes you're my spy, you're learning all my dirty secrets, I don't mind, because I know that you will keep them out of sight, and maybe you, yes maybe you, can fix me, I..."

_I pause in my tracks and shake my head slowly at Levi, "What_ _are_ _you doing?"_

_He looks up from his sprawl across the floor and shrugs. "Break dancing. Sorry." What an ass._

"Love my boy who's skilled in espionage and if he's in another room, then boy he's just too far, and even now, he keeps on spying though he knows who we are, he's the keeper of the keys and the king of hearts, and I don't know how to function now if we're apart, oh boy indulge my co-dependence now that you're part of me.

"Oh come now boy, you know I need your love, believe that you have every bit of me and all my trust, and babe, I love your spying on me just because I got to wrote a song about you and your espionage."

_I screw my face up and laugh. That was terrible, but screw it. At the very least he's going to get a good laugh out of it._

_"You're your own worst critic, Ams." Erek shakes his head at me from behind the iPad and sighs. "Levi, get off my fucking coffee table."_

"Well?" CJ finally looks up at me, still blank and impassive. "Oh my god, you're killing me here, say something!"

"Sorry, I'm just really having to keep a lid on the urge to very publicly bang the fuck out of you on this table." My jaw drops at his incredibly blatant and frankly quite hot response. "It's perfect, Amelia," he reaches over for my hand and I can see all of the raw love and lust thrashing around in his eyes. I have to cross my leg to stop myself from reciprocating and acting on his notion. "You're perfect."

"I did good?"

"You did awesome. I'm..." He drops his head down and I think I see him blush, "I'm honoured that you wrote a song for me and busted your balls to do all this while you were ill yesterday." I brush his floppy hair out of his eyes and breathe an inward sigh of relief. It was good enough for him, thank god. I don't know what I would have done if he didn't like it. I _need_ to be good enough for him, I need to keep him happy.

"You know, we're not going to want to eat at your parent's now." Ugh, the impending lunch date with the in-laws- the first time I'm going to meet Arnold-fucking-Pearce, who has some quite frankly disgusting opinions of students and low income families. Suddenly I'm wondering if CJ has brought me here knowing that his dad is likely to kill my appetite.

He scowls and holds out a hand to lift me to my feet. It doesn't take an idiot to guess that he really hates his dad, but I'm not going to pry and ask why because I don't really care. It's easy to hate your own family.

CJ gathers up Delilah and our bags, leaving me to take our tray of crap over to the bin. It's always me that gets the menial tasks. I'm struck by a weird wave of nausea and have to steady myself against the wall. It must be time to dose up again on cold and flu tablets—the only way I'm going to make it through the day. I glance over my shoulder and see that man again just a few metres away. He's staring at me, just staring.

"CJ." I nod towards the guy and he darts out quickly before CJ can look up, dropping something on the floor. I pace over to it and it's a crumpled up piece of paper with a bit of scrawl over it.

_  
__I told you not to cut your hair._

What the actual fuck? That nausea hits me again in triplicate and the bile burns my throat. Not him. Not today.

"You okay?" Cramming the note into my pocket, I break out into panic mode and don a full voltage stage face that even CJ can't see through. I can't weigh him down with this, not more of my baggage, so I won't. I refuse to let the birthday curse strike us again. "You look kind of pale." His hand on my forehead douses some of the fiery nervousness fuelling my sickly appearance and I let myself slip back just slightly from Amelia Marsh: the bitch, into Amelia Pearce: the wife.

"I'm fine," I lie, leaning into his touch. He can make it all go away just by being here, I know that he can. "I just need some more tablets."

Old nervous habits run rampant at the dining table of the Pearce residence. I'm relentlessly chewing on my nails with that note burning a hole in my pocket, CJ is fiddling with the steel ring on his right hand and even Gabrielle is incessantly tapping on the mahogany with her fingernail. She keeps glancing at me, then at CJ, then at the door before coming to rest at her fidgeting hands and repeating the cycle again.

"I'm awfully sorry for the wait. Arnold is in a call." I give her a reluctant tight lipped smile and find a spot on the table to focus on. What I'd give for a bottle of wine or just a plain old distraction. "Actually... Amelia?"

"Hmm?" My eyes dart up to hers and I'm vaguely aware that I might look deranged. I blink a few times and exhale slowly. _Don't be mental in front of the mother-in-law._

She looks as stiff as me for a moment and shifts slightly in her seat. "No, I'm sorry. This isn't really birthday lunch appropriate conversation. How's your cold?"

"She has flu," CJ snaps and reaches over to pull my hand away from my teeth without looking. His eyes are locked on Gabrielle and he looks almost cold and unfeeling. I pray to never be on the receiving end of that glare and it terrifies me that he's capable of looking so harsh. "What is it, Mum?" She opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by the front door bursting open with a flurry of laughter and expletives. That would be Emily then but that's an awful lot of noise and bad language for one woman and a toddler.

Andy pokes his head around the door and grins widely, Meredith hot on his heels and looking thoroughly fucked. No wonder he looks so cheerful. "Sorry we're late, Ems' car broke down so we had to pick her up." I don't doubt for a moment that my frown is extremely obvious but I'm confused. I thought that this was a family meal. He leads Mer in to sit down next to me and stoops down briefly to kiss Gaby on the cheek. Kind of overly friendly...

"Good afternoon, love." _Very_ overly friendly.

"Hey, Mum." Meredith and I simultaneously find our jaws on the floor. Mum? Well, I _did_ want a distraction.

# XXX

#

#

"Uh..." I turn to CJ slowly and raise an eyebrow. This explanation wants to be very simple because I doubt that my brain will process anything complex. He squints at me and looks like he honestly doesn't see what the problem might be here. Come on, Meredith, if ever we needed a piece of your priceless wit, it would be now. She squeaks next to me and sags down in her seat. Fuck it, she's stumped, too.

"What's wrong with you two?" Emily plonks herself down at the table next to Gabrielle with her son, Leo, on her lap, and throws a gift wrapped box across to CJ.

Mer clears her throat and whimpers, clearly feeling as awkward as I am. "Well I..." she glances sideways at me and shyly stares down at her hands, " _we_ are a little confounded by the... you know... the whole 'Mum' thing."

"Oh!" Ems laughs and waves a hand to brush off the matter. "Andy is adopted."

I feel all of the muscles in my face relax from my frown and I'm left speechless. Okay, so that _is_ a simple explanation but it doesn't really tell me why it's never been mentioned. Adoptive brothers, okay, I get that and it explains why they have different surnames... sort of, and look nothing alike. Oh hell, I'm so confused.

"I thought you said you'd had 'encounters' with Andy?" I suddenly find my voice and direct the very pointed question at Ems. She bites her lip guiltily and looks nervously in Andy and Gabrielle's direction.

"Yes," she mutters, "I've had to drive the women he's broken to A&E on occasion." Ah, classic Emily Pearce lack of tact. I close my eyes for a moment and laugh. What else can I do, really? I woke up this morning feeling like shit but have since acquired a new house, a new stalker and a new brother-in-law. CJ reaches over for my hand and squeezes it gently. His eyes have thawed and he looks like a little boy lost in a shopping centre.

I brush his hair out of his eyes with my free hand and give him a small smile. There's so much I want to ask him but not now. I just want him to know that I'm not mad at him. I dismiss his mouthed apology with a chaste kiss and find myself sucked into his gaze like old times. _Oh Caspian, if only you knew how strong you make me._

But I can't get that man in McDonald's out of my head. Was it really him? He was so haggard and unkempt but it's been nine years... He'd be twenty-eight now. But why would he come here?

"Amelia, are you okay?" I blink into my senses and find CJ still staring back at me, possibly more concerned than he was before I got wrapped up in my thoughts.

"It's a hard day," I whisper, resting my head in the crook of his neck. I don't need to say any more because he gets it and he's worried, too. We're both scared that something is going to come along and storm us again. Mystery men, cryptic notes and familial revelations—these we can handle. These are three small drops in a very large ocean. Whatever comes along, we can get through it.

CJ buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply and shakily, his fingers winding between mine and squeezing possessively. Like he needs to make sure that the world knows I'm his, jeez. I seem to remember very publicly announcing that I was his after a _very_ publicly broadcasted panic attack. He's brought me through so much.

"You know, you have to push me too, girl." I look up at him without moving my head and feel my forehead crease involuntarily. What does he mean? "Mum, you were asking Amelia something?" My eyes shift across to Gaby but the frown remains when she shakes her head.

"It's not for here, CJ." He stiffens underneath me and his grip tightens on my hand to the point of almost being painful.

"Gaby, it's fine. I have no secrets from these guys." Well, not many.

She sucks on her lip and releases it with a smack. "It's about Creedance."

"Creedance?" Emily pulls a face and drops Leo down to the floor, and he promptly rushes over to prize CJ and I apart. I'd sulk but he loves his uncle so much, it's really quite sweet. "You mean— Ow, fuck, Mum! What was that for?!"

"Haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, sweetheart, but that was quite a muscle spasm you just had. You want to watch that up." Gaby speaks through gritted teeth, smiling a little too cheerfully, and leans her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her face. "Here's the thing, Amelia. I called to chase up her medical records but Creedance Marsh doesn't..." she sighs awkwardly and runs her tongue over her teeth. "Creedance Marsh doesn't exist."

"Pardon me?" The lost city of Atlantis possibly doesn't exist. Unicorns don't exist. Creedance was very real and I have the fucking scar to show for it.

"There's no record of her. However, does the surname Fellows mean anything to you?" My mouth dries and a lump forms in my throat that I struggle to swallow down. I turn briefly to Meredith and it looks like she's going through the same motions as me.

"Fellows is her father's surname, but she was born, lived and died as Marsh. It's on her headstone."

Gaby rubs circles on her temples and closes her eyes for a moment. "You went and registered her as Creedance Marsh?"

"No, I..." My gaze falls down onto my hands. "My mother and sister did all of that stuff." I don't even have her birth certificate. What use is it to me now she's gone? I make a mental note to ask Dad about it when I see him.

"Amelia, I'm presuming that you didn't somehow marry at fourteen, which means that legally, you were the only person who could have registered her birth. So if your mother or sister did it, then they must have..."

Pretended to be her mother. I finish her sentence in my mind and wince through the sharp twist in my gut. Did the world even recognise her as mine? My stomach lurches at the idea that I was just a vessel—a host body to bring Mackenzie's sick maternal fantasy to fruition—and it's a reaction that I can't control. "Excuse me," I gasp and flee for the nearest bathroom, kitchen, sink, toilet, drain, bucket... I don't even care.

Fortunately for Gabrielle, toilet is the reigning facility and she quickly scurries in behind me to hold my hair out of harms reach. There's something about this family that makes them fast on their feet.

"I'm so sorry, Amelia. I'll find out the truth, I promise." I nod through my heave and lay limp against the porcelain. I can't bring my mind to process the information, it just doesn't form properly. "Here." She passes me some tissue to wipe my mouth and cups my face with the tenderness my own mother never spent on me. Why me? Why was I so different?

"You loved her, didn't you?" Creedance? What an utterly ridiculous and frankly quite annoying question. Of course I loved her, she was my daughter, and everything that she heard, I did for her. I had to because I wouldn't let him take her, because she wasn't safe with him.

Oh...

"We'll get to the bottom of this." Why? Why does she care?

My mood immediately lightens when CJ's shadow falls across the floor and he appears with a glass of water clutched in his hand. The man is like human ketamine, it's ridiculous. Gaby takes the tissue from me and urges me into his arms so he can begin his incessant fussing. I don't even want to tell him to stop like I usually would. I want him to lavish all of his attention on me so I know it's not elsewhere.

He regards her coolly as she slopes off back into the dining room, eyes narrowed harshly.

"Why did you snap at her?" He glances down at me and shakes his head slowly, brushing my hair out of my face to plant kisses on my cheeks, nose and forehead.

"You're getting feverish again." Oh hell no, he's not ducking out of this.

I jerk my head back from his reach and growl a warning. "CJ." He immediately relents and passes me the glass of water with a sigh.

"I don't like it when my mum keeps secrets, Amelia. She never tells little white lies; they're always huge fucking maelstroms of life affecting lies." Jesus, a chink in the Pearce armour. Maybe this family isn't so perfect after all but what huge secret is she hiding that involves me? She knows more, she must do.

CJ wraps himself around me and rocks me, releasing his grip only when we hear Delilah whinge from her travel cot in the lounge. I can feel his tension and anxiety but it's more than it was earlier. Way more. Something other than his birthday last year is bothering him.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Back to the bungalow of broken dreams or the house of lacking furniture?" He raises an eyebrow and I think that I see a faint smile. "No, CJ, I'm fine. It was just a shock, that's all, and I'm fucking pissed at just how much my family have screwed me over. But I have to meet your dad," I stand up on tiptoes to smooth the crease from his brow, "and now that I've lost my lunch, I'm actually quite hungry."

"You sure?"

"Positive. If we can say that we've done it once, we can morally settle with only seeing him for special occasions." The grin on his face says that I have him sold.

Arnold Pearce is a stumpy and balding cantankerous little man with a face like a smacked arse. He sits at the head of the table with his arms folded, having only spared five minutes to meet his granddaughter before he cleared his throat and passed her back to Gaby without a second glance. The face that I've had the misfortune of seeing on his campaign posters dotted through the city is much bitterer in person. I can't believe that he spawned two such attractive kids and I'm more than a little put out that I'm now related to him. He hasn't made any effort to introduce himself, so neither will I. Two can play this game.

"Soup," Gabrielle announces, looking desperately like she wants to kill the atmosphere, "CJ said you were unwell so I thought, what better than soup?" She places a basket of bread rolls at the centre of the table and a large bowl of broth down in front of me, and the aromas from both are outstanding. I've never known home cooking like it. CJ is the first person to ever cook for me in my adult life who hasn't been a hired professional or Mackenzie, if you can call the dorks in fast food restaurants 'professionals'.

"Did you make this?" My face heats when she looks a little insulted at the question. _Redeem yourself, Amelia!_ "I mean, I wish I could make something like this."

"You don't cook?" Arnold finally breaks the silence he's been directing at me since he left his study.

Meredith snickers and nudges me with her elbow. "Ams doesn't know how to use a toaster." My jaw drops open. Why would she say that?

"I know how to use a toaster," I clarify, maybe a little too defensively, "but I would like to be able to cook something other than a bread based breakfast."

"I'll teach you," CJ leans across and murmurs in my ear. His proximity makes my breath hitch. I have to distract myself by eating this damn lunch before I want to eat him. "I apologise in advance."

"Don't." I turn my head to look at him properly and lean forward to nip his bottom lip. "How bad can it get? You met my family—is he worse?" He frowns and I can tell that he's really thinking about it. Of course he's not worse, how could he be?

He grips my chin and turns my nip into a kiss. "I'll tell you later." What? If it's something as bad as he's making it seem, I would have preferred the advance warning.

Little more is said while we eat because Emily has everyone's share of conversation covered. She seems oblivious to the tension and is quite happily buttering bread rolls for Leo and rambling on about primary school applications and guitars. I'm not even sure how the two topics are associated but she makes it happen.

"And I've been getting quite a lot of interest since we gate-crashed Amelia and Meredith's Download set." My mind jerks awake at the sound of my own name. I've been sat staring at her blankly for the past ten minutes willing myself not to go cross-eyed with boredom. Mer snorts next to me and I'm almost certain that she actually fell asleep.

"It's about time you were head-hunted. You were our favourite roadie ever. Comedic value aside, you've got a great free attitude and the right balance of showmanship and technical merit." The room silences around me, except for Andy, who releases a long drawn out croak. "What's up, _bro_? Too many big words?" He rolls his eyes at me and grins.

And there it is. The light-hearted brother I should have had in Wills, staring at me across the table between the mother I should have had and the polar opposite of the great father I _do_ have. We should consider trading a few family members and pack Arnold off to Plymouth, he'd fit right in.

Emily eyes me across the table suspiciously and narrows her eyes. "You've changed, Ams. You couldn't be bad if you— Ah, fuck it, Mother!"

"One more muscle spasm like that and I'll be taking you to A&E, my girl." What's gotten into them? "Wine anyone?"

The frivolities, or lack thereof, move into the lounge, where CJ, Delilah and I curl up on one couch, Andy and Meredith on another. We're all left under the scrutinising eye of Arnold while Emily and Gabrielle tend to the dishes, leaving Leo to cat-nap casually on his designated beanbag. A tumbler of scotch rolls between Arnold's palms and the four adults of us nurse a thoroughly tasty glass of white wine each.

"So, Amelia," we all freeze solid when Arnold finally opens his mouth again, looking for his pound of flesh, "seeing as we're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, why don't you tell me about yourself?" Stuck with me? Bloody charming. He should be honoured to have me as a daughter-in-law.

I take a sip of my wine and smile politely. "What would you like to know, Mr. Pearce?" I ask him too sweetly.

"The usual. Are you well educated? Do you earn a good living?" And here was me thinking he might want to know my age and star sign...

"Yes and yes. I have two Bachelor's degrees: Psychology and Sociology. And I'm quite famous depending on your circle of interest. But I'm sure you already know about my career and have drawn your own conclusions over my personality on the basis of articles, rumours and appearance." He blinks at me slowly and I smile again. If he was expecting a wall flower, he was horribly mistaken.

"Why would you undertake two degrees in separate subjects rather than focus on one?"

"Because I could and it means I have more than one safety net should my musical career take a nose dive." His eyebrow arches in surprise at the news of my contingency plans. I am many things, but I am not foolhardy. I know that I need a career one way or another and I'm far too principled to be a kept woman. Besides, I'm a sucker for new information.

Arnold waves his glass under his nose before he takes a sip, the ice cubes clinking quietly to break yet another silence. "Why Psychology and Sociology?" Am I being tested? I feel like I'm being tested. I test well.

"People amaze me, Mr. Pearce. The individual _and_ the group. I'm fascinated by what makes people who they are and how it shapes their actions. How do you discern between classes if everyone acts the same? The rich may have poor morals and lack humanity while the impoverished may have a greater sense of benevolence and compassion. Is it nature or nurture—primary or secondary socialisation? The two subjects bat off each other. You may have a greater understanding of the individual if you have a loose knowledge of the type of environment they reside in, and a greater understanding of the society if you know the people within it. Money doesn't make you immune to misery, nor inclined towards happiness. It makes no bearing on the person you are. Affluence is a state of mind. I have a lot of money but I live a relatively banal and frugal existence. Maybe. My interpretation of wealth is different to yours, and that's the beauty of the human psyche."

I'm surrounded by three blank stares and one contemptuous stare from Mr Politics. He's picked up on my sly jibe about his abhorrent attitude to the lower classes. Money doesn't make you a better person and my family is proof of that. So is he for that matter.

Gabrielle strolls in with a bottle of wine in her hand and provides a much needed break from the interrogation. No, interview. I'll think of it as an interview. I wonder how I'm doing. Arnold is giving nothing away, he's just staring down into his glass with his lips pursed. My suspicion is that he clapped eyes on the blonde hair and tattoos and thought he might be dealing with a coarse airhead but instead he's got an eloquent intellectual. I can practically feel the pride exuding from CJ but I can also feel his stress.

"So which one of you is the designated driver?" I trade glances with CJ and shrug. It's his birthday so he should get first shout but the thoughts of that note in my coat pocket are still secretly nagging at me and I'm quite eager to obliterate them.

"I'll fight you for it," I mutter, relieved when he smirks and combs his fingers through my hair.

"Take it, girl. I'll drink tonight." Hallelujah, Lord, top up this glass immediately!

Gabrielle declines my offer to shuffle over so she can perch herself on the end of the couch with us and opts to sprawl out across the floor instead. She's so graceful and sleek, I have to wonder what the hell she's doing with Arnold the Grouch over there. They're so poorly matched, just like my parents were. There are some really quite bizarre parallels between our families, though hopefully not too many.

And yet, watching that sickeningly beautiful woman spread herself out across the carpet fills me with dread. What does she know?

"So how about these birthday gifts then?" Ems shouts out from the kitchen and makes us all flinch with her outburst. Presents, okay, that will do.

CJ claps his hands together and rubs them gleefully, the giant man-child in him thrashing around like a mosher. Ems shuffles in with her hands full of gift bags and my god, I hope those are everyone's and not just hers. I skimped this year, I know that I skimped. Is it too late to play the 'I have a surprise' card and make out that I have something hidden? I wouldn't even know what to get him... Jeez, I _definitely_ fail at wifely duties.

She parks herself down on the floor next to Gaby and throws CJ the box she's already attacked him with once. "Sorry it's small, Caspy-pants—" so that's definitely a family thing. Meredith snorts loud enough to catch everyone's attention and promptly blushes. Frequently blushing Mer; this is weird. "—but you're a bitch to buy for with your droves of money and rockstar wife. I didn't figure a games console would cut it." Oh, so it's not just me who thought that, however she knows how to wrap gifts properly so that might win her some brownie points.

CJ tears the paper off faster than it would take to blink and quickly snaps up the lid of the black box within. "Dog tags?" My eyes slowly move up to Meredith's but hers are closed and I can hear her slow exhale from here.

_"Why do you wear dog tags?" My fingers run down the long, silver ball chain to the two flat steel tags hanging from it. They're always cold, even if he's been wrapped up in winter wear._

_He yanks them back from my fingers and glares meanly. "Don't touch them, Mia. They're not yours to touch."_

_"Jesus, sorry." What a cry baby. "But I still want to know."_

_"Because, I do, Mia!" He shouts at me and slaps me. What did I do wrong? "And I swear to god, the next time I smell cigarette smoke on you, I'll make sure you never spark up again, understand?"_

_"Lucien, I—"_

_His hand is suddenly around my throat and squeezing. I don't understand—he smokes, too. "Do. You. Understand?"_

"Engraved dog tags, genius. Look." I dare to look down into the box and rather than two, there are three metal plates, each engraved with calligraphic script.

_  
__Caspian Jonas_ _  
_ _Amelia May_ _  
_ _Delilah Patience_

They're a weird shape because they have irregular cut outs along the longest sides.

"They slot together. Look at the other sides." CJ raises an eyebrow, and flips them all over, deftly linking the tags together like a jigsaw to piece the fragmented message.

_  
__Meet Me Halfway_

Each tag has a third of the quote so it would never quite be complete if one of the tags was missing. Symbolic or what? He catches me off guard by passing the box to me so I can take a closer look at the detail. This is... strange for me. I was never allowed to touch Lucien's dog tags. It was like he was hard-wired into them and if I tried to sneak a look, he would immediately remind me of the consequences of the breach of trust. Breach of fucking trust indeed. I very carefully pick up the dog tags one by one, wary of the backlash that I know doesn't really exist, and run my thumb over the lettering. I remember that biting cold...

"Andy helped me make them," Emily announces, swelling with pride and hugging her knees. "The design, the moulding, the engraving—that's one hundred percent Emily. And just for good measure..." Another box hurtles towards us and hits the couch cushioning between our heads. "Happy belated birthday, Ams."

I'm absolutely baffled by a matching set of dog tags of my own. "Wow, Emily. Thank you." I'm hoping that my voice doesn't betray me and make it completely obvious that I'm not sure if I want them.

"Might find a place for you in the factory, Ems." CJ sticks his tongue out at her and pulls the chain down over my head, pausing to grasp the tags in his fist and pull me close to him for a kiss. "They suit you, Mrs. Pearce. Would you do the honours?" He means put his tags on right? I hope so, because my hands are on auto-pilot. He lowers his head slowly and raises it again with a grin when the chain is around his neck. "Nice one, Ems." As ever, we're completely even and have nothing that the other doesn't. When the hell will these scales topple?

"You two are disgusting," Andy mutters, but it's quite clear that he's joking. He wants what we have, that's what Meredith said, and I think he's closer to it than he realises. Meredith has that glazed over, deeply contemplative look in her eye that I recognise well and I know that deep down she wants it, too. I just can't stand that she seems to need to see me happy before she'll let it happen. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility to put on me. "You think you might stop eye-fucking each other long enough to open the rest of your gifts?" My eyes flare in embarrassment and dart towards Arnold, who looks almost amused at the comment. Is there actually a sense of humour hiding in there?

CJ seems far less surprised to have unwrapped a spanking new smartphone and somewhat more confounded by the fact that the gift tag is labelled as from both Andy _and_ Meredith. Apparently this is as much as a breakthrough for him as it is for her and their embarrassment at the matter being pointed out is clearly written all over their faces. Well, if they hadn't spent their combined fifty-odd years being complete commitment-phobes, we wouldn't need to praise progress. I did it. I put on my big girl pants and took the sly jibes at my previously promiscuous lifestyle like a brave soldier. It's only fair that they should get the same treatment.

CJ's obviously not surprised when he opens their other gift but I really can't suppress my unimpressed huff. Men, seriously, I can't believe it.

"Haha, nice one, bro! And with _Assassin's Creed!_ You two just made night feeds way more bearable." Like he does the fucking night feeds anyway. Ems catches my gaze with her mouth open in disgust and shakes her head slowly. _Yeah, I feel you, sister._

"A PS Vita, are you shitting me? I bust my balls designing the custom jewellery he craps out as an afterthought, and it was _that_ simple?" She has the same look on her face that I did when I heard the request on the phone. Our vaginas obviously have us automatically inclined towards sentimentality, when really we should have just been looking at top shelf pornos and family-size bottles of bourbon.

"Ams thought the same thing," Meredith tries to look sympathetic but fails completely. "'It's not like a new games console is going to cut it for the man with more money than sense'. Those were her exact words."

"Hey, I have plenty of sense!" CJ whimpers through his feigned insult, "I married you, didn't I?" Not helping his case. I'm definitely not winning any 'Wife Of The Year' awards. He sticks his lip out at me, winking so I know that he's not really hurt, and scoops the last gift bag up off the floor. "Um... Mum? I'm not sure what you've heard about Southerners..." He pulls a red plastic animal's bowl and a flea collar from the bag, "but Amelia isn't a Furry." Okay, a joke at my expense in retaliation to my off the cuff assessment of his mental aptitude. I'll give him that one. Gaby grins widely and deftly empties half a glass of wine down her trap. Man, that woman can put it away, but I suppose you'd have to with a husband like Arnold.

"You can have the rest of it later." She raises an eyebrow at his look of burning enquiry and tuts, the mother in her shining through. "Your memory is awful. I promised you a puppy."

"A puppy!" CJ's face lights up but then dims when he glances down at me and I can just tell that he's asking my permission. Ah, what the hell. Cat, puppy, both have four legs and fur. I remember sitting on the deck of the yacht last year and him including a dog in his list intended to freak me the fuck out. It worked then but here we are, the list satisfied. I give him a very small nod and roll my eyes at his happy dance. I'm guessing he was refused pets as a kid.

"So what did Amelia get you?" He tosses an arm around my shoulders and plants a large wet kiss on my temple.

"An iPad with every picture taken since we met and my own song." Yeah, Ems' dog tags and the PS Vita shit all over that, don't they? "And she agreed to move into the new house." That's a gift? Apparently, from the way he's gazing at me dopily like he's still heartbreakingly in love with me. How does he do that—still catch me off guard and make my knees weak?

Arnold clears his throat brusquely and flashes me an entirely too pleasant smile. _Way to kill the moment, jerk._ It's like he doesn't like to see his only biological son happy.

"So why did you pursue music over academia, Amelia? Were you poorly educated as a child?" _Wow, let the subject die already._ I can't believe that this guy is asking me if I'm stupid and it amazes me how he just blurts these questions out with no preamble.

"No, I was _very_ well educated until my life took a turn for the worst. Meredith and I, we lived in what was basically a commune of a dozen or so stinking rich families, so we're privately educated by the best scholars at the country's disposal. My mother was born into money and my dad is a musician, too. That part is hereditary. Besides, my musical career kicked off before I started university." Had it not been for our pretty radical rise to success, I never would have been able to buy my way into uni. I royally fucked up school and college on account of my being broken. Music saved my life.

"And Meredith, what do your parents do? I mean, what are they that makes them well off?"

"Chinese." Her flat no nonsense tone is a pretty good indication that she's not poking fun at racial stereotypes. Her parents are actually just wealthy on the basis of being Chinese and inherently super rich and intelligent. I'm pretty sure Arnold can't argue with that. As a politician, he should bloody well know when to pick his battles. And can you really cry racist with a woman of said ethnicity?

"Meredith isn't a very Chinese name." Okay, so he's clearly a very _bad_ politician.

"It's a chosen name. Meili Fan Cho tends to cause some pronunciation issues and spelling errors. There's only so many times you can watch teachers squint at your name in registration and speak it slowly like a retard." If that doesn't shut him up, I'll eat my hat. "Besides, I would be annoyed if Amelia wasn't putting her musical talents to good use. She's the reincarnation of Mozart."

I glare over at her and shake my head slowly. I know where this is going, but luckily there are no guitars around for her to turn me into a freak show. Mozart is a total overstatement and she knows it.

"Mer, please don't. It was bad enough when you told the guys. I'm too congested for this." Crap, that may have done more damage than good. Now everyone is going to want to know what our secret is. Luckily I have a sure fire distraction. I pick Delilah up by the waist and jig her around a little, singing _Dance Magic Dance_. What I'd give for a goblin king to kidnap her so I can chase her through the Goblin Kingdom just to get away from this conversation.

"That film is older than you." CJ sticks his tongue out at me and blows a raspberry. I could have sworn he'd turned twenty-seven today... "Why are you Mozart?"

"I'm not. She's exaggerating. I'm just..." My brow furrows while I struggle to find the words to dumb it down. "Genetically predisposed to musical refinement. It's a specialist subject." There wasn't really anything dumb about that answer, was there? And surely Psychology is my specialist subject. Music just... is. It's in my blood.

"Oh please!" Meredith throws her hands up and rolls her eyes at me. She gives me the same look every time she throws me into the fray like this and I try to recede back from the conversation. "She has perfect pitch and an eidetic memory for sound. The girl is practically inhuman."

"I do _not_ have an eidetic memory," I object, "'eidetic' is an unsubstantiated buzz word. My memory is just really, _really_ good." Wicked good but only for music. Ask me to remember any basic French from year seven and you'd be lucky to get much more than a _bonjour_ out of me.

Mer leans forward in her seat and rests her elbows on her knees, wearing that wistful look I only see when she's trying to force someone to accept a back-handed compliment. She really does try to be nice but it very often gets lost in translation. She gets hopelessly wound up that I don't accept and utilise my bragging rights.

"What the hell is 'eidetic memory'?" Andy, as ever, is the one baffled by all the big words, but in the spirit of breaking trends, Meredith deviates from the usual path of patronising his ignorance and chooses to instead indulge his thirst for knowledge.

"Posh way of saying photographic memory, babe. As much as she tries to pretend that she's not freaking amazing—" Not true. I'm quite vocal about the fact that I am, on occasion, amazing, "—she can play or sing perfectly any piece of music that she's heard without the sheet music. Even if she's only heard it once ten years ago, advert jingles or sonatas, she's got that shit stored in her head."

CJ looks at me all wide eyed and intrigued, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Can you really?" How can I lie to a face like that? He's looking at me all dopey and reverent again and I'm such a sucker for it. I give him one single reluctant nod and smile. If finding out that I'm a musical prodigy is going to make his birthday better, then fine. I admit it. I'm a bad ass with really quite phenomenal memory. "This I've got to see."

"What?" He pulls me to my feet and drags me out into the hallway, through the house and up the stairs. "CJ, where are we going?"

"Music room." He grins at me over his shoulder, shoving open a door with his elbow with a flourish and exposing me to my worst nightmare. A large airy room, big enough to be a master bedroom, all painted white with flimsy net curtains over the windows.

And in it's centre, an almost direct replica of where it all began. The music, the madness, and the poor coping strategies on tour.

"You want me to play the piano."

# XXXI

#

#

My fingers run over the ivory keys and I'm struck by so many memories. A piano had been both the starting point of something terrible, but then the start of something wonderful.

Until I'd sneaked into the music rooms at school when I should have been in an English lesson and found Lucien in there tunelessly hammering away at the keys in frustration, I had just been the unspectacular thirteen year old sister of William Marsh with an annoying stalker tendency. But as soon as my foot touched those pedals, I became... I don't know. I don't know what I became but something in my playing Aerosmith sparked his interest. I don't know if it was the choice of song, him hearing my voice for the first time or just my ability, but _something_ set me aside from the rest of the younger girls who made eyes at him across the corridors. And I will never find out what it was. That question will always nag at me.

But of course, music was such a source of comfort afterwards. When we first moved to Birmingham, my dad and I lived with Meredith's family until he found a house which he deemed suiting to a rockstar and his fragile spirited daughter. It had all been such a rush—as soon as I'd laid Creedance down in the ground, we were in the car, running away from Plymouth as fast as the speed limit would allow. We didn't even go to the wake because Dad didn't want me near anyone. He didn't even want me to be at home. It was an agonising two weeks of living out of a suitcase in a hotel before the funeral. I have no idea why the time was so long, and as glad as I was to be away from Lucien, I felt like my world had ended .

I barely spoke for weeks, maybe months. Dad hired me a tutor so I wouldn't fall behind on my school work but I just didn't care. I just sat at the Cho's piano, day in day out, playing whatever came into my head. It was all inevitably depressive dirges from moody goths and I stayed numb and silent until the moment when I'd just started college and Meredith walked in on me playing _Meet Me Halfway._

_"Ams, what was that?" My fingers halt over the keys. I hate it when people listen in on me—this is my sanctuary and these are_ _my_ _thoughts. I don't have to share them with anyone. "Did you write it?" Mer has been trying to drag me into a lengthy conversation for months, why can't she just be glad that I speak when necessary now? "It was really good. You should record it and send it to your dad's label... No, wait. We should start a band!"_

_"I don't think there's much call for piano and tambourine duets these days, Mer."_

_"No, stupid! We'll learn to play guitar!"_

_"Still not much call for duets." I run my finger down the full length of the white keys and lower the lid of the piano. I don't want to go running to my dad's label. I don't want to be_ _that_ _piggy backing daddy's girl._

_"So we'll find other people. We could ask that dishy busker we keep seeing outside HMV. He would_ _get it_ _." She bites her lip and gives me a suggestive grunt. If only she knew what sex was really like. Silly little virgin._

_"I think he's gay."_

_"Marky? Fuck no, too hot." She has a dysfunctional gaydar. "Come on, Ams! We could be huge!"_

And she was right. A few gigs in a few shitholes and we ended up poached by three different labels. To this day, I still don't know how much my dad had to do with it.

"Don't you play? Sorry, I kind of just assumed." CJ's hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes, I think for reassurance.

"Of course I play. I just haven't touched a piano since I wrote _Meet Me Halfway_ and learned how to play guitar."

Meredith hovers behind us and leans on the door frame with a smirk. " _Girl Anachronism."_ Nice to see that she wants to break me back in gently. I sniff miserably and pinch the bridge of my nose. This cold, flu—whatever—is running rampant and I'm really struggling to make sense of everything. "I dare you." _Bitch_.

"That's so unfair," I huff, immediately seating myself down on the leather cushioned piano stool and preparing myself to make her eat her words. I really need to get over my aggressive attitude to challenges. The only time it's ever lead to anything positive is when I met CJ. Now I have him, so I really don't stand to achieve much else.

Jeez. Twenty-four years old and I'm rich, famous, married to a millionaire and have a beautiful daughter. There are officially no more big hurrahs to go. I have fulfilled my purpose in life to pair up and mate. Now I have a good fifty, maybe sixty years of monotony. That's pretty bleak. _Hello, existential crisis; what's my purpose in life now?_

"Amelia?" My eyes snap up to CJ's and I realise that I've been staring at the piano considering my now fruitless mortality when I should be making music. That's quite enough of this nonsense. "We lost you there for a minute, girl."

"Sorry, I was... Never mind, let's get this shit happening." The performer in me takes over and sets to satisfying Meredith's demands for The Dresden Dolls. Practically speaking, she couldn't have requested much more of a nightmare to play, but I've pounded this song out enough times to know my way around it.

"You know," I start playing and decide to roll with the opportunity to show off to my disgustingly perfect husband, "I've heard everything on your iPod at least once. You could put it on shuffle and specify a section of a song, and I'd be able to play it." Andy mutters next to Meredith and steps aside to make space for Ems and Gabrielle. Fuck knows where misery guts is. "Don't believe me? Try me."

"I'll put fifty quid on you not being able to play _Propane Nightmares_." Oh for fucks sake, I am way too ill for this shit, but a challenge is a challenge. If the tight-fisted twat wouldn't pay for his own gifts for CJ, then I know that betting money is a serious deal...

... And I'm only too happy to take that money off him. I look over my shoulder at him halfway through playing that stupid track and raise an eyebrow. If it always sounded like this, I might be more inclined to listen to it. "Cough up, bro."

"Fucks sake. How do you turn Pendulum into piano?" I shrug casually while he fishes a nice crisp fifty from his wallet and slaps it down on the piano top. Give me a break, who just carries around fifties when they're visiting their adoptive parents? Poser...

"Come on then, test the shit out of me."

The iPod is unleashed and I'm subjected to a relentless list of tracks and yells of 'second chorus', 'bridge' and 'outro'. I play with my eyes closed because that ball-busting grin on CJ's face just keeps on getting bigger and if I look at it for too long, I might just go blind. Plus I concentrate better with no visual stimulus because blocking it out heightens my hearing.

Some of the songs are my own, others are heavy and sound kind of awkward and misplaced when I turn them into something so dainty. Others are thrown around in an attempt to call my bluff but no, I _can_ play the _Star Wars_ theme song and _The Chicken Dance._

For some reason, I open my eyes during _Mutter_ by Rammstein and find six faces gawping at me brainlessly. Arnold has returned from his stinking pit of political despair and is lingering on the opposite side of the room looking almost fascinated.

I trap the tip of my tongue between my teeth and shake my head, ceasing my interlude and running a finger across the top of the piano. _Needs dusting... "_ Problem?"

"You can speak German?" Meredith stammers at me and holds out her hands. For once, I may have her baffled. "How can you speak German?"

"I can't. I can _sing_ German. I don't know what any of it means." I'm rewarded with a storm of incredulous scoffs and utterances, and to be honest, it makes me feel like a smart arse. I like it. "I've heard all of these songs before though. Play me something I've never heard before." Everyone trades glances around me, nobody entirely sure that they can offer anything unique. "Something new and popular? Come on, you know I don't keep up to date." But nothing. Not a scrap between them.

"Wait, I've got something!" Gabrielle scurries off and rattles around in the room next door for a minute before she rushes back in and brandishes a CD. Nice to see someone keeping the old formats real. "Here, you don't strike me as a J-Pop fan." And she doesn't strike me as a J-Pop fan either. She's full of surprises. And secrets. Hmm...

I raise an eyebrow when the music starts and try to fight through the surge of mixed feelings. It's kind of techno but sounds like it has a synthetic church organ. Repetitive, but it's in Japanese. Eh... I guess it fits the specifications. I've definitely never heard it before but I can't make my mind up about the music itself.

"Mum, we need to have a chat about your CD collection." She sways sideways to bump hips with CJ and I can sense the impending good natured ribbing.

"Shush you. It's a guilty pleasure, like you and your Amy Marsh shrine." His jaw hits the floor and for a moment he looks like he's not sure where to put himself. "She knows I'm joking." She's right, I do, or else we wouldn't have had that all hidden identity fiasco last year. "It's a track called _Illuminati_ by a band called Malice Mizer."

"Oh! I've heard their later stuff." I know that they lost a singer somewhere along the way and it sounds like this is the guy. This may actually grow on me. "Okay, one bunged up white girl singing in Japanese coming up." I sniff hard and strain my mind to mentally recreate that... bizarre collaboration.

"Are you sure that you've never heard that before?" Andy looks at me sceptically when I open my eyes and I can't tell if he wants to laugh or cry. I crane my neck to look back at Meredith, who looks equally as gob smacked, hoping for some back up. I may not get it unless we find a way to reconnect her cerebellum.

"Positive. Right, Mer?"

"Huh? Yeah, no. Unless she's been listening to it with CJ, she's never heard it before. I think I just creamed my pants." Someone obviously hasn't realised that _she's_ meeting the parents, too. I'm going to point that out later and laugh a lot in the process. CJ nudges my chin up so I'm looking at him and I'm pretty sure he's in the pants creaming club too. I have fond memories of that 'I just came fully clothed' face.

"Is there nothing you can't do?" Fuck you stupid like I'd love to.

"Whistle." He cocks his head at me disbelievingly and I'm forced to exhibit my whistle deficiency. Nothing but a wet puff, bit like Plato.

"What I don't understand is why," Arnold once again breaks the silence with his 'too nice' sneer, "when you have all this natural talent and potential—" that sounded suspiciously like a compliment, "—are you wasting your time with my son?"

I'm momentarily baffled by the way he speaks about his own child like he's an insufficient being or a compromise on my part. I was under the impression that good parents worshipped their children with completely biased and unconditional love. The way I love Delilah. The way I loved Creedance. I should have done more to make sure she knew that... Why is this man so heartless and jaded?

"Mr. Pearce, your son is a very compassionate and loyal man. He's hopelessly selfless—evident from all of the effort he puts into raising money for charities he has no obligation to support—beautiful inside and out, ridiculously successful and intelligent, and is honestly just as talented as I am in his own way. He would break his back to protect his family and friends, no matter how short a time he's known them, and despite the fact that I have and still do quite frequently make his life hell, he sticks by me because... Well, I don't know why he does, but I'm proud to be the woman he loves and I'm proud to be the woman who gave birth to his child. He makes me a better person and makes everyone else around him better people, too, just by being in their lives. Nobody else would have the patience to counsel me through all of my warped past and trust me blindly when I'm still so selfishly secretive." I dash away a rogue tear and frown at Arnold. How can anyone be so cold towards their own son? So callous and uncaring? "Children are a privilege, Mr. Pearce—" I jerk my head towards Andy, "—no matter how they come into your life. You're lucky—no, you're _honoured_ by having CJ in your life and by having seen him grow into such an amazing person. You could have done worse in the child stakes. Honestly, you should be asking _him_ why he's wasting his time with _me_."

I reach behind me for CJ's hand, which he more than willingly gives up, and squeeze tightly. If this has been his father figure for twenty-seven years, then I understand the rift between them. But I'm also amazed by how level and loving he's grown to be. It must be all Gabrielle. I hope that I can become that kind of parent, too, strong enough to be a mother and a father if I need to be.

The silence in the music room is tense and charged with apprehension. I want a reaction from this dickwad. I don't know why but I feel like I have a duty to stand up for CJ. He deserves the love and respect of both of his parents. I know what it's like to be a nobody in the eyes of the woman who carried me and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Arnold walks towards us slowly and stops a foot or so away before he holds out a hand and forces something that almost looks like a smile. "Very good, Caspian." CJ's free hand reaches out tentatively and is very brusquely slapped up into a stiff but quietly enthusiastic handshake before Arnold stuffs his hands into his pockets and strolls out of the room silently. I think I've missed the punch-line of a very poor joke.

"Holy shit," Ems releases her words with almost a sigh of relief when she's sure that the grouch is out of earshot. "He approves!"

"What?"

"He likes you, Amelia." I look up at CJ and raise an eyebrow. "That's the first positive thing he's ever said to me. That was a congratulatory handshake."

"Really?" I exhale through my teeth and shake my head. "That felt less like a 'congratulations on your bitchin' hot wife' and more like a 'congratulations on your remission from cancer' handshake." But a win is a win, right?

I wind my seat right back and rest my eyes, dosed up on the full arsenal of the local pharmacy's cold and flu remedies, and frankly a little high off the mixture. I still don't know where we're going but CJ's 'the wetter the better' riddle is still clear in my mind. Logically, there's only one place we could be going.

"We're going on the boat, right?"

"Yacht." I sigh and open my eyes just to narrow them. CJ winks at me and aimlessly waves a hand around to stroke my face. "Yeah, I thought we might take it out of the dock for a few days and have some time out. No bad birthday memories there." I raise an eyebrow but make a silent promise to myself not to provoke any kind of reaction. "Oh, shit." He pulls the car over into a lay-by and bares his teeth at me apologetically. So much for avoiding the conversation about my disappearance. "I completely forgot." _Forgot how I sat on that yacht for twelve days before anyone had the sense to look for me on it? Love you, too, honey. "_ Do you want to go somewhere else?"

I frown at the road ahead and put some serious thought into how I really feel about ending up in Southampton last year. Didn't I go there because it felt safe? Isn't it now constantly stocked with food so I can run there again? Yeah... the _yacht_ is cool. "No, it's fine. I went there hoping that you'd find me. Well, partly that and partly because I didn't think you'd look for me there. But I did hope that you'd come."

"You know," he restarts the engine and eases back into the traffic of the motorway, "I suggested it on day three of your disappearance and everyone told me not to be stupid. Boy, did I raise hell when you came home."

"Really?" So why didn't he come on his own? No, it's not important anymore. There's no point in dwelling on it.

"Yeah. I saw your dad right after he saw you at the gym and he's still trying to recompense me with alcohol now." Is there _anyone_ who doesn't owe us compensation after last year?

I have to wonder what it was like for them when I vanished. If they formed search parties and put up flyers of my face over 'have you seen this rockstar?'. If they sat in silent circles at night staring between their phones and the door, waiting and wishing for me to just stroll in. If they cried...

Jesus, morbid much? None of that matters because they found me, and even though I was mightily pissed off about it at the time, they stuck by CJ. If they hadn't, then... Wow, let's not even go there.

"Are you sure you're okay? I can hear the cogs grinding." I force the depressive ideas to the back of my mind and lean back against the head rest.

"Yeah, of course. I just wonder what everything looks like from your perspective sometimes. What you made of me when I was being super bitch, what ran through your mind when you found out my secrets, why you had to ham up Download and leave me hanging for so long." I can tell that he's smirking without even opening my eyes. _Fucking incessant poser._ But I can't deny that it was a wonderful way to reunite.

"You're reminiscing. You'd have had it no other way."

"Shut up." I hate that he's right.

"I'll tell you it all from my side one day. If the lady loves hearing about how she bewitched me by no means other than just living and breathing, who am I to deny her a lengthy bedtime story? Might have to write it down actually. Sell it as a novel. You can transcribe." I can't see that happening. I want to listen to the story, not get caught up in it being grammatically correct. And I would because I'm anally retentive like that.

"Don't you have a legal sector of your business empire? Don't you hire people to do stuff like that?"

"Yes, but I don't think dear sixty-four year old Barbara's heart would take the tales of that fucking blowjob you gave me in Peterborough." I bite my lip and snicker. Our story would definitely need some intense censoring before it was fit for human eyes, or at least a health warning because removing all the indecency would just make it boring. Or at least it would from my side, I don't know about CJ. He insists that we were never about that but I can't help feeling like we really gravitated around it. We're just like one of those bloody awful literary porn trilogies about deep childhood psychological trauma leading to a lifestyle of deviant sex until the broken party is cured by a beautiful innocent. Huh...

"Daddy issues in mind," I open my eyes and see CJ frowning at me. Oh! "Sorry, I was outwardly vocalising an inward tangent."

"What the hell were you thinking about?"

"Erotica." He tries to stifle a laugh but ends up snorting instead. "Sexy. So, _my_ daddy issues in mi—No, I don't have... I meant..."

"Skip to the end..."

"Don't quote _Spaced_ , it's dorky." _And don't you dare point out that my knowledge of the quote is dorky, too. "_ You said you'd tell me why you think your dad is as bad as my family."

"Oh, that." He waves a hand dismissively and passes me his iPod Touch. "He's not my real dad. Put some music on, would you? I need to get that Marice Mister crap out of my head."

"Malice Mizer. How do you do that?"

"What?"

I shake my head in disbelief and scroll through his music. Hmm, Rammstein. Dare I show off further? "Skip around gaping great flaws in your genealogy like everyone has adopted siblings and stepdads."

"Because it's all normal to me. Andy has been part of the family for sixteen years and obviously my dad has always been a dick. He always made sure we knew that we weren't his and nothing we ever did was good enough for him. So Ems is golden girl and we don't get a shoo in." He glances sideways at me and arches his brow, blinking a few times like he's struggling to process something. "At least I didn't until today. According to him, I went to the wrong places when I travelled after college, we went into the wrong line of business because it wasn't politics and nobody would ever respect me because I didn't have a buzz cut and a briefcase. But I marry you and I knock you up after a couple of months and that's just swell. You're a miracle, Amelia. Where were you twenty-seven years ago?"

"In my dad's balls." He laughs and sighs dramatically. What's so funny? I hadn't even been conceived at that point. But I gather that Arnold is obviously a complete prick, so I'm starting to think that my idea to cart him off to Plymouth might be good. "Do you think he'll slack off the hostile parenting now?"

"Fuck no. Now I'm going to be subjected to insults preceding the burn 'or that wife of yours will see sense'." Ouch. Obviously ouch at the burn but doubly so for the fact that this is what he's expecting. Maybe there's nothing really 'perfect' in the world after all. "Can I ask you something?"

I lift my head up slightly. Why does this feel like something huge? It just feels like a loaded question. "Anything, you know that."

"Do you, you know..." He rolls his eyes hesitantly and sighs. "You're still hot for me right?" Was that it? I was setting myself up for a major debate.

"Of course I'm still hot for you. I'm practically singeing the upholstery here."

"Really?" And just like last night, I see the quiet little piece of CJ that's horribly insecure and pessimistic. It breaks my heart a little to see him doubting himself. "You're not going off me?"

"Are you crazy? I couldn't be more 'on' you if I tried. Sometimes I look at you and my heart stops for a minute until someone distracts me. You give me _that_ look and it's like you're hard wired into me. I fall in love with you all over again because I feel that shit—I feel how much you want me and it hurts so much that I have all my demons keeping us apart..." And I feel how tragically close this conversation is erring on serious, so I lean my head back again and close my eyes. "Plus, you know, I have fucking wet dreams about you like a horny kid and you're getting better with age like fine wine or scotch or... cheese. It's sickening." I hear him laugh and I know that I've pulled this out of the danger zone along with his self-esteem. _There'll be no more of this self-abhorrence from you, Mr. Pearce. "_ So a sailing trip sounds awesome but I'm sensing an issue in that we don't have any clothes or the baby essentials."

"That's why I called Andy. He and Mer went to get stuff for us so we didn't have to go back to the fla—" He clears his throat and coughs. "—the bungalow, and they're going to see to the removal and delivery vans for us tomorrow. We'll just need to unpack and arrange the furniture when we get home."

"Okay..." Sounds boring. I'm sure that I could pick fault at this somehow but I won't. Only CJ could control my life this way and me be cool with it. I like not being the mouthpiece sometimes. I like him stopping me from fucking up. And I like that he knows what I'll like. We have an affinity, a perpetual resonance that keeps us on the same wavelength. The man even knew that I'd dream about taking his last breath at Download, for fucks sake.

I know that I'm his forever, but does he? His lapse in confidence has cast a grey cloud over my thoughts. Do I ever tell that man how happy he makes me?

# XXXII

#

#

The yacht isn't exactly what I was expecting and, from the look on his face, not what CJ was expecting either. The deck has been completely made up like a kid's birthday party, even to the point of there being a buffet table and a massive karaoke system rigged up next to the cabin. Meredith grins up at me from the table, sloe eyes a little skewed and hazy. They didn't have much of a head start on us, how the hell did they get this arranged so quickly and how is she already drunk?

Fuck it, I'm not even touching that one. Knowing her, she drank in the car, and if that's the case, I sincerely hope that Andy drove. Good god, I really am a mother.

"It's 'the coat'!" She slurs, spilling half of her drink down her chin. "How'd t'fuck you got 'the coat'?" I roll my eyes and deposit Delilah down on the floor next to the table, more than a little pleased to be overcome with good memories of this deck rather than bad.

"CJ found it."

"How choo know 'bout 'the coat'?" She narrows her eyes at him almost meanly but splits into laughter and leans her head down against the table. "You hava tries the punch."

Christ, I haven't seen her this drunk for years. "But hows 'e know 'bout 'the coat'?"

"Well, remember when we gave out those limited edition copies of the _Make Believe_ album and you forced me to hand out just one? Guess who the suit was." She stares at me blankly and shakes her head. Jesus H. Christ... "It was CJ."

"Oh!" She claps her hands and points sort of at him, but not really. "Muzza fuzzy! Humelium, I thunk I need ta stip drunking."

"I think you're right, Mer. Mer?" She snores loudly, head flopped backwards and mouth wide open like a bear trap. "Fucking hell, Andy. What have you done to her?"

He looks at me guiltily and gives a weak smile. "I asked her to move in with me."

"Ah." That explains it all. Her coping strategy mantra is only half the length of mine: 'fuck it or drink'. "Hasn't she answered?"

"Actually, she said yes."

"Ah." Not only is she in a new country, she's pretty much on a new planet. But I can tell from the look on his face that he's a little stressed out by her reaction. They've been on and off since they met, getting bored of each other on occasion, and nothing really serious has come along, which means that he hasn't witnessed for himself how she handles serious. "Don't sweat it. She's not going to change her mind or anything. She's just feeling kind of confused by the fact that she's agreeing to this stuff without argument. You're kind of her first relationship."

"Since?"

I frown and shake my head. "Since _ever_ , Andy. In case you hadn't noticed, Mer doesn't do boyfriends. Like I didn't."

"You're shitting me." Crap, I might have said too much. He stares down at his feet numbly and strokes his chin. "So I should maybe cool down the heavy stuff?" Double crap. I doubt Meredith would ever forgive me if he turtled back into his non-committal shell now, after she's accepted the car and all.

"A resounding no, Andrew. Consider yourself the exception and not the rule. She's watched me fuck up my life for twenty-four years and is understandably a little jaded, but she'll grow out of it. She'll never tell you but I think she loves you." Triple crap. That might have been too heavy for _him_. He grabs his phone from the buffet table and scurries off into the cabin without a word, face stony and blank. I wince and stick my lip out at CJ. "Oops."

He scoops me up into a hug and crushes me against him. If he's trying to hide his anxiety, he's failing miserably, and if he carries on this way he's more likely to lose me to suffocation. "Don't panic, girl. That's his determined face. He's probably gone to design her engagement ring." _Quadruple crap!_ He laughs softly and presses his lips to my forehead. I can feel that the fever is starting to take hold again and try to wriggle away. I don't want him to kiss my sweat. Not sick sweat anyway. Sex sweat is different. Jeez, how does he do that—turn me up from zero to ten just by breathing and have me thinking about white-knuckle fucking? "How about a little bedroom action?" I tip my head up slowly to look at him, eyebrow raised, and flare my nostrils. Was he reading my mind? "I meant a nap, you nympho. I can't see us getting an early night somehow."

"Oh." My cheeks heat defensively. I'm so fucking confused living like this. The man turns me on like a light bulb but my brain stamps its feet and tells me to take a cold shower. I squirm in my place in a futile attempt to quash some of the unwelcome heat that forms between my legs every time I look at him too hard and growl. "Okay, a nap sounds good." I might just score lucky and have another stroke of parasomnia.

_"Lucien, I've been thinking and..." I bite the side of my lip and fiddle with the end of my school tie. He's not going to like it but I'm not really into him any more. "I think I want to break up."_

_"What?" He looks kind of panicked and upset. Crap, I don't want to make him cry or anything. "What did I do wrong?" I don't really want to tell him that he's kind of bossy and the sex sucks. I mean, some of it is great, the bits that don't hurt, but he spends ages doing that and it's getting hard to hide the bruises._

_"No, it's not you. Well, it sort of is. It's both of us. You're nearly eighteen and you need someone who you can take to the pub with you and Wills. I'm only thirteen and I don't really think I have what it takes to be your girlfriend. You need a girl your own age."_

_He doesn't talk for ages, he just stares at me with his mouth open slightly. Why is he so bothered? Loads of girls want a piece of him and will know what to do instead of just laying there, cacking themselves._

_"Mia..." he stands up and grabs my hand, "let me have you just once more before you go." I groan inwardly and roll my eyes. My back is still sore from yesterday but I really do like the other stuff._

_"All right." I sigh and follow him into my bedroom. I hope he makes it quick because I promised to meet Meredith. She's going to wet herself when she finds out that I dumped him. She doesn't like him anymore, I don't know why._

_He ties my wrists and ankles like always, but fetches and lights the scented candle I keep in the bathroom. I don't think a little bit of romance is going to convince me to stay though. I've thought about it really hard and I'm definitely not down for the older guy stuff. Plus it's kind of hard to look at him the same way now._

_He doesn't find something to hit me with this time, he gets right down to the good stuff. I like it a lot and he looks like he does too, but he grabs the candle and holds it over me._

_"Please don't, it'll hurt."_

_"That's the idea." The wax drips down onto my ribs and my whole body feels like it's on fire. I want to wipe it off but I can't, and he just keeps letting it drip. "Ah shit!" He drops the whole candle and the flame catches on my skin._

_"Lucien, move it!" But he doesn't. He lays his head down on my stomach and picks at the hardened wax. "Move the fucking candle."_

_"What? Oh." He blows it out and stands up, pulling a face at the sheets between my legs. "Oops."_

_"What oops?" I crane my neck and glare at him. "You didn't pull out?"_

_"You clenched really hard." He shrugs and he doesn't really look sorry._

_"You need to call my dad and get him to take me to a doctor. Like, right now." I don't want a baby, I am way too young._

_"Are you kidding? You're only thirteen, Mia. He'll kill me if he finds out that we do this." He unties me and kneels down to look at my ribs. The skin is blistering where the flame caught me and the pain is making me feel sick. "I'll look after you both."_

_"Both?" My eyes widen and I step away. "No way. I don't want a baby."_

_"Well you don't really have a choice. An eye for an eye, Mia. If you killed it then..." he shrugs and drags me into the bathroom to put a flannel over my burn. "But I'll look after you. Forever."_

"Mother fucker!" I sit bolt upright in bed just in time to catch CJ trying to sneak out quietly without disturbing me.

"What did I do?"

"Sorry, not you. I just..." I rub my eyes and collapse back in bed. I can't believe that it never occurred to me before. Lucien used the wax on purpose, knowing that he'd have an excuse to come inside me instead of withdrawing like he normally did. Every time he went to town on me after that didn't seem to matter because I didn't know any better and thought I was already knocked up. He trapped me.

CJ sits down next to me, Delilah bouncing on his knee, and leans over to stroke my hair. "Bad dream again?"

"Flashback." I shuffle out of the sheets and tug on my lip. "Lucien got me pregnant because I tried to break up with him."

"Jesus." He looks up at me wistfully and sighs. I shouldn't have said _his_ name today, not on his birthday. "You know, if I ever saw him, I'd probably kill him." If that note in my coat pocket is for real, he has no idea how real that possibility may be.

"You'd have to join the end of the line behind Meredith and my dad. But I wouldn't let you waste your energy anyway." I pull his head against me and cradle it, combing my fingers into his hair. It hardly seems right that his is softer than mine. "Let's not think about that stuff today. What time is it?"

"Almost 5pm. Andy text me to say that everyone is here but waiting for us before the festivities start. So we could stay here all night..."

As tempting as his idea is, I can't help feeling like everyone will be prepared to make up for last year too, and he really deserves to cut loose for a night. "You know you want to party with some rockstars. Plus if Mer picked up my guitar, I think I owe you my best Wendy James seeing as you missed half of it last year."

He looks up and wrinkles his nose. _All_ reminders of last year are clearly out of bounds even though we're on the boat. I'm not going to argue logic, it's _his_ birthday.

"You've sung plenty for me today, girl."

"Well, it's a standing offer. Name your tune whenever you fancy it. There has to be some perks to marrying me." He tilts his head down towards Delilah and raises an eyebrow. "Complimentary gift. Come on," I hold out my hand and step back towards the door, "we can't do this every year. Change the association... And don't leave my fucking side."

"Deal."

The guys greet us with a calamity of party poppers and bedroom related insults. Frankly, everyone looks half cut already, and if not for the obvious additions of Delilah, Gabrielle and my dad, this might seem like any one of our usual soirées. Even Big Dave and Louise have crawled out of the woodwork in the name of celebration. But I can see CJ looking back at the dock and I know that he's just waiting for trouble to arrive.

"Let's take the boat out." I hold my hand out and wait patiently for him to give me the key. When he doesn't, I look at him and smile sweetly. "Um..."

"You can drive this yacht?" Oh, give me a break.

"Spoilt rich kid who grew up on the coast, CJ." That should be explanation enough. He reluctantly drops the key into my proffered hand and narrows his eyes at me.

"Don't you need an eye-patch and wooden leg?"

"Haha. You guys go crazy and I'll get this sucker sailin'." I wander through to the captain's station with a jaunty whistle, swinging the key around my finger tip, and find CJ hot on my heels. I remember him following me out of the university library the same way. "Didn't I just tell you to go crazy?"

"You can seriously captain a yacht?" I'm really not sure why he's surprised.

"Well sure. If I'd been a suburban brat, I'd have a horse, but I lived on the coast so..." I wave a hand to the open ocean and turn away from him to start the motor. "Besides, city boy, shouldn't I be more surprised that _you_ can commandeer this beauty?"

"Multimillionaire." I look up briefly and nod to myself. His one worded explanation is actually viable. Modern literature would have you believe that all stinking rich bachelors have a variety of expensive hobbies and obscure transportation related skills. Luckily, I appear to have snagged the one that doesn't come complete with a generous dose of paraphilia. "I suppose you have a fucking pilot's license, too, Mrs. 'I Can Do Anything But Whistle'." I didn't know they came in his and hers...

"Hmm, not yet. Just one more lesson to go." I can feel his shock through the silence, so I turn around and laugh. He's so gullible. "Oh my god, I'm joking! No, I don't and never will have a bloody pilot's license. You've seen the way I drive."

"Yes, and you're about to vent your mad girl racer skills into my yacht." I roll my eyes and exercise my seldom seen respect for other people's possessions. There's a raging cheer from outside when the motor whirs into life and begins to glide across the sea. I watch the dock distance and wonder if there's any way I can leave my problems back out on the shore.

Meredith shuffles up to me with glass of punch when we emerge back on the deck. She appears to have clawed back a few shreds of sobriety and looks a little sheepish. I can see that the whole Andy situation is really bothering her and in the spirit of all things nautical, she looks like she wants to 'jump ship'.

"Stop over-analysing." She looks at me wide-eyed, though she should know better than to be surprised by my telepathic connection to her. But I have no idea how the hell to avoid a quintuple crap. I'm not exactly a love guru. "You and Andy, you're great together. But he's not looking to steal your independence and isn't interested in controlling you. But he _does_ want more, and you agreed without deliberation so you must want it, too. Roll with the knee-jerk reaction and enjoy it."

She frowns for a moment and looks over her shoulder in his direction. "You think?" How did I manage that? Wow, I think I _am_ a grown up.

"Yes, I think. You could do worse, Mer, and you know, it's not like you announced to his parents that you'd creamed yourself or anything."

"Hah, no. That would suck." I resist the urge to laugh and pat her on the shoulder. "Oh fuck." And there it is. I leave her silently dying and take my rightful place at CJ's side.

He has Delilah on his lap and I can see how much more at ease he is in the middle of the sea. But I see a fatal flaw in this picture. Our friends and his family are gathered, minus the not-really-his-father father, the yacht is happily bobbing at a safe distance from land, Levi and Plato are necking in a corner, and CJ is...

"Why are you drinking orange juice?" I remove the glass from in front of him with a scowl and replace it with a bottle of beer. "Come on, how often do you turn twenty-six _and_ twenty-seven on the same day?" He looks up at me shyly and shakes his head. He doesn't want __ to get drunk. Oh man, this is painful. During our entire relationship, I've seen him drunk twice. Twice. The man never cuts loose. He will relax on his birthday and damn well like it, and if that means I have to adopt underhand tactics to make him, then so be it. "Do you know what would be really inappropriate?"

"What?" He narrows his eyes at me and I can tell that he's trying to think what I could possibly be plotting.

"If I told everyone about the circumstances that led up to that first public and very naked picture of us." I see him search his mind, and then his face drops at the realisation.

"You wouldn't dare." He knows I would.

"I mean, you hadn't been drinking then and that might have been a contributing factor," I sit down next to him and fuss over Delilah's outfit, which seems all the more apt now, "but I still maintain that it was very complime—"

"Give me the damn beer." He does his best to look annoyed but I can see his eyes laughing. "Damn, girl, if you wanted embarrassment, you should have just told everyone about the day _before_ my birthday when you were most insistent that I stuck a fing—" I cram my hand over his mouth and hide my head under my other arm. I can't believe he was about to speak of our brown wings in front of my dad. "Yeah, sucks doesn't it?" I remove my hand and try to stop myself from curling it into a fist when CJ grins at me smugly and scoops his new drink up from the table. "Love you."

"Fucker." He knows that I can't stay mad at him when he says that.

"You're going to have to let me do that again one day, girl. I know I've done good when you curse that loudly."

"Carry on and you'll be lucky to escape this boat with any of the appendages essential to reproduction."

"Yacht."

"Don't worry, kid." My dad nudges CJ in the ribs reassuringly, grey eyes crinkling with a grin. "We still have a phone signal if she gets murderous before her weekly visit to 'Nowhere' tomorrow." My jaw drops. How the fuck does he know? And then it clicks.

"Uh, weekly? I am very much begging your fucking pardon?"

"Uh oh, get my phone..."

Jumping up from the table, I slam my hands down and grit my teeth. How can he be so cavalier about spying on me like a naughty kid? "I think we need to have a conversation about boundaries," I narrow my eyes and quickly scan at the shocked faces around us. _Yes, my dad and I have cross words on occasion. Get over it. "_ In private."

I drag him through to the small kitchen area of the cabin and fold my arms across myself, chewing on my fingernails to hinder the temptation to get physical. "You've been talking to Coops about me."

"Only about your treatment plan, baby bear. I want to know that you're taking it seriously this time."

"Taking it seriously, are you having a laugh?" I drop my voice to a hostile whisper before I start yelling. " _I_ went to _him_ , Dad. How much more of a commitment to the cause do you need? I don't need you to watching over me and funding fucking iPads. I have this covered. I don't need you to pay for my therapy any more."

"But if I'm paying, then I know that you're still seeing him."

"That's none of your god damn business!" I can't believe that he's patronising me like this. "I'm twenty-four. Whether I terminate his services or seek them daily is no business of yours anymore. Lucien fucked me up, we all know that. But I don't need you smothering me with your unwanted concern. I'm not fourteen anymore."

"Really?" He grabs my fingers from my mouth and forces me to look at the fingernails I've bitten down so far beyond the quick that they're bleeding. It's an old habit that I started displaying when my relationship with Lucien got really out of hand. When pain and sex were no longer joined but both equally as unpleasant. "So why do I see the fourteen year old anachronism of my daughter standing in front of me wearing a wedding ring and a drastic hair cut? Tell me that you're not in a bad place mentally and I'll call you a liar, Amelia." I can't honestly tell him that I'm not, because I am, on and off. "I didn't give you a good family, so please, let me do this." He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small box with a frown. "Coops told me to give you these. I don't know why, but he said that you'd understand."

I take the box from his hand, open the top and empty its contents into my palm. A deck of cards. Not the same deck, but I get it. "Yeah I understand, all right." Dad raises an eyebrow and, just this once, I'll elaborate. "He'd make me build a house of cards every session to distract me. My mind was too busy trying to build the house to work at keeping myself guarded. It was the only way he could get to my uninhibited honesty."

"Even now, you keep stuff secret?"

"No, I don't... " He has a master plan, I just know it. "Dad, did you know Cree was illegally registered as a Fellows? I never went to do it, apparently that's wrong."

"Seriously?" He rubs a hand over his chin and scowls. "I had no idea. I mean, I never saw a birth certificate and I know I wasn't around much, but we buried her a Marsh."

"That's what I thought." My eyes track around to the deck and the faces staring in. I'd made CJ swear to stay by my side but I'm not upholding my side of the bargain. Bad wife. I raise a finger to my dad's nose in warning and blink slowly. "Do not snoop and do not tell CJ. I'm giving him a hard enough time without him thinking I'm a full blown whackadoo."

"I won't tell him but you _are_ a whackadoo."

"Thanks Dad, very supportive."

There's no way to resist repeatedly checking the time. 6pm, tick tock, would have been sound checking now... 7pm, tick tock, I think CJ was showering me... 7:30pm, tick tock, Louise was doing my makeup... 7:45pm, tick tock, CJ dressed me and said he'd see me on stage... 7:55pm, tick tock, Nancy came up to the stage with her camera... 8pm, tick tock, we start playing bang on time...

8:20pm, tick fucking tock fucking tick fucking tock, fucking FaceTime, fucking Chrissie fucking CJ, worst moment of my life, end of my world, apocalypse...

"Good grief, Amelia! Your fingers are dripping!"

"What?" Gaby pulls my hands from my mouth and wraps a tissue around them to stem the flow of blood. Jesus, she's not joking. I've bitten through my nails so furiously that some fingers barely have any left. Oh boy, those are going to sting tomorrow...

Gaby shakes her head to herself and grips both of my hands. "Stop worrying, Amelia. Nothing is going to get to you and CJ out here. Chrissie is in prison, we're in the middle of the sea, and even if you were on dry land, you have too many people looking out for you. CJ in particular is being so cautious today—he hasn't taken his eyes off you once."

"I'm sorry," I murmur, reluctant to make eye contact. "I just can't lose him again. Last year was just proof that there's danger lurking anywhere and I don't know what's around the corner. He might have a brain haemorrhage, he might fall overboard drunk, we might have a huge row, he might get sick of me being so down—"

"Oh, for the love of god, have a little self worth." Okay, I think _that_ might be normal mother-in law-behaviour. Losing my nut in front of the High Pearce Council, not clever. "Why don't you keep your hands busy? I saw a beaut of a Stratocaster in the cabin." Guitar appreciation? Deep respect for Gaby.

Her advice isn't entirely stupid so I try to look as grateful as possible and go on a Strat hunt. Not too difficult it seems; it's conveniently placed just inside the cabin door and I'm eternally grateful that Meredith grabbed it for me. If we're going to be on the boat for a few days, I'm going to need some kind of creative outlet. It's not that I'm going to get bored of CJ and Delilah, just that sometimes songs pop into my head and fester there until I get them out. If they're stuck inside I don't sleep properly and with that aspect of my life already all over the shop, I really don't need any additional interference.

It freaking kills my fingers to play and I suddenly remember why I stopped biting my nails. It was easier with the piano but steel strings carry a major ouch factor at the best of times if you're not used to them. I've just about given up hope when CJ sneaks over to me with a first aid box and starts to wrap each finger up in little strips of bandage. Not really going to make a huge difference but the gesture isn't unappreciated.

"Are you drunk yet?"

He looks up me quickly and purses his lips. "Not even a little bit. I've been drinking, but it's just not happening." I guess I understand the mental block. At least I can stop worrying about a man overboard scenario. "I am so sorry about last year, Amelia."

"Oh hell no, we're not doing this again." His amazing green eyes are dulled by so much regret and blame that nobody is placing on him, "You can't take responsibility for this anymore. A fucking judge absolved you of this guilt and declared that it was all Chrissie's fault. So please don't beat yourself up over something you couldn't control."

"I could say the same thing to you, girl." He kisses my fingers, one by one, and reaches up to stroke my face. "I'm not stupid, I can tell that your memories of Creedance are what's dragging you down. But none of that was your fault either."

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do. There's not a single bad cell in that damn sexy body of yours and you know it. Come on," I find myself unwillingly dragged back into the gathering, dragging my guitar behind me, "I want that song." If I'd known he'd take me up on the offer, I might have tried to avoid biting my nails.

"I'm not promising an award winning performance, but shoot."

"I want... Hmm..." He pauses to think long enough for everyone to sit down in a circle on the deck. The only thing missing from this picture is a campfire and an acoustic guitar to replace my Strat. "I want you to play _The Kill._ " Better than _Kumbayah_...

"Oh Jesus," Emily groans, "you and your Leto perversion."

"Leto perversion?" Can't say I blame him, to be honest. Wait... Holy fuck, there's a resemblance. Now, about this issue I'm having in the bedroom...

Ems scoffs, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Your _Make Believe_ album is the only thing that made him stop listening to Thirty Seconds To Mars _._ I kind of feel like I owe you thanks, except he wouldn't stop listening to _The Kill_ on fucking repeat when you—"

"Oh wow, won't you please stop talking?" She bites her lip and averts her eyes but the damage is done. She was going to say he listened to it on repeat when we were split up and he knows that I know. Which begs the question, why the hell does he want me to play that?

"Hah! So did Amelia." Rolling my eyes at Meredith, I turn to my guitar and start to tune it to avoid a conversation about our morbid similarities. There just didn't seem to be a single phase of our separation that it didn't suit, from when I hated his guts right up to thinking I'd never see him again.

"Please, girl. It's the only one of my favourites that you didn't write apart from _Weak_." Well, can't really deny the birthday boy a request I promised...

"I'm going to need a plectrum..." CJ promptly digs into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out a black Fender plectrum with half the letters faded off. "Uh..." I flip it over and find my jaw dropping at the amateur engraving in the plastic— _Meet Me Halfway_. Okay, so he might have been just slightly obsessed with that song. Not really sure how to take this... Bit creepy... Nah, I'm loving the devotion.

One song turned into several. Obsessive as they are, Mer and Plato brought their guitars and Erek will drum on anything that makes a sound. So CJ kind of got his private gig after all but spent this one mostly sat behind me with his arms around my waist and his chin on my shoulder. Time totally escaped us but we stopped just as it was starting to get dark because we needed the boat docked again. Ems and Gaby are early risers and my dad has some kind of appointment, but there's no way I'm hauling my ill ass out of bed at the crack of dawn. I swear it's only paracetamol that's keeping me standing. Between the germs, the anxiety and the nagging memory of that guy in McDonalds, I can't possibly be running off anything but fumes.

In a quiet corner of the deck, the note he dropped stares up at me from my hands, flapping in the breeze and looking so innocent. How can eight small words carry so much malevolence? If it was ten years ago, I'd be expecting a good hard slap and another scar to cover. Whether I like it or not, I'm still scared of him and as sick as it sounds, it was pure dumb luck that I got away from him at all. I was happy when he was out of my life but now he's back, what the hell do I do?

"Hey." My hand crumples into a fist at the sound of Ems' voice and automatically releases the note into the waters lapping at the bow. Denial worked great for years and they all say, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'. Nobody needs to be dragged down with this, it's nobody's problem but mine. "CJ has gotten Delilah down for the night and I'm tee-total for the early drive home, so why don't you go and relax with him for a while? I'll keep an ear out for D, just go and be yourself. I can see you flailing, Amelia, and he needs your attention."

"Yeah, okay." Truth be told, I need his attention, too. He makes me forget everything just by being there, as much as he did when we first met. The fact that he still has that power over me has got to be good, right? That I still love him as much as ever, if not more. If it is, why do I still feel so empty?

He holds an arm out as soon as I'm close, not even turning his attention away from his Polish conversation with Erek to see me coming. It's like he just senses me everywhere and knows how I'm thinking and feeling. How can he be so attuned to me when I'm clueless about him? There's always been a constant fear of not knowing what's on his mind and it's not through lack of communication. I know that he loves me but is he still _in_ love with me?

"Yes." What the fuck? "You wear your heart on your sleeve, girl. I'm still as crazy for you as the day you called me 'cunthole'."

"That long?" Jeez, if he'd met me and I'd been someone else, he would have always been mad for some girl with a foul mouth. Why does that bother me?

"Yes, that long. I committed your legs to memory. I would have walked to Hell and back to find you again. As it happened, you were the singer of The Bystander Effect and that made you somewhat easier to find." _Stalker..._

"What if I'd been someone else? Like not the girl with the dirty mouth?"

"Hmm, well in that case..." he grabs my chin in a pincer grip and plants a kiss on my mouth, "I would have sent her fan mail to thank her for leading me to you in my pursuit to her."

"But you would have been settling fo—"

He pins my lips closed with a finger and scowls. "Fucking stop it. I would have taken you ad hoc. You know what ad hoc means?" I grunt a 'no'. "It means that if you'd been a tramp, a crack whore or a duchess, you would have ended up getting fucked across my Mercedes with an obnoxiously large black diamond on your finger to make sure the world knew you were mine. You just so happened to be the ultimate in _everyone's_ eyes, so quit complaining, do your wifely duty and kiss me." Totally not used to him cracking the whip and kind of confused and ashamed that it turns me the fuck on. He smoothes the mithered frown from between my eyebrows and gathers me up in his arms, hauling me over to the table to throw me down across it.

"Uh, this is kinda hot."

"Yeah, I thought so. This..." He pulls my legs around his waist, humming a note of approval and clearly calculating logistics, "... _This_ is going to happen one day, Amelia, when you're feeling better and we don't have an audience, obviously." And I know he doesn't mean better from the flu. He's going to entice me with sexual promises until I can't resist him anymore, I can just feel it. And I can see it in my mind's eye, bobbing up and down on the waves screaming pleas for more that nobody can hear while he tears into me like a man starved. "You're imagining it, aren't you?"

My mouth curls into a dopey grin. "Oh yeah." I might be a little messed up but fantasy Amelia is still completely uninhibited.

"Gotcha! I knew that'd make you smile." Oh, so that's where this was going... "So, you spend the rest of the night thinking about us going at it like rabbits, I'll spend the rest of the night draped over you like Indian silk and we might just survive. Remember girl, you are the only woman who ever has and ever will feel me inside you." He gives me a look that dares me to challenge the lie, but I don't. If he wants to pretend that last year never happened, I won't complain or continue to remind him that he can't run away from the memories. That would make me a hypocrite.

A couple of hours of loud music and laughter pass before everyone starts to flag from alcohol abuse and general fatigue. Whether they'll admit it or not, the guys are all a little out of practice after a few months off the road. We used to only have short breaks between tours. We probably would have started arranging a European tour straight after the US tour last year, but obvious, uh... 'circumstances' brought us home in November because I was so damn ill. I saw more than my fair share of ambulances and got a good amount of bollockings from various obstetricians for still living the rockstar lifestyle sans intoxicants, so as soon as we did our last gig, we were on a plane home just in time for me to go down like a sack of stones.

I have so much respect for the way everyone rallied around and took it in turns to take me to midwife appointments and day assessment. My life is so full of the solidarity I never had when Creedance was around and I have to wonder if it's the world's way of trying to make up for fucking me over.

Mindlessly toying with CJ's plectrum, I watch him sharing a dance with Gabrielle. When did _she_ have the eureka moment that made her stop looking at him like a beautiful baby and start looking at him like her son? When does that connection happen? I know that I love Delilah but she's just... there. I struggle to say her name out loud because it doesn't feel right and deep down, I know it's because I'm holding off the automatic reaction to call her Creedance. How can anyone possibly say that she's not my second chance?

My eyes drop back to the plectrum and the poignant words scratched into the plastic. One has to wonder how much other crap he's got my words written on. This kind of feels significant though, like something I should make a big deal of.

"You gonna give me that back?" CJ slaps his hands down on my shoulders and works at the knotted muscles with his thumbs. Did he say something...? "Amelia?"

"Hnnnnnuuuhhhh?"

"Shouldergasm?"

"Hnnnuhuh..." His laugh and sudden halt brings me back to Earth with a splat. "Spoilsport."

"Yup. I said are you going to give me that back?"

"Ye—... No..." I turn to him slowly and narrow my eyes. "I'm going to get this done properly on two aluminium plectrums and put them on our dog tags. I'll never use another plectrum to play again." Wow, that sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.

"Sounds good. I'll do the same. Make it three. We'll keep one for Baby D when she's older." I stand corrected. CJ is the king of stupid ideas. "Now come on, I want the dance I'm owed from the Meningitis Trust gala last year." Seems like I owe him an awful lot and he owes me nothing. Whatever happened to marital equality?

It's almost bittersweet to dance with him again. Last time, I hadn't seen him for weeks, had just found out I was pregnant and got pulled away by an overly enthusiastic personal trainer. I then ended up smacked in the face and in A&E having stitches in the back of my head. This time is better, right?

CJ's steady heartbeat underneath my ear and possessive grasp at the nape of my neck is oddly soothing to the point of nearly lulling me to sleep. It's like he's trying to anchor me to him and I need that. I really do.

I swallow down the lump that comes to my throat and look up just in time to feel a drip hit my cheek. "CJ, are you—"

"Shut up," he snuffles over and presses his lips into my hair. "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to." We both groan at his terrible joke and shuffle a little closer together. "Promise me that we'll be okay, Amelia."

"I promise that we'll be okay." Not a lie. We _will_ be okay if I have to hire a whole fucking squadron of psychiatrists, hypnotists, magicians and exorcists. My demons have to head on back to the Underworld one day. "Let's get married again."

"Amelia May, are you proposing to me? I don't think my hot-dogging rockstar wife is down for polygamy."

" 'Hot-dogging'? Well, all right..." A compliment is a compliment, I guess. "When this black cloud blows over, and it will, we'll do it all proper. You know, like big piss up, Delilah in an awesome dress, Mer and Ems in something hideous and orange to make me look better. Traditional—a big deal, like it should have been."

"I love you." That's a yes, then. Good, this man deserves the best of everything. The best cars, the best house, the best life, and the best of me. I swear, he will never regret saying those words to me. "Never leave me again, Amelia."

"Are you kidding me? Right..." I pull away from his vice-like grip and mosey on over to the sound-system connected to his iPod Touch. Kinda seems like the man doesn't take hints unless they come in musical form, so I find _Miracle_ by Paramore and crank it up to volume. He gives me a look of vague confusion until he hears the lyrics, then nods and holds a hand out for me to dance with him again.

We tangle together into a misplaced completely synchronised waltz, grinning stupidly while we sing at each other, and soon find ourselves joined by everyone else. Plato and Levi, Meredith and Andy, Ems and Erek, Big Dave and Lou, Gaby and my dad—all of us freaking waltzing on the deck. Sort of a big turn around from a few minutes ago but that was entirely my aim. When I'm being young and stupid, I'm being Amelia, but only if they're all being stupid with me. Never in my life have I felt so accepted by my friends and my new family. My miracles.

Meredith and Andy sneak over to us in the final strains of the song and set party poppers off in our faces.

"Congratulations, bitches. It's midnight. You've officially survived the anniversary of Birthdaygate."

If we can survive the memories attached to today and all the revelations it's thrown at us, then we can survive anything.

Right?

# XXXIII

#

#

_  
__"I really don't feel well, papa bear." I'm too hot and too cold all at once. My head hurts so much and I really can't see properly. Nobody told me it would be like this, that it would hurt this much._

_Dad looks pale and tired. And scared. Really scared. Did he look like this all the other three times he watched Mum have us? What a pussy. He strokes my hair and leans over to kiss my forehead but everything cramps up and I feel... wet. Have I just pissed myself? "Dad?"_

_"Relax, baby bear. It's your waters."_

_"Oh."_

_I try to sleep through the pain but it's so hard. It makes me feel sick. The gas makes me feel sick. I don't want the needles. Why isn't Lucien here? Everything cramps up again, so much worse than before and there's that wet feeling again. More water? How much is there?_

_Dad hits the button to call the doctors and all of a sudden I'm surrounded by people in blue scrubs. Where did they all come from? Why is it all so noisy?_

_"Mr. Marsh, we need to go into theatre_ now _."_

I sit bolt upright, covered in a cold sweat and completely disorientated. I've never remembered my labour with Creedance before and if that was what really happened, I didn't fail.

Jeez. It's all coming back to me. There was blood everywhere. They put me under general anaesthetic because it was so bad, so I never heard her cry for the first time. It was an emergency situation. I remember seeing it in my notes with Delilah now. Placental abruption and a knotted cord, that's why the obstetricians kept bollocking me in the US. I couldn't have stopped it if I tried, but how much of it was Lucien's fault?

I flop back into bed, relieved to have a little closure, and remember where I am. The boat, great, everyone is outside and we're going sailing for a few days. And then we're going to move into our big fucking awesome house, away from the bungalow, with our cute baby girl and Gaby is going to bring CJ's puppy after making the wise choice to pooch-sit while we're away to avoid a literal 'poop deck' situation. Sweet.

So why is that dream sticking to me? Why do I feel too hot and damp...? Oh, fucking hell. I wriggle my hand down below my waist to confirm my suspicions and promptly pull the pillow over my head to whine. My first period in nearly four years . What a dampener on my almost good mood. I suppose this is where I find out I have to get out of bed and change the sheets... Yup. That's embarrassing. Where the fuck are the clean sheets? Man, I'm going to need coffee before I tackle this.

Out on the deck, Mer, Andy and CJ are all eating breakfast while Delilah dozes in her swing. Nice of everyone else to say goodbye before they drove home, bloody charming. CJ already has a fresh pot of coffee on the table, so that's a plus. I dump the sheets in a bin bag, at a loss for exactly where to put laundry on a boat, and scowl at all of their puzzled faces.

"What are you doing with our sheets, girl?"

I narrow my eyes when I see his suppressed smirk and prowl towards him. I would love to pounce on him but I just feel... ugh. I haven't missed this. "I know what you're thinking, but no, not this morning. Well, early this morning but that's not why. My ovaries came out of retirement."

"Fucking hell, Amelia, I'm eating!" I roll my eyes at Andy and very cautiously sit down next to CJ. Tissue paper wadding really isn't a good alternative to other... things. You know.

"Get over it, bro. You've got all this to look forward to when you knock Mer up." I grin wickedly as the colour drains from both of their faces and I can see her mentally calculating when she needs to make another appointment at the clinic. "Not for a while, stop worrying." And I can tell that she does. Mer is great with other people's kids but I've seen her kill plants in a day.

"Need the number?"

"Huh?" I busy myself with my direly needed caffeine fix and flick through my emails mindlessly. Skype appointment with Coops at 3pm, okay... It occurs to me that all four of us are sat with our eyes fixed on iPads like a bunch of yuppies over brunch. What the hell happened to us?

"So you can get another _three_ year implant." I'm never going to live that down, I can tell. But it's not like the whoopsie was all bad, even if having that stupid piece of plastic removed hurt like a bitch.

"Uh..." I stare down into my coffee and chew on my lip. Me and CJ haven't had 'the talk' on account of us not exactly being at it like jack rabbits and I'm not entirely sure that I want to have it now, with company. However... "I don't think I'm going to get one." Everyone pauses simultaneously and I feel all my blood rush to my face. "I mean, not another implant. Maybe something less..." I run my hands into my hair and know instantly that this is going to be one of those days. "So... breakfast."

"Pancakes or bagels?" CJ and I trade amused 'let's not talk about it' glances and shuffle closer together to do a spot of online decorative research. Yeah, that's right. Amelia fuckin' Pearce, looking at paint swatches.

Meredith kicks me under the table and shakes her head in exasperation. Why can she never just leave us alone? "I can't believe I'm saying this again, but isn't there a conversation to be had here? You two always dart around major issues with pancakes and fucking bagels!"

"Yes, there is a conversation to be had..." I take a sip of my coffee and pick at a slice of toast. So not hungry... "But I think it's one we should have in private."

"We're on a boat, this is private." Is she for real?

"I meant just me and CJ, Mer. With all due respect, I'm a married woman. I don't need your permission to pop out sprogs." I wince at my own words, knowing exactly how she's going to take them. "I don't mean because I'm going to right now but... ugh, I give up." My body hurts too much for this. As does my brain. Maybe this is why I've been so weird since my birthday; PMS. Maybe I'll stop being so obsessed with my past now. It's done. Over. I'm not mental. Well... A bit mental, but nothing new.

"More coffee?"

"Hmm?" I blink myself back into the here and now after ungracefully dropping off with my head on CJ's shoulder. He was talking about wooden flooring, I think, and I just completely zonked. I've only been out of bed for an hour, that's just shameful. "Please. Sorry." I hope he's not pissed off. I really am interested in making the new house look great but the different colours of varnish for the floor is man stuff. Brown will do, jeez. I don't need to know how many shades of brown there are. I'm dropping off again just thinking about it.

CJ pours me another cup of coffee and points to his iPad. "What do you think?"

"Do what you want with the lounge floor, CJ, I really don't have a preference."

"No, girl." He elbows me in the ribs and forces me to actually look at the screen. "I've been looking at pianos. We can fit a grand in the studio, no sweat."

"Hold up." Meredith picks her face up from her e-reader app and stares at me like a fat kid sniffing out chocolate. Hmm... Chocolate... "Studio?"

"Home studio. In the new house."

"It's that big?" I'd just assumed that Mer had seen the place. She's going to wet herself. I nod at her and turn my attention back to the pretty amazing selection of pianos. Most of them are Yahama, which is fair enough, but...

"I'd kind of like a Steinway."

Meredith's gaze immediately snaps back up to me. "Aren't they like fifty grand? Isn't that a little excessive for a piano?" She would say that. She can't play the piano.

I don't grace her with eye contact considering her hypocritical outburst. "Says she swanking around in the Bentley worth nearly triple that. But yes, a Steinway. Big. Wood. Not painted."

"Heh, big wood."

"Real mature, Andy." I watch CJ scroll through endless lists of pianos, hoping for something to catch my eye. And it does. But it's not a piano. It's not even on the iPad. It's a very slight line of red around the cuticle of his left index finger. He lays his hand flat, his wedding ring catching the light, and I see the same line on his middle finger, too. Fucking sly dog... "CJ?"

"Yo."

"Do you remember all the times you kissed me when I slept because you couldn't when I was awake?"

"Yeah..." He keeps his head low but I can see his eyes look in my direction from under his mop of hair.

"So you remember how I felt it and used to dream about it?" I bite my lip, trying so hard not to laugh. His hand curls up into a fist and slowly moves away from me. I think he's a little scared.

"Yes, I remember." He slowly tilts his head to look at me properly and I can see how tightly his jaw is clenched. Why does he look so guilty? I'm not pissed, it's actually kind of funny. "I didn—" I silence him with one finger pressed to his lips and stick my bottom lip out.

"Don't stop. But maybe wake me up next time, before or halfway through." He looks me up and down uncertainly like he's looking for a shred of anger but he won't find it. Not in me. Not ever in me. Even at a time when I was really fucking furious with him, I still just wanted him to hold me and make it all better. Nothing he could ever do could make me irreparably angry with him.

Andy and Meredith stick around for lunch, sometimes wrapped up in each other but mostly wrapped up in their separate tasks. They sit side by side but it's almost like they're sat on opposite reaches of a gaping great canyon in the middle of a desolate wasteland. If there'd been an argument I'm certain I'd know about it, so what is up with the distance between them? I swear it wasn't like this when I first came out this morning, so something has gone unspoken.

Strangely, the same problem is reflected in my own relationship. CJ has been quiet and withdrawn for hours, and that's more of a puzzle to me. He won't touch me, barely looks at me and is inventing reasons to not be around me. I haven't felt this far away from him for a year.

"I blurted out 'I love you' mid-orgasm last night," Mer confesses from the driver's seat of her Bentley while Andy and CJ share their usual awkward man hug of farewell. Okay, so something was spoken... "He's trying to get me to say it again and I won't."

"And why not?" I jolt up straight in response to her look of pure evil for leaning against her car. She rolls her eyes at me and cranes her neck to keep an eye on the object of her uncomfortable affections.

"Because I'm freaked the fuck out, baby doll. My parents don't even know I've been banging him for a year and as soon as they get wind, it's going to be repeated conversations about how I can be a kept woman and start knocking out their grandbabies because you have and he's a freaking walking bank." Wow, me being used as a role model. I'm kind of flattered.

I clarify, "I am not a kept woman," and crouch down to sigh at her through the open window. "Just because you say you love him doesn't mean you're stuck with him for life. Just because CJ and I married our first loves doesn't mean you have two have to."

"I'm his first love," she squeaks, turning vermilion. Oh god... She had no idea, did she? "Well then. I'm gonna go, uh... take over the flat pack furniture assembly in your new pad from the gays, and... uh..."

"Mm-hmm." I laugh at her squirming at the idea of having to be confined with Andy and pout unconvincingly. "I love you, bitch."

"Yeah. Enjoy menstruating on a boat without tampons." Damn it! I have a little more than half an hour before I have my appointment with Coops and need to go supply shopping. Fuck it. Last I heard, he had some stone cold billionaire and her mother on his books and rumour has it she is in serious need of psychological help. Apparently it's taken her fifteen years to agree to therapy and the mother is taking every spare moment he has. His time is way more precious than it was when I was fourteen, so I have to stick to my appointments if I want him to know I'm taking it all seriously.

CJ stands stiffly at my side like there's a poker up his arse while we wave the love birds off and honestly, it's grating right on my last nerve. Between this damn flu clogging me up and the apocalyptic disaster dripping out of me, my level of patience is zero and I refuse to spend days isolated here again if he's going to be weird with me. We were supposed to be okay now, not fucking worse than we were yesterday.

"I need the car keys," I sigh, aiming for snarky but achieving sulky. "I'm PMSing like a motherfucker so please, let's not turn this into a debate."

"What? No, you're still sick. I'll go for you." Oh, here we go. Ignoring exactly what I just said...

"I said no debate, Caspian, and to be blunt, I need 'feminine products'."

"So?" Images of CJ scouring the women's hygiene aisle and stroking his chin thoughtfully at the vast selection of products burden my mind and make it hard not to laugh.

"Damn it, if I'm embarrassed to go and buy them I'm hardly going to send you to do my dirty work. Those things go up my snooch, CJ—you'll get knowing looks from the people on the check out and maybe even looks of sympathy. Plus, you know, everyone knows who you are and the world is sick enough to make it a big deal. I couldn't even buy a pregnancy test without it going viral." Admittedly, it was more a case of buying the entire stock of tests, but regardless, my uterine activity is apparently a point of public interest.

"Right. So how is this worse than you sending me into Ann Summers because you were craving banana body paint?" Ah, good times. That was less of a craving and more of a burning need in the middle of an interview. As soon as I got the idea, I had to have it like my life depended on it and CJ knew the cost of deprivation. Delivery within thirty minutes or his wedding ring back.

"To be fair, you got as much from that experience as I did, and I did share." Hmm, very good times. That reminds me, I need to get onto Harley Medical again...

CJ turns around to me when we get to the cabin, face sombre and almost pained. I think it hurts me more to see him look so remorseful than it does him. I remember seeing that look at the _Weak_ video shoot and wanting to squeeze all the sadness out of him. Is he feeling that bad right now? "Do you know what I love about you, Amelia?"

"You mean apart from me being white hot, super talented and good with my mouth?" Totally mean singing...

"Yes, apart from all that. I love that even when your demons stop you from having me, you still want me, and when you're so lost that you feel alone, you still make me smile, and when I fuck up, you still smile for me. You're such an amazingly strong woman. You're a miracle."

CJ leaves with his tail still between his legs having made too many promises to make up for mistakes he hasn't made. It's another one of those times when I feel like being with me makes him miserable and I should set him free. Even when he smiles, it's hollow and lacks conviction. I'm so far removed from the woman he met and I don't even know that it's just because of Delilah. That sounds awful, blaming her, but things changed when she came along. I'm so focused on not fucking up with her because she's a permanent fixture that I forget that CJ could be temporary. He's always going to be in my life to some degree but he has the potential to fade away, just like Lucien. I never want him to become just a memory.

At bang on 3pm, I get my Skype request from the prolific doctor but find myself baffled by his surroundings. The typical stuffy study back drop is traded in for a lavish scene of ivory and beige velvets and suedes and crystal lighting fixtures.

"Where the fuck are you?" It looks like fucking hell on earth to someone like me who prefers my luxury to come in blacks and reds with medieval decorations like a dungeon. The new place will probably look like a house of horrors.

" _The Ground Floor in London."_ Christ, swanky. Seems like the nutty billionaire is pulling out all the stops, I know that it's one of her hotels. Upmarket, expensive and way too dignified for the likes of me. I think they even have those weird state of the art musical bidets from Japan. " _You'd hate it."_

"You've got that right. How goes it?"

" _That's my line but I'm well, thank you. Did you get the cards from Bobby?"_ It really does come to something when my shrink is on a first name basis with my dad...

"You wanna ram right in, huh? No dinner or movie first? No foreplay?" I get that stern 'don't fuck with me' stare I always imagined him using on his own kids and snicker into my shoulder when I duck down to pick the cards up from the table on the deck. This seems as good a place as any to talk and I have a direct view of the dock so I can't get rumbled mid-session. "We should do this with tarot cards, you know. Might be easier."

" _It's not supposed to be easy. Amelia, are you on a yacht?"_ He's in a freaking emperor suite or some shit and the boat is the mystery?

"Yeah. We're going sailing for a few days while the new house is getting fixed up. Oh yeah," I laugh to myself, unnecessarily shuffling the cards. It's insane how much has happened in the day and a half since we last spoke. "Yesterday, I found out that CJ and I met before last year in a totally unexpected chance encounter, got a new house, found out Creedance was illegally registered under the surname Fellows and discovered that the guy I thought was just a friend is actually my brother-in-law. Oh, and I met my father-in-law who, it turns out, isn't even CJ's real dad." I pause to look up at Coops' stunned face before I start building the house of cards. His mouth is open slightly and I can see him chewing it all over. Well, that was a whole truck load of information.

He clears his throat and I hear him ferociously scribbling away on a notepad. " _I need to reconsider my hourly rate... or a career change."_

He doesn't speak while I explain all the lunacy, carefully building up the house that falls down every few seconds. It is kind of freeing to be totally distracted from the many thoughts swirling around but I don't entirely understand why I'm doing it. I'm being more than liberal with my honesty and no topic is taboo with the man who knows my worst moments. But I trust him implicitly. There is method in his madness.

"I'm still pissed that my dad has stuck his nose in and is paying for my treatment. He's trying to overcompensate for things that were beyond his control." If he'd been around more when Creedance was here, he would have had us both out for days on the beach and hung over her every minute. He was smitten and I saw that the minute I opened my eyes in the recovery room, finding him there holding her close with a goofy great grin on his face. Family means the world to Bobby Marsh.

" _Isn't that what you're doing with your daughter?"_ My eyes slide up from the cards to the iPad screen. Am I overcompensating with Delilah to make up for a lack of presence in Creedance's life? I don't feel like I am... Where the hell did that even come from? What did I say to make him think that? Damn it, the cards! I've said something and I don't even remember. " _I'm pushing the boundaries of patient confidentiality here, but you and Bobby come as a package deal. If you're seeing me, so is he."_

"What?" My question comes out as a gasp and the house of cards crumples in my hands. My dad is the most placid and carefree person I know; what's eating him that justifies therapy? Is he just like me in that he puts on a brave front? Is he more knotted up over Cree than I realised?

"Your honesty is contagious, Amelia. Others draw from your strength to reach out. If you're honest with them, they'll offer you truths that they once didn't feel appropriate to reveal—truths that they didn't think you were strong enough to handle. You have the tools to fill in the blanks now, so do just that. Have some frank conversations with the constant people in your life. See what they saw and what they see now."

"You mean my dad and Meredith?" They're the only constant people who were around ten years ago...

"To some extent. All of your friends have seen a transformation and have seen the many levels of you. Who better to give you an outside opinion on how you've either improved or regressed since your daughter arrived?" All right, I can see the logic in that. If there's something I'm doing that I don't know about, I can't fix it unless someone tells me. I'm my own worst critic, but if everyone else sees me as a stronger person I'll know I'm just putting myself down. "Amelia, last time we spoke, you said you don't know what you hope to achieve from reconnecting with me. Do you know now?"

"Sure. I want to be able to put my teens behind me so I can be a good wife and mother. They deserve a better version of me, not one who flakes out into a breakdown without warning."

"Amelia, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that wanting to recover for someone else isn't a good enough motivation. You need to want to change for yourself. You can't honestly call all of your apprehension irrational considering past events. There was an abuse of trust and your husband is pushi—"

I cut him off short with a glare. "None of this is about CJ. I know that I'm safe with him and Delilah is, too. I asked him to push me and he did, to a level he knew I could cope with." If Coops is thinking that CJ is somehow some kind of nocturnal rapist, he's way off base. I know that I'm doing this for him, not because of him. Sure, he's done something that probably should have left me feeling abused and dirty but it doesn't because there isn't a single bit of bad in him. The sex thing is irrational, that much is definite. Coops is wrong. I don't need a relationship councillor.

"So what is this about?"

"Creedance. What Lucien did to me—I can take that shit. I can handle the nightmares and the flashbacks because I wouldn't be who I am now without it. I never would have had Cree. She never would have died. I never would have moved to Birmingham and used music as comfort. We never would have formed the band. I never would have given CJ that CD, and ultimately, I wouldn't have met him with all of the fears and phobias that made us so strong. Theoretically, Lucien's actions made my life wonderful." Though I'm not exactly about to send him a basket of muffins and gift vouchers to thank him. He made my life hell at first but if the butterfly effect theory is anything to go by, if he hadn't done everything exactly how he did, I might not have everything that makes my life good now. Why have I never appreciated that before—that I have, theoretically, such a rich life?

"Why only theoretically?"

Because of the void he left behind... The things he did that made me make mistakes I can never make up for... "Because everything he did affected Creedance. I can't deal with the fact that she died with the memories of her mother's screams and tear stained face, and not the happy picture of a perfect family that Delilah has. I can never make up for the fact that her short life was filled with so much neglect and pain. No matter how hard I try to ensure that Delilah has the strong stable family that I never did, I can never compensate for the fact that the last time Creedance saw my face, I'd just had the shit beaten out of me and tol—"

" _Amelia?"_ I stare down at my trembling hands and shake my head slowly. I can't finish that thought. I could relive all the 'rape' every day but just thinking about never being able to apologise to that baby girl makes me feel violently sick. I could have done more. " _This is an enclosed conversation. Nothing you say will go any further and you know that there is no judgement here. I will talk you through any thing and make you see it di—"_

"I told her that it was her fault." I interrupt his sentence and shrug helplessly. "My last words to my darling daughter were that I only put up with the abuse and indecent demands of my body to be utilised on a whim however Lucien saw fit, because of her. And then she was gone like a granted wish and I didn't have to take it anymore." _Talk me though that one, Doc._

"Words don't kill. She was already very ill at that point. You could have lavished her with unrelenting love but she still would have gone that night."

"I know. But that's her last memory of me."

"So why do you think it's a bad memory? A child lays in her closing moments and hears her mother tell her how she lets a man hurt her just so she can protect her from harm. It sounds more like a devoted mother than a bitter girl looking to place blame."

Tears I can't control drip onto the scattered cards and threaten to wash me clean of a thread from the rich tapestry of misguided contrition I've been weaving for nine years. "I've never looked at it that way before." I can never take away the other bad memories that stick in the back of my throat but if she did die knowing that I had been protecting her, then maybe she might have died knowing that I loved her.

But I can't deal with the displays of 'love' that she saw. She will have watched, thinking it was normal. I saw her sometimes, lying there in her cot staring at me with huge grey eyes that looked so sad and scared. Not even she dared to cry when Lucien was in destruction mode because there was no point. There was no comfort until he was done and gone.

All she knew was fear and a warped perception of normality. She might have even been grateful to die. I never tried hard enough to break away and remove us both from the situation. And I can never forgive myself for that.

# XXXIV

#

#

"Amelia?" CJ creeps across the deck towards me with a carrier bag in one hand and the car seat in the other, and slowly lowers both to the ground when I look up at him with red eyes. I haven't really gotten that upset but the urge to scream hysterically is lurking just below the surface like a fucking sea monster. "Do you need a hug?"

"Yes, please." The familiar and comforting scent of his shower gel, that couldn't possibly smell more delicious on another man, his own musk and the aftershave Erek gave him for his birthday wrap around me like an old friend when he does, teaming up to bolster me and force me to dig deep for inner strength. People underestimate the power of a good snuggle.

"You're allowed to cry, you know." He pulls my head against his chest and murmurs into my hair, "If you need to, you have your place right here to do it. I won't ask why,bbb8 as long as it makes you feel better."

And that's my undoing. The ugly sea monster breaks up through the meniscus keeping a lid on my emotions and forces me to sob the way I've needed to for a long time. The way I never cried when I lost Creedance. The way I never cried when I lost CJ. The two worst moments of my life found nothing but quiet tears in comparison to the horrific banshee wailing of now.

There's a good fifteen minutes of too sad and too angry keening before I still, head on CJ's shoulder, and heave a great sigh. He doesn't seem to care that there's snot and tears soaking his t-shirt or that I beat his chest pretty damn hard when I was screaming profanities. He's done nothing but hold me tight as always. Where was this kind of comfort when I was thirteen? Why was I the one who held the boy who hurt me when he cried when he always left me to suffer alone?

CJ loosens his grip and runs his fingers through my partially wet hair. "So, kinda felt like you just unleashed eleven years of pent up emotion on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Hell, don't apologise. I would have told you to cry a year ago if I'd known you'd be so receptive. I think I've seen Meredith cry more than you."

I pull myself back up to sit straight and grab at the hem of his t-shirt to pull it off him. Well, it _is_ kind of dirty now. His banging hot bod has nothing to do with the leer I can feel on my face. "Bullshit. Mer doesn't cry."

"Bullshit. She cried the day you stormed off the bus at MoHo Live, she cried on your birthday this year _and_ last year before you got up, and she sobbed buckets when you vanished." This is news to me. I've seen her really cry once, the night we found Creedance, and never again since. She tends to do the fit of blinding rage thing instead. "Feeling is healing, girl. If you need to cry, just do it. It's my job to look after you."

"And who looks after you, Mr. Embarrassing Cliché?"

"You do. More than you know." He scrubs a hand over his face and pulls me over to straddle him. I can feel his hands shaking on my legs and he still looks completely riddled with guilt. "About the whole, you know, fingering thing."

My head rolls back and a groan of relief rumbles in my throat. "Thank fuck, is that all you've been moping about?" I probably should have guessed that it was something that simple, but _why_ it's that simple is still a mystery. He grabs my face and pulls it down to look into my eyes, forehead creased in deep contemplation. What the hell is he looking for? Malice?

"You're not mad?" Oh jeez, what?

"Of course not." Wondering _why_ I'm not mad, I brush his hair out of his eyes and think of an elaboration he clearly needs. Anyone would think that he wants me to be pissed off. "A little cheesed that you let me think that I was wanking in my sleep, but I'm definitely not angry about it."

"So I haven't crossed some sort of line?" And suddenly it clicks. I understand why he's so anxious about having been caught. "I feel like I've viol—"

"Don't." I don't want him to finish that word. He's not like that. He's not Lucien. "I don't see it like that. This isn't the same as... It's not the same." And I need to keep pushing that mentality into my mind. Nothing about my life now is the same as it was eleven years ago. This is love, consensual and welcome. Though it doesn't look very much like it's welcome for CJ right now. "Why are you so upset?"

"Because I hate doing it, Amelia. I hate having to touch you when you sleep because you can't bear to be touched while you're awake." I didn't even consider that he might have been uncomfortable and honestly, I'm kind of mortified that he's done something that he wasn't happy with. I know relationships are based on compromise but nobody should be forced to sacrifice their self-esteem. Having been there myself, I know how damning it can be.

"So why do you do it if it makes you feel so awful?"

"Because you need it." His answer is sobering. Is that really what he thinks? That I so desperately need an orgasm to function that he needs to tear himself apart to provide it? "It's how you cope."

"No. Maybe it worked to numb me before, but— ... Not anymore, Caspian." Can I even honestly say that I 'coped' before or was it just a way to mask my real issues? The fact that he met me when I was so damaged has clearly left it's mark and it doesn't sit well that even he can't see I've changed. " _You_ are how I cope. I don't need that stupid mantra anymore. Just you. Besides, I want you all the time. It drives me crazy that I have these mental blocks keeping us apart. Push me, but not at penalty to yourself."

His celadon eyes reflect all the hurt and confusion I was afraid of. He's lost. "You have to tell me how."

"You know how. And doing it while I'm asleep is great but, like I said, wake me up. Let me push myself, too."

"But you always look—" I hold up a finger to silence him and switch on my stage face so he can't see what I'm really feeling. I'm going to push myself whether he likes it or not, and he _will_ like it.

After checking on Baby D's sleeping status and putting her car seat within ear shot, I drag CJ by the hand into the master bedroom of the boat and push him backwards onto the bed. It's too obvious that he's seriously conflicted about being in here with me like this, but I have my own way of getting around it. If he can't see the stage face, he can't object. I tug the bare quilt from underneath him and throw it back over him so I can bunch it up around his waist, building a sort of barrier between us.

"Amelia, no," he says forcefully, but there's something not entirely convincing about it.

"Yeah, I seem to remember you saying something similar in Peterborough last year and I still managed to coerce you." That did end up with me having a panic attack but let's not concentrate on that...

"Please, girl. Don't force yourself."

I poke my head up over the quilt wall and raise an eyebrow. "And I seem to remember the recent issue being that you could see my stage face. Now you can't see it and you're hardly forcing me if you're telling me to stop. But if _you_ don't want me to, just say so." We're caught in an eye lock for a while before he relents and flops back onto the bed with his arms over his face. Anyone would think that I was about to chop it off, jeez.

I head back south and drag his jeans and underwear off, humming _Miracle_ nonchalantly as I work, and give my old pal a salute because I know that CJ can't see. _I've missed you, big guy._ It's not like I don't see it often enough but really, seeing it up close really brings it into perspective. It's like seeing it again for the first time, and yes, despite being confused and resistant, he _still_ has a permanent semi. It's no wonder he only wears baggy jeans.

" _It's not faith if, if you use your eyes..._ "

"Holy shit..." My mouth closes around him and his hips flex underneath me. Yes, this is really a man who didn't want a blowjob. My stage face immediately dissolves away with my apprehension because this is right and comfortable. This is _my_ man and we both want this.

I'd forgotten how good it feels for me when I'm getting him off. Every clench, twitch and purr of approval is a hearty slap on the back and a nudge in the right direction. The flavour of him is better than any nectar I could ever taste and knowing that it's because of me is more satisfying than any amount of orgasms he could inflict on me in my sleep. Every thickening stiff inch of him throbs for me—and only me—because I was the only woman he wanted to be inside. No, there is _nothing_ wrong with our marriage.

" _Get it right this time, let's leave this all behi—_ "

"Amelia?" I pop my head back up and smile sweetly at his flushed cheeks and slightly starry eyes. He smiles back when he sees that it's not a rockstar between his legs, just his wife, and rolls his eyes. "You made your point with the song." He drags the quilt away and tosses it down on the floor so there's nothing between us. _Nothing_ between us. "Stop fucking singing and suck my cock properly."

The pleasantly warm spring breeze rolls across the deck and takes the edge off the heat still beating in from the setting sun bouncing off the surface of the sea. The gentle sway of the waves beneath us and the dock only just in the distance makes the atmosphere abnormally calm and almost blissful. Everything seems a little rosier after a serious necking session with my bang tidy hubby, including him. I think he gets now that I'm not mad at him and never was, and that he should know to trust me to know my limits now. Life has taught me to always say no when I need to and he's seen that often enough over the past three months to know that I _will_ say it.

Either way, CJ seems happy enough with his blowjob and teenagerish make-out binge, and is blatantly staring across the table at my chest.

"You're thinking they need lifting again, right?"

"What?" He tears his eyes away from my cleavage and smiles bashfully. "Actually, I was thinking how fucking amazing your figure is only three months after having a baby. You had some pretty awesome curves before but now... God damn."

"Good answer." I have gotten pretty lucky. The weight pretty much dropped off on account of not really carrying much extra due to the hyperemesis and not ever being big on food anyway, but everything has shrunk back nicely on its own. Well, nearly everything... "And my tits?"

"Your tits are..." He sighs dreamily and pokes his chicken salad around his plate. "Your tits are just great, Amelia. Excuse me while I just eye-fuck you... Oh, nearly... Yeah. That's the ticket." The sterling grin I love fills his face from ear to ear and there's no way to resist smiling back. No matter how hard things get, it always comes down to this: us being hopelessly and genuinely in love with each other to the point of being downright disgusting. Tell me that this isn't a good enough reason to change. "Can I ask you something?"

"Is it about my tits?"

He squints thoughtfully. "No... But they are kind of just looking at me saying, 'Please CJ, won't you motorboat me?'... No, I was going to ask about the whole implant thing." I don't remember ordering 'the talk' as a side dish...

"Which one? The one I didn't realise was fucked before I met you or the one I said I'm not getting this morning? The one that never was or the one that never will be?"

"The one that never will be. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not pushing for maritals but a man lives in hope. So are we talking a Depo jab or two, the pill or something I can buy in a supermarket?" His cheeks flush bright red and I presume it's something to do with his far too extensive knowledge of female contraception.

I put my fork down on my plate and rest my chin in my palm. "I haven't finished eating and you want to talk prophylactics? How about we have this conversation in, I dunno, a year, after I've hung a permanent 'no residency' sign on my womb?" CJ shuffles over to the seat next to me and puts his hand on my belly, which I immediately move up to my chest. _No babies in there yet, mate._

"You really want another one?" How exactly do I get around the issue of not being entirely sure?

"I want what makes you happy, CJ. I know you want a big family and I can't promise that every room in the new house is going to have a kid in it, or that it's going to be easier next time, but I _did_ say I'd meet you halfway. Plus, you know, it makes more sense to get all my puppies bred in one go so I don't have to keep taking tour breaks and..." He's nodding mindlessly, eyes fixed on my boobs. "Do you want to get it out of your system so we can have a grown up conversation?"

"No, I want to get it out of my system so I can tell you that I heard every word you said and eat ice cream out of your belly button."

"Wow."

"Yeah. So..."

I fold my arms behind my head to grant full access for my motorboating, do my best to ignore the 'honk honk' as a parting shot, and shake my head when he makes his way into the kitchenette for _my_ ice cream. It never ceases to amaze me how he can turn a serious adult conversation into something so basic and stress free.

"We're having another baby?"

"Yes, man-child. We are definitely having another baby. Eventually." Maybe having an ultimate goal will work as encouragement to push through this weirdness. There again, it might have the opposite effect. Fuck it, I hate unpredictability. I could really resent CJ for turning my life upside down but he's worth it. Anything is worth it when he's wearing that unspeakably cheeky grin and prowling towards me with Phish Food I know he's going to lick off me with no expectations for me to put out afterwards.

"So, about this flu. You still feverish?"

"Oh baby, you know I burn up like an inferno when you're around. You'd best cool me down."

And that's it. Serious, life-changing conversation over.

_"Oh Mia, sweet beautiful Mia..."_

_"Lucien, it's really late." It's still dark outside. Every time I wake up, I feel sick. What is he even doing here? "I'm really not in the mood. I feel so ill."_

_"That's because you're having my baby, Mia. There's part of me growing inside you. I'll be around forever." Oh god, I don't want him to be around forever. He's gotten so mean recently and I'm sure people are starting to talk. Mum wants to take me out of school so there's no gossip—apparently she's ashamed. But I'm not allowed to tell her that it's not my fault. I didn't do it on purpose._

_Lucien's weight pins me down and makes me feel more sick than before. I can't see much in the darkness, just his eyes twinkling over me. I'm so scared... Sometimes he sneaks in like this at night and cries, but he's not crying now. "You remember what I said about our baby, don't you, Mia?"_

_"No..."_

_"Yes you do. An eye for an eye." His freezing dog tags fall free of his shirt and land on my bare skin, almost burning cold. At the same time, a hand wraps around my neck and starts to squeeze. "If you take a life, you deserve to lose yours, Mia. If you terminate my baby, I_ _will_ _kill you. I'll remind you of this every night if I have to, because you are mine. I'll make sure you never leave me."_

"I'll make sure you never leave me, Amelia..." My eyes open to CJ's nose nuzzling the crook of my neck, hand stroking gently between my legs and that same ice cold burn on my chest. Ems' dog tags. He's wearing them, and the echo of that memory sends an emetic surge through my veins that settles and burns in my throat. Worse yet, if he's got his fingers inside me, that means he's been dealing with something else that should be inside me; the thing stopping me from bleeding everywhere. Gross.

I know that I shouldn't be scared of CJ but I'm totally paralysed and still, staring right into his eyes. He leans over me the same way Lucien did, but he's terrified, too. Caught in the middle of doing something he hates and I'm on the verge of a panic attack. How bad this must be for his mentality.

His fingers slowly slide out of me. "Amelia?"

"Take them off."

"What?"

"Take them off!"

"Take what o—" On impulse, my knee jerks up and makes an unpleasant impact with his groin. I cringe when he jolts back off the bed, landing on the floor with a thud, groaning weakly. "Fucking bitch!"

I scramble up and kneel by his side, hands in my hair. I can't believe I just did that. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did it!" And I don't know why I never did it to Lucien. "It was the dog tags! They made me have a nightmare so I—"

"Kneed me in the fucking nuts?! Jesus!" I've never seen him look so livid. Every time I try to comfort him, he bats my hands away and rocks on the floor, gasping and cursing. "Would you just leave me the fuck alone?"

That's it. I fucked up by trying to defend myself in a situation that posed no danger. My mind is so muddled that I'm hurting people who don't deserve it. But all he had to do was take off the dog tags. "I swear, CJ, it was the dog tags."

"Dog tags? These dog tags? Fine." CJ grabs the chain, yanks it with enough force to snap it and launches the metal discs at my face. "Fucking take them!" The end of the chain catches my left eye when it whips past my head and leaves a searing pain behind. He threw them straight at me. An eye for a fucking eye. If I hurt him, he's going to hurt me right back.

With one hand stuck to my face and Delilah screaming after being woken up by the noise, I realise that I've done this a thousand times before. The very thing I regret and can't take back is repeating again. I can't do right for doing wrong. My whole life is going to become a mass of fruitless apologies to children who deserve better. I'm a fucking failure and all I can do is crawl into the bathroom, drown out the noise with the shower and wish it all away.

My head throbs something mean when I wake up, miraculously tucked up in bed with a glass of orange juice and a bagel on the table next to me. Both sets of dog tags are next to the plate. I don't remember taking them off. I can hear the boat's motor going. Is that it? Are we going home and going our separate ways?

My left eye is sticky and feels like it's full of sand. The more I come to, the more I wish I'd never woken up. Worse than waking my daughter up, I left her crying and hid away from it all, waiting for someone else to take responsibility for her. What kind of person am I?

The deck seems... normal. There's the usual pot of coffee and rack of toast set in the middle of two plates. I can smell frying bacon and there's nothing to be seen for miles around. No CJ though. No Delilah either. Maybe they hopped off at Southampton and left the motor running so I could escape. That's what I'm best at...

It's only been a few hours and I miss them already. There's an empty ache deep inside my chest where they used to be and it drains the life from around it like a black hole. I've been trying my best. Could I have ever stopped this?

"What are you looking so gloomy about?"

"Oh god!" I pounce at CJ with enough force to knock him backwards. He holds a plate of bacon and sausages above his head to stop me from sending it all flying and rubs my back with his free hand. Freshly showered, hair still damp and recently shaved, the man has never looked more gorgeous. "I thought you'd left."

"You didn't look very hard, did you? I was in the kitchen. I could see you standing out here." He brushes my hair back from my face and whines. "I'm sorry. I might have over-reacted with the whole projectile dog tag thing." _You think?_

"I may have over-reacted about everything. I'm really sorry about your balls and I'm really sorry that I left Delilah to cry."

"What? Delilah wasn't crying, girl. She slept all night." I hallucinated crying? I really am a hot mess. But at least CJ doesn't seem to be mad like I thought, in fact he looks downright cheerful. "Andy sent me pictures of the house. It looks great with furniture in it."

"Don't we need to talk?" I can't believe I'm the one saying that and not Meredith, but at least it's not pancakes and bagels this time. Bagels every time. Just sayin'.

"No. I've already figured out that 'the prick' must have had dog tags and that's all I need to know to not wear them again. I can put them on a key ring. But I am going to request that you specify _what_ I'm to remove before you assault me next time." Crap, yeah, I didn't really specify. I think I would have thrown something at me, too. But I maintain that I couldn't control the urge to knee him. It was totally involuntary.

"There won't be a next time. I'm really sorry."

"I know. Me, too. So how about you make it up to me by helping me demolish this pile of dead pig and I'll make it up to you by telling you how sexy you are when you're snarfing down food like a bulimic?"

"You have a way with words. I'm sold." Not entirely sure that I believe he doesn't resent me slightly, but he doesn't really look like he secretly wants to rearrange my face. Obviously I appreciate that he's figured out on his own why I freaked out, but I seriously have to wonder if he's just giving me reasons to not talk about it. So does he not want to upset me or does he not want to know?

"Coffee?"

"Please. Where did you sleep last night?" He blinks at me slowly and shrugs, forking a ridiculous amount of food onto my plate. Again with the filling me with meat. Is this some kind of substitute for not, you know, filling me with 'meat'?

"In my bed wrapped around my wife. I don't like to leave you when you're having nightmares."

"Oh." I don't remember having any more nightmares after I locked myself in the bathroom. As soon as I managed to drop off, that was me out for the count. "How did you know I was having nightmares?"

"You talk in your sleep. You were begging me not to leave." He reaches over and taps my left ring finger. "Not going to happen, girl. I'm going to be around forever." I can't for the life of me fathom if that's a threat or a promise, but either way, I don't think I mind.

It's just the three of us now, out on the ocean for an undetermined amount of time, secluded far from all the bad memories and faces of pain and misery. What could possibly go wrong? Nothing can reach us out here and even our arguments don't last all that long. Anywhere I go, I'm protected by the bubble that exudes from CJ's aura and I'm always safe as long as he's around.

So why is there this big black cloud threatening to burst open looming over us? Why does this feel like the calm before the storm?

# XXXV

#

#

Whose is this baby? She's not mine. I know she came from me but she's not _mine_. A case of mistaken identity. Someone else should have had her. I had an implant, for god's sake, she shouldn't have been here. I didn't plan for her to be here. I grew her but she doesn't belong to me. She belongs to...

She belongs to CJ.

We've been in the new house for a few weeks now and we're making it ours. All of the walls are painted, furniture in place, the studio is nearly finished, and it feels like home. Sort of. Nothing really feels like anything to me right now.

We spent eight days on the boat and it was great. Just me, CJ and Delilah out on the open ocean, miles away from everything. We ate CJ's ridiculously good hearty meals, played guitar under the stars and spent long hours napping together or just watching TV.

But business brought us home. _Meningitis Trust_ have postponed their annual fundraiser and the minute we arrived back in Birmingham, my life fell to pieces.

I saw him. I saw Lucien again. He was standing underneath a huge ad for some majorly over-publicised novel about the seven sins, arms and ankles crossed, under the word 'Wrath'. It couldn't have seemed more apt. Every time I leave the house now, I see him. The same scruffy man with a black knit hat watching me with the piercing blue eyes that used to burn deep into my soul when he was pissed off. Not even the mass of articles calling me and CJ the rock scene's sexiest parents and fan blogs labelling me as a MILF can help the fact that I can feel myself slipping.

It's getting harder to concentrate on anything. Simple things like packing the change bag become a major drama and I kick off at the smallest thing, then I apologise too much and end up in a heap on the floor. I make stupid mistakes and find big chunks of my day disappearing into nothingness. Not even Coops can help. He's suggested antidepressants but understands why I don't want them. They can take away the symptoms but not the cause. I have to stop masking my problems behind any kind of intoxicable haze available.

And even though I'm annoyingly neurotic, aggressive, whingey and stupid, CJ doesn't get irritated with it. When everyone else is telling me to pull myself together, he's hanging just behind my ear whispering sweet encouragements in his patronisingly soft voice like I'm a child. Maybe I _am_ a child—maybe I'm making up for all the ridiculousness I never exercised as a teenager because the reins were too tight. He also hasn't touched me or made any indecent advances since my freak out. I don't think he believes that it wasn't him that caused it and now the area where we lacked is totally devoid. I miss his hands on me...

The plus side of being in the new house is that CJ has his home office. While he's been constantly yammering away to some dude called Isaac who owns _Counterpart Records_ he's been able to keep an eye on Delilah while I 'rest'. The mutant flu has been lingering around on my chest, so between that and the fact I'm sleeping like shit, there has been damn good justification to slip away into our bedroom and have my secret sessions with Coops without interruption. They might not exactly be productive, and the houses of cards might seem more and more pointless by the day, but I don't need quitting on my conscience. If I give up on therapy, I'm giving up on myself and therefore giving up on my marriage. How fucking stupid would that be?

We also have the damned cutest, so far nameless, little husky pup bouncing around the garden who seems to have a soft spot for me. He does spend most of the time chasing CJ back and forth when he's pacing in his office during calls, but if I'm having a 'moment', he curls up next to me until I suck it up. Now if I could just train him to bring me a Jack and Coke with my sympathy...

The down side is that I haven't unpacked any of my shit because I just haven't felt the motivation. There are still stacks of boxes everywhere full of my old junk I kept in 'storage', aka the loft; boxes of memories I won't touch and crap that Mackenzie needlessly had couriered up from Plymouth. School books, childhood toys, all the kind of stuff I need around me like a hole in the head. There's no vocalised pressure to sort through them but CJ thinks I don't hear his scrutinising tuts every time he walks past them. What he doesn't understand is that those boxes are like fucking mimic monsters and I have no idea what I'm going to find in them. They might be a bunch of tattered old teddy bears and scribbles to him but to me, there's so much potential evil lurking in there. Why the fuck did she even need to send them to me? Wasn't __ Mrs. Mott-ing Creedance bad enough?

The worst part of all this is that the daughter I couldn't bear to be away from has become the daughter I can't stand to be around. They say that kids are perceptive, so the irrational side of me believes that she can see all the wretched ghosts of my past lingering behind my eyes and knows all the mistakes I made. She knows that she's a consolation prize because she'll always be my second child. She'll always come first in CJ's world but to me, she can't even begin to fill the void left by the baby I never really knew.

Sometimes I can't even remember what Creedance looked like and that makes me sick. Nobody took pictures of just me and her—every permanent image comes with a backdrop of treacherous family members and one vile abusive bastard.

That's another way I've over-compensated with Delilah. There's a surplus of pictures of her, me and her, her and CJ and all three of us clogging up our phones and iPads. I'm trying too hard and she damn well knows it. Every time she looks at me, her expression is full of judgement and criticisms. " _God damn it, Mother, give up the act and admit that you lack a single maternal bone in your body. You suck at this."_

And she's giving me that exact look now. Her tiny little eyes are locked on mine as I hold her up to look at her, searching for a single shred of myself in her perfect little features. Nothing. She doesn't even have my nose or ears. If I hadn't been at the birth, I might think that he'd brought her from another relationship.

CJ's lips touch my temples briefly before he sits down next to us on the freaking enormous black velvet loveseat we got for the lounge. I pretty much live in this fucking seat.

"She likes you better than me," I grunt, passing her over to him and curling up into a ball like a sulking petulant teenager. She gets my hackles up by immediately smiling at him.

"Don't be soft, girl. Mother is God in the eyes of a child."

"You think quoting _Silent Hill_ is helping?"

"Actually, I got it from _The Crow_. The point I was making is that she likes you better than everything. You're her alpha and omega." I should have guessed that it would turn into some kind of feeble pep talk.

"Really? So why doesn't she laugh at me? I've tried fucking everything." If he says a single word about me having a face like a smacked arse...

He suppresses an obvious laugh and slaps a hand down on my thigh. "Give her a break. She's only four months old."

I reply too bitterly, "She laughs for _you_ ," and twist away from his grasp. Double fucking standards.

"You just haven't found your 'thing' yet. She's a baby. She's fickle. When you least expect it, she'll laugh her ass off for hours at you blowing your nose but won't find it funny again the next morning." I'm not convinced but for the sake of avoiding further clichés intended to appease my piss-poor mood, I nod and pretend to agree. The real issue is that the damn child can see right through me and knows that I'm not 'funny'. I've never been 'funny'. "So, Isaac finally got hold of that Steinway."

"Oh?" I shift around onto my knees, glad of the subject change.

"Yeah, it's coming in a couple of days. But in the meantime, I want to give you something." Sheesh, will he ever stop giving me bloody gifts? He pulls a small black pouch out of his pocket and gives me an uncertain half-smile, the same one I gave him when I didn't know if he'd be miffed about getting an iPad, which he hardly bloody puts down, by the way. "You kind of mentioned this on the yacht, but then the whole—"

"Gimme." I don't need the back story, I just want the damn gift.

"All right." He sighs reluctantly and pulls the strings on the pouch open so two black ball chains fall out, attached to two black plectrums with, you guessed it, _Meet Me Halfway_ inscribed in calligraphic script. Okay, yeah, I _did_ mention this but I'd forgotten about it. "I know what you're thinking. It's kind of too similar to the dog tags." I wasn't, because it's not, but now he mentions it, they are kind of cold to the touch. He fidgets and rubs his forehead like he's about to impart bad news. "I want to... I don't know, try to... ah..."

"Spit it out."

"Can you look at it as, I dunno, a talisman?" He blurts it out and groans at himself, clearly embarrassed, but maybe... "It's stupid, but can you make believe that whenever you're wearing that, I'm protecting you? I have one, too, and so does Delilah. It could be like a family thing. Or if you want them for anyone else so they're protected, too... Fuck!" He buries his face in my neck and whines. "Ignore me. I had an idea that's gotten lost in translation."

"Wow, stop talking." If he stopped for just one damn minute and looked at me, he'd know that I'm actually sort of mystified and humbled by him trying to do something like this. I can tell that he really would have torn himself up over the idea after my freak out and he's obviously trying to do something to set me at ease. Exactly how far can I take this mentality?

"I know you're thinking that they're going to have that whole cold metal thing, but they warm up really quickly, and you said about changing associations on my birthday, so—"

"Actually, I was wondering if this could protect me in my dreams." Looking up to meet his baffled stare, I hook one of the chains over his head and run a thumb over the glimmering silver words. "I love them, Caspian, thank you. And I love the idea and what you're trying to do. We can hang Delilah's over her cot at night or something."

Completely confused by my easy acceptance, CJ puts Delilah down on the seat between us and grabs both of my hands. "Feel." One hand get clapped to his chest, and I can feel the absolute desperation of his movements and too fast pounding of his heart like he's panicked.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, that's just because you're touching me." _Groan... "_ Tell me you love me."

"You know I do."

"Just say it."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "I love you," and feel a very distinct flutter under my palm. Give me a fucking break. "Your heart skipped a beat."

"Yup." His face melds into a smile that would make nuns swoon at his feet. "When you left last year, one of the trainers at the gym kicked me off a treadmill and sent me to a doctor because my heart rate was abnormally low."

"Oh, fuck off."

"I'm serious! You're the reason this heart beats, Amelia. It was only hope that kept me going. I need you like I need oxygen."

"You do know how unhealthy co-dependent relationships are?"

"Yeah, but it's making you smile." He's not wrong. Not sure if that's on account of the heart thing or the co-dependency. If it's the latter, I have an issue to address with Coops later.

"Well spank my ass and call me _Anastasia Steele,_ aren't you a fabulous little amateur psychologist by proxy?"

"Spank your ass? Don't have the paperwork..." What the...? Motherfucker has been snooping on my iPad! Oh no, he's seen my reading list. "Don't read that shit. Your brain will go mouldy." Crap... But what a fucking hypocrite.

With my 'talisman' for protection from the nasties, a bottle of Jack Daniels for Dutch courage and Amanda Palmer's new album for background noise, I rub my hands together and crack my knuckles to prepare for the ensuing battle with my boxes of crap cluttering the hallway. It's been a good excuse to get out of going to Gaby's office for Baby D's sixteen week jabs, something I know is going to ring alarm bells with the martyr-in-law. The fact that I can sense her keeping secrets still stings and frankly, I'm scared that she's going to have Creedance's medical records on her desk ready to bombard me. One drama at a time, just one at a time.

Naturally, Meredith and Andy have come along for the ride and are tearing into the boxes like nobody's business. Their carefree attitude towards my belongings is encouraging but not quite contagious, though there's no denying that it's easier with a support network. So far, there hasn't been much more than heavily graffitied text books, awards for being an awesome student and a bunch of musky smelling plush toys, so hopefully there's nothing too sinister in the boxes from Plymou—

"You might want to avoid this one." Andy and Mer exchange glances and telepathic thoughts before she peers into the box he's holding and nods. "So, I'm going to put this in the car and whack the kettle on."

"Cree's stuff?" They don't need to say anything because their faces are saying it all. I'm glad they got to it before I did and just hope that it was all together in one box. I very definitely can't face that stuff today. "So, on the plus side, I appear to have been totally evicted from the Marsh Mansion of Monsters and hopefully disowned."

"Actually, you've disowned them." Mer shrugs haplessly. "CJ told your mother that if any of them call you again he's going to get his creepy little lawyer on her case for falsi—" She cuts herself off short and busies herself in a box of school reports.

"For what?"

She whimpers and holds her head in her hands. She's obviously said something she wasn't supposed to in classic Cho style. She can't hold on to secrets any better than she can hold on to water with her bare hands. "Falsifying legal documents. The birth certificate." Oh... my god. "He asked me for the number when you came back from Southampton, I honestly think it was to protect you."

"He called my mother? He called __ Liz Marsh, the woman who inadvertently taught me everything she knew about being the world's biggest bitch, and threatened her with legal action if her and her demon spawn didn't leave me the hell alone?" Wow, that is so far beyond the call of duty for a husband that it's almost unreasonable. Someone saner than me might get pissy that he's depriving me of a family, but me? Well... "I have got to start putting out." No idea why he didn't just tell me though.

Andy finds his way back to us with coffee and cookies from a mystery source, cranking up the stereo on his way in at a track called _Do It With A Rockstar_. Somehow, it reminds me of myself, and naturally, that kind of reaction leads to Meredith and I dancing while Andy tries not to. It's one of the rare moments over the past few weeks when I feel like my old self and I just wish CJ was here to see i—

"Interesting..." I spin around on my heels to find him standing next to the boxes holding a faded old photograph. He turns it around for me to see and it's one of me and Mer prancing around in a manner very similar to now. We were twelve then, and it's like looking at a different girl. "This constitutes as unpacking?"

"I love you." Luckily for me, he's as much as a sucker for those three words as I am and is probably just happy to see me standing up and showing signs of life.

"So this is you before... Before." I won't even ask how he can tell. It's obvious from the difference in my face between this photo and the one my mother showed him on my birthday. "Oh yeah, you definitely looked like a hell raiser. I remember seeing girls like you at school when I was thirteen and thinking I'd never score with one outside of a wet dream. I figured I'd end up marrying a library assistant."

"Oh, uh..." Damn it, my secret shame. It was one of the few extra curricular activities available that got me out of classes _and_ detentions. "I rocked the Dewey Decimal System like Elvis rocked jail houses." CJ shakes his head at me slowly and mutters something under his breath. "What was that?"

"I said 'stop being awesome." Liar. "Hey, what's this?" Has he not yet figured out that I know that technique too well?

Undeterred by my knowing glare, he pulls a small glass and chrome case from one of the boxes. It's full of all manner of cheap lip glosses and nail paints in varying colours. Most of them came from cheap gift sets I got from distant family for birthdays and Christmases, so I know some haven't even been opened, but that whole case came with me every time I went to Meredith with a new injury from Lucien.

She would ask what was wrong, I would lie and say nothing, then she'd drag me into her room and pamper me until I stopped crying. Just being around her made me feel better and she knew how to talk to me without prying. She was obviously cut up that I wouldn't confide in her, but she never let on, not until it got really bad after Creedance was born. I figure she knew that I didn't need the guilt weighing me down when I was pregnant.

Mer blinks a few times at the case and sets her mug down on the table. "Christ, I haven't painted your literally bloody nails in ten years. I used to love doing it, that and brushing your hair. You were like a walking Barbie."

"Wow, I feel so objectified." She snorts and rifles through the case until she finds a glittery black nail varnish I used to make her put on me every time. I'm amazed that it's even still useable. CJ excuses himself to feed Delilah and I wait until he's well out of the way before I ask, "What was it like, Mer? What was it like on the outside watching in?"

Her lips blanch from how hard she presses them together, but she unscrews the nail varnish and pulls my hand onto her knee. "It was like watching you die slowly from a cancer. You started off strong and put a brave face on it. Then it started eating away at you and killing your spirit. You became the star student because you threw yourself into your school work, needing the distraction, then slowly but surely you got weaker. It was like someone told you it was terminal and you gave up hope, and for a long time, it was like looking at your small sad ghost. You seemed to be in remission until your birthday, now I'm waiting to watch you die again."

My hand jerks back from her reach and I'm mortified. I'd wanted honesty but was expecting a battle, not something so frank and dark. "Meredith, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She pulls my hand back onto her knee and resumes painting. "Every time you came to me and asked me to paint your nails, I felt like I was a white knight on a crusade to save you. A pretty piss poor white knight, but I was glad that you still came." She looks up at me and sighs, beautiful features pained by memories. "Don't let Lucien beat you, Amelia. We need you. _I_ need you. Everyone lives in hope that if you can overcome everything that happened to you when you were a teenager, then we have no excuse to let the small shit knock us down. You give us all faith and motivation. If you topple, then we're all following you down like a house of cards." She has absolutely no idea how apt that metaphor is.

But it doesn't sit well knowing that everyone looks to me like some kind of patron saint or role model. I'm the last person anyone should be looking to for guidance, especially when it comes to handling their problems. How can anyone possibly say that I survived when I crumble at the slightest reminder of anything painful or run away when life looks too difficult? Rather than tackle my shit head on, I hide until I know how to escape or manipulate it, completely denying the real issues or hidden agendas. Lucien didn't make me stronger, he just set a precedent for future trauma; pretend it's not happening and don't tell a soul. And Creedance, well she just proved that I'm incapable of taking responsibility for my mistakes. Not that she was the mistake, but she was the result and the collateral damage of my naivety.

"I knew. I always knew that something was wrong between you, even before you started coming to me in tears. You couldn't even do your own heparin injections after your caesarean, so there was no way you could have been self-harming. I talked to your dad and he took you to that shrink. He believed that something was wrong and so did my parents. We had the contingency plan to move to Birmingham in place for months, Ams, but we couldn't just take you and Creedance away on an inkling. If you'd told us, we'd have had you both out like a shot, but you denied and denied."

My stomach churns at the recollection of all the times Meredith shook me by the shoulders and screamed at me until tears ran down her face, begging me to tell her what Lucien had done to me. And not once did I ever answer. I just stood there until she exhausted herself and pulled out the nail varnish. I guess I understand why she felt like I was dying. I could just imagine her pampering me on my deathbed in the same ways she did as a teen.

"Why didn't you just tell me so I could help you?"

What answer can I possibly give? That I didn't think she'd believe me? That I was scared of what he'd do to me? That he threatened to take Creedance away if I told anyone? I can see the haunted look in her eyes, full of all the poltergeists and phantoms of standing by helplessly while a man hurt her best friend. Lucien didn't just ruin my childhood, he ruined hers too. And so did I.

My voice is so small that it's barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Mer. I wanted to, I just—"

"Does everyone do it this way?" My school tie is wrapped so tightly around my wrists that it hurts. Everyone always told me that the first time was really romantic and junk, but this is kind of scary.

"Of course they do, Rapunzel. It hurts at first but you learn to like it." Okay, so I definitely heard that.

"And you always have to tie me up?"

"Yes. Ready?" He doesn't give me time to answer before he slaps his belt across my thighs. Fuck, that really hurts. "Don't scream. You're only thirteen, Mial; your dad will kick my ass."

"Okay, okay!" I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and grit my teeth when he does it again. And again. Over and over until I can't help but cry. "Lucien, I don't like it."

"You don't like sex? Are you some kind of freak?"

"What? No, I—" the belt hits me one last time and then I feel a sharp pain down there. It feels like he's ripping me open, but he moves real slow and it starts to get comfortable. Now this part, I really like. His hands run over the welts he left and it stings, but it somehow makes the other thing he's doing feel better. He knows exactly what he's doing and does it really well, twisting us both around until he hits a spot that feels so good. I have to crane my neck and bite my arm to keep myself quiet while I feel myself wind up like a spring, really tight until it gets too good and I—

"Oh god!" What the hell just happened? My head is spinning and body shaking. That felt awesome.

Lucien jumps up to his feet and sits next to me on the bed, smiling in that sexy way he does. "See, that wasn't so bad. And the more it hurts at the start, the more you'll like it after. Now..." He unties my hands and makes me touch him, "... my turn."

"Ams?" My attention snaps back to Meredith and my face heats. Where the hell was my fight or flight instinct when I needed it then? I was misled by his experience and ability, and looked to him for guidance. I wouldn't have jumped off a bridge if he'd told me to because I knew it wasn't safe, but he was my one and only source of information on sex and relationships. I probably should have realised then why there's an age of consent in place.

"I'm sorry, Mer. I thought what he was doing was normal and I was a freak for hating it." If only I'd known how liberating being a freak was back then.

"Why didn't you just talk to me about it the first time?"

"He swore me to secrecy. It got bad after I told the shrink, really bad, because I'd breached his confidence. He punished me for it."

She stares at me for a moment, then reaches for my other hand and nods. "Thank you."

"What?"

"Thank you. For telling me that it's because you couldn't and not because you wouldn't. You've become an amazingly strong woman, baby doll. I know that this is all just a delayed reaction. We're all going to help you through this.

"Whether you like it or not."

# XXXVI

#

#

Most of the junk from Plymouth is condemned to the dump despite CJ's insistence that we have a massive attic where it could all go. I'm trying to look at it as a cleansing—throwing away an old miserable life and replacing it with a happy new one. It's probably delusional to think that I can make it go away that easily but there really is no point holding on to the school tie that used to bind me or the old shirts I soaked when I leaked breast milk. Going back to school after Creedance was born was a big deal for me, but the reminders that I went there engorged just needing to escape aren't. Thank god Mackenzie didn't send the pump...

I've heard Andy and CJ whispering about the 'other' box but I don't know what they're planning to do with it. I have a sinking feeling that CJ is going to look through it for me and put it in easy reach for when I'm ready to deal with it, but I don't think I'll ever be ready. If that box has everything of hers, then it has _everything_ ; the tiny teddy bear I won from an arcade for her, the outfit she wore home from hospital, the blanket I found her wrapped up in... Surely that would push even the strongest person's limits.

It's not until I'm staring at the back of Meredith's head as she climbs into her car to stake out lunch with Andy that I realise I have an appointment with Coops in forty-five minutes. "Fuck!" CJ shouts the same expletive from the lounge. Huh?

"Amelia, I'm really sorry but I have to go out."

"So do I." He paces out towards me, shrugging into a light jacket with a face like thunder. "Why do you need a jacket in May?"

"Potential splinters. It's your piano, it's arrived early." Must not squee...

"You said a couple of days."

"So did Isaac." Ah, that would be why he looks so narky. The guy has been a real pain in the arse about finding the piano, which was bad enough, but now to say CJ has to fetch it... I hope he's not travelling with it. "Will you be okay taking Delilah with you?" _No?!_

"Yeah, okay. I guess..." God, 'my first therapy session'. CJ storms past me like a whirling dervish, bypassing all three cars and breaking into a sprint at the gate, leaving me in his wake staring at his backside clenching in his jeans with every stride. _Oh my..._ Wow, yeah. Have to stop reading that crap.

This, of course leaves me in an impossible dilemma. No CJ, Meredith out at lunch, my dad has dropped off the planet, and my full attention needed to play with cards. That sounds lame, but there is only one perceivable option...

"Are you joking?" Ems splutters at me over a cup of tea, standing in her porch. Desperate times and all. "I have to fetch Leo from nursery at 3pm."

"I'll be back by then, I swear. You know I wouldn't ask unless it was urgent."

"And you say CJ is shifting a piano?" I put my hands together pleadingly and jig on the spot. "Dammit, stop dancing. I'll do it. What's so important anyway?"

"Doctor's appointment," I say slowly, dumping the car seat and change bag down on the floor next to me. I hope the damn thing was already packed when I grabbed it.

"So can't you take her with you?"

"No, it's uh... intrusive." Doesn't get much more intrusive than getting inside my brain. "I'm having a... uh... smear test." Genius.

Ems narrows her eyes at me. "Aren't you only twenty-four?" _Shit_. Not genius.

"Precautionary thing. They do it sometimes after pregnancy." Where the hell did I pick up that factoid?

"Oh, fair enough. I get why you might want your privacy for that. But seriously, I need to pick Leo up at 3pm."

"Got it!" But what I don't got is time to get home through the lunch time traffic. I knew there was a reason for always having a contingency plan...

The loft looks the same as ever but maybe a little bigger for being emptied of my little personal effects like pictures and DVDs. It's still a reflection of the bungalow but with it's own collection of memories, none quite as depressing but some as monumental. There's still a half empty bottle of wine on the table from the last time I was here, on the day we came home from the US tour and shoved all my clothes and make-up in bags to move into CJ's. Obviously I didn't drink any of it, but everyone else toasted a farewell to the place that served them well through our gigs and binges, thinking that they'd never see it again. They won't, but I'm glad that the place is still here for me when I need it, like a reliable old friend.

I get through the door with one minute to spare, giving me enough time to sit down and crack open a bottle of water. Like the boat, my loft is fully stocked for emergencies, and I'm pretty sure that this counts. The corner of the couch still has the well worn dip I made from sitting in it so often and somehow, it feels like I never left. I don't think I'll ever have the heart to part with this place, no matter how quietly confident I may be that CJ is going to make damn sure we're together until our dying days.

Coops stares at me via iPad from the comfort of his archaic Plymouth office and looks almost relieved to see me. The steady tick-tock from the grandfather clock is a direct echo of all my memories of him and the return of the tweed suit is a firm reminder that he is a 'professional'. _You're seeking 'professional' help, Amelia. You are officially that whackadoo._ I might buy him a pipe to complete the picture.

"What's up, Doc? You're home. Miss Moody Moneybags finally released you?" Seriously, it's hardly fair that someone so blatantly uninterested gets to flash her cash and monopolise his time. It's not something I'd even dare to try.

"Oh, don't," he groans, rubbing both hands over his face under his glasses like a man truly tormented. "Four weeks, Amelia. Four bloody weeks. I almost forgot what my wife looks like. Please tell me you have good news."

I blurt out, "I have a talisman," and shrug. Neither of us are really sure why that's relevant but I fish the plectrum out of my t-shirt and explain CJ's notion. "So it might be kind of a dumb idea but it made me smile."

"Call me a sentimental old fool but I think you have a rather special man there. I really do think that you may benefit from—"

"No." I know what he's going to say and it's not happening, just like it's been not happening for four weeks. "I'm not telling him, Doc. I don't want him to get a complex and think he's somehow causing me to regress. I had Meredith paint my fucking nails; I'm acting like a damn teenager again, but it's nothing to do with him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Please stop trying to find fault in him because he has none. Okay, maybe he cares too much and doesn't force me to confront anything but..." He looks at me knowingly and it's a harsh slap to knock some sense into me. Okay, fine, he's too afraid of upsetting me to make me talk through my feelings with him, but— "Shut up. He's not keeping me sick." He appreciates that I'm fragile and doesn't want to exacerbate that, but he's not doing me any harm. Is he? Dammit, I haven't even got the cards out and he's talking me back on myself.

Coops scoffs at me and stands up, carrying his iPad with him to the Table of Psychological Refreshment, as I have now dubbed it. " _You're not 'sick', Amelia. You're adjusting to a life that hasn't suited you before. And you_ will _adjust."_ And he says it with such conviction that I dare to believe him. With enough time and dedication, I'm going to find the strength to vindicate myself for everything that happened to Creedance and put blame where it belongs. Rationally, I know that I couldn't have done anything then and there's nothing I can do now, so why is it taking so long to hammer that into my mind? _"So, have I missed anything else since we last spoke?"_

"I had my frank discussion with Meredith."

" _Oh really?"_ He looks pleasantly surprised that I actually took his advice. I guess it is a novelty considering how many times he used to tell me to talk to my dad.

"What did she have to offer?"

"An outside opinion, just like you said. I always thought Creedance and I were the only victims of Lucien, but it seems that she got caught in the crossfire too. She watched him destroy me and did as much as she could to help, but could never help enough. I think she thought that I didn't _want_ to tell her and questioned why, and felt shit about it for a long time. I wasn't exactly keen on her saying that everyone looks to me as some kind of inspirational figurehead though." The poster child for alcohol abuse and self-delusion, maybe.

"I can't say that I blame them. You take every day as it comes and power through, doing whatever necessary to keep on your feet but having the strength to admit you're suffering when you're down, even if you do only disclose that pain to a select few. And despite having what some might call a few very good reasons to resent humankind, you're still compassionate and thanklessly selfless."

"That's stupid. I'm the most selfish person I know. I ditched my daughter with my sister-in-law so our session wouldn't be interrupted."

"And you didn't want to be interrupted because..."

"Because I don't want to be a fuck up any more."

"Because?"

"I have a family who deserve my full attention and sanity." Huh, well, he's got me there. Coops nods to himself with a self-satisfied grin plastered to his face, like he's mentally patting himself on the back for making a minor breakthrough.

"Every seemingly selfish thing you do has a selfless motivation, Amelia. I can assure you of that. Consider it next time you think that you've done something shallow and superfluous."

We cut our session short by fifteen minutes, partly because he's exhausted from travelling and partly because I needed to relinquish Emily of her auntie duty. After helping her with the nursery run, I spare some time to drive around Birmingham and revisit all the old significant places from the past nine years.

The Cho residence still looks as upper class and stiff as ever, bordering on unbearably stuffy, but I know that the outside is a façade. I remember walking in through the front door for the first time, the day of Creedance's funeral, and being slightly taken aback by the atmosphere.

Unlike my home in Plymouth, there was no air of oppression and it wasn't decorated like a Georgian manor. Families in our despicable little commune were forced to conform to the same kind of white collar stereotype to be truly accepted. If that meant treating your home like a seventeen-hundreds Devonshire laird's property, you damn well did it because nobody wanted to be the outcast.

Unfortunately for the Marsh's, I became that outcast when I disgraced the quiet society with my brash attitude and early introduction to motherhood. I effectively became a pox on Cawsand, and the only way the other obnoxious parents could be sure that their daughters wouldn't be influenced by my roguish behaviour and still socialise with my mother was to segregate me completely, practically denying my existence. Everyone was happy to pretend that Creedance was Mackenzie's, because it was one of those times and places where you took everything on face value and never interfered with another family's business.

The Cho's weren't like that. They still welcomed me into their home and made sure I ate properly when my own family stopped caring. Dad was an outcast, too, so he distanced himself as much as possible. His long hair, unorthodox appearance and what I can only presume was a sudden appearance into the area made him an undesirable outsider, but he was as welcome as I was with the Cho's, and far more at ease in the company of his Asian friends. When he wasn't around to make sure I was okay, they were.

When they broke free of Plymouth, their true individuality shone through. Our new home looked like Heaven to me, all cream walls and traditionally Chinese with lanterns hanging in alcoves and vivid red splashes spotted around. Shoes lay in a neat row by the door to be traded with slippers on arrival, a concept so novel that it took me several months of, "Aiya, Amelia!"'s to adjust to. For the first time, I felt like I had a family, even if not by blood, and it tore me up for years that I couldn't have had Creedance there.

I miss the Cho's. Meredith doesn't really honour her heritage much beyond her deep respect for her parents, who might just be the two most awesome people on the planet. To know now that they were looking out for me for so long... God damn, why didn't I just say something about Lucien then? I would still have my baby girl, but maybe not my band, friends, Delilah and CJ. Jesus, what a catch twenty-two. Why couldn't there have been a way for me to have it all? Is that really so much to ask?

The natural progression of my reminiscence leads me to the college I flunked, bars and venues we've played at, university, and the bungalow. It's already been sold, which is really no surprise. From an outsider's view point, the property is amazing and nobody else will feel the poltergeists that live there. Part of me had expected CJ to keep hold of it though, like I have with the loft, but I guess he has plenty of other places to escape to should he never need to. Not that escapism is his style. He didn't let me do it either, for a brief period. He was always chasing me and never letting go, but now it's almost like he's letting me keep a head start. I don't understand why he's taken a step away and I wish he hadn't. I need him to not be afraid of me.

Coops is right. CJ is holding me back.

He calls me, and it's not until he does that I realise I've been driving around for two hours and Delilah has slept the whole time. I almost forgot she was with me.

" _Where are you?"_ He's not hiding his concern well by depriving me of an appropriate affectionate greeting.

"Would you believe a McDonald's drive through?" In the absence of a baby carrier or pushchair, I didn't fancy hauling the car seat through the city and opted for a close alternative. Well, a girl has to eat.

"Oh... Okay, that's cool. Bring me home a Big Tasty." Please? "Please." Oh well, all right.

"Is that my new nickname?" I can feel his grin across the line. That might just catch on. "Anything else, sire?"

" _Just you two home safe."_ Drama queen. It's not like it's a rough drive back.

Needless to say, I get some weird looks circling back through the drive through a second time and they probably think I'm bulimic or something. Naturally, someone asks for an autograph and some cheeky chick asks if CJ is 'hung like buffalo'. I obviously can't lie, so I'm just about to elaborate when something catches my eye. Or rather someone. Three fucking guesses.

"Uh, sorry to be rude, but can we get a step on the cow carcass? I sort of have a stalker in the crap car over yonder."

"What?" The poor girl looks at me with big freaked out eyes and glances around the car park. "Do you need me to call the police?"

"Fuck no." Could you imagine _that_ interview? That would have to be worse than the whole blackmail thing at _RAE_ last year. "Let's just make this real discrete and quick." My line of sight flickers back to him when I slowly move to grab my phone and I swear I see him grin at me. The flash of teeth sends a chill through me and proves to me that it's him. I'd know that sneer anywhere because I saw it so often before I was about to get slapped around. He enjoyed me stepping over his arbitrary lines that I could never predict or anticipate, and now he enjoys seeing me recall those moments with a knot in my stomach.

But who can I call right now? Really? All hell will break loose if CJ finds out that Lucien is back on the scene and I have no idea how far he would take that kind of hatred. And then I'm going to be forced to explain that I've been seeing him around for weeks and everyone will get fucked off with me keeping secrets again. Then I'll have to admit I've been talking to Coops and then... fuck, yeah. This has Armageddon written all over it. But I'm not stupid enough to lead him right to my door. I need something ingenious. Something inspired. Something... stupid.

"Marsh residence." Bingo.

"Wills, it's Amelia. Put the phone down on me and I'll tell Mum how you took a buggering from the PE teacher because you were 'confused'." Between the aptly monikered 'poisonous lesbian bitch troll' Mackenzie and the closet Boy George fanboy, Liz Marsh might just keel over and die at finding out that she's less the mother of the archangels Gabriel and Raphael, and more the creator of Sodom and fucking Gamorrah. She's sick enough to disown them and cut them off financially for being gay, so if he can resist that threat...

"I'm listening." Hah!

"You listen to me, William. Your creepy fuck up of a pervert best friend is stalking me, but you know that already, don't you? Call him and tell him to stop following me home. Like right now. I'm a reckless driver, Wills, and I have Delilah in the car. I could put us all in intensive care by accident, could you fucking imagine what I could do on purpose?" I make my threat calmly but my hands are shaking and inside, I'm seething.

"You wouldn't risk your daughter's life over Lucien."

"Wouldn't I? I've done it once before. I have no qualms about him having another child's life on his conscience if I'm lying in the plot next to her. Do you want to take that risk?" The line immediately goes dead and tears break free. What the fuck is karma going to do to me for using my baby girl's life as a bargaining chip? What the fuck is wrong with me for saying it? My heart pounds and mouth dries, teeth clenched so tight that they might snap. _Pull away, Lucien, just pull away._

In the rear view mirror, I see the prick answer his phone. Delilah starts to cry and it's like she's afraid. Afraid of me, afraid of what I can do. Afraid of life, death, darkness, pain, sadness. Never seeing CJ again, no dreams beyond four months, meeting her maker, meeting her sister, no more sing-songs, no more daddy smiles, no light, no life, no prospects, no dreams—a never-ending spiral to a premature end and the eternal resentment that I took her there because I was too damn gullible eleven years ago to know that Lucien would ruin my life forever. We're going to die in this car. We're going to die and it'll be all my fault for tempting fate. Another daughter's blood on my hands...

"Amelia?" I remember nothing until I'm sat in the car on our driveway, knuckles blanched from my grip on the steering wheel, chest heaving and Delilah screaming full bawl in the back. I was lost to panic and perpetual blackness but apparently still found my way home safely. How is that even possible? "Fucks sake, baby doll, say something!"

I simply gasp, "Panic attack," and let my head flop forward between my hands. One strays to the McDonald's bag on the passenger seat and shoves it in Meredith's face. "Take this to CJ and don't say a word about this. I just need a minute."

"Ams..."

"Please." I unclip my seatbelt and crane my neck to look behind me. "Tell him I need a bottle making up. I left in a rush earlier so she's starving. I promise, Mer. Just one minute." Scrambling through the gap in the front seats, I sit down next to the car seat and release the harness to pull Delilah out. Her poor little face is cherry red and tear tracks mark her cheeks. "My god, I'm so sorry," I apologise profusely and hold her tight against me. Despite everything, she stops crying with my comfort and when I look down at her, she actually smiles. I gambled her life for an escape and her love is so unconditional that she doesn't care. Something so reckless and stupid, but she's okay just because she's in my arms. Why?

My heart aches for how freely she can forgive me. Was Creedance the same? She never stopped crying when I held her, but why? Was she less tolerant, more emotive, or did she feed off my misery? Could she, after everything that happened in front of her, possibly have loved me enough to offer the same absolution?

I never saw Creedance smile. Not once. Another piece of her that was taken away from me. Did she even know that she was mine or did she really think that Maccuntsie was her mother? Was I some kind of mixed up sister to her or did we have some sort of innate bond I should have nurtured? So many more questions I'll never have the answers to...

" 'Sup, Big Tasty?" A baby bottle appears in front of my face through the door I didn't realise had opened and Delilah makes the eager little grunting noises that come with the 'feed me now!' look. She looks like nothing ever happened but how will this impact her life as she grows? Will this be her first memory? Fuck—in the grand scheme of things, I don't know jack shit about psychology after all. Information is great in theory but useless if you can't put it into practice. I have to make a point of looking back through my assignments about childhood amnesia, though I'm sure the point of early trauma affecting personality later on is still debated. Even the pro's can't help me now.

CJ dips down to look at me, mouth full of masticated burger, and somehow still looks sexy as sin. "You okay? You look frazzled. Was it the screaming in the back seat while you drove?" Not even going to get into a conversation about poor manners. I know what he's eating, I don't need to see it.

"Something like that." I shuffle out of the car, caught by the elbow for a helping hand when I need it to stand up, and lean my head against his shoulder. Sometimes I wonder if he has some kind of narcotic seeping through his pores because just that basic closeness is so calming. "Can we talk?" We need to close this distance between us before it gets too far to jump.

"Later. You need to see something." Not really interested unless it's at the bottom of a bottle, but for the sake of avoiding an argument, I let him lead me into the house and through to the studio. Wow... this, I do not need.

The whole band, with the obvious additions of Andy and Levi, have assembled and are standing shoulder to shoulder like a firing line. Where to start...

"Now, I know you ordered a piano..." CJ stands in front of them all, bright eyed and excited like the puppy bounding around outside. "But I got you _the_ piano."

"What are yo—" They part like the Red Sea and expose me to the most amazing Steinway grand piano I've ever seen. It's _The Ruby_ , solid varnished Macassar ebony like I asked for, but it's edged with paler wood around the seams and the sides are decorated with a stunning industrial-type motif in fine gold etchings. It's unique—it has to be. Caspian Jonas Pearce strikes again. "Holy shit."

"I couldn't let you have something standard, girl. Bobby has been in London overseeing the customisation to make sure it's perfect." That's where the old coot has been hiding? Has he been seeing Coops down there?

"It _is_ perfect." And I don't deserve it. I don't deserve anything so thoughtful and generous when I'm such a selfish person. Where is the so called selfless motivation in this scenario?

"Hey, don't cry." CJ edges me back to a huge squashy chair and levers me down like he used to when I was massive and pregnant. "Don't you like it?"

"I love it—I love you. I just... You do too much for me. I can never offer you anything like this, and even if I could, I wouldn't know where to start."

"You wrote a song about me. You had my baby. You..." He squats with his hands on my knees and runs his fingers down my arm holding Delilah. "You came back to me after seeing me have sex with another woman, Amelia. Regardless of circumstances, if I'd been in your position, it would still drive me crazy every day." Why _doesn't_ it drive me crazy? Does thinking about me with Jason get to him? Is that our problem? "I thank my lucky stars that you loved me enough to believe that it wasn't my fault. A piano doesn't even come close." Good god, is he still feeling bad about that? It's definitely time he stopped blaming himself for me seeing something he couldn't control. It's not like he told her to. Wait... is this another parallel? "Now what do you say we get these boxes unpacked and get your studio finished?"

"You don't want me to play?"

"Yeah but you're feeding the munchkin and the guys are here for a reason. You're going to sit there while we unpack these last boxes and turn this room into The Bystander Effect's personal studio. You're not playing that piano until this room is perfect." He sticks his tongue out at me and springs up like a jack-in-the-box, clapping his hands together and rallying the troops like an army drill sergeant. Suddenly, I understand why he's so successful in business. He clicks his fingers and everything falls into line without pause for thought. There's not a single person around him who doesn't hold the utmost respect for him, and when he says jump they say how high, but not through obedience. It's because they know that he's going to lead them the right way.

"You need to do that with me." Oops. I just kind of blurted that out, didn't I?

He spins on his heels to look at me and my words get stuck in my throat for a moment. I only just noticed that he's gotten a hair cut and he looks exactly like he did the day we met, yet somehow, he's a completely different person. I'd still do him some serious damage given half the ounce of bollocks required.

"What?"

"Boss me around with your no nonsense approach. Treat me like you used to, like you did after the whole... cooker thing. I'm not made of glass, CJ. You need to give me a kick in the pants and make me start doing stuff I don't want to."

"She's right." Meredith pulls a face, seemingly embarrassed to have interrupted. "Ever heard of flooding, CJ? It's used to treat phobias sometimes. You immerse someone in a 'traumatic' situation and offer nothing but methods of relaxation. The adrenaline only lasts so long, so eventually they have to realise that the situation is safe. I mean, bitch face over there has her complexities about the long term affects, but she has your talisman thing, so..." She shrugs and, my god, she might just be onto something.

"It could work," I say quietly, a little disheartened by CJ's look of total disinterest. He doesn't want to help me that way. He wants a plan B. "But if you're not happy with it—"

"Do you want me to?" Not when you're looking me like that.

"No. I need you to."

I don't get a response to my plea, just looks of encouragement from everyone else as CJ despondently paces the studio, hanging our platinum discs and an assortment of photographs from magazine covers and live shows. It's strange seeing myself like that again; thrashing around, angst-ridden and manic, and what I thought to be happy. I miss the feeling of relief when the stage fright dispersed and the self-worth that came from seeing the Amelia Marsh appreciation signs poking up from the packed out crowds. I'd stand out there and give it my all, rocking all my tattoos and spunk like a tearaway rebel.

"You miss it," Levi winks at me knowingly, eyes skimming the newly embellished walls. "You were a legend."

CJ scoffs, "She's still a legend," and it's assuring that the first thing he's said in an hour is a compliment. "You could still tour. Or, you know, gig on occasion. Break Baby D into the world of rock early—take ear defenders. I can drive the bus again and hang backstage with her, then drive us all home while you guys get trashed like old times." What a ridiculously great pipe dream he has going there but I'm a little worried to be actually considering it. A baby on the bus for weeks at a time? It'd never work. Would it?

"I like it." Erek spins a pencil around his fingers the way he used to with drum sticks and nods his head towards the brand new kit, itching to christen it. "Wanna see how the little lady reacts?" I glance down at Delilah drooling quietly on my lap. I guess she's got to learn some time...

"Hell yes." Propping her up on the seat, I make a lunge for my guitar but get stopped by a hand.

"No."

"What?"

CJ shakes his head at me and steers me by the shoulders until I'm plonked down on the piano stool. "Okay, now you can play. And I say you play..." He takes a step back and sticks a hand into the only remaining box in the room. Someone had the sense to label it 'CDs', unlike all the others that were pot luck. "Track seven of whatever CD I pull out of this box." Interesting.

I cringe when his hand emerges with a Status Quo album. "Oh god, that's my dad's!" I can't even explain how it's in with my stuff and I'm mortified that it is. "I swear it's my dad's."

"The lady doth protest too much. Track seven— _Rocking All Over The World._ Chop chop." Ah jeez...

There are very distinct memories of my dad hollering this song when we first moved into our own place in Birmingham. On my sixteenth birthday, I walked into the kitchen to find him trying to make me pancakes, shirt unbuttoned and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He had all the best intentions in the world when he started life as a single dad but he was such a shit cook. I laughed for the first time in years and asked if I could drive us somewhere for breakfast. He almost let me. Through the tears in his eyes and probable feelings of inadequacy for not being able to make me something simple to eat, I think he was just happy to put a smile on my face. I just wish he'd seen more of Creedance before she died. "All right, you've got it. Cheesy rock coming up."

The piano is a dream to play and has a rich sound like honey dripping through rose petals. Okay, that's a disgustingly poetic description, but it should be a pretty good indication that I fucking love it. Some pianos have keys that feel wrongly spaced or too stiff, but this is just... perfect. It's like my soul mate in piano form.

We don't sound too rusty and disjointed for being out of practice, and the sound echoes around the room like a chapel. I can see a lot of music coming from this room. _Finally!_ A distant glimmer of hope in my life. Music has helped me once before and carried me to CJ, as long as it doesn't carry me away from him and he keeps smiling at me like he's still got a backstage pass to party with his favourite band...

"Stop tickling Delilah, CJ. It's distracting." All I can hear is her chortling away which, while it might be the best sound in the world, is kind of a kick in the balls when my mood was improving.

"Not guilty." He appears next to me and he's not even holding her. Okay... We all shift around to look at her still propped up on the chair and Plato and Erek gush behind me at her huge grin. _Look out, Africa_. "I think you'll find she started laughing when you started singing."

"Wow, tough crowd." I roll my eyes in disbelief and wave a hand to make CJ bring her over. Looking her dead in the eye, I open my mouth, pause, then sing, _"Here we go, rocking all over the world."_ And she laughs. "Well, god damn." All I had to do was the thing I do best, the one fucking thing I never tried. I opted for sock puppets, stupid faces and toilet humour rather than singing. Shit me.

"See? She thinks you're awesome. You found your 'thing'."

"That I did."

"Gonna cry again?"

"Yup."

I love my man. I love that he always finds a way to make me smile in my darkest hours. I love that he takes what I say on board and pushes me forward. I love the growls he makes when he's turned on and the way that, given the chance, he holds my head with both hands and kisses me like I've been plucked straight from the Tree of Knowledge Of Good and Evil—a comparison he made once before and it made me weak and needy for him.

I loved the way he tore my clothes off like a savage and took his time reacquainting himself with my body in ways I've prohibited over the past four months, and seemed like he was discovering me all over again. His heated skin against mine feels like it never left and not even that aluminium plectrum against my skin registers as sinister. I am safe here, and so lax that nothing else matters. I love my husband, my protector. My world.

"Oh god, please stop!" He jumps back as quickly as he did when I kneed him in the nuts and pulls me onto his lap to envelope me in his arms without delay. We were there, so close. I felt him brush against me and instantly that ease drained out of me and threw me into a merciless fear. The fact that he moved so fast says so much, says that he will never selfishly take from me. But I _need_ to give. "I'm sorry. Please, let's try again."

"No, girl. It's okay, we'll try again another night."

"No, CJ! Now!" I shove him backwards and grope around in the darkness, but he grabs me by the hips and holds my lower body aloft. "Dammit, Caspian, let me do this."

"I don't want to."

"Fuck that shit, this isn't about you!" Horror smacks into me like a speeding train. Did I seriously just repeat something that was once said to me? Is being a rapist contagious? Just when I thought I might be making progress, I had to go and fucking sabotage myself, didn't I?

CJ shouts after me when I run out of our bedroom and lock myself in a guest room. What the hell is the point of trusting him when he can't trust me? I can't even trust myself.

Who the fuck am I?

# XXXVII

#

#

In the spirit of following bad examples, I took a leaf from the balky billionaire's hefty book and drafted Coops in for some intensive therapy after my strange little brush with aggressive sexualism. Oddly, he seemed more than happy to indulge me and agreed to Skype me every other day. Unfortunately for me, after four weeks of backwards and forwards to the loft I'm not supposed to have, I'm running out of good excuses for babysitters, and we're not exactly getting anywhere fast.

We've clarified that my outburst was done in desperation, not malice, and that I do not have some kind of latent tendency towards sexual assault. It took a week of me insisting on sleeping in a guest room away from CJ before that stupidity was hammered out of me.

But what we haven't clarified is why I'm still panicking at the first sniff of sex. CJ is still begrudgingly chugging away at the flooding concept but to no avail. Coops has suggested anti-depressants again several times because I know it's irrational, but frankly, I think it would insulting to CJ to imply that I need to be higher than the treetops on Prozac to get down and dirty with him.

Every failure knocks my mood around and sometimes I don't talk to anyone for the whole day between appointments. Often, I find myself staring out across the garden, make-believing that things are different. I see visions of Creedance all grown up, playing with the puppy we eventually named Bandersnatch. Would I be happier if I had her instead of everything I have now? Would I seriously trade all of this in for a second chance? I don't even know.

Meredith is making it a weekly habit to take me out to lunch and paint my nails. On the plus side, I've stopped biting them, but she's adopted some kind of aggressive 'fucking talk to me' philosophy that involves me having to talk to her about Lucien. She thinks that's the problem—that I'm reeling from the abuse. But I really don't mind talking about it to her now I'm allowed. It's kind of freeing, actually, and her face is an endless source of amusement. Sometimes she looks totally horrified but others she looks downright turned on. At least I know what's gone on if she or Andy turn up with mystery injuries. It's never going to be domestic abuse between them because she doesn't have the heart to lay a finger on anyone and he's too scared of her, so as long as they enjoy it, who am I to judge? I've done enough covert internet research over the past couple of months to know that there is some biology involved, and even the most violently sexual BDSM relationships carry a duty of care, consent, respect and affection.

There was none of that when I was with Lucien. No limits or safewords or that shit, so I've stopped dressing it up as him having some kind of fetish or quirk. He liked beating the shit out of me. Nothing more, nothing less. The sex was just some kind of platitude so I never realised at the time. When it was at the point of being too much, I was too scared to do anything about it. Things couldn't be more different now.

But I've never felt more alone. In a room full of people, there's only me and my mind working overdrive. Nobody understands why I feel so low. Nobody asks the right questions or gives me the right answers to my own. Nobody can tell me how to make up for all my failings as a mother to Creedance, or nudge me in the right direction. I don't know that there will ever be a way and I can't forgive myself.

"Again?" As expected, Ems doesn't look too bloody happy about me rolling up on her doorstep. It's a sure-fire bet that when she found out I was marrying her little brother, she didn't expect to be seeing me more than she sees him. "Why this time?"

"CJ is working, Mer is visiting her parents, my dad is in the studio and I... I have another appointment. Please, Emily," I hang my head warily and lean against the wall next to her front door, "I can't miss this."

"Is this about your smear test? Did they find something?"

"What smear test? Oh!" Crap, I really need to keep track of my bullshit better. There are too many white lies flying around in all directions. "No, that was fine. This is... uh..." _Come on, come on... "_ Acupuncture."

"You hate needles." _Fuck it!_

"Yeah I know, but I'll try anything once!" Forcing a laugh, I make a hasty retreat to the car before she can interrogate me further. Acupuncture? Fucking acupuncture? Why not dentist? Optician? I'm kind of ashamed of myself. I definitely need to keep some sort of note of what I've told people.

Coops already has his cup of tea ready when his face flashes up on my screen and it's already obvious that he's got his game face on. His tie couldn't be done up any tighter and he looks totally ready for a wild ride on the Amelia emotional rollercoaster. What the hell is in store for me today?

"All right, Amelia," he says too quietly, "let's talk about Delilah."

"Why would we talk about her?"

" _Cards."_ It's almost like he's annoyed with me and I have no idea why. Is he getting sick of me making no progress? Has my dad stuck his massive conk in my business again? Sagging back slightly, I pick the first two cards up and set to work. It's got to be a good ten minutes before he says another word. " _How do you think losing Creedance affects your relationship with your daughter?"_ Being nervous makes me aware enough for that question to get my back up.

"It doesn't."

"You're not concentrating. We've been doing this for two months, Amelia. How many more do you want to feel segregated from your family?"

"I—"

"Concentrate. Please."

I lean back into the couch, nestling my hands in my lap, and shake my head at him through the two level high house. I can't stand this, getting nowhere. I'm not fourteen any more and this doesn't work. "I can't build these fucking houses anymore, Doc. It's not like I'm even getting better at that. Just talk to me like any other client. I'm so sick of being the exception to the rule. I might have been any other young mother if Creedance hadn't died. I might have been blessed with 'normality'. I want that."

He stares at me hard, eyes flicking side to side like he's reading me. The space between his brows tightens and wrinkles, then finally, he takes off his glasses and reaches for his mug. " _Okay, Amelia. Do you enjoy motherhood now you're getting the full experience?"_

"No, I hate it." His eyebrow twitches at my confession. "I hate being responsible for another human being in a capacity that I already know I suck at. I mourn the mistakes I made with Creedance but find them mirrored in Delilah. CJ is a loving father unlike Lucien, but that doesn't mean I'm a loving mother."

" _Do you love her?"_ I need to seriously consider that. Of course I love her unconditionally, like I love the family I hate, because you just have to. But I don't look at her with rose tinted glasses or marvel at all that she is like CJ does. Why not?

"Sometimes. Every time she does something to make me smile, it makes me think of all I missed about Cree. I don't know if it's quiet resentment that she has it better or if I'm just too scared to get attached. So much history is repeating itself. I think I'm waiting for something to go wrong because I'm fucking up again."

Coops' chest heaves on a huge sigh. "You really do think that you could have prevented Creedance's passing, don't you?"

"Yes. I could have at least tried harder. A good mother would have given her life up for her child."

"You did give your life up, Amelia. You call the past nine years 'living', haunted by nightmares and permanently scarred? So you didn't scream from the rooftops that Lucien raped and beat you, and your family didn't bury you instead. But you sacrificed everything you could and you know that if you'd been aware of the negligence, you would have stopped it."

So maybe he has a point. Maybe I took a lot of shit because he made threats of taking her away from me and I didn't trust him to look after her. But by doing that, didn't I keep her in a dangerous place? We were both damned either way. Unless I'd told Meredith... "I could have— _should_ have spoken out. If I'd told Meredith, we'd both be safe and happy."

"But you might not have the wonderful family and friends you have now."

"I refuse to accept the fact that losing my nine month old daughter was just a bridge to a brighter future. That's fucking depraved." And I can feel my blood starting to boil. Any suggestion that she was just born to die is disgusting. No child deserves to be stripped of life to benefit someone else. "And regardless of mortality, her nine months shouldn't have been spent watching her mother getting whipped and slapped. I should have stopped that."

"Oh, Amelia..." Coops groans, rubbing circles on his temples, "you will never move on in life unless you make peace with yourself. I want you to do something. I want you to sit down and write 'your story'. Start with the day Lucien became a major figure in your life and keep going until at least Creedance's funeral. When you're done, read it again. Imagine it from the outside. Can you do that?" My life as some kind of boring novel? Who the fuck would read it? I wouldn't...

"Of course but—" My attention is drawn away by the sound of keys turning in the lock on the front door and a low muttered string of expletives that bring a lump to my throat.

"Amelia?"

"Someone is outside." And that someone is CJ.

The cards collapse into a pile when the door slams behind him and I stare in horror at my iPad. How the hell did he find out I was here and how pissed off is he that I still have the loft? "Uh oh." He stands in the doorway, the car seat in one hand and his keys tightly clenched in the other, and stares at me with the same rage he exercised with Gaby on his birthday. I wilt a little under his ire and bite my lip. "How did you find me here?"

"We've been tracking your iPad since you got it." His voice is completely flat and unfeeling.

"We?"

"Me. Meredith. All of us." I open my mouth to ask why but I can't speak through my hurt. I'm being tracked like a child. They're all waiting for me to run away or misbehave and I can't even take a dump without someone knowing about it. "What are you doing here?"

"I asked you to trust me!" I blurt those words out instead of an answer. Fair enough if he's tracking me but following me, too? I have enough of that in my life already. "What were you expecting to find? Drugs? A coven? Me tangled up in an affair with a new personal trainer?" He stammers at the last question and averts his eyes. "I can't believe you. You said you'd trust me."

"And I'm trying to, Amelia, I really am. But when you keep making excuses to leave the house or tell Meredith that you have a date with me and tell my sister that you're in the studio so they'll babysit the daughter you once couldn't stand to leave, and I keep tracking you down to here... Well, you're making it really fucking difficult."

I swallow down my rage and screw my eyes shut. No, it shouldn't be difficult. He should trust me without question because—

"You're supposed to love me." CJ grunts indignantly and shuffles on the spot. He can't argue the point because he knows that I'm right.

"If I might interject..."

I turn my glare to Coops on the iPad and hiss through gritted teeth. "No, you may not."

He shakes his head at me slowly and rolls his eyes. I wonder if he's as informal with all of his patients. " _Surely you can understand why he might have jumped to this conclusion?"_

"Yes, but he should know me better than to make frankly insulting accusations."

"Would you please turn me around? I've been repeatedly suggesting that I meet your husband and I have to confess, I'm quite partial to getting my own way."

I grind my teeth for a moment before I turn the iPad to face CJ and stomp off into the kitchen to make coffee or decide if a face full of boiling water is a just punishment for stalking one's own wife. I'm not sure yet. CJ looks at me with confusion and relocates to my pre-warmed couch. I didn't invite him to sit down...

"If you would like me to set the record straight on your behalf, I will need your permission to breach confidentiality."

"Fucking breach away." It's not like CJ stands a good chance of leaving my loft alive anyway.

"Mr. Pearce, let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Michael Cooper, though I believe that I have been given the affectionate misnomer of 'Nowhere'."

"The iPad guy. You're a doctor?" I can see him mentally crossing off reasons why I might be seeking medical assistance.

" _Specifically, a brain doctor."_ I pray that he doesn't need clarification.

CJ spreads himself out across the couch and frowns, clearly weighing up the options. And then he turns to me, looking a little bit ashamed of himself and simpers. "You've been having therapy via Skype?"

"I _did_ tell you to trust me." I fail to hide the bitterness in my voice because I wasn't actually even trying to hide it. I'm pissed off at being doubted and now he knows it.

"Amelia was my patient when she was a teenager and sought me out on her birthday to vocalise some concerns about her shortcomings as a wife and a mother. I've been trying to encourage her to include you in these sessions for a while, but I'm sure you know better than most how stubborn and proud she is." I know that he wants to make a snappy retort but wisely refrains. "But now that you're here, what do you reckon?"

"You want me to talk?" CJ hazards a glance at me and my grip tightens around my mug. If I threw this with enough force... "Hell, anything to avoid that murderous look in her eye."

Coops laughs slightly and nods in my direction. "She might look like she wants to string you up but I didn't miss the way her eyes lit up when she heard your voice."

Damn it. I dump a few spoons of sugar into my mug and give Coops a small salute. "I'll make myself scarce."

" _Hold it, Mrs. Pearce."_ I raise an eyebrow and curl my tongue over my teeth. Fuck, he wants me to listen to CJ's feelings. " _You need to hear this more than I do."_

"I really don't—"

" _I dare you."_ Is that really fair? My shrink using my weaknesses against me?

"Mother fucker," I mutter, and seat myself on the couch as far away from CJ as possible. I might not be able to stop loving the twat but I'm still _really_ pissed.

Coops flips through his notepad and hums to himself thoughtfully while he reads. If he's trying to build the suspense, it's working, because I'm mentally plotting an itinerary for an international escape. I'm sort of resentful that Delilah is asleep because I really would have appreciated a distraction. _Come on, someone sneeze or cough too loud and wake her the fuck up. "I suppose, first and foremost, how do you feel about this situation? Finding out that Amelia is seeking professional help?"_

"I'm glad. I mean, I'm proud of her but I don't understand why she kept it secret. This is like her philematophobia all over again."

"Actually, Mr. Pearce, you have no idea how right you may be. Have you not noticed the parallels between her fear now and her fear then? Her reluctance to cross boundaries that have led to misery before comes only through association. She knows that it's irrational as her fear of needles."

"That fear is _not_ irrational," I interrupt, "those things are rife with diseases and can do so mu—"

"Yes, yes, all right, Amelia." I scowl and hide behind my mug. Irrational indeed. "But as I was saying, there are too many memories attached to that one point in time when Lucien forced her to live up to her 'responsibilities'." CJ recoils at the sound of his name and crosses his arms and legs. "The subject bothers you."

"Of course it bothers me," he snaps and squirms, "I don't know what could have been the butterfly effect of him staying away or being nice to her, and I don't care. Whether his actions then swayed whether I ended up meeting her or not, I'm now having to watch her battle those demons every day and I can't do a damn thing to help her." I gape at him, mouth open slightly. He's just effectively diverted any chance of Coops convincing him that my past has paid an integral part in my future and under no circumstances will he ever really 'accept' it. The idea of that makes me feel a little sick. If he hates a part of my past, he hates a piece of _me._ Will that hatred fester and spread?

"I can see that this is a sore subject for you both. But can I ask, how did you feel when you found out about Amelia's childhood?"

"I felt everything. All of her reservations and fears started to make sense and I could see that it was all justified. The little snippets of information she'd given me fell into order, and I understood her nightmares and her panic when I joked about kids. I felt sad and sick for her, disgusted and angry that she'd suffered, but more than anything, I felt really ashamed of myself. The way I told her that she would enjoy the way I stormed into her dressing room and the way I kissed her when she slept. It's painful for me to know that I've grown up around strong women but have had to watch them all battle the demons of abuse."

I frown down at my hands and try to analyse the shit out of that comment. Shame? Strong women? "CJ, I don't really understand. Why would you ever be ashamed over something I wanted and found comfort in, and what demons?" He sighs and reaches over for my hand. I'm still mad, but for some reason, I know that he needs comfort.

"Ems' ex used to smack her around and..." He fiddles with my rings and I can feel his nervousness radiating through his fingers. "Arnold isn't my dad because I'm a product of rape. I don't think he trusts that being that kind of person isn't genetic. So when I look at you when we're in bed and see that you're scared of me, I wonder if you all looked at your attackers that way and—" I wrench my hand back from his grasp and burst into tears. I can't bear that I make him feel like he's the same as Lucien, that he thinks he has it in him to be that kind of person. He doesn't, but if that's how he feels around me... "Please don't cry, girl."

"You're not like him." I put my mug down on the floor and throw myself into his arms. "You will never be that person. Please don't let me make you feel that you are."

"Oh hell, Amelia, it's not you. I just never want _you_ to look at me that way. You know I don't need the hot rockstar sex to be with you. I only ever gave you that so you knew that I was devoted to you and only you. Don't get me wrong, I do really fucking enjoy it but I don't want to push you for it. I can't do that shit to you in your sleep like the kissing. There's a limit to my audacity."

Coops interrupts, looking frankly kind of impressed by the lack of resistance from both of us. " _Do you understand the reasoning behind her fear?"_

"Of course. So I'll do anything she needs to make her feel secure again. If I need to do these therapy sessions every day, drive down to Plymouth... Anything."

"That won't be necessary. Like I told Amelia on her birthday, I think you have a great therapeutic influence on her and can go a great way to helping her beat down those barriers. But I think now that maybe the journey of clarity applies to both of you, and you both have some negative thoughts to overcome. Her concerns aren't only isolated to your relationship, but to Creedance, too." CJ looks down at me and nods. He already knew and yet he still looks surprised. I guess it must be a shock to find out I've been trying to do a total mental cleanse when he's so used to me being secretive. "But we'll go into that another time. We've covered a lot of ground today. I suggest that you two go home and spend some quality time together. Go back to basics, before all of your ugly memories came into light, and remember what drew you together. I don't doubt for a moment that this will all end up just being a bump in the road."

"I'm still really mad at you for not trusting me." CJ tries to wriggle up to me in bed and purrs in my ear. He spent the evening wining and dining me but it still stings that he thought I was cheating on him.

"I know, girl. I'm sorry. But I'm glad I turned up or you never would have told me what you were doing."

"I was embarrassed."

"What? Why? I'm honoured that you'd do that for me. For us. And you've really been going at it, too. I admire your tenacity."

I roll onto my back to look at him and run a finger across his collar bones and down the line between his pectorals. "I'm a hot mess right now, CJ."

"Hot is right. But the great thing about mess is that it's easy to clean up if you go about it right. So..." He pulls me up to sit and crawls around opposite me, wearing nothing but briefs. "Tell me how to clean you up, or at least what I'm doing to keep you a mess." _When you look so damn delicious?_ I'm frankly a little more interested in the ways he can make me more of a mess right now.

"You're not really doing anything per se," I reach for his hand and play with his wedding ring the same way he does when he's edgy, "Sometimes things just happen or you say or do something innocent that he did or said before or after hurting me. I get so much deja vu with you and Delilah, and things got so bad after Creedance was born. I'm scared of history repeating itself. People can change in the blink of an eye and I'm so scared to take that step in case history repeats itself, even though I know it won't because you're such a good person. That's a lot of why I went to my old psychiatrist, so he can make me _your_ Amelia again. The one you met last year. I'm a shit patient though."

We sit in silence for a long time, not looking at each other and only our hands touching. All I can hear is his heavy breathing and I know he's processing everything that's gone on today. And I know that, like me, he's blaming himself for so much—things that aren't even slightly his fault.

"I'm really struggling to get my head around all of this, Amelia," I look up to meet his gaze and see heartbroken defeat, "that something we did so well and so often before now makes you think that it'll be the beginning of the end. That you look at me and you see that sadistic bastard who hurt you. I can't stand wanting to make love to my wife and you telling me that you want it, too, but seeing the fear in your eyes when I'm too close."

"Okay." I'm putting him through too much. It's not fair for him to be dragged down like this with me. He shouldn't have to feel all of this pain and I shouldn't be depriving him of something I used to give so freely. I can't stand that I'm tearing him apart. "I understand." Tears burn my eyes because I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed and I'm sorry that I'm hurting him. He deserves so much more than this.

He climbs behind me and folds his arms around me, effectively caging me in against the heat of his body. I love this so much, this warmth and peace. But I can't ask him to go against his morals, not when it'll kill a little piece of him. I have to fix myself without doing any more damage to our already fractured marriage.

"This will get easier, girl. We'll find a way."

I already know the way.

It's dark, really dark. CJ has rolled onto his back and is snoring just slightly with one arm tossed up over his head and the other resting across his stomach. He and Delilah are both sparko. Good. This is... This is what I wanted.

I ease myself out of bed as slowly and silently as I can and linger in the doorway for just a moment to drink them both in. My perfect daughter and my perfect husband, sleeping sweetly. No nightmares to torment them and no bitter pasts to shape their minds. Pure and undamaged by evil and misery. They deserve nothing but happiness.

With a pair of crappy tracksuit bottoms and a baggy t-shirt hanging off my body, I head downstairs and creep into the lounge to grab my Porsche keys. The studio door is open just a crack and I can see the silhouette of the piano looming just beyond, the white pages of a songbook sitting on the stand and glowing slightly from the light pouring in through the windows. CJ must have been in there earlier.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I have to see what he's been playing. _Evanescence_ , jeez. The man loves his Amy's.

"Play for me." My heart freezes when I hear his voice behind me. I didn't want him to wake up. I just wanted this to be as easy as possible. "Please."

"All right. Just one, it's late." He sits himself down cross legged on the floor next to the piano and keeps his eyes fixed on me while I play _My Immortal_. I wonder if he's been playing this because of the lyrics. Does he think that I'm still stuck on Lucien or does he feel like he's lost me? I can't stand the idea that he feels this sad and lonely.

"Don't leave, Amelia."

"It's just until my head is straight. I don't want my past to break us, Caspian. You and Delilah are all I have. I'll make Coops see me every day. I'll go to Plymouth and camp outside his office if I have t—"

"No." CJ clambers up from the floor and pulls me up from the piano stool. "I'm telling you that you're not allowed to go. We need you here. _I_ need you here. For better or for worse, that's the deal. You're not allowed to walk away just to spare my feelings any more than I'm allowed to tell you to go. We'll work through it the way we worked through your philematophobia."

"But you need intimacy and passion."

"Are you serious?" My head settles on his chest and here I am, broken and beaten down, fatally flawed and imperfect, but not even allowed to save him. He's told me that I can't leave, so I can't. It's that simple. "I seem to remember furiously driving the point that sex doesn't equal intimacy and you battling me with the point that it comes through all the little things. I have intimacy and passion. I _need_ my wife by my side so I can help her confront all her demons. Don't make me a bad husband by denying me my right to fix you."

"You couldn't be a bad husband if you tried."

"Yeah, you're right." He dips down to hook an arm underneath my legs and carefully angles me back out through the studio door. "So it's time to sleep. Being overtired will just make you feel lower."

My eyes are heavy and I'm pretty much asleep when my back presses against the cool cotton sheet, back in our bed where I belong. I know that I belong here and I know that he's taken me on earlier words to stop me from slipping back into old habits. Coping strategy number four isn't an option any more, not when we have Delilah and a piece of paper that says I'm legally his.

"I'm sorry that I'm such a mess." They're the only words I can muster through all of my regret and exhaustion, and words that I speak far too often. But all I can do is apologise and hope for a miracle cure.

"Don't be. I'm not naive; I knew that your past would catch up with you emotionally one day. I just wish I understood what it is that makes a person treat someone so innocent so poorly that it leaves them scarred for years. What's the attraction of inflicting pain?"

I slump over onto my side to look at him and run my fingers over his worry-furrowed brow. Even when perplexed and frustrated, he's still so beautiful. "I don't know." But I know somebody who does.

# XXXVIII

#

#

_"You've been talking to that doctor about us, Mia." How does he know? How does he know what I've said to Coops? "You tell your shrink how you like to fuck rough." I don't like it, Lucien does. I don't like the belts and hot stuff. "I told you before, nobody can know what we do."_

_"But he's a doctor, he's not allowed tell anyone." I don't see what the big deal is. I thought everyone does this? Why does he mind so much if it's normal?_

_He walks right up to me so we're nose to nose and grabs my chin to make me look at him when I turn away. He's been in my dad's whiskey again. "You broke rule number one. What happens when rules are broken?" I mutter the answer under my breath, hoping that if he can't hear it, he won't do it. "I said, what happens?"_

_"Consequences."_

_"Yes, consequences, very good. And seeing as you broke the golden rule, the consequences are severe. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes." Now I understand why Dad is away from home so much. He's always screwing up and breaking rules._

_  
__I cry into the sheets when he lets his shoe fall to the ground from his hand, but he doesn't pull me up onto the bed like he usually does. He just stands there over me, re-buttoning his cuffs and straightening his tie. My eyes droop because the pain is exhausting, but I battle to stay awake because flaking out is another rule he's really strict about._

_"Am I boring you, Mia?" He grabs his blazer from the side of the cot and just stares at me. I think he hates me._

_"No, never. Are you going?"_

_"Yes. Your child needs seeing to."_

_"Aren't we going to... You know?"_

_He shakes his head slowly and heads for the door."You want to have sex? No, Mia. This is the consequence for telling people what we do in here. Clean yourself up, you're disgusting."_

His voice echoes around in my mind as I sit at a table and drum my fingers impatiently. There are plenty of other people around me wearing varying degrees of fear, disgust and apathy on their faces. Some of them look at me and turn to gossip. Our story is very well documented—they must wonder why the hell I'm here. _Please, don't let this be a pointless venture._

A bell rings and a security door opens, allowing a steady stream of disgruntled looking women wearing red tabbards to make their heavy-footed paths to their visitors. There's a clamour of appreciative greetings mixed between some bitter jibes, and then I see her.

She sits down opposite me, a good three inches of dirty blonde roots edged by faded red, eyes makeup free and she's clearly a few pounds lighter. Still, I'm not in any hurry to recommend the prison food diet because she's still chunky. I can't express my gratitude enough for her being mostly covered up though.

"You didn't fool them into sectioning you then?"

"It was worth a try," Chrissie snorts, empty blue eyes boring into me. "What can I do you for, Marsh?"

I wiggle my left hand and grace her with a too-smug smirk. "Pearce, actually. We got married in Las Vegas." The betraying flinch of jealousy makes me do a happy dance inside.

"My insincerest congratulations, Amelia. I hope you have a long, childless marriage cursed with memories of me fucking your husband." Why the hell would she say 'childless'?

"We already have a daughter, actually. I was pregnant when you raped him." Only a tiny bit pregnant, but a definite unexpected look of guilt makes her chubby features drop. So there is a human in there...

"I had no idea."

"Neither did we, or we sure as hell wouldn't have let you break us up for six weeks. Are you even sorry?"

She half laughs, "No," and cracks her chubby knuckles loud enough to turn heads. "We never properly met, but I went to school with you in Plymouth, Amelia. I was a few years above you. I spent years watching you swan around, adored, talented and naturally fucking beautiful, getting everything you wanted and being centre of attention. And then you turned up in my life again and took the man I wanted. It felt good having the upper hand for once. I'm sorry to Cas that he got caught in the middle, but I'm not sorry that I fucked up your life for a while." _You pathetic fucking weirdo._

"It was all jealousy?"

"I make no claims to not being petty." Hell, if she wants my childhood memories, she's welcome to them. Someone like her might enjoy them. "So again, I ask you, what do you want?"

"Your opinion, actually. About your lifestyle. Don't worry, I'll make it quick. I'd hate to keep you from your prison bitches and tax funded gourmet cuisine."

I'm a little put out when she throws her head back and laughs, flicking a hand. Should have remembered that what she lacks in aesthetics, she makes up for in witty repartee and ballsiness. Well, she has to have something going for her.

"Go on."

Every part of me out of her view stiffens and I suddenly wonder _what the fuck are you doing?!_ Am I looking for answers why or reasons to excuse what he did? "What makes you want to hurt people? What's the appeal? Why do you do it?"

She frowns at me, surprised by the question. "You looking to broaden your horizons? There's no cut and dry answer, Amelia. Some people can't get off without it, some use it to safely vent their anger, some do it because they need control and others do it because they have an irrational fetish for it. Sometimes it's not even about wanting to inflict pain. But if you want to know why I do it in particular, it's a combination of two things, mostly confidence. There are men out there who will pay and beg for me, specifically me, to treat them like dirt. Sometimes they even actively seek me out on the Internet because other people have spoken highly of me. Nobody else gives me that kind of respect. The other part is the control. I had control taken away when I was a kid and the need to have it now has manifested this way."

"And you always have sex this way?"

"Not always, but it can be given as a reward for the pain." Was I being rewarded? Why did he stop the sex? "Sometimes it's used as punishment, too, but... you look like you're talking from experience. Were you a top?"

"What?" Is that sadist talk? "I have scars from a guy who shares your... quirk. But it wasn't exactly like your 'thing'." It wasn't anything like her 'thing'. Clearly everyone involved in her 'thing' is happy about it.

"What the hell did he do to scar you?"

"Brands, wax play, that kind of thing. Sometimes he tied me up too tight and he stubbed a cigarette out on the back of my hand because he caught me smoking. He hit me a lot when I screwed up. I just wanted to understand why he might have felt the need to do it." And I still don't. All I have are possibilities. What was I expecting, really? That it was one size fits all? I should know better than this. "What if the sex stops completely and it's just the pain?"

She raises an eyebrow at me like my question is stupid. "Did any of it get you off?"

"No, I hated it and he knew it."

"Then if you're as damaged as you look by his actions, you were being abused by a sexual sadist, Amelia, though it doesn't sound like there was anything sexual about it. It sounds more like corporal punishment." And I thought it was all normal. Lucien made me think that if I didn't do it, I was a freak. He was the freak. "I'm guessing this isn't CJ."

Rolling my eyes, I look her up and down, wondering why the hell he would even interact with her in the first place. But the way her eyes gloss over when she says his name—she's really nuts for him. I almost feel sorry for her. But he will never be what she's looking for in a partner. "Are you fucking kidding? CJ wouldn't hurt a fly. This is just history haunting me. Ten year old history."

"Weren't you fourteen ten years ago? That's fucked up, Amelia, you weren't even le—... Oh my god." She freezes like a statue and slowly looks down at her hands. I don't know what epiphany she's just reached, but it's not filling me with a vast amount of hope. I'm not really sure how to react when she looks back up at me, eyes full of tears and reaches for my hand. "I'm so sorry. If I'd have known, I would have stopped it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm..." She squeezes her eyes shut and scrubs her free hand over her face, "Amelia, Lucien and I... He's my brother. We're twins."

I swallow down the bile that immediately finds its way to my throat and inch backwards in my seat. Whoever said there were six degrees of separation overshot the degrees. I'm only counting two right here in the most unlikely people. "So what, is a predilection for beating the shit out of people hereditary?" I do my best to look anywhere but her, but it's fucking hard when there's so much of her. Yet more parallels between me and CJ: we were both assaulted by one of twins. This is fucking ridiculous.

"Please believe that I had no idea. We disowned him when you lost Creedance. It was bad enough that he hadn't looked after his child properly but this... This is sick." Yes, it is. And it says a lot that a rapist doesn't approve.

"Don't you dare speak my daughter's name, you fucking hypocrite." I pull my hand away from her reach and consciously wipe it on my jeans. I can't even pretend that I understand this insanity. They don't even look the same... No, wait. They do. I see it now. They have the same eyes and murky blonde hair, she's just a fat female version of him. For the first time in over a year, I have that feeling of the room fading around me. _No, not here..._

"How is she, Amelia?"

I rub a hand over my tight chest and scowl. "She who?"

"My niece, Amelia. How is Creedance?" I stare at her in disbelief. Is she stupid or just plain retarded? Has prison done some sort of extensive psychological damage or is she suffering a spot of traumatic memory repression? She just said 'you lost Creedance'. It's not like I 'lost' her in a supermarket. 'Niece' makes me feel like throwing up over her _Exorcist_ style. In no way will I ever accept having once shared some kind of familial connection to her.

"Dead, Chrissie. She's been dead for nine years." The bell rings behind her ugly, confused head and I'm glad for the chance to escape while she's distracted. I have some answers, but I'm leaving with new questions again. Every time I get answers, I get more questions. This just doesn't seem fair.

I try to leave without looking at her but she shouts to me from the table. "Will you come back again? Please?" Is she for real?

"I don't fucking think so somehow, I don't belong here." But she does. And so does her sick fuck of a brother.

As soon as I'm outside, I crouch over with my hands on my knees and hurl over the car park tarmac. Panting and desperately trying to fend off a panic attack, I slide into the driver's seat and hold my head in my hands. How? How did I never know that he was a twin and how did it turn out that she'd end up trying to ruin my life, too? I just can't comprehend how the finer details of my life are playing out and that everyone is so closely connected. There's so much of my past coming out that I had no idea about and it's depressing how clueless I've been. It's like I hardly know myself and what I'm finding below the surface is someone I really don't want to be. If Chrissie only did what she did because of me, doesn't that make it my fault?

Not knowing how to go on with life is painful. I'm very much standing at a crossroads but have no idea what lies down any of the available routes. Whichever road I take will be the wrong one. That much is sure. I don't know how to live without hurting anyone and I'm trying so god damn hard.

Maybe I'm just a bad person. Maybe it's not physically possible for me to be a good friend, daughter, wife or mother. Maybe I'm destined to be a source of misery and a persistent let down. If I am, then they're all better off with me out of the picture.

When I find a fairly quiet stretch of country road, I put my foot down. I'm going to drive and drive, and keep driving until this starts to make my sense or I'm far enough away to stop being a curse on everyone. I have no idea how far I go but there isn't a soul around me. It's blissfully quiet and isolated, and I could just disappear. I could. I could leave it all behind and never see them all again to save them.

I could save my amazing friends, my great dad, my beautiful daughter and my just simply perfect husband. I could just disappear into the shadows and throw my phone out of the window, abandon the car and walk until I can't walk any more. That would be selfless because I'd miss them all so fucking much. It would be the best thing I could do for everyone. I'm too much of a mess for them to look after and it shouldn't be their responsibility to look after me anyway. I should be able to look after myself, not panic, run away and hallucinate Lucien standing in the middle of the road in front of me. Wait... that's not—

The muttering from inside the house is louder than they realise and an insult to my intelligence. They think I can't hear them in there, reminiscing about my brighter days like the crash killed me. Judging me and questioning why I went to the prison and why I'm making myself sicker. I'm not fucking sick, I'm just suffering a little mental regression. What the hell are they expecting from me when there's so much negativity flying around in my life?

The water of the pool laps at my ankles and reflects the red embers of the cigarettes I've chain smoked since I stumbled out of the recovery wagon. I stood there for a fucking hour waiting and endured endless annoying enquiries over the circumstances of my overturned Porsche. Nobody is entirely sure how I got out of it with only a few scratches, and honestly, neither am I. One minute I was looking at a ghost from my past and the next minute I was looking at the smoking wreckage, very coolly and calmly telling the roadside recovery company where I was and what had happened. My head clicked into self-preservation mode and has been there ever since.

The recovery guy offered me a smoke in lieu of the paramedic care I refused, and dropped me and my trashed motor off at home, where I found Meredith and Emily doting over Delilah. I barely recall asking for alcohol and a pack of cigarettes before they caught a look of mine and the car's war wounds and descended on me with the molly-coddling of a thousand mother hens. It took forever for them to leave me alone.

"Hey." Two feet join mine in the water and dare to play footsy. Where the fuck was the man attached to those feet when I got home? "When did you start smoking?"

"When I was twelve. I thought it made me look like a hard ass and gave my voice a fuck-me husk." In truth, I sounded like Macy Grey and it didn't suit me, but I kept up the pretence because I was a stupid pre-teen.

"No shit. What made you quit?" My right hand rises with my brow. There's nothing like a boy using you as a human ashtray to put you off the habit. "Say no more," a hand spreads out in front of my face and crooks at the knuckles, "but hand them over."

I slap the packet down in his palm but voice my protest. "You can't fucking stop me, CJ. I'm an adult."

"I know, girl." He flips the top of the box open and removes a cigarette with his lips, reaching around me for the cheap disposable lighter I demanded with my self-destruction. "But I can make you share. You did vow to." An expertly blown smoke ring travels in front of my face and disperses off into the warm June air. "So, why did you go and see Humpty-Dumpty? I haven't had any calls from my lawyer, so I'm guessing you didn't shiv her." Damn it, why hadn't I thought of that?

"Neither of us understood what makes people get a kick out of inflicting physical harm and I figured she does. It was quite enlightening actually. she came out with some real gems."

"Oh really?" There's a hint of curiosity in his voice but a massive undertone of anger. I know he's pissed that I went there.

"Yup," I swallow hard and grip onto the decking beneath me, "confidence for her; her perverse tastes make people crave her when they wouldn't if she was down for the normal shit. And revenge, that's where you came in. For others it's hedonism or anger-management, and for the blessed few like Lucien, it was little more than just being a plain fucking sicko with no real grasp of BDSM. He was abusing me. I get that now. I was a victim of whatever label you want to slap on it. There was nothing even slightly sexual about what he did to me beyond taking advantage of the fact that I was naive enough to think it was normal and necessary." I catch sight of his haunted expression in the reflection of the water. He hates hearing about what happened to me but there's only so much tiptoeing I can do. Sometimes it's just impossible to skirt around the issue. "But of course, nobody can argue with genetics and coincidence. Who'd have figured we'd end up being abused by two womb buddies?"

"What?" The word snaps out so suddenly I flinch. "They're fucking related?"

"Twins. I never actually met her properly in Plymouth but she was so jealous that I got her brother's time and then I got yours as well." I twist my head around to look at him and half smile apologetically. "It's my fault she raped you, CJ."

"No! Jesus," before I'm even aware, I find myself awkwardly crushed into six foot five of solid muscle. "Don't take the blame for what she did, Amelia. That's a crappy excuse for her to do it. She didn't have to be so petty." He sets me back after I muffle an agreement into his shoulder and strokes his hand up to my face. "Why didn't you go to the hospital to get checked over, girl? Your car is totalled."

"Because I feel fine."

"That's because you're fucking numb to everything right now, Amelia. What made you crash?" My head bows at the flare of temper in his voice. This is like Andy bollocking me for disappearing to Southampton all over again.

"I saw him." My voice escapes as a whisper. I can still see him staring at me, pointlessly standing in the middle of the road. How did he know I'd be there? "I saw Lucien." CJ clambers to his feet and makes a rapid retreat into the house. "I'm not crazy!" I shout after him, "I've been seeing him for weeks."

He spins on his heels and points at me. The warm look of love I've seen in him every day since we met has gone and all I can see is a man who resents me for fucking up his life with complications. "You don't leave this fucking house alone again, Amelia, I mean it. You don't keep secrets from me anymore, and if you don't let go of some of that pent up emotion, I will make you. Do you understand?"

My mind stutters and stalls. Nightmare visions of the same threat flash before my eyes all at once and escape in a strangled gasp. The man who swore to protect me is threatening me—is this a trend? Panic mode sets in and drives me to the nearest safe haven. The pool at my feet.

The first surge of water at my face hits like a cold blast and wakes me up from the semi-daze I've been in for hours. There are thoughts to process and revelations to accept but I can't, not when my only source of support is starting to hate me. I keep my eyes squeezed shut to stop me from remembering my dream at Download and fight against the burning in my chest. I won't breathe. I will find sanctity at last, after all the times I tried before. I've lived as a victim of everyone else and I'll die as a victim of myself, joining the side of the baby girl I never knew. Nothing would make me happier than being dead and with her than alive and alone.

Something grabs me at the point my mind starts to haze and startles me, dragging me to the surface with a choke. "Damn it, Amelia!" A hand slaps my back. "Don't you dare die on me!" Why couldn't he just leave me alone or, I don't know, hold me under? "I won't let you leave me, Amelia." He pulls my face up to look at him and his eyes are completely red and bloodshot. See? I'm hurting him again. He needs more than this. "I would never survive without you. I would throw myself into the ground after your coffin and refuse to leave." He doesn't stop looking at me when the tears start to fall and it's almost as bad as finding Creedance again. It's like having to sit and watch him kill himself. "I would die for you with a smile on my face if it made you happy, but I won't walk through life on my own without you. My sole purpose in life is to stand by your side and protect you. Don't take my purpose."

"CJ..."

"Promise me that you'll never leave me, Amelia. Promise that I'll wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life."

I want to say that I can't. I want to say that I can't make any guarantees. I want to say that he shouldn't rely on me so much and put me on a pedestal like he does. And I want to say that I need him to make the same promise to me.

But I love him so much that all I can say is, "I promise."

Everyone spends most of the night watching me like I'm about to erupt like a volcano. The psychologists in them know that I could snap at any second but the friends in them hope I won't. Nobody except Meredith has seen me this fragile, but even she looks scared.

They're all still trying to talk me into getting checked over, doubly so after Plato, Levi and Erek turned up and saw the heap of scrap metal outside. But I feel fine physically, just exhausted. My eyes keep drooping but my brain is doing too much and keeping me awake. Even at 3am, I'm completely wired and fixated on nothing in particular.

CJ leans down behind me when everyone finally starts to head out and wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Girl, go and take a shower and then go to bed. I'll bunk in the nursery with Baby D so you can get some sleep. I hate seeing you like this." I nod because it's too hard to speak. How did my life go so wrong in such a short time? When I was twenty-three, my life was, for the most part, wonderful. It started off rocky but we regrouped. I got married in Las Vegas to the most sickeningly perfect man possible, welcomed my daughter into the world naturally with no pain relief in the comfort of my own home and now I get to look after her all the time. But my past just won't stop haunting me. Lucien won't stop haunting me. And now I don't even have a sexy car to escape from it all in.

The water stings my cuts and bruises and makes my body feel heavy. I lean my head against the tiles and close my eyes for just a moment before I surrender and admit to myself that I'm just too exhausted to stand straight anymore. The towel makes me hurt, too, my skin is just so raw from gravel rash. Mer is right, I probably should have gone to the hospital.

I'm not exactly clean but I'll do for bed. I stagger into our bedroom, eyes barely open and slump next down to the two sleepy-heads on my bed.

"I thought you were going in the nursery? Not complaining, I just... CJ?" I run my finger over his face and he's cold. Cold and deathly grey. And Delilah, too. My chest tightens and blood freezes with the arrival of complete soul-consuming dread. "CJ, please wake up." I jump over to straddle him and heave him up by the shoulders, but he's just so heavy and limp. I cup his beautiful, perfect face between my hands and kiss his cold lips. "Please, CJ, not you two, too." I grab Delilah and hold them both close to me. Why? Why does this happen every time? Why does everything I hold dear get torn away from me? What did I do wrong this time?

I lift my head to the sky and curse at whatever higher power insists on constantly taking the piss out of me. They didn't deserve it, why couldn't it just be me? I take one very deep breath and scream, even though nobody will hear me. Meredith isn't here this time. I'll have to explain this to everyone and they'll all blame me. And they're right. This is my fault.

"Amelia, wake up!" My eyes snap open but are instantly forced shut by a spray of water on my face. I taste blood and I have no idea why. "Come on, girl, let's get you up."

"CJ?" The intense throb in my skull doesn't encourage me to open my eyes. "Where are they? Where am I? Where have you taken them?"

"Taken who?"

"CJ and Delilah! Take me back to them—take me, too!"

"Amelia, slow down, I can hardly understand you! I'm here, Delilah is asleep." I can hardly see through my tears but I squirm from their grasp and practically bum rush our bedroom door, very quickly finding myself face down on the floor. They're not on the bed. They've been moved. "Amelia!"

"Why have you taken them? Why couldn't you just let me keep them for a little longer?" I'm pulled up from the ground and forced to stare into two vivid green eyes. They're almost blinding. And then I see red. Why red?

"Girl, it's me. You collapsed in the shower. Me and Delilah are fine." My eyes finally focus and yes, it's him. He's okay. For now. I force my way past him to the walk-in wardrobe and scour through the drawers for a rucksack or suitcase. "What are you doing?"

"Packing overnight bags. I have to take you both to hospital."

"What, why?"

"Because you're going to die, CJ," I glance up at him and collapse to my knees. I can't see that again. They'll be safe in the hospital; they can help them and they'll be away from me. Maybe they can find out in advance what's going to happen to them and stop it. "You're going to die like Creedance did and it's all because of me. I have to save you."

# XXXIX

#

#

Meredith strokes the back of my hand gently. It's the first time I've seen her in tracksuit bottoms and a hoody. Her hair is scraped back into a scruffy stub of a ponytail and she looks almost 'normal'. Everyone does. I don't know why CJ called Levi, Plato and Erek back, too. I didn't mean to drag everyone out of bed.

"Baby doll, I am asking you this in the nicest way possible, so please don't take it as criticism. Please hire a psychiatrist."

I stare up at her through red ringed eyes for a moment before I look down at my hands. "I have one. That's where I went on my birthday." My eyes do a circuit of the room and I see that everyone has their mouths wide in shock. "Don't judge me."

"Who's judging?" Levi waves a hand at me and shrugs. "Plato and I have been seeing a councillor for a year. And Mer has been intermittently seeing her shrink for as long as I've known her." _What?_ How did I not know this? She doesn't look even slightly embarrassed to have been outed. "I'm just impressed that you finally had the balls to admit that you needed the help."

I know that I should feel better but Coops is obviously doing a shit job. I'm at my lowest point ever, lower than when Creedance died because I'm just waiting for it to happen. I know that misery waits at every corner and I'm helpless to prevent it. I'm just so insignificant but at the same time such a bad omen. They would all be better off without me. "I'm sorry that you've all been dragged out of bed. CJ shouldn't have bothered you with this."

"Are you kidding? Honey bee, we weren't even home yet. We'd only been gone for half an hour, and Meredith and Andy were in one of your guest rooms. Don't you remember?" But it felt so much longer. I don't even know what time it is now. They were staying overnight? How did I not know that either? "Regardless, we'd be pissed if he hadn't called. Believe it or not, you're more than just a singer to us. You're like family. We're not happy unless you are."

"Thanks very much for the sense of responsibility for your emotional well-being." They all laugh but I don't know why. They shouldn't regard me so highly when I'm such a sad excuse for a human being. Maybe they _should_ just consider me as a singer, just in case this bug I seem to have that dooms those closest to me is catching.

"Right, Mrs. Pearce, your turn." Gaby passes Delilah to me over my shoulder and sets to examining the inch long gash on my forehead. "Fancy crashing your car _and_ splitting your head open on the same day."

"She's okay?" I don't care if I've had to have a leg amputated as long as my little girl is well.

"She's absolutely fine, Amelia, if a little grumpy for being woken up."

"Are you sure? I mean, can't you send her for MRIs and CT scans and—"

She laughs at me and rummages through her generic black leather doctors bag. "I can but I won't. Amelia, you had a nightmare, not a premonition. Us Pearce's are stubborn and don't die off easily. Arnold's grandparents both lived beyond one hundred years old." And I'll bet they were senile, arthritic and riddled with cancer. "You're exhausted, most likely concussed, and from what I can tell, quite depressed. You're not the Grim Reaper and your family is not going to die just by you being around. Now suck it up. You're a mother, for god's sake." Her verbal beat down effectively silences me and I'm left feeling more than a little embarrassed. Like she needs to tell me that I'm a mother, and if she knew anything about me, she'd know that I'm not very good at it.

I sit and say nothing while she tends to the cut and comply quietly with her demands until she's satisfied that I don't need to make the appearance in A&E I've been striving to avoid. I've always known that you shouldn't make an enemy of your mother-in-law but now I've done it, I understand why they enjoy such a poor reputation—they're fucking scary. Hell hath no fury.

CJ flops down on the couch next to me with his phone in his hand. He looks utterly exhausted and worn down, and it's because of me. "I left a message on your dad's voicemail and tried to get in touch with Dr. Cooper. His office machine says he's in London until further notice and his mobile kept ringing out."

"London?" Wow, and I thought I had it rough. "Try The Ground Floor. He has a patient down there with too much money and too many issues."

"Sorry," Gaby drags my attention back to her, "Dr. Cooper? Not Michael Cooper?"

"Yeah." How the hell would she know that? "I've been having Skype appointments with him for a couple of months. He was my psychiatrist back in Plymouth."

"Oh. Lovely chap. Anyway, I'd best go. Try and get some sleep, Amelia. Your family needs you." _Enough of the reminders that I'm letting my family down!_ I drag myself to my feet to see her out, finding CJ right at my side curling an arm around my waist. Is this how it's going to be now? He's going to attach himself to me all the time so I can't go anywhere or do something stupid? Meh, I'm not complaining.

"I'm really sorry to have dragged you out of bed. I appreciate it."

"I know you do, love. CJ, a word?" He sighs, not wanting to let me go, and sees her out to her car. I stay in the doorway so he can still see me and wonder how the hell I scrape myself up from rock bottom. Freaking out like that was terrifying and I'm in no hurry for it to happen again, but how do I make it stop? How do I stop feeling guilty and inadequate?

"So, she's told me to feed you and give you plenty of cuddles."

"Sounds good." CJ pulls my arms around his neck and grabs my legs to carry me into the kitchen. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than this."

"Stop beating yourself up, girl, it's not like you're doing it on purpose. But you're going to have to accept the fact that I'm going to be wrapping you up in cotton wool for a while now. I don't want you going out alone while that bastard is following you around. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I'm sorry," I sigh, knowing that he's really hurt by that particular secret. "He first turned up in McDonald's on your birthday. I didn't want to ruin the day and I didn't want to weigh you down with knowing he's around. It's my problem, not yours."

He stiffens for moment, then turns his back on me to look in the fridge. "Of course it's my problem. Your former abuser is stalking you. My wife is being stalked. That's kind of a big problem for me. But it doesn't matter now. All that matters is getting you well again."

"But how? I just don't know what to do anymore, CJ. I just can't stop blaming myself for everything. I held my hands up and admitted that I need help, but it's making no difference. I will never stop feeling like a curse hanging over yours and Delilah's heads and I will never feel good enough for this seemingly perfect family we have. I can't be who you want me to be. I never have and I never will be the woman with all the confidence and answers. I will always be a victim and a very bad person."

"You're no victim, Amelia." He throws a pack of bacon—the food of the gods—down on the breakfast bar and rounds it to lift me up to sit on it. His hands settle on my hips and squeeze slightly like he's trying to ground me. "You're a survivor."

I didn't get any sleep. I was too scared of my nightmares. My plectrum doesn't protect me like a talisman at all, but CJ has been next to me all night trying to chase my blues away. He took a bulk order for bacon sandwiches while Meredith got Delilah back down for the night, we sat in front of the TV and ate to the sound of one of those crap late night quiz shows, then everyone took themselves off to a guest room, leaving CJ to coerce me into a bubble bath and _The Hangover_. When he dozed off halfway through, I watched him sleep. He looked so troubled and unguarded. I hope he didn't have nightmares, too.

The gays put themselves on breakfast duty and rustled up a full English breakfast I barely touched, which I got a trap-full for. Everyone seems to have stopped tiptoeing, which is great. They obviously know that I can't get any worse now so don't have to worry about pushing me over the edge. I wish they'd stopped tiptoeing sooner, but I was always told to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Can't say I ever actually completely understood that turn of phrase though.

CJ lays behind me on the couch, legs hooked over mine, and plays with my hair while he unhelpfully tells me how my Porsche is a total write off. That much was obvious to me when they pulled it upside down from a ditch. I don't say anything about buying a new one because he probably won't let me drive it, so I just lean into him and nod at the right moments. He doesn't seem as anxious as he did earlier; for some reason my breaking down has chilled everyone else out. They're all being so normal and I don't understand why.

"Morning all!" Gabrielle's cheery voice rings out through the house and makes me groan. Is it time for round two already? She pops her head over the couch behind me and leans down to pat CJ's shoulder. "I've come to take this wife of yours off your hands for a few hours, Caspy-pants. Ems has come to keep an eye on Delilah so you can get your head down."

"Mum, I don't—" Is he even aware of the fact his grip around me has tightened? Someone is feeling seriously protective over his wifey...

"No arguments, CJ. You're no good to either of your ladies if you're exhausted and I think Amelia will feel better for the fresh air."

I push out of his leg lock and lean in to kiss him on the nose. "She's right. You need to get some rest."

"Amelia..."

"I'll be fine. Seriously. I'll keep my phone on me, okay?" Looking none too impressed, he lets me go and shoots a look of warning at Gaby. Something passes between them unspoken before he nods and jumps up to throw me over his shoulder. "Hey, I can walk! I'm not an invalid!"

"Tough. Cotton wool, remember?" Right. Of course. Not even going to fight him. I simply don't have the strength and even when I'm ridiculously depressed, I still want to strip him off and lick him all over. Any kind of close bodily contact is welcome with him.

My eyes are closed when he eases me into the passenger seat and fastens my seatbelt, oozing disapproval. I flap an arm around aimlessly, searching for his hand, and press it to my lips. "I'm going to get through this, CJ."

"I know, girl. I love you." Our lips touch briefly before Gaby's door slams shut next to us and the car soon roars into life.

The radio plays _Kerrang!_ while she drives wordlessly, breaking her silence only to hum along to one of our songs.

"Where are we going, Gaby?" My eyes don't open. I'm too tired.

"Just for a drive. There's something I want you to see."

"With all due respect, I'm not really in the mood for a road trip." I'm not in the mood for anything other than an extremely long-term family nap time. I'm no use to anyone like this, no use to myself. I can't define anything in my mind and I can't discern any point of focus. I'm nothing but battered sentience and a vacant stare into the distance. I'm just existing.

"It won't take long, Amelia, and I'm almost certain that you'll feel better for it." Maybe she's dropping me off at Bad Daughter-In-Law Purgatory, and who could blame her? I might have timed my breakdown for a less hellish hour. "Do you have a lot of nightmares?" There again, it might be an asylum.

"Yes. Flashbacks of my past, sometimes distorted to include people from my present."

"Like last night?" My silence says enough. I know that CJ told her about the Creedance nightmare. I heard them gossiping about me in a corner like I'm an errant child. Last night was more than a nightmare though—it was a warning. Everything I love and cherish goes to shit. It always has and it always will. "What do you remember about the night you found your daughter?" This is why she brought me out? To pry for more reasons to respect me less? Like being pulled from her bed in the wee hours of the morning for an 'unnecessary' examination of my 'perfectly healthy' daughter isn't reason enough for everyone to turf me out onto the scrap pile.

And yet, I'm going to tell her anyway, because my mouth is on autopilot. "It was my fifteenth birthday. Meredith and I went out onto the beach with a few bottles of toxic cocktails made of anything we could pilfer from our parents' liquor cabinets. I was glad to escape."

"From Creedance?"

"No, I never had her with me often enough to need to escape. Escape from my family. The less I was around, the happier they were. They made no secret of the fact that I was the unsavoury black sheep. My brother wouldn't talk to me after I started seeing his best friend and my sister saw me as nothing more than a wet nurse.

"I got home around ten, feeling too drunk and worse for wear. I sneaked into the house to avoid a verbal spa and went straight to my room. I walked in and found Creedance on my bed, swaddled up in a thick blanket, facing away from me. I rolled her onto her back to put her in her cot—I don't even know why she wasn't in there anyway, and she was..." I sigh and fiddle with my plectrum. I've never told anyone about finding her before. "She was almost grey. I screamed out, not really sure what else I could do. Mer came first and collapsed next to me on the floor. She loved Cree like a little sister. Then my mother and Mackenzie came, and then Lucien. He pushed me away from her and gave me 'the look'."

"What look?"

"The one that told me that I'd somehow crossed a line and I was going to suffer the consequences. They huddled around and whispered for a while, then Mum walked out with Creedance in her arms and Mackenzie pointed at me, and said 'this is your fault, Mia'. Lucien didn't touch me because Meredith was there, so he followed them out and left us on our own. Mer left to call my dad—he was on tour at the time—and I cried. I cried, and I cried for hours until he came home around two in the morning, having walked off stage in the middle of a gig and cancelled the rest of his tour. He and my mother had a blazing row and she kicked him out, so he refused to leave without me and took me to a hotel. That's all I remember."

"It must have been awful."

I open one eye to look at her and nod. "It was. The image of her pallid face will haunt me until I die."

"They didn't call an ambulance?"

"No. Why would you call paramedics for a corpse?"

"Because you do, Amelia. That's how it works."

"Oh."

We drive in silence for the rest of the way because, more than anything, I'm just not sure what to say. So there were no blue flashing lights and sirens, what does that mean? Were my family too stupid to know what to do or are the rules different for the privately insured?

I'm sort of resentful towards Gaby. Why do people insist on drudging up my past and obliterating all of the preconceived notions that I had? I thought I had this all straight and I stand to gain absolutely nothing by rehashing it all now. It's over. Creedance is gone. Leave the poor child to rest in peace.

We stop outside a huge country house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fields and forests. It's idyllic and modest, and so beautifully quiet. Yeah, this is the kind of place I need to be, or at least it was until I saw the sign.

_  
__Small House Mental Health Clinic_ _  
_ _Head consultants: Dr. G Pearce & Dr. M Cooper_

That's why it looks so quaint and serene. It's a fucking nut house and my god damn shrink is the ring leader. It's not exactly Bad Daughter-In-Law Purgatory, but it's close enough. What does she hope to achieve by dragging me here and immersing me in an environment with a bunch of puddled loony-toons so we can sit in a big happy circle and share tales of our crippling psychoses? This is a set up, it has to be. This is why they were whispering.

Gaby catches my eye as she parks up and almost has the nerve to laugh at me. Now I understand where her son gets it from. "Relax, Amelia. You don't really fit our demographic to be forcibly sectioned here. There's just somebody I'd like you to meet." What do I really stand to lose by stamping my feet and refusing to get out of her car? I'm already here—if she's trying to dupe me to get me to go inside, it means that there are already a team of men in white coats poised to take me down. They'll just come and drag me out of the car if I don't go unwillingly, so what the hell.

I follow her through the building to a large kitchen area, where she promptly flicks on the kettle and seats herself at the huge dining table. I'm kind of surprised that we just strolled in unannounced and walked right past the glass window in the reception without having to sign in or go through any kind of security doors. What the hell kind of place is this? It seems kind of like an oversized family home, like a slighter smaller version of our new place but somehow built to house thirty. In some aspects, it's almost like a primary school, too. It's very versatile and comfortable. I can see why it would make a good clinic, but the lax security still baffles me.

"Andy wasn't the first child I took care of, you know." Gaby pulls me from my reverie with her unprovoked conversation and nods towards a cup of coffee made up for me. "Arnold and I have had no less than five children pass our walls over the years but only two ever stood out, and Andy was the only one we adopted."

"CJ never mentioned that you were foster carers."

"I'm not surprised. He didn't live at home much from the age of sixteen. I'm sure you know by now that he doesn't get on with his father." Yes, and I still completely hate the reasons why. What kind of sick fuck spends so many years telling a child that they were unwanted and unwelcome just on the circumstances of their conception? "But he was sort of the reason why Andy came to us. They went to school together and were very firm friends. We knew Andy's parents well—well enough to know that they weren't really fond of their families. So when they both tragically lost their lives in quite a horrific traffic accident when the boys were ten, we went above and beyond to make sure he came into an environment with which he was familiar and comfortable." Now that is benevolence at it's finest.

"Is that why they don't really call each other brothers?"

"Yes, something like that. And it's why Andy still has his parent's surname. A name is an identity—you know that better than most—and it didn't really feel proper to overcome that piece of him and make him feel like we were trying to replace his parents."

"But he still calls you 'Mum'."

"I know." She smiles warmly and pushes a plate of cookies across the table to me. They're still warm in the middle and sickeningly gooey. So maybe I might grow to like this place... "It warms my heart when he does, but I never want him to forget that he had his own mother, too. Anyway, when the boys finished college they went travelling for a couple of years. With Emily settled in her own home and circulating the country as a session musician, Arnold and I were left with a great deal of time to ourselves to grow and expand as people. His work takes him away from home quite a lot, so I decided to follow suit and work around the country as a locum for a while. The health system is just screaming out for paediatric specialists so I travelled wherever the work was.

"I was feeling pretty low one evening, sulking because CJ was going to be away from me for his birthday for the first time. I had just opened a bottle of wine in my hotel room and was about to take a sip when I received quite a frantic call from the local emergency department.

"As a doctor, it can be extremely difficult to withhold judgement over the people you meet. You have to treat everyone equally and resist the urge to place preference or give someone a piece of your mind. But when I walked into the children's ward that evening and saw the couple sitting at the bedside of one very poorly little girl, Death seemed to walk over my grave. There was something undeniably 'off' about them and it wasn't only me who felt it. They were complacent and almost unfazed by just how critically ill the child was, and jumped at the chance to go home and leave her in my care. 'Cold and inadherent' were two words which frequently appeared on her medical notes. They didn't seem to care if she lived or died.

"I worked tirelessly to pull the girl from the cusp of passing, and to my great relief, she responded well. Beautiful little thing, she was—huge soulful eyes but rarely a smile. She was horribly underweight and I was disgusted to find out that she'd not been introduced to solid food. The nurses were having to tube feed her formula to sustain her and once she was out of the danger zone, they took the steps that hadn't been made at home.

"When her parents came to visit, having left her for two days on her own, it took four hours to verbally bash the woman into admitting that she wasn't the mother. When I asked where the real mother was, they told me that the girl was better off without her, that her mother was young, stupid, and self-destructive. And also gone. I had to make a bold choice and set the wheels in motion to have the child taken into the care of the local authority. I had a great deal of support; nobody in that hospital was happy to see her leave with them. Signs of neglect were written all over her face, and the fact that she'd been allowed to become so ill before they sought medical assistance was very telling. I remembered wondering just how young her mother had been and if she'd been properly supported. But they wouldn't tell us a thing.

"When she was well enough to be discharged, I couldn't stand the idea of seeing her lost in the care system, so I fostered her and brought her back to Birmingham. She met 'Auntie Ems' and 'Uncle Arnold', and we all did the best we could to give her a happy home. But she always looked so lost and unhappy, and when we first sent her to primary school, she wouldn't interact. It wasn't that she couldn't, she just didn't want to. So she came here when she was four and has been here ever since. Come."

Gaby leads me out of the kitchen and into a small sheltered area over looking a massive lounge full of plush couches and armchairs. There are maybe a dozen young girls dotted around, most of them together, some watching television. They all seem pretty animated and not really 'ill', but I'm obviously not seeing what's inside. "This is a children's unit?" I understand now why I don't fit the demographic.

"That's right. From anxiety to eating disorders, our girls stay here for as long as they need to and receive on site treatment. Their parents visit when they want and nearly all of the girls who pass through here make a full recovery. We do, however, have one stubborn little eight year old who won't talk to anyone and naturally, she's the girl we're here to see." She points to a girl sitting in the furthest and dimmest corner of the room, hunched over a book with blonde hair tumbling down over her face, foot rhythmically tapping to unheard music. "She's incredibly sharp and wise beyond her years. Talking to her is like... well, it's like talking to you." I raise an eyebrow and squint to take a second look at the girl. Something about her somehow stands out from the others and it's not just the fact that she's cut herself off.

"Amelia, I want to tell you something and I don't want you to get upset or angry. But I met your Creedance eight years ago. That's why I recognised her name. And I have to tell you now, because I think it's crucial to your own mental wellbeing, that your nightmares are fears of being a poor parent to her are completely unjustified. You don't need to relive the moment of finding your daughter dead, because you didn't. When your sister brought her into the hospital, Creedance was still alive."

I freeze solid in my tracks and feel every pigment in my skin drain of colour. "Are you telling me that my daughter didn't die?"

She presses her lips together and visibly steels herself for my reaction. "Amelia, I'm telling you that your daughter is _that_ eight year old."

# XL

#

#

My mind springs back into action very quickly and very violently. "No, that's not possible. There was a funeral. She has a grave. Your son has seen the headstone!" Gaby wrings her hands together and pulls me out into the corridor so the kids can't hear us.

"I understand that this may seem a little far-fetched—"

"Far-fetched? Gaby, you're telling me that my daughter has risen from the dead—this is lunacy!" I pinch the bridge of my nose and make a futile attempt to make sense of this. I can't. This is insane. At least I'm in the right kind of place.

"Amelia, I understand that this is a lot to take in but if you need reassurance, here." She pulls a stack of paper from her handbag and passes it to me. It's all in medical jargon and while I might understand it if my head was in a good place, I definitely don't now.

"What is this?"

"DNA tests. I exhausted all methods with everything you supplied on CJ's birthday. Your vomit, hair, phlegm, tissues you used to mop up your blood, even the fingernails you bit off on the yacht had traces of your skin." I'm not even going to ask how she collected and stored those samples without being seen. I have mental images of the woman walking around with my snot and blood in sandwich bags in her handbag all night and that is way beyond the realms of normal mother-in-law behaviour. Actually, it's beyond all realms of 'normal'. It's downright creepy.

"How long have you known?"

"A couple of weeks." My jaw drops in disbelief. How could she keep something so important like this hidden from me? CJ was right, she doesn't have tiny secrets. She has huge whopping great life changing secrets. "But you have to understand, Amelia, that as her guardian, I have a responsibility to ensure her safety. She came to me with a history of negligence. I had to build a case for you. Your family made out that you were unstable and frequently self-harmed. Obviously I know now that just isn't true but that kind of statement leaves an impression. But when you mentioned that you've been having therapy sessions with a Dr. Michael Cooper... Well, I'm sorry but I contacted him this morning. Strictly on a professional basis, of course. It's just extraordinary that you would be seeking treatment with the one man who owns half of this clinic." And again, I'm baffled by the fact that the theory of six degrees of separation doesn't even run that deeply. Two, maximum.

"So he must have known that she was alive. Why didn't he tell me?" Rather than try to force me to put a positive spin on losing her.

"Firstly, you and your father vanished. Bobby wouldn't answer his phone calls."

"He wouldn't answer anyone's." As much as he tried to put a brave face on it, I know that he grieved as much as I did. But Coops could have left a voice mail message.

"Secondly, patient confidentiality. With me in a position of parental responsibility, even if we'd found you, I couldn't have told you anything."

"So why now? Why are you telling me now?"

"Because I know that you can handle it. You've been out of sorts since your birthday and Mike assures me that it's all fear, that your insecurities over not being around enough for Creedance is what drives your depression. Plus I know now that there was nothing you did wrong and that you were as much of a victim as her."

I stare out across the room to that girl—my girl, apparently—and my thoughts just won't link up to make that connection. "We buried her, Gaby. I threw dirt on her tiny coffin with my father weeping at my side."

"I can't explain that to you, Amelia, but I promise, that is your daughter in there and she would be overjoyed to meet you."

"What? Oh no no, no."

My protest is ignored and I'm forcibly dragged across the lounge and pushed down into the chair opposite that girl. Her eyes stay fixed on her book and her unwillingness to socialise is made clear by a harsh sigh.

"Good morning, Creedance." Her head snaps up to look at Gaby and then her jaw drops when she sees me. And I understand why. She's wearing a The Bystander Effect t-shirt. For fuck's sake, not this again. Another die hard fan who doesn't know who I really am. Must I acquire all of my family this way?

"Am I dying?" Her peculiar greeting makes my stomach knot. Dying? Nope, and even if she was, I wouldn't know if it was real anymore. I don't know if anything is real now.

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"Well that's what they do, isn't it? If a kid is dying, they get their favourite band or celebrity or something to visit them on their deathbed." Jesus, she doesn't miss a trick. That is one seriously jaded eight year old.

Gaby leans over to fold down the corner of the page and push the book across the table away from us, leaving us both wide open. "Don't be daft, Cree. I'd have had the whole band in if that were the case, wouldn't I? I have a call to make. I'll leave you girls to it." _Oh crap no, don't leave me on my own with her!_

Creedance stares at me blankly and leans back in her seat with her arms crossed. I see now that her eyes are grey, too, and she's the spit of me when I was her age. She raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to talk, but what the fuck do you say to a phoenix in the form of a child? "Community service?"

"What?" I half laugh and shake my head. "No, I'm not doing community service." Full marks for dry wit.

"So are you mental, too? Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah something like that. How about you?" Why is my 'daughter' locked up in a mental health clinic at eight years old?

"I don't like people." She twists around and swings her legs over the side of the seat. "And I don't like food. I'm not crazy, I just don't like them." I know I should probably be encouraging her to eat better and socialise, but—

"I get that." I hate 'people', too, and I've probably eaten more in the past few months than I did during my entire five years on the road. "That seems pretty normal to me."

"Apparently it's not. And apparently I'm insta... instit... I don't 'function' well on the outside."

"Institutionalised?"

"Yeah. Gaby keeps taking me back to her house but I always end up back here. I don't even know why. I think it's because I don't talk about 'feelings'."

"Neither do I."

She sucks on her bottom lip and pulls a face. Is she sizing me up? "Why are you really here? I don't usually get visitors." _Because I'm your mother?_

"Gaby is my mother-in-law. She wanted me to meet you."

"Oh." She nods to herself and toys with a hair band around her wrist. Nervous habit? Why am I always watching for people's nervous habits? _Concentrate, Amelia!_ "That kind of makes sense. She's like a grandma to me, so we're kind of related." _Kid, you have no idea. "_ Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go for it."

"Why did you cut your hair?" How does she do that? Unintentionally pick the most probing questions?

"Because sometimes change is good. It's nice to feel like a new person sometimes."

"But are you really a new person?" ... She's got me there.

"... No. But grown ups do crazy things sometimes."

"Is that why I'm here? Because grown ups are crazy?" I nod, because it seems like the only logical response. Yes, my family were nuttier than a box of Walnut Whips and that's why my daughter has been absent from my life for eight years. Lucien was eighteen when Creedance was conceived, so he was 'grown up', too.

Gaby's hand appears on my shoulder and squeezes it tightly. She's been watching, I can tell, and I have to wonder how I've rated. "Well then, girls, sorry to break up the party but I have to take Amelia back to her family." Being told that I have to leave is bittersweet. I'm glad for the mercifully short reunion, but that's my daughter. If I were truly a good parent, I'd never leave her side again.

"Will you come again?" Cree bolts up from her seat when I do and looks almost surprised at her own outburst. "Please."

I don't know why I look to Gaby, maybe for permission. How can I realistically turn my back on her this time? I have a chance for redemption, and if I'm lucky, she might just forgive me. But how do you cope when motherhood is given, revoked, and then reinstated? How do you make up for all of those bad memories and all the bad experiences that you didn't fight hard enough to prevent? How do you make up for lost time when you're given a second chance?

I have no idea, but I'll be screwed if I'm going to waste the chance to find that answer. "Count on it, kid."

It's not until we're halfway home that my brain clicks out of its adrenaline fuelled survival mode and I quite disgracefully burst into tears. I'll be damned if I'm asking Gaby for a tissue; Kleenex are now officially a hard limit when this woman is around. She takes a minor detour into the city and drags me into a pub—my eyes are too bleary to notice the name—and orders me a large Jack and Coke. I'm quite sure that she's not supposed to be encouraging my alcoholism but I figure that she knows she owes me for springing such a massive bombshell on me with no warning. She could have told me at home so I could go and meet Creedance looking bad ass, but no, we had to go in the wake of my breakdown.

"I'm sorry that I just sort of sprung this on you, Amelia—" what, is she reading my mind now? "—but after last night, I thought that this could help you. She doesn't remember any of it, you know, those first nine months. We used to worry about her and thought maybe she was suffering the consequential results of negligence. We even explored the possibility of autism. But now, I just don't think that it's the case. She's quiet, creative, insular, she won't talk to anyone outside of a circle of pre-approved faces. She's—"

"Me." She nods and gives me a small smile that looks almost like she's glad to have found the answer. All of those traits, I know that I share them. I liked to talk big in public but I really only ever had Meredith as a friend. Her and I, we were the same like that. We didn't need other people and we never thought that it was weird.

"You and your band mates will be able to have a furious debate about nature versus nurture over this." She's not wrong. Cree doesn't even remember me but she's still grown into an almost direct replication of me. Well, hopefully not too direct. I pull the stack of DNA test results out of my pocket and stare at them. I still can't quite believe that this is happening. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

"You have a gift for understatement."

"Occupational hazard," she laughs and takes a large gulp of white wine. "I'm used to having to encourage cautious optimism where little hope exists. I had to do it on the night I met Creedance." Yes, that night when my world seemed to fall apart.

And then it dawns on me: Creedance becoming so ill was probably the best thing that could have happened to us both. Someone, Gaby of all people, took my little girl away from a family who mistreated her and kept her safe so I could escape, and now that I'm ready to look after her properly, she's giving her back. The name Gabrielle suddenly seems apt; the woman is like our guardian angel.

"You probably saved both mine and Creedance's lives, Gaby." Her eyes dart up to mine and her face flushes a deep crimson. She's obviously never taken the time to consider it the way I am now. "How can I ever make that up to you?"

"By pulling yourself together and getting well, helping her to get well, too, and taking her home, Amelia. That girl needs her mother."

"But, CJ and Delilah—"

"You think he won't want her? I thought you might know him better than that. He would want her to call him 'Dad' like Andy calls me 'Mum'." I should know that. I will always remember the words he said that burst the dam of my resistance to face my fear of kissing.

__  
___"Amelia, I'd still love you if you still had a child in tow... I would."_

But would he still say that when faced with the issue head on? It was a sweet sentiment but it was said at a time when the notion seemed impossible. Would he—could he— take my eight year old daughter on as his own, knowing how she came into the world? There again, they have that in common.

"Does she need to stay at the clinic?"

Gaby's face drops slightly before she hides it behind her glass. "Yes and no. She has 'issues' with food and is a little too guarded for our liking, but those matters could be managed through outpatient care. But she's institutionalised by being in the care system for so long. Being outside of the clinic makes her uneasy and frantic. It's not quite agoraphobia, more a fear of unfamiliarity. But I think tackling that comes from within her. She needs to want to leave. She's trapped herself in a cycle." The more I hear about her, the more I'm hearing about myself. Now I feel less guilty for her crappy infancy and more guilty for the crappy genes. _Sorry, kid._

"Small House is private sector, right?" Gaby looks up at me and purses her lips. Duh, her and Coops own it. "You pay for her care?"

"Sort of. We've been classing it as a business expense on the premise of my familial interest and the personal interest of Mike."

"So you're running on a loss?" I shrink down slightly and do a mental estimate of what this must be costing their clinic. There has to be the cost of her board and bills, food, clothing, and then they must have their own extortionately priced shrinks fruitlessly picking away at her to no avail. Even without the figures in front of me, I know that this doesn't add up to 'cheap'. "I'll take over the financial side. You must have something productive that you can siphon the money into to improve the clinic. Just tell me who I need to talk to and which lines to sign on." She doesn't say as much but I know that she's grateful. Maybe she's embarrassed to admit that they're not exactly shitting pound coins. "So what now?"

"Well, the clinic is open to parents between 8am and 8pm every day. Go and see her when you want to and just be yourself. Encourage her to open up and we'll let you know how she's progressing."

"What about her studies?" She blinks at me and cocks her head. What, were we not expecting the rockstar to value education? She knows I'm studious.

"She self-teaches from textbooks. She doesn't like the tutors. Consequentially, she dictates her own schedule, whether we like it or not." My immediate reaction is to laugh. I'm becoming more and more convinced that this isn't a hoax. "Let me guess, you were the same?"

"To the letter. I went to classes but never paid attention. Except music class and that was only because the teacher thought I was awesome." I never actually thanked him for the encouragement that turned me into an egomaniac. There again, that transformation had both good and bad ramifications. "I still can't really believe that this is happening. I have the whole out-of-body experience thing going on."

"As hard as it may be to believe, I'm right there with you. I always knew there was something about her, but I never for one minute thought that I'd end up sort of legally her grandmother."

We look at each other for a moment before we both burst out into side-splitting laughter to the point of tears. This whole time, my new family were just sat together in Birmingham, witlessly waiting for me to arrive. It was all in place, every single piece of the puzzle, and all I had to do was wait. All of that crap with Lucien, that doesn't matter. None of it really matters. My life didn't end on my fifteenth birthday, it just began.

I twist Gaby's arm into going for a meal so CJ has longer to rest before I get home. As soon as I walk through the door, he's going to start fussing and I know that it must take a lot out of him mentally, too. Besides, some slap up nosh is the least I can do for the woman who saved my daughter's life and I probably should get to know her a little better considering she's now a permanent part of my life, too.

We actually have a good time getting to know each other better, me putting in the effort I should have made before and her filling in a few painful blanks I really need to hear. Creedance was never registered with a GP, let alone immunised, so Gaby had everything sorted out while she was still in hospital. She keeps calling Mackenzie 'the ugly troll faced woman', which makes me laugh, and tells me about all the great moments I missed, promising that she got a lot of it on video. Cree's food issues might be because of her late introduction to weaning but I'm determined to get her out of that habit.

And it turns out that Emily deduced for herself that Creedance was mine from the conversations on CJ's birthday but was sworn to secrecy. That explains the weirdness at the table, and there's a good chance that when I was sneaking off to see Coops, she thought I was going to Small House. I'm amazed that she managed to keep it to herself for all this time; she sucks with gossip and secrets so I'm sure she's been itching to drop it into conversation.

"Amelia, you look ever so happy." Gaby mumbles at me from underneath a bright green face mask. Somehow we ended up in a spa for some pampering.

I look up from the latest copy of _RAE_ , which amazingly doesn't have any of me in it, and smile. "To be honest, I feel punch-drunk. To go from being so low to finding out I have everything I ever wanted, it's a little disorientating. Only a couple of days ago, I was asking myself why I had to lose Cree to gain everything else in my life, and I didn't. She was just sat here in Birmingham, in my future family's house of all places, just waiting for me to find her." I find fantasies running through my mind, ones of introducing her to the band, Meredith and my dad's reactions, and bringing her home. Home... CJ... "It's going to take a long time to get my head around the fact that I went from a neurotic mess to the mother of an eight year old living girl who looks just like me in the blink of an eye, and it'll put a lot of strain on CJ."

"Nonsense," Gaby scoffs, lifting the straw in a glass of iced tea to her lips, "he'll be deliriously happy. All he wants to achieve from life is a big family who'll be by his side when he dies. The money is surplus to him, that's why he doesn't throw it around and spend recklessly. You could have a baby every year until menopause and have a chuff so baggy you can sneeze them out, stretch marks up to your armpits and bags under your eyes you can hang washing off, and he'd still think you were the sexiest woman in the world because you gave him an army of children." That was a sickeningly sweet notion but I have to laugh at the vulgarity. He's not getting an army, but I did tell him we'd have another baby so he's going to get at least three. "When will you tell him?"

"Umm..." Wow, let me get used to the idea first... "Would it be selfish to just spend a little time getting to know her first?"

"No, of course not. I understand, Amelia, in a way only another mother could. If someone took one of my children away for eight years... You're allowed to be a little selfish. But you know that the longer you leave it, the more hurt he'll be that you kept it from him for so long." Yes, I do know that. I know that my life is about to change so much and there are going to be so many tests ahead. "This is going to be a huge adjustment for you all—"

"Oh, trust me. Me and adjustment are keen bed fellows"

"But don't forget about what you already have. Delilah wasn't keeping Creedance's place warm and she's a beautiful little girl in her own right. They're all part of one life now. Yours. It's time for you to show us all what you're made of. We've been letting you slack off but we won't any more."

"I know." I lean forward and brace myself with the determination I've never known before. "I'm going to make this right."

As expected, CJ is on me like a rash the second I step into the door, hugging me too tight and squashing the air out of me. I smile to myself and bury myself in him, clapping my hands down on his backside.

"Uh..."

"Mm-hmm?"

"You've kinda got your hands on my ass there."

"Mm-hmm." And a mighty fine ass it is. He spoils my fun by pulling me back by the shoulders, eyes raking over me.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm." Without warning, I launch at him and knock him backwards, trapping him in a kiss that can only be compared to the way we kissed last year when we found our way back to each other. Somehow, this feels the same, like I'm finding him all over again after five months apart. I can do this. I can put the past behind me with so much good stuff ahead. I can do it for my miracles. "Hello you."

"Hello yourself," he whispers against my mouth, a little out of breath. "Did my mother get you high?"

"Certainly not." Gaby laughs from the doorway, rolling her eyes at me when I blush. What an inappropriate moment to be able to feel his hard on digging into my leg. "A good husband would notice that she's had her hair and nails done."

"Ahh..." He looks down at me and grabs one of my hands. "So she has. Very nice."

"Full marks for enthusiasm. I'll get Ems and leave you two to it."

CJ waits until they've left before he sweeps me up into his arms and stares at me long and hard. Heh... long and hard. "Hungry?"

"Nuh-uh. I ate with your mum. I'm stuffed."

"Thirsty? Tired?" Pawing at him, I snuggle into his shoulder and stifle a yawn. It didn't really hit me until he said it that I'm totally exhausted and pretty much spent the day running on fumes again.

"Yes and yes. Water and family nap time please. Or just parent nap time if Delilah is asleep."

"Okay, let's get you tucked in and I'll bring you a drink. You're sure you're okay?" Okay, I understand why he might be a little sceptical. Yesterday was rough, probably the worst day ever, but it was yesterday. I have a world more now than I did then and this is my second chance. So what if he doesn't believe me? I'll make him.

I pat the bed next to me when he lays me down and tuck my arms behind my head.

"I thought you wanted water."

"I want cuddles more." He knows better than to argue and crawls across the bed to lie next to me, pulling me to lay across him with my head on his chest. There's his heart beating again, thrumming steadily, strong and healthy. He's here and he's alive, just like my two girls. No danger hanging over them and no ill prospects. Just progress and happiness. "CJ, what would you do if a miracle walked into your life?"

"She did. She's lying on me." I shift my head to look at him and smile at his mushiness. "If you're about to tell me you're pregnant, I won't buy the Virgin Mary excuse. I'll have to ask some awkward questions."

"No," I laugh, "no buns in this oven yet. I was just wondering what you'd do with another one."

He traces his fingers across my lips then twists round to set a feather-light kiss on them. "Embrace it. Enjoy it. Be glad that I have so many when they're usually so rare. And tell the greatest miracle I have to go to sleep because the way she's looking at me like I'm her universe makes me want to do bad things to her."

He doesn't need to tell me that. He is my universe, and I'm already asleep.

#  XLI

#

#

As ever, I find myself standing outside my childhood bedroom door, lights dim and vengeful. The door swings open and there it is, the huddle on my bed, as still and silent as ever. I approach slowly and roll it over, and like always, I scream out.

"Creedance!" But unlike the hundreds, maybe thousands of other times I've had this nightmare, I don't wake up. Instead I trace my fingers over the tiny features that lay beneath the pale skin, and her grey eyes jerk open, full of wonder and delight. She smiles at me and there are no interruptions. This girl is mine now.

My eyes roll open and for the first time in an aeon, I feel well rested and unfazed by the dream I've had. It's been months since I haven't woken up suddenly from a nightmare, frantic and disorientated. Even through my pregnancy, I was plagued with bizarre visions of peculiar and tragic deliveries, twins and babies with five legs. Of course, everyone was more than happy to put those down to hormones but I think Coops was right in saying that I'm rigidly stuck in my anxiety disorder. Everything scares me, or at least it did. Somehow I feel fearless now, and almost invincible.

A quick look at the time tells me that I've only slept for two hours but I still feel completely rejuvenated. I find myself staring blankly into space and smiling at nothing in particular. I have my daughter back, she remembers nothing, and even without my guidance, she's grown into me. She's not Delilah's second coming, she's mine. It's almost like I've been given back my inner child to spoil and indulge however I like, but I know that I have to make a conscious effort to not try and live vicariously through her. God knows I've spent long enough making up for the time I lost to Lucien.

But at this precise minute, I want nothing more than to be with my family; the husband and daughter that I owe a lot of love and smiles to. I can hear CJ talking in his office, so I creep out across the hallway and spy Baby D snoozing in her cot. I can't resist a peek, she _is_ mine to gush over. My bottom lip juts out as I brush my fingers over her shock of dark hair and as loathed as I am to admit it, I really do see some of Creedance in her like my mother said. Dammit, why didn't I get a photograph? I guess there's plenty of time for that now.

I hover in the doorway of the office and watch my husband with utmost adoration. He's standing up and leaning into the window frame. I can't see his face but I know that he's in full blown business mode. I don't mind though, it means I have more time to admire him. His frame imposes on the scene of his stomping ground—tall bookcases fully stocked with box files and papers strewn across his glass and brushed chrome computer desk. I often forget that he does actually work for a living and I have to wonder how he finds the time to look after us and keep his empire afloat. The man I see now is bold and supremely powerful, not the pussy cat who begged me not to leave him.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, then drops his hand to drum against the wall underneath the window. "You're positive that they want to cancel? ... No, it's just... you know that there's a sentimental attachment. Can you organise a donation to them please, Rita? ... One, maybe two. I don't care, surprise me. ... No, Mr. Parker is still fielding all urgent issues, I just thought I'd check in. ... No, she's going to be fine, I'll see to that. She just needs a little encouragement and time. ... Thanks, I'll tell her."

The hand holding his phone drops to his side and he sighs again, leaning his head forward against the glass of the window. Business mogul Pearce fades away and is replaced by a weary and fearful god of a man. "Oh Amelia, come back to me girl." I frown slightly, a little distressed by hearing his hurt. Why is he never convinced that I'm not slipping away?

" _I'm not going 'cos' I've been waiting for a miracle, and I'm not leaving._ " I cock my head when he spins around in surprise and nearly drops his phone. "Don't think you're getting rid of me without a fight, Pearce."

"Amelia," he gasps my name like I've released his neck from a noose. "You look like a different creature." I wasn't even aware that there'd been a visible effect from finding out that Creedance is still alive.

"I feel like one, but right now, I'm wondering if my old creature has crept into you. What's wrong at the office?"

"What?" He looks at me blankly for a moment, then shakes his head and walks up to me slowly. "Meningitis Trust has cancelled their fundraiser all together. But that's not important—are _you_ okay?"

"Yes," I purse my lips and rub my stomach. "Actually no. I'm fucking wasting away here." My earlier feast is already a distant memory to my hunger.

"You want eat?" I can tell that he's surprised. I've done little more than pick at food for weeks. Depression can be a great appetite suppressant for some.

But I have a better idea. "No. I want to cook." He gives me _that_ look, the one that says he's afraid to allow me near open flames and sharp objects, and reaches out for me with the same caution he'd exercise with a rabid wolf. "For fucks sake, Caspian," I growl at him and tug his arms around me, squeezing myself against him in the hope that we might meld into one person. "Stop waiting for me to fall apart again. I won't."

"You scared the hell out of me this morning, Amelia." I lean my head against his chest and breathe him in, emerging a little drunk from his scent. "I'm not used to feeling helpless. I've always had a way to drag you from your slumps but I don't this time. Tell me what I have to do."

"I told you before, trust me and never change. You and Delilah are enough to pull me back into compos mentis." And Creedance too, obviously. I lean back from him slightly and reach up to his face. I can't even explain how I can see some of him in her, too. "I've not managed my own life well for the past decade, CJ, I know that. I've never faced my past head on before and have always masked my feelings somehow instead of addressing them. It's not a healthy way to live but this morning, the dam that held all that back burst open, and now that I'm level again, I promise you, I will adopt a better way of living. And that starts with you showing me how to fucking feed myself like a grown up."

He looks down at me and raises an uncertain eyebrow. I understand that he's going to be a little hesitant to just go on without treating me like glass for a while, but I _know_ that he would be able to see through my eyes, straight into my soul, and find out if there was a single piece of me still quivering on our couch. So I lock my eyes onto his and smile, trying not to go cross-eyed by just how stupidly gorgeous he is even when racked with nerves and concern. "I'm all right, CJ. Trust me."

He looks me up and down, and then nods slowly. "Let me turn the monitor on in the nursery. What do you hunger for?" _You. So much you._ But I know that even if I can coerce him into some long overdue sexy-time, my stomach growling during foreplay is going to turn him off and send him flying for the kitchen.

"Something that carries a minimal risk of me burning Chez Pearce down."

"Chez Pearce?" He dares to smile and thread his fingers between mine, pulling me out across the landing to silently duck into Delilah's room. "Minimal risk, eh? So I'll show you the drawer where I put all the takeaway menus." I pull him back to stop with a snarl and try to shake off the hilarious mental images of some dorky teen on a moped staring gob smacked on the doorstep to our freaking mansion with a cheap greasy pizza in his hand.

"Stop it. I'm twenty-four and I've never cooked in my life. That's pathetic. I want to be a grown up and that's not going to happen if you start ushering me away from the knife drawers and Amelia-proofing the cleaning cupboard. Please, put a little blind faith into me."

"All right," he sighs with defeat as I drag him down the stairs, "but if you try any funny business, I'm going to tell the guys about your secret _Star Trek_ obsession." I spin on my heels and scowl at him for his threat. It's more than a comfort to hear him trying to inject some humour back into the atmosphere. It must be a real dagger in his side to joke about it, but if he is, I know that he's trusting me.

"That's mean. You have a deal."

"Okay, so mix the sauce, chicken and ham into the pasta and you're done."

"Are you shitting me?" I stare down into the pan of what is apparently alfredo and shake my head. "There's no way it's _that_ easy."

"Says the woman who spontaneously spouts psychological jargon that would leave Freud drooling from the mind-fuck." He's wrong. Freud would probably be nodding in agreement with my nuttiness. "But yes, it's that easy. Now dish up, wench. Looking at you makes me want to put stuff in my mouth."

"Umm..." I look over my shoulder at him standing at the table setting cutlery and frown. "Two points. One, you're spending too much time with Andy. 'Wench' is Meredith's pet name. Two, I'm not sure whether to think that you're spending too much time with the gays as well or whether to analyse the shit out of your id."

"Id?"

I groan inwardly and shake my head. I'm too hungry to explain. "Google that shit. Hey, this isn't bad." And the chicken is cooked properly, I'm assured, so we're not going to be riddled with salmonella in the morning. I'm sure that CJ could have done even better but I'm quite satisfied with my first dip into culinary adventure.

I throw my fork down onto my plate with a grunt and unfasten the button on my jeans. I ate like a complete pig and had finished second helpings before CJ had finished half of his first plate. He's staring at me, eyes wide and mouth open, but with my hunger sated, he could have one foot up my arse and a finger up my nose and I wouldn't care. I'm just staring at nothing in particular and smiling again. _She's alive. Ho-ly shit._

"Did my mother take you to a drug dealer?" My head snaps around to CJ and I have to resist the urge to laugh. "You went out looking like the world had ended and came back looking like..." He shrugs and shakes his head.

"Like what? Like your wife?"

"No." I frown and heave myself up to remove my empty plate from the table. He stacks his on top of mine and waves his hands at the leftover scraps. Apparently his appetite isn't back yet, which means that something is bothering him. "When I first met you, I could see that something tortured you. I don't see that now. As much as I love seeing you smile with a new lust for life, I'm worried that it's a new stage face that even I can't see past. I'm worried that we're losing touch." Well if he didn't want me to smile anymore, that was a bloody good way to make it happen. I can see past my own resentment that he's doubting me but I can't see past his hurt, which is standing in front of me like a big brick wall. He thinks that he doesn't know who I am, but he does. He has more of me than anyone. More love and more trust. I look at him and I can see that he's holding so much back. He never used to be so afraid to offend and I have to know why he's reigning himself in.

"Right. Go and get the pack of cards from my coat pocket."

"You want to play cards?"

"Kind of." It's obvious that he's confused, maybe even a little put out, so he obviously didn't make the connection in my loft. When he comes back, I empty the cards out on the table top and sigh. "Okay, we have until Delilah wakes up, so prioritise."

"What?" He sits back down next to me and stares at the cards. He honestly has no idea where this is going.

"I know that you have questions which you're too afraid to ask, so now's your chance. We can do this whenever you want if you feel like I'm not telling you enough, so just ask what's bugging you most. And when we're done, you're going to return the favour because I know that sometimes you're afraid to give answers." He looks like he still doesn't understand but he will. I know he will.

I pick up the first two cards and try to focus on only them. This is going to be harder than my usual therapy sessions with Coops because my marriage may depend on my honesty. But isn't that what matters the most? Honesty? "Okay, give me an easy few questions to get me in the swing."

"Seriously?" He sounds almost irritated but I nod and set to work anyway. We'll both feel better for this. "Okay, you want some burning questions, but something easy. What's with the cards?" I should have known that this would come up first.

"I do this during my sessions with Dr/ Cooper. Building the house of cards requires a lot of concentration, so my mind is too busy focusing on this to really think about what I'm saying." I cock my head to balance a card across two peaks and try not to swear when it collapses. "He realised that if I was distracted, I was more forthcoming and wasn't so guarded. So if you ask me something while I'm doing this, I'm not going to screen your questions for insult or try to figure out a way to keep my answers minimal. You'll get nothing but my uninhibited honesty." I know that it's going to take more than that explanation to convince him but we have a whole lifetime to do this.

"Does it really work?"

"Coops knows _everything_ that Lucien ever did to me in graphic detail—I should say so." I hear his wince, but I don't care.

"Have you ever finished a house with the entire deck?" I laugh suddenly and accidentally blow my two tiered creation down. "Sorry."

"Don't be. No, I've never finished a house. I suck at this but I figure the worse you are, the better it must work as long as you don't lose your temper." It's hard not to focus on the fact that I can feel his eyes on me, burning with curiosity. I see him shift back in my periphery vision and have to fight off the wave of lust that courses through me. I want that man and this time could be spent more productively.

"What did you think of me when I first started driving the tour bus?" He's fishing for compliments?

"Lots. At first impressions across the library, I thought you were too normal. Then we spoke and I thought you were really arrogant and stupid. A lot of the time, I wanted to kick you in the teeth because you made me 'feel' and I didn't know how to deal with it. Feeling that way about someone was terrifying for me after Lucien, and it was almost instant. I was scared to let you in."

"Were you scared of _me_? The way I just walked in and told you what I was going to do to you without ever asking if it was okay?"

"No, of course not. You always stopped if I broke eye contact. I always had an escape route. I could never be scared of you. Not ever. I've always known that in my heart, but my head is stubborn and stupid."

He's silent for a while but I don't stop. I know that this isn't over and he's just chewing over just how far he can probe. I still want him to push me.

"What did Lucien do to you after Creedance was born? Why do you associate that event with the beginning of something awful?" _That was two questions._

"Everything that he did before, but worse—harder. He didn't care how much it hurt or if it was more than I could take. It wasn't immediate. He expected me to 'play' as early as two weeks after she was born. I 'failed' by not delivering naturally and it was my responsibility to make up for that. I began to shut myself off from the world, more than I did when I was pregnant, so Dad sneaked me out of school once a week to see Coops. When Lucien found out that I'd told him the specifics, he hit the roof. I guess it was because he'd been found out, I don't know, but he beat the crap out of me. From then on, it was only ever about keeping me in line. We never had sex again. And what was worse was that Cree was always in the room when he beat me." I hear his harsh intake of breath and his shuffle towards me. "CJ, I'm fine. Keep asking."

"I don't want to upset you."

"You'll upset me more if I know that you're keeping it pent up."

"Okay..." he clears his throat and stands up. I know that it must be a big one. "Did you really enjoy the... the rough stuff? The blindfolds and burnings."

"No." I answer automatically and shake my head. "I think I enjoyed the association. I liked the sex. It was ridiculously satisfying after taking that kind of abuse. But I couldn't get that without taking the hurt first and I didn't know any better that it wasn't normal. I always thought that it was okay when they came hand in hand but when it became only about the pain, I hated it."

"You _never_ had sex without being hurt first?"

"Never. Not until I went on tour. The first time, I was too drunk to remember it happening, but I knew that it had from the guys showing me pictures of me pinning the guy down. I checked myself over a thousand times for injuries and was so fucking confused. Once it clicked, sex, to me, became like food to an anorexic. The rest of my life was frantic and unpredictable, but sex was something I could take control of. Somehow, if I was in charge of that, I was in charge of my life. People idolised me the way I'd once idolised Lucien and they were only too eager to be objectified. And then you came along and took just half of that control away from me. You changed it all." I flick the small house down and lean an elbow on the table to turn to CJ. "You fixed me. And you still do, because Coops has never asked me that question. You've just helped me make sense of another piece of my life." I stand up and prowl towards him, caging him against the sideboard with one hand at each of his hips.

"I have one last question, girl. Sit down."

"Just ask me. I'll be honest." Because I can. He can't have anything worse than that and if he's still standing here, then I know that it's okay.

He trails his fingers down my cheek. "What did my mum do to you today?"

"She showed me that if my life hadn't happened the way it has, it wouldn't be perfect now. I have _everything_ I could ever want." And I do. It might not all be in this house, but it will be. I hope. "Your turn now. You said a lot to Coops, but there's something I need to know. Sit down." I shift out of the way and extend a hand to the table.

"I don't need your cards, girl."

"Fine. You never used to be afraid to come on strong or assert your authority. We started off with you walking in and telling me that I would take a fingering, like it and want more. Why aren't you that brazen with me anymore?" His eyes dart over to the table and I know that man well enough to know what he's thinking. "You're wishing you'd used the cards right?"

"Oh hell yes." He sighs and runs a finger down my arm gently, and I see all of his thoughts thrashing around in his mind. "It's because I don't want to remind you of him. I don't want to be like him in any way and I don't want to do anything that's going to make you think of him."

"You couldn't be anything like him if you tried. If you were going to do any harm by being forward, you would have done it in Manchester last year."

"But I see the fear in your eyes—"

I reach up and press a finger to his lips. "I already told you, CJ, I will never be afraid of you. It's fear by association, so we just need to change it. The same way we changed these." I dig down beyond the collar of my t-shirt and pull out my plectrum. "We're not complete without each other. He never made me feel whole like you do."

But I have to wonder where Creedance comes into this now. The three of us are a unit without her. I don't want her to feel like the outcast. How do I make her one of us?

Our bodies weave together in a tangle of sweat and muted moans. I crave the man like a traveller stranded in a desert craves just one look at an oasis. I still taste him, and I taste me, too. We had each other for dessert and by some miracle we didn't wake Delilah in the process. But I still need more and the more he drags this out, the more frustrated I get. I can feel him against me, rock hard and heavy, but every time I twist towards him, he moves away. I can't stand his fear. I want to take it away. Whatever happened to it being about _my_ fear? The air around us has the same humidity as it did that night in London and the tension is almost unbearable.

He pulls himself up and leans his forehead on mine, panting down on me with the same frustration. His fingers kneed away at me and I'm on the brink but—

"I need more." The man who always tells me that he doesn't need this part of our relationship steals my words and tries to wrench himself away. I grab him by the hair and pull him back to me with a growl.

"You say you wanted more, what are you waiting for? I'm not running from you."

"You're using my man crush against me?"

"Yes." I flare my eyes at him and release his hair. "I trust you, Caspian. I need more, too."

"But you still look scared." I roll my eyes at him and throw an arm over them so he can't see a damn thing.

"It's not fa—"

"Start singing again and I will definitely leave you hanging." He withdraws his fingers from me and traces them across my bottom lip. My tongue darts out to goad them into my mouth because I know damn well that it drives him crazy. "Damn it, Amelia. Look at me." I shift my arm and raise an eyebrow at him. How many more hints does he ne—

"Ah fuck!" I convulse at the first inch of him inside me and involuntarily clamp down on his fingers. I twitch relentlessly through the relief of my climax and sag back into the pillow with a groan.

"Jesus Christ, you adder, unhinge your jaw!" I unlock my teeth and smile apologetically. He should remember not to put anything near my mouth. "Are you okay, girl? I'm barely inside you."

"What part of that would make you think that I wasn't okay?"

"The fact that you look like you want to break my nose."

"CJ?"

He blinks at me and slowly lowers his eyes towards our joined bodies. "You're going to break me because I'm talking and not fucking, aren't you?"

"No." I push him off me and pounce on top of him, pinning him down by the biceps when he impales me again. Months of pent up libido speed at me and threaten to murder the puppy if I don't make up for my orgasm deficit immediately. "I'm going to fucking wreck you."

We match each other blow for blow and he very capably throws me around like a rag doll with little effort. I forgot how big he is and how perfectly well stretched I feel. Having him inside me again is like my life has reached an ultimate conclusion and couldn't get any better. Why was I so scared of this when it feels so good and definitive? This is us, the way we should be. Unable to keep our hands off each other and disgustingly in love. This is how the world sees us and therefore the way we should see each other. This is how we rock and roll.

Both of us are completely drenched and shining in perspiration, and we both have a seemingly endless supply of energy. Seemingly.

We find ourselves sat up and face to face, hanging onto each other for dear life. We're both too weak to go on, but until he's done, I'm not either.

He lifts my lolling head up from his shoulder to look at him and kisses the tip of my nose. "You're all shagged out, girl."

"The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." I wiggle my hips and sigh. "I'm going nowhere until I know you're satisfied."

"You haven't been to the clinic yet." I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips. He's been holding back on purpose? And clearly knows little about human reproduction.

"So?" He narrows his eyes and cocks his head at me before leaning me back and winding our fingers together. "This is so not a sexy conversation and we've had it before already, but please, go the fuck for it so I don't start wondering if I have a bucket now." He scoffs and slowly drives into me. I don't think my body has anything left to give and I feel thoroughly over-used, but I can take this pace.

"No, you don't. You feel ama—"

"Don't talk." I pull his face to mine and relish his moans against my mouth. It means so much that he enjoys this as much as me. I would care about no other man's pleasure, only his, so when his teeth bite down on my lip and his weight crushes me down into the mattress, my body releases a very small victory orgasm and officially shuts up shop for the night. I straighten out the damp hair plastered to his forehead and urge him to look up at me. "I love you, CJ."

He gives me a sleepy smile and rests his chin down on my chest. "I love you too, girl. Thank you for—"

For what, I have no idea because the minute my eyes close, I am out for the count.

# XLII

#

#

When Dorothy clicked the heels of her ruby slippers together and said ' _there's no place like home_ ', she was kind of sparse on the details. There's no place like bed when you wake up with a very hot man wrapped around you, fingers flexing on your left fun-bag through his REM cycle, face nestled in the crook of your neck and solid muscular body pressed right up against you. Though seeing as said man and bed are in my home, I guess there's no place like home by proxy.

Delilah is still flat out too. At— _checking the time_ —9am, Christ. I know I could be leaping over there to check that she's still breathing, but no. Of course she's still breathing. She's just treating us to a little down time.

Lying back, I recall all the dreams I had last night. Lots about Creedance as far as I can remember. Dreams of watching her grow up, visiting her at Small House, seeing her play with Delilah... It's a long shot from the dream I had before, without a doubt. I'm not stupid enough to think that my life is suddenly going to become miraculously wonderful now, but it's at least finally registered on my subconscious that any depressive thoughts lingering are completely irrational. I might just reconsider those low dose antidepressants if they hang around much longer.

Today is officially the first day of the rest of my life and a starting point for improvement. However, I am in no hurry to start making those productive changes when there's a snoozing hunk of deliciousness next to me. How often are we going to get to enjoy a blissful silence like this for the foreseeable future? Two or three kids running around and jumping on the bed... Just thinking about it wears me out. I could just close my eyes for a while...

"Well don't you look bright eyed and bushy tailed?" CJ and Delilah both grin at me when I find them in the lounge watching cartoons. I smile back at them, glad for the cheerful greeting, and kiss them both in turn. He doesn't look haunted any more, just damn fine and delectable.

"I feel it. You let me sleep in. How long have you been awake?"

"Since around 10am. You were smiling in your sleep, I didn't have the heart to wake you up. Did you sleep well?" Not really surprised that I was smiling, if I'm honest. I haven't showered yet so I'm still covered in post-coital skankiness and feel thoroughly well fucked. It's the kind of hot, achy feeling I haven't felt for six months and man, have I ever missed it.

"Yeah, really well. Delilah slept that long?"

"What? No, she woke at 3am and 7am. You slept through it."

"Well shit. What a difference a day makes, eh?" He definitely wants to dig into the subtext but dismisses it with a nod and the perfectly recited words to Spongebob Squarepants. I'll forgive him for being a big kid because he's so sexy.

I sit down next to them after I've sought out breakfast in the form of muesli and coffee, hissing when the fabric of the loveseat presses against that oddly endearing ache. "Happy days," I quip cheerfully, raising my mug in a solitary toast. It feels good to smile again, and look at all my reasons why. Delilah gets cuter as she gets bigger, and at a whopping five months old, she looks more like CJ than ever. Like I said, dominant genetics, and I'm past being bitter about it. She's beautiful, adorable, and incredibly placid. As far as babies go, I couldn't ask for one easier.

A hand sneaks up to my nape and strokes gently, provoking a purr that's met by a laugh. "So what's the plan today, kitten?"

"Kitten?" I'm still seeing myself as more of a bobcat. "Well, after I find an estate agent to sell the loft..." I nod at his open mouth, "I don't need it anymore, we live here now. But anyway, after that, I think I want to go and buy some new clothes because I've been kind of slumming it, maybe a little somethin' somethin' for Baby D, maybe a spot of lunch, then I'm locking us in the studio."

"You want to write music?"

"Do you have any better ideas for something to do with that outrageously expensive piano?" My mouth drops open a little when I turn to him and see him looking at me in a way so raw and heated it's almost sinful.

"Yes," he says bluntly. "The lid is reinforced." All my demons stop to turn and blush at his premeditated naughtiness.

"Okay, we can do that, too," I gush with a special school girl giggle I only ever did once before when I heard my first insinuation of 'older guy stuff'. He brings out the disgusting teenager in me but it's not a bad thing where he's concerned. "But I really did want to do something productive today."

CJ twists around to look at me, wearing the face that comes with a statement about to broach an awkward subject. "You know that I still don't want you to go out alone, right?" Why would he think I planned to go alone?

"Yes. I had presumed that you'd be offering fashion critique and trying to tempt me into a dressing room quickie or several." Realistically, it's going to be me jumping on him. Now that we're back on solid ground, we have a lot of lost time to make up for. "But first..."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He drums his fingers down the side of 'the box' and twists away when I lunge at it. "I don't want you to get all depressed again. It's selfish, but I kind of enjoyed fucking the hell out of you last night."

"Only kind of? Give me the damn box." His grip stays tight on the cardboard when I tug it but he eventually lets go when he sees the silent threat in my eyes. Turning my back on him, I sigh too dramatically and stage whisper, "such a big girl," before making my way into the lounge to see how much of Creedance was left behind in Plymouth.

To my surprise, it's not much. The box is way too big considering it's contents, so I guess most of her stuff must have gone with her to Gaby's. That's still kind of hard to comprehend that it was my to-be-future-mother-in-law who took her in. If someone else tried to tell this story as their own, I'd tell them that they were full of shit.

So there are a few vests and sleepsuits, a couple of embarrassing hats and the plastic name tags they put on her when she was born. And there's a blanket—a worn out, pale pink cellular blanket that was always way too big. _The_ blanket. The one I've seen in so many nightmares.

"Everything okay?" CJ wraps himself around me from behind, breath tickling my neck. If he'd asked me this time yesterday, I'd have to say no. But now, after finding out what I know now...

"Yeah, of course." I don't figure I need to get into the nitty gritty details of the blanket. What would be the point? "There just doesn't seem to be a lot in here."

"You were expecting more?"

"Well yeah. Look at how much Delilah has already at five months old." I practically hear his teeth grind behind me, so I turn around, full of suspicion. "What?"

"She said this was all of it." It's hard to tell if he's annoyed or embarrassed to have been caught out making hostile phone calls to Plymouth again. "I'm sorry. I thought it was insensitive for them to send it up without so much as a warning label, and when it comes to you, I find it hard not to say my piece to defend your honour." Nope, still can't tell if it's annoyance or embarrassment.

"That's kind of sweet of you, actually." He hums sceptically and reaches behind me to pull a small stack of photographs from the box, hidden between tiny clothes.

"She was so small..."

"Tiny. Four pound, ten ounces." His head jerks back in surprise at the new information but I'm not deterred. "Neither of us grew well for... well, for obvious reasons. You saw how sick I get and I didn't exactly have much of an appetite. The Cho's could only look out for me when I was there, which wasn't often."

"She makes Delilah look like a chunk." I groan at the memory of eight pound, four ounces tearing my cervix apart. I won't forget that in a hurry. He flicks through the photos slowly, seemingly taking in every detail, then stops. "Aww..."

"Huh? What 'aww'?"

What he 'aww'ed at is a total surprise. It's a photograph I never knew existed; one solitary photograph of just me and Creedance. I'm lying in a hospital bed, looking like a zombie, with her sprawled out across my chest. My hand is on her back, splayed out protectively, but I figure I must have been asleep. There was only ever one person in hospital with me, so only one person who could have taken it.

"Bobby Marsh, you sentimental old bastard." Naturally, I have to smile. I should have known that he'd have all my bases covered. "There's something missing from this box though."

"What?" I spread all the pictures out across the coffee table and point to the little teddy bear in every single one.

"Meredith and I spent a ridiculous amount of money on one of those stupid claw machines when her parents took me to Newquay for a day while I was pregnant. We were determined to win it, so obviously we did. It went with Creedance everywhere—they were never apart. It was the only thing she had that came from me. So why isn't it here?"

"Maybe it's, uh... still with her?" CJ tries to sound casual as though he's trying not to be morbid, but his interpretation of that suggestion is way different to mine. Maybe it _is_ still with her, not in the empty and mislabelled grave, but in her bedroom at Small House. "For what it's worth, Amelia, I think you did your best but you were overruled on the basis of your age. Your family kind of seem like they've adopted some kind of hierarchy and you're right at the bottom underneath Bobby. I haven't figured out who's head of the pack yet."

"Mackenzie. Always Mackenzie." Pushing the bitterness aside, I tuck the best photograph into my back pocket with the intention of keeping in my wallet and put everything else back into the box. CJ must be surprised by how calmly I've handled the ordeal but doesn't say as such. Instead he gives me his patronising but ever sexy 'you did good' smile and pat on the head. "So let's go shopping."

"Sure, sure... but I have a favour to ask." I can't help but be interested in what he thinks I might possibly have to offer him beyond sexual services. "If we see... _him_ , will you please point him out? I won't go near him but there are people whose jobs it is to be interested in removing the likes of stalkers, rapists and child beaters from the streets."

Strong words, but we don't see him. Our afternoon was actually quite pleasant and drama free, interrupted only by the occasional fan seeking an autograph. It's getting easier for people to recognise me for the whole extra inch and a half my hair has grown since my birthday, but I have my suspicions that it's more to do with people seeing me with CJ. He's gorgeous and he never changes—he's bloody well overshadowing me! But honestly, I don't really mind if he's centre of the focus for a while. If he was any other man, he might have had to sit around on the sidelines waiting for me to have time for him in the midst of all the hysteria and adoration. As we're sort of level pegging, I don't need to worry about him feeling ignored or insignificant. Besides, I would definitely prefer to keep the past few months of my life on the down-low. We don't need that kind of publicity.

The estate agent we spoke to was kind of a dick, so that hasn't really progressed at all yet, but we did gather a massive haul of new clobber for all three of us. CJ managed to keep his hands off me, which was boring, and helped me pick out a new wardrobe of rockabilly gear that he was keen to assure me made my 'rack look magnificent' when I asked, "does my arse look big in this?" I am, of course, not adverse having some junk in the trunk as long as it doesn't wobble too much, but he's definitely much more keen on the top half of me. This is probably my own fault.

Dusk is even better. CJ leans his head against my knee and haphazardly plunks away at the keys of the piano with no real aim, quite blatantly checking out the hot naked blonde sprawled out on her side across it's top. This is now one very dirty piano.

"I want you again," he complains quietly, shaking a disappointed head at my look of horror.

"You'll break me. This isn't the most comfortable of surfaces. I'm going to have bruises on my back tomorrow."

"On the couch then." His fingers leave the keys and reach up to my face. "What you gave me back last night was like somebody giving a wrap of high grade heroin to an addict who had no intention of going six months dry. Am I going to sensibly ration you out and savour you little by little? No. I'm going to recklessly use you all at once, potentially killing myself from the overdose and pray that someone keeps handing me more. Like any junkie, I learned to live without you. But now that you're back, I'm determined to enjoy you while I can."

"You make it sound like the pillow-biting sexathon is temporary." He looks up at me, big green eyes unexpectedly sad and resigned. It breaks my heart to think he feels like I'm going to keep freaking out. "There won't be a next time."

"You withdrew as soon as Delilah was born. I understand why, bu—"

"That was different. I'm over that now, I promise. I vehemently insist that you never let me go six months without you inside me again. Hell, even a day is too long. On the other hand, I promised my biggest fan a new album and I'm not going to let my nymphomaniac husband fuck that up. Help me down." He does, but I instantly clock the cheeky twinkle in his eye when he holds out his hand. The piano rings out tunelessly when my feet touch the keys, and this is one of those times I'm grateful for soundproofing and one-way baby monitors.

Silently, CJ turns me around to face the piano and eases me down onto his lap, pushing into me as I lower. Heat rushes through me and forces the flush that not long faded back to my cheeks. "You expect me to be creative this way?"

"I won't move. But it's this way or no music at all." There isn't even a slight hint of humour in his tone and it's.... fucking hot. It's impossible not to shift around on him when he's just so... _there_. "Less of that. Write my album, bitch."

Between the hard ass attitude, the fact he's practically a demigod and being able to feel him throbbing away, patiently calm and still but achingly solid for me, this might just end up being some of the best music I ever wrote.

I mosey into the studio and hold up a CD in Meredith's face. She frowns at it for a moment before she takes it from my hand and sets her bass down on the floor. Everyone looks somewhat brighter than the last time I saw them but definitely seem to be watching me like I'm about to spontaneously combust. Whatever...

"What is this?"

I shrug and stretch the stiffness from my back. As expected, the piano left its literal marks and CJ left a few of his own on my chest and neck that don't appear to have gone unnoticed. "An album."

"What? You wrote an album in two days?"

"No, _we_ wrote it in one day. Yesterday. Evening. Half a day."

She fails to mask her scepticism and looks me up and down with a sour expression. "You had a complete emotional breakdown less than forty-eight hours ago, Ams." People just won't let that drop.

"I am aware, but so what? I got knocked down, I got back up, I straightened myself out and spent a few hours at the piano." Also a few hours _on_ the piano... "What were you expecting?"

"Honestly?" She stands up with a frown and heads for the CD player. "A period of convalescence, a few back and forth trips to Southampton and a care rota to make sure you were never alone to top yourself. Not a miraculous recovery."

"Oh well, I'm very sorry to disappoint and fail to satisfy your impulse to play Florence Nightingale, but I wrote an album instead." I nod my head to encourage her towards the CD player, holding my hand out over my shoulder when I hear CJ step in with the breakfast orders. Instead of the coffee I requested, I get a kiss on my palm and swept around for some soft-core porno necking. The reactions range from shock to disgust to disgustingly shocking enthusiasm, but the bluntest of all obviously comes from Mer.

"Are you two fucking again?"

"A lady never kisses and tells." I glance over my shoulder at her and even she can't resist smiling.

"Okay, so are you fucking again? Remember you used to be the girl who never kissed but told everything."

"I tore her up," CJ announces, swelling a little with what I can only presume is pride, "I wrecked her, took her to visit her mattress in Valhalla, tapped that, made the beast with two backs, infiltrated the lady-garden of Eden, cleared out the cobwebs, took a dive in Muff Lagoon, went spelunking in the Cave of Wonders, discovered the lost city of Amspantstis—"

"Oh, whoa, hold it!" Andy holds up his hands and looks at his 'bro' with pure unabashed disgust. "I was with you up to the spelunking, but 'Amspantstis'? That's too far." The room drops into silence, amazed that he, of all people, has any sort of concept of acceptable conversational boundaries. "What we need to know is if you took a detour to either Fudge Mountain or the Hanging Gardens of Boobylon."

"Wow." I groan and wrinkle my nose. They have both spent way too much time thinking up those euphemisms. No wonder CJ was a virgin for so long. "What did you think the spelunking meant?"

The tomato that has replaced Meredith's head coughs and turns it's back on everyone to face the CD player. "Moving on." CJ winks at me before heading back into the kitchen and we can all hear him singing along to the music playing off the CD. It's amazing how he's committed it to memory so quickly, but I guess it's only logical when he co-wrote it.

It's not like all the songs I wrote before I met him. It's calmer and less angsty but still with a heavy edge. He played my Stratocaster while I played piano, and by midnight, somehow we'd written nine songs. That's... huge. The level of cooperation was enormous but effortless and there was really nothing we couldn't agree on. It was like he'd been playing by my side for my whole life—to use an awful cliché, we were totally in tune with each other. Obviously it's not all about love and roses, but there's no doom and gloom either. It's a metamorphosis, but everyone's faces are too blank by the end of the last track to tell if we wasted a night. Well, not wasted as such...

Meredith sets her empty plate down on the floor in front of her seat and sucks on her top lip. She hates it. Of course she hates it. She hates any music that doesn't carry a single note of cynicism and resentment. Plato, Levi and Erek are all watching her, Andy not so much, waiting and too afraid to be the first one to voice an opinion. She's definitely become the angry dictator in my psychological absence.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She breaks the silence with a question that has absolutely no perceptible tone.

"What?"

"I..." she sighs and wraps her hands around the back of her neck, "I loved it. I can't fault a single note—" Nobody has time to grin in agreement, even though it looks like they want to, "—but I've known you for your whole life, so I know that when you're at your best musically or academically, it means you're at your worst mentally."

"Mer," CJ curls himself around me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, "she's okay." I'm almost certain that he has no idea how much it means to me for him to stick by me and show me the blind faith I asked for. No matter how much everyone doubts me, he _always_ fights my corner.

They have some kind of awkward staring competition which involves a few feints and looks at me before she huffs and throws up her hands. "Okay, fine. If that's how it is, I need to talk to Plato and Erek alone. No spares." She glares pointedly at Levi and Andy, and they stomp off with a few strong words between them. And then she gives me the same look. "Out, you two. Close the door."

It's not until we're outside that I realise just how wrong this situation is. "Did she just kick me out of _my_ studio?" CJ shrugs and pulls me under his arm, steering me towards the fridge. My mind is working overdrive to think of all the reasons they could possibly be having a band chat without me there. Do they want to boot me? Maybe they're worried that me and CJ will go off and do our own thing? Maybe Mer wants to leave because it's too tame...

The speculation goes on for ten minutes before there are signs of life behind the studio door. All three of them step out looking sheepish and automatically scare the hell out of me. Oh boy...

"So I had an idea," Meredith starts, stiff as a mannequin when she marches over to Andy's side, "and the guys are in agreement, but we know that it might be kind of weird for you."

"You're shitting me up here."

She looks up at me quickly but looks straight away. "You two work really well together and came up with a really excellent album." Oh crap, it's the branching off thing... "It's still us, but it's a different sound. It's less like you hate the world and more lik—"

"Oh my god, will you get to the point?" I blush and shrug an apology for my outburst. "Sorry but if the punch-line is as crap as the joke, I'd rather not prolong the torture."

"We want CJ to take over rhythm guitar from you and put you on piano. Permanently." My brows shoot up in surprise and get stuck there for a full minute before they plummet down into a frown faster than a meteor. Did I hear that right?

"Come again?"

"We like having the piano sound but we like having Plato on lead guitar, too. If you just switch over, we leave a hole somewhere. And who better to fill it than a guy who knows every song we ever wrote like the back of his hand; a guy who's already toured with us, already been on stage with us twice, and co-wrote our next album?"

My frown doesn't shift while I consider this crazy proposal. CJ in The Bystander Effect? Standing out on the stage he used to work me up for every time I played and sang? Out there in the midst of all I once kept hidden from him, like he'd always been there? Forehead glistening in sweat from the heat of the lights burning down on all _five_ of us? Finger tips calloused and wrists stinging from the lash of strings breaking mid-strum, screaming to the world about all the pain I kept inside for so long until he came along, hair and body damp after drenching himself in water, t-shirt draped over his shoulder, eyes wide and full of adrenaline...

"Amelia?" His voice pushes me over the edge of something I should _not_ find quite so attractive.

"Ah, fuck." I double over in embarrassment and rest my head down on the closest surface with my arms over my head. Over-reactions like this shouldn't be legal, it's despicable and all his fault. "I was picturing you on stage. It's so unfair."

"So a yes from you then?"

I look up at them all between my fingers and every single one of them looks completely keyed up for a radical change. But I have to wonder just how carefully they've all thought this through. The logistics will be ridiculous. Even if we take the fact that we have Delilah and the so far unannounced Creedance, so would always need someone backstage sober to look after them, eventually it's going to involve CJ taking a lot of time out of his own business to travel, and that's something he needs to discuss with Andy.

So while the final decision may not actually rest with me, I'm still going to mince up my opinion in the name of light hearted revenge. They _have_ been pretty unsupportive, after all.

"Do you guys not remember basic A Level Psychology? The bystander effect—the more of us there are, the less we'll care about kicking ass. Look at the London Philharmonic." I raise a hand before they can start with their objections and bribes. "However, I made a promise in the eyes of some guy dressed as Elvis that I would never step on CJ's blue suede shoes. So the decision is out of my hands."

Erek cocks his head at me and dares to try and give me puppy dog eyes. "That sounds like you don't want him in..."

"I just came thinking about him being in, shut up." The filthy leers hit me like a gale. "In the band, in the band!" How childish...

"So you're saying that the decision... is mine?" CJ pulls me up to look at him, eyes bright and full of irresistible hope.

"I'm trusting that at twenty-seven, you're responsible enough to know how to balance and make compromises on certain aspects of your life in the name of maintaining the seraphic impression everyone has of you." He blinks at me in surprise and again seems to want to question what else I mean by compromise. But that's not for now. "I mean yes, baby. Do what makes you happy."

"Oh well, in that case," he grins and snaps up the distraction, "fuck yes!"

Celebrations come in many forms. Sportsmen do their annoying showboating dances across the field, cheerleaders shake their pom-poms and high-five each other, people like us make plans for immense piss ups and, I dunno, I guess wasteful fatsos eat. I saw all of those reactions and more before everyone herded back into the studio for a first rehearsal as a band of five, mainly covering the timeless favourites we always play and a live performance of the duet I told CJ was conditional of the new album. I'm sort of erring on the side of cautious optimism, reluctant to throw myself into enjoying the idea when there's been so much of a turn around over the past couple of days. Unlike CJ, I'm not a happiness junkie and I _am_ going to ration this new found positivity out as much as physically possible.

But right now, I have a kind of bitter sweet craving to look at my own flesh and blood, so I excuse myself to have a snuggle with Delilah and curl up on the loveseat with her. It doesn't seem like all that long ago I sat here with her thinking she was a stranger, now I'm sat here just enjoying my little surprise gift. Gabrielle's words still echo in my mind: that Baby D is a beautiful little girl in her own right, and boy, she's not kidding. Her own character is starting to shine through all the traits of CJ, and I get the feeling that she's going to be a real handful when she's older. A wild child, a trouble maker, a rebel and a heart breaker. All the force _behind_ the green eyes is mine, I know it. She's part bobcat, too.

"You'd best get my voice, kid," I mutter to her secretly, hoping that she didn't just leech my bad qualities when she was inside me. In response she lifts a hand, the way she usually does when she decides to be fascinated by the fact she has opposable thumbs— _yeah kid, it's an evolutionary miracle, get used to it_ —and slowly, almost deliberately and purposefully, gives me the finger with a massive grin. Almost definitely not intentional but there it is. Eureka. The moment when it clicks that this girl _is_ mine and I couldn't possibly see it any more clearly than in that moment. Her first moment as a bad ass. One of the solid steel supports that keeps me strong, as much as any of the others and maybe even capably on her own.

Well... maybe not completely alone. There's another amazing little princess like her out there, waiting for me to spring her out of the evil asylum and release her back into the world to be feral, just like me. A little princess I can't get to past the miscreants without a white knight or fairy godmother. Now where would I find one of those?

"Amelia?" My phone is at my ear before the thought is even finished.

"Hi, Gaby. I need your help."

# XLIII

#

#

CJ looks blankly between me shrugging into a bolero and Gabrielle casually leaning into the banister while she waits. He's been wearing the same dumbfounded expression since she arrived ten minutes ago and is yet to say anything productive. At least I might get out without a fight.

Gabrielle nods at my attire—a polka dot swing dress and not at all sensible Mary Jane platform shoes—and reaches over to poke the human statue in the ribs. "Looks better, doesn't she?"

"You're going out for lunch? Again?" Even Meredith joins in the almost feral snarl at him for bypassing the chance to compliment me. He stutters and mutters, "Of course she looks better," under his breath before shrinking down a couple of inches in his place.

"Any other man would have to beg his wife to spend time with his mother and promise to endure the insults from both sides afterwards. Can't you just be grateful that we're making this easy on you, Caspy-pants?"

"I am, I just... I don't want her to go." He catches my gaze and I understand immediately. He's terrified to let me out of his sight. It's not even a case of him still feeling recklessly wasteful of me, just that he never knows which side of Amelia Pearce is going to walk back in through the door.

"I'll be fine," I assure him, stopping right at his feet and smoothing the worry lines from his eyes. "It's just lunch, maybe a couple of drinks and some window shopping. I'll be back here in a few hours looking just as smoking hot as I do now, ready to compensate you for the lost time."

"You're sure you'll be okay?"

"Oh, CJ..." I sigh dramatically and grab my wallet from a coat. "She's your mum. It's not like she's carting me off to the nut house." Gaby's secret laugh is barely loud enough to be heard but definitely there.

The atmosphere in Gaby's car—a Rolls Royce Ghost of all fucking things, how overpaid?!—is markedly lighter than the last time she hauled me in and drove out of my driveway. Alice Nine blasts out, making me wonder if she's afflicted with a little 'yellow fever', and the windows are rolled right down. How she knows the lyrics, I'll never know, but it's a side of my mother-in-law that's pretty freaking awesome.

"I really appreciate this," I shout over the music. "Even if my Porsche didn't look like the arse end of Destruction Derby, CJ won't let me go anywhere without him yet."

"I've got your back, Amelia, within reason. I'm going against my better judgement by not bullying you into telling him right away. I'll bend the truth for you but I won't lie outright."

"So I'm pretty much good as long as he doesn't ask you if you're escorting me to rendezvous with my resurrected daughter?"

"Uh..." She looks sideways at me and laughs. "I suppose you are, yes."

Biting my lip doesn't stop my smile from being huge. Every mile that ticks around is a mile closer to seeing _her_ again, my not so little girl. I can hardly keep still in my seat, bouncing slightly like I've been hammering Monster the way we did on tour. Man, life is really turning around and it is seriously all down to her. "I said thank you, right?"

"Only a thousand times. To be honest, I feel like I should be thanking you. I've been telling her that I'd find her mother for a long time but never imagined I really would. All this falsified document malarkey has obviously been a huge complication."

"I bet, and trust me, you have no idea how pissed I am about that. I'm seriously embarrassed to share DNA with those cunts in Plymouth." My hand slaps over my mouth. C word in front of Dr. Awesome, potentially not cool. But she shrugs it off and keeps singing along to _Tsubasa_ like I just said 'bread'. I dunno why bread, just... bread.

"Your house looked like the pinnacle of hyperactivity; have I missed something?" We'd sort of promised to keep it secret until we go on stage again but I have a pretty good reason to break the vow of secrecy, don't I?

"It's super confidential, but CJ officially became a member of the band this morning. Kinda feels like someone stuck a foot up our collective backside and breathed new life into the whole arrangement."

"You don't say." Gaby looks like she's warring with an inner monologue, bobbing her head side to side thoughtfully, lip stuck out and forehead deeply creased. "That might just do him some good you know," she says finally, "you haven't seen much of the business side of him, but he can be very taciturn and finicky." That doesn't sound like my husband... "Andy finds himself hazarding wild guesses at what CJ is thinking about. There's nothing particularly equal about their partnership. CJ has always been the ideas man but he rarely sticks at one thing. Too indecisive and easily distracted. If he chased every lead to fruition he'd dominate a large portion of the British economy, without a doubt. But maybe, when he's got four very vocal and strong willed companions pushing him, he might just try a little harder and relinquish some control of Pearce & Parker."

"Are you sure we're taking about the same CJ?" She glances at me and slows at a red light just in time to give me a look begging for elaboration. "I've never known someone chase after something with as much determination as he does. I've never known him to follow anything other than a linear course."

"That's because you've only ever seen him chasing you, Amelia. Even before you met properly, you were the only resolute target he worked for. Of course he likes the jewellery design and the other three sectors run themselves, but he always had one eye on finding you at all times. He waited outside every gig you played in Birmingham but could never get close enough to see your face. He kicked up a stink when Ems got to be your session guitarist and harassed her non-stop—"

"Oh my god, I remember!" Her phone ringing all the bloody time because her 'stupid fanboy brother' wanted to talk to us. We took it in turns to answer her phone and shout insults at him, so I'd spoken to him before. _A lot. "_ She ended up throwing her phone at a wall because he wouldn't get his damn finger off speed dial."

Gaby nods and laughs, obviously having heard the story before. "When it came out that he was driving your tour bus, I knew it wouldn't be long before it came out that there'd be an extra member to the Pearce family. I'll admit finding out there'd be two was one hell of a shock though."

But something will always bug me... "But he didn't know who I was when he proposed."

"Doesn't matter. Whether you were the woman he'd idolised blindly or some new piece of crumpet from a support act was irrelevant when you made him feel so... complete. Worked out quite nicely though, didn't it? Apart from that big grey area when... well, you know when. But he still got up every morning determined to win a rockstar's heart, called Meredith to see how you were and kept dreaming. You can't deny that the man's tenacity achieved the desired results." She's right, I can't. There is no way I can reasonably argue with that man's blind faith and ability to dream through nightmares. How could I ever doubt that he'd let go when he's worked so hard to make me hold on? And why am I obsessed with the fact that he could have ended up with someone other than the person he chased for so long? He didn't, it was me all the way through, and I _have_ to let that go.

"You two belong together. Never in my life have I seen two people look so in love when the world is weighing down, concentrated on just one of them. You might think he tends to be a bit of a push over, but without you even knowing it, he's forcing you harder than any army drill sergeant."

"Thank you, Gabrielle." My hands shuffle restlessly in my lap as I mull over what she just said. Yes, everything I've done to get myself on the road to recovery was for him, but have I really been unwittingly following his lead? I guess my perspective is blurred by being so close to the core of the issue. If what she's offering is really an outsider view, what am I really worrying about? "It means a lot to hear this from someone who knows him so well. I can ask him to his face, but it'd be too easy for him to lie."

"He would never lie to you," she says severely, "I taught him far better than to lie to spare someone's feelings. Total honesty, whether you like it or not, I'm afraid..." We pull round into the Small House car park and park up in the same spot as before. I didn't notice before that it's got a sign poking out from the grass in front of it designating the space to her. "And that would be my cue to be honest, too. There's a surprise inside for you." Oh hell...

"You're not going to reveal that Creedance has a twin they never told me about are you? I don't think I can take any more twin drama."

She laughs and steps out of her swanky car, leaving me a few steps behind when she heads straight in through the door before I'm even standing on the concrete. "Goodness no. But I'm certain you'll approve."

We're only just through the reception area, which I now understand hardly needs to be maximum security, when two wise aquamarine eyes catch mine over a grin. Without even really trying to control the impulse, I throw myself at their owner with a squeal and lock my arms around their neck. "Coops, you old dog!"

"Well then," he chuckles, and surprisingly, hugs me back, "this was well worth the drive."

A minute too late, a voice in the back of my mind starts screaming, _stop fucking snuggling with your shrink!_ "Oh, uh..." I step backwards, suddenly feeling like a massive twat. "That was a bit weird of me. Been a heavy few days you know, not firing on all cylinders..." Is that excuse going to ever redeem me? Probably not.

"You're not the first to let your guard down, Amelia, and you certainly won't be the last. Come," Coops gives me one of his token kind smiles and gestures to an office just off the reception area. Seriously, the more I look at this place, the more I swear it's been a school at some point. The layout is just like my old primary school.

Inside looks just like his Plymouth office but smaller. The desk is pushed right back and most of the space dominated by two garish couches set parallel to each other with a coffee table in between, but it's more informal and people friendly, so I figure they're trying to keep with the homey type feel throughout for the kids _and_ their parents. Jeez, I'm one of those parents now. How much of this room am I going to see?

"So... I'm guessing you didn't drive all this way just to provoke an unexpected attack of affection?"

As always, he heads for a table full of junk for tea and coffee and sets to work. "No, but that was a lovely bonus. I started driving up as soon as I picked up several frantic messages from your husband, left in the wee hours of Sunday morning." He turns to me with a smirk and shakes his head. "Honestly Amelia, Sunday is my only day off. Could you not have scheduled your breakdown for a more considerate day of the week?"

"You should have arranged for us to get caught on a day better than Friday."

"Touché. But I got the call from Gaby not long after I left and stopped thrashing the speed limit. Stopped by to see Bobby, actually; he's quite worried about you." Why does everyone know where my dad is except me? Does nobody see something wrong there? Coops passes me a mug and sits down on one of the couches, looking way more at home here than in his usual office. I wonder how much he works here and if he works with Creedance... "You came back. That's a good sign."

"Like I had a choice."

"Of course you did. You could have avoided confronting the matter for days, weeks, as long as you wanted. Even if Gabrielle had told everyone and they'd rallied against you, nobody could have made come back here against your will."

"It didn't even occur to me that running away was an option." I flop down on the other couch. "I mean, I wanted her back for so long... and you knew the whole time."

He raises one hand in surrender and nods, not really looking like he feels all too bad about it. "Guilty as charged, so you can imagine my surprise when you turned up in my office again. That's why I was determined to treat you as intensively as you needed. I had every intention of leading you back to her, even if I couldn't tell you outright, but I wanted you to find her again when you felt like you _deserved_ her. I might have anticipated that Gabrielle might throw a spanner in the works, but her method of reuniting you seems to have worked just as well. How do you feel?"

I think for a moment and decide on, "Complete. I wrote a new album, had my eureka moment with Delilah and crossed the point of no return with CJ." Staring down into my coffee, I weigh up all the things I've felt over the past two days, and ultimately it all adds up to, "I've never been happier."

Coops stares at me for a long minute, and then nods to himself. There's a good chance that I'll see a lot of him if he's helping to managing Cree's care, but something about this moment feels... absolute. "Well then, all things considered, I believe my work with you is done. Amelia Pearce, I hereby pronounce you sane. For now."

"Yeah," I laugh, "see you again as a patient in a few years when she's a teenager. Don't get any clever ideas about retiring because you're going to make a fortune from us."

"Oh, come now, Creedance." My ears prick up as soon as I hear Gaby saying her name from the kitchen we sat in while she was giving me her life story last time. I creep up to the doorway and find my cheeks inexplicably heating when I see two women smile at me. Cree is slumped over with her back to me, hair over her face, fiddling with a phone.

"I really don't want to."

"I happen to know a rockstar who's rather partial to cookies..."

"Cookies!" I rumble in my best awful Cookie Monster impression and clap my hands down on Cree's shoulders. "Amelia love cookies!" She groans beneath me and Gaby's laugh tells me that she's probably rolled her eyes, too. I've got the embarrassing mother thing down well in advance.

The other woman in the kitchen wipes a floury hand on her apron and holds it out to me. She looks like she might be one of the nicest people on the planet, definitely not someone I'd usually stumble across in my life, and somehow I can just tell she's a mother, too. It just seems to radiate off her. "Nice to meet you, Amelia. I'm Cera—Cree's key worker." She gives me a secret smile that says, 'we'll talk later' when she shakes my hand, then steps back, bobbed hair bouncing. "Fancy joining us?"

"Oh, I dunno. Life has taught me many valuable lessons and one of the most prominent was that I'm not flame retardant." My eyes flicker down to Cree and suddenly the memory of her 'conception' doesn't seem all so bad. "I totally can't cook."

"I thought CJ was teaching you?" Gabrielle puts her hands on her hips and looks almost disappointed in her son. Crap, there'll be none of that. She should get that cooking lessons have hardly been a priority.

"We've only just moved into Chez Pearce, I think he wants to at least let the paint dry before I burn it down. But I am totally game for cookies with adult supervision. Creedance?" She looks up at me, grey eyes— _my_ grey eyes—almost confused. "Please?"

"I... but... can..." she stammers, then sighs and lowers her eyes back to her phone. "I'll help if I get to pick the music." She doesn't wait for confirmation before she disappears, then comes back quickly with a CD flashing silver against her hand. Cera puts it in some dodgy looking cheap portable CD player that's been piping in the local radio station through its tinny speakers. I'm totally floored to hear Amanda Palmer's voice.

"Nice choice, kid. I've been listening to the same album."

"Track seven reminds me of you," Cree mutters in my direction, not actually looking at me as she rolls up her sleeves. And when it comes around, I get why. _Guitar Hero_ with the lyrics _'Stratocaster strapped to your back, it's a semi-automatic like Dad's'_. Well... she's done her research. She has no idea how I can interpret the rest of those lyrics to relate to myself. _Thanks kid, for seeing right fucking through me._

Gabrielle and Coops stand on either side of me, watching Cree reluctantly pace the lounge area offering cookies to the other girls and how she seems to do it tactically, avoiding the girls who clearly have eating disorders. It's obvious that those girls in particular really respect her and in general, they all seem like they kind of look up to her but she's totally oblivious. As soon as she's done the rounds, she dumps the plate on a table and heads off to the same corner I found her in last time.

"Why does she do that? Why does she isolate herself like that when there are so many people around who want her attention?"

Gaby gives me a very pointed look and noms down on her own cookie. "Why do _you_ do it?"

"Right. Of course. Mini me. What have you tried with her?"

"Everything. Group therapy, individual therapy, image and word association, writing letters... We've even tried bribing her. She's a closed book."

"Cards?" I look up at Coops and raise an eyebrow. "Did you try the only thing that ever worked on me?" He answers with silence, which is an obvious no. What a muppet. Luckily, I know I still have my pack of cards in the bag I brought with me and people have been telling me for my whole life that there's 'no time like the present'. "I'm on it."

I march purposefully in her direction via the cookies and throw myself down in the seat opposite her. She actually looks up at me this time and pushes her book away herself. That's got to count for something, right?

"Come on, kid. I've got a wager for you. If you can build a house using this entire deck of cards, I will grant you one wish." That sounds so freaking cheesy, but she nods and holds her hand out for the cards.

"Easy." With no preamble, she empties the box and starts coupling the cards into peaks. Well. Really well. How the fuck does she do that without stopping to balance them properly? They just fucking stay there! Crap, I better make this fast.

"Can I ask you something?" I resist the urge to blow her house down out of jealousy. "What's your first memory?"

"Are you trying to distract me?" Just to be honest, I nod and stick my tongue out at her. Not so much as a titter... "I think... It's a girl, I think she's Chinese. Really pretty, short hair, cheeky smile. I think I remember her calling me 'lil sis', but I dunno. It's really foggy." God damn. Of all the things to remember, it's Meredith. I'd be resentful but I'm just glad she remembers someone who was good to her, smiling.

"How about after that?"

"Gaby taking me to buy shoes. I needed them for school but I really wanted a pair of red Converse. She let me have both. How about you?" Shit, I didn't expect this to be spun back on me.

"My first memories? Ah jeez... Sitting on my dad's shoulders watching his roadies set up for one of his gigs." It was the same Plymouth venue we played for the first time with CJ on stage with us before he knew who we were, except back then it felt like it was five times bigger. I remember looking at the stage—I must have been Cree's age—and thinking 'one day, that'll be mine'. "Then my mum telling me off for not clearing my plate." Not so much telling me off as throwing it across the table and screaming about starving African orphans. Ah, Liz Marsh, ever the fucking philanthropist.

Creedance stops for a minute and frowns at me, like she's realising for the first time that my life isn't awesome just because I'm famous. "That's mean. Sometimes you're just full."

"I know, right? Didn't help that her cooking sucked. My mum did a lot of really bad stuff when I was a kid, so I don't really talk to her anymore." Namely telling me that my god damn daughter had died. That bitch is dead to me now. If that grave stays in place, I'm going to spray paint her fucking name on it.

"At least you have a mum though." My nails dig into the fabric of the chair. I didn't mean to bum her out about being fostered and now is so not the time to come out with that bombshell. So when is? "Is that why you don't like food?" And now she's just brushing past it? What if she doesn't really want her mum now? What if she's just used to it? But why would she ask Gaby to find her mum—me—if she didn't want anything to do with me? Ugh, I should have thought through this better.

"I dunno, maybe. I've never really thought about it. I only feel like eating if I'm in a good mood."

"Me, too." I have to try really hard to stop my eyebrows from shooting up. The food thing is related to mood? So I just have to put her in a good mood, right?

"Why do you sit on your own all the time?"

"Because everyone stops talking when I'm close. They're scared to talk about their families around me because they think I don't have one. I don't want anyone to feel guilty so I just stay away." Oh Cree... So much like me and she doesn't even know it. But I think she knows that she has a family with the Pearce's, even more than she realises now, so she must know that she's not alone.

"Do you want to talk to the other girls?" She nods but doesn't look at me. "Have you thought about maybe asking how their families are? You know, showing them that you're still interested? And you can tell them about Gaby and Ems, or about stuff you'd like to do. Perhaps—"

"I'm done," she interrupts and leans back in her seat looking kind of smug. Between us is a massive house of cards, the biggest I've ever seen, and not once has it fallen over.

"Well I'll be damned," I mutter, sagging back to stare in amazement. Well, she sure as hell didn't get my coordination skills. I grab my phone from my bag and snap a few pictures of it, knowing that I've caught her looking seriously unimpressed in the background. Face like a smacked arse or not, I now have photographs of my eldest daughter. Amazing. "Okay, a deal's a deal. You have one wish."

"Anything?"

"Sure, unless you want something stupid like superpowers. I will grant you one wish within my physical limitations."

"Would you..." She sucks in a massive breath and hides behind her hair. "I wish you would teach me how to play the guitar." ... Okay, wasn't expecting that. I'm married to a freaking gazillionaire and she wants guitar lessons.

"That's definitely what you want?"

Her voice whispers shyly between the blonde locks. "Well you can't make my mum come back, so yes, that's my second choice."

I _can_ make her mother come back, and I will. Whatever makes that girl happy is what I'll do. Seeing her smile is my priority and I _will_ do it. "Creedance, your wish is my command."

Both of them.

# XLIV

#

#

The ability of the mind to adapt is unreal. Certain attributes of our physicality are predetermined by genetics—hair and eye colour, gender, height, even athleticism—but nothing is quite as malleable as the mind.

Small brains are filled with languages, ethics and values. Pride, shame, and judgement are learnt through primary and secondary socialisation at home and school. There have even been kids who've been taught how to survive in the wild by wolves.

Young minds are impressionable, impartial and eager to absorb like sponges. Everywhere they turn, there is new sensory information to process and translate into something valuable. Every mind is unique, but somehow, we still all have the same basic principles of being 'human' that makes us compatible regardless of ethnicity, age or religion.

Of course, that still doesn't explain how Creedance turned out exactly like me. It's the last day of July and after five weeks of getting to know her, I can see so much of myself that nobody would ever have taught her.

She's a wicked fast learner. As soon as I left after she wished for guitar lessons, I had Gaby take me to a music shop and pick her out an awesome looking Fender that I might have kept for myself if it had been for anyone else. We got right into the lessons when I went back two days later and she's picking it up way faster than I did. Her fingers are still sore and Cera assures me that she practices all the time. She's been getting some pretty envious looks across the lounge by all accounts, not just because Amelia of The Bystander Effect bought her a guitar, but because she can actually play it. My mini rockstar gets more and more like me all every day.

I go and see her every other day, which might seem like a lot but it's not nearly enough. For the first three weeks, Gaby would really put herself out to work at Small House for a couple of hours so I could get my visit in, and covered my ass until CJ caved and let me order a new car.

"A nice safe car," he warned me, "something heavy that you can't fucking flip in a ditch." It didn't actually take much to convince him that whatever car I drove would flip in a ditch regardless of weight and he should just let me buy the F-Type Jaguar I'd been eyeing up. He checks it every day for dents or scratches and looks a little disgruntled when he finds none. I have a secret laugh to myself because I love him being so protective. Letting me go out on my own wasn't a concession he took lightly.

Things between us are still awesome. Little by little, he loosens the invisible bubble wrap he's got mentally protecting me and the old cocky bastard I fell in love with starts to reappear. He's taken a lot of time out from work to look after me, which I feel crap about, but on the other hand I have Meredith telling me how much happier Andy is when he's working his balls off, and that makes her happy because it gives her breathing space. We all just seem to be in a happy little bubble and it really does feel great.

And Delilah is being a total dream. Still way more like CJ than me but I guess it's only fair when I have my own clone, too. CJ and I have been taking her out for walks around the city in the evening while the summer sun lasts and occasionally driving out to Wales for day trips just like a 'normal' family. Even though we're spending two nights a week being a super fucking famous band, we still make most of our time for each other or all three of us, so tightly enclosed it should be suffocating. But it's not. I'm glad that we have the closeness neither of us really had as kids and I so dearly hope that it will extend to include Creedance.

There's been no right time to tell him. There's been no right time to tell her either. It's always on the tip of my tongue but I'm held off by the feeling of panic that one of them might not accept it or even might not believe it. Which do I tell first and how do I say it? Is there some way I could tell them both together? Do I let it casually slip out or make a big formal deal of it like a will reading? What do I do if one rejects the other?

These are the things that constantly buzz around in my head on days like these, when I'm looking at the face I never thought I'd see again when I said goodbye to a box nine years ago. It's stranger this year because tomorrow, I'll be coming back again to celebrate her birthday with her for the first time. I can't make up for the other eight I missed with gifts, so I haven't even tried to show off that way. I'm just hoping that having her mum there, whether she knows it or not, is enough. It'll be enough for me. Almost.

"All the girls are really jealous, you know."

"Really? Why?" Cree leads me around the gardens of Small House, looking like my midget doppelganger in a pair of Ray-Ban aviators and a rockabilly swing dress. If Gabrielle is doing her clothes shopping, I owe her some serious kudos.

The weather is scorching hot again, so I dragged Creedance out into the sunshine for a while. It's been an age since I just took a walk like this somewhere quiet and green. Last year I was too pregnant and too damn busy with the US tour to take time out with CJ like I would have liked to, and the heat is way too much for Delilah this time of day. It would be nice to think that we could all do this together next year. That seems like a million miles away though. I don't want to look too far into the future.

"It's 'cause they're used to feeling bad for me. I only get visitors other than Gaby two or three times a year but they see their parents nearly every day. Now all of a sudden I'm being visited by _the_ Amelia Marsh. They hate me so much." She actually looks pleased that everyone is jealous of her. Hell, I can relate. I used to fucking love being the point of envy, especially when it was ugly bitches like Chrissie.

But the fact that she knows that they're jealous and why is a pretty good clue that she might just have been making an effort to socialise. It doesn't seem like much but she now sits at the dining table with the other nine girls staying here at the moment for meal times.

And she eats. Not full meals but more than a mouthful. Cera will put a plate out for me if I arrive for lunch, or texts me to tell me how much she had for breakfast, and one way or another, I sit and eat with her. She chokes down more if I'm there and that makes all of the adults who care for her feel pretty damn good. I'm making a difference, I know I am, and I don't give a shit if it looks like she's getting preferential treatment. Any of the other parents could make this much effort if they wanted to; I'm not bending any rules.

"So who else visits you?"

"My dad." It's all I can do to keep walking and listening. Why wouldn't Gaby tell me that Lucien comes here? "He sometimes comes for my birthday and Christmas, but he always comes at the same time every year in April. He says it's because it's my mum's birthday." Holy fuck, it _was_ him in McDonald's. Every time I've been in Plymouth mourning, he's been in Birmingham with our daughter. All the times I saw him around and hoped—nay, _prayed_ that it was a hallucination, it wasn't. It's a definite battle to fend off an apoplectic rage right now...

"Oh really? Does he talk about your mum?"

She shakes her head. "No, if I ask he just walks out. He told me once that she used to sing to him when he was sad and that she doesn't know I'm here. I don't know why he won't tell her." _Well, she knows now... "_ I keep asking Gaby to find her because I'd really like to meet her."

"She said." I clear my throat and keep my eyes dead ahead, still fending off fury over Lucien coming here. "What would you do if she turned up?"

"I think I'd cry. Gaby says that she never met her but her sister was really horrible and she thinks they were all really mean to my mum. I think they say she ran away with her dad and nobody could find them to let her know I was here. But if she came and didn't want me, maybe it would be better to not meet her at all."

"Of course she'd want you," I scoff, trying not to give myself away, "she'd probably be more worried that you didn't want her."

"Really?"

"Sure. She's been away from you for all this time and missed so much, so she might think you're mad at her."

"It's not her fault." She stops and looks up at me, and I can tell that she really means that. A lot of people have said that to me in the past years, but coming from her it feels like a real kick in the bollocks. "I just wish Gaby could find her to tell her that."

"She will." She already has.

Cera catches me on the way out after way too long out in the sun, covered in flour as ever and with jam smeared up her face. It's enough to make me laugh but I don't feel even slightly bad for her. She obviously loves her job as much as I love being on the road.

"You look like you need a coffee, love. Cree's in her room doing some school work and most of the girls are watching television. There's a service window I can watch through..."

"You had me at coffee." She gives me a look telling of her own caffeine addiction and follows me back into the kitchen, closing the door behind us but crossing the room to open what look like two huge cupboard doors that concertina fold to reveal a service window. You can see the whole lounge from here, so it's a pretty good vantage point.

From the few short conversations we've had since I started visiting Small House regularly, I've learned enough about Cera to know that my first impression of her was right. She's a mother of two as well, almost too nice to be tolerable by a miser like me and so dedicated to her job it's almost sickening. She's been Creedance's key worker since she moved into Small House, so probably has a better idea of what she's really like than anyone else.

So far, she's told me nothing new. Cree likes to sit separately, do everything herself and not eat. It kind of seems like all her care givers exhausted their options and are now just watching her grow from the sidelines, totally powerless. I can imagine my family and friends feeling the same way when they looked at me not so long ago.

"So why do you look like someone stamped on Bandersnatch?" It's kind of humbling that she's remembered something as insignificant as my dog's name.

"Cree has been talking about wanting to find her mum. It's hard to hear her say she's worried she won't be accepted and not be able to give the real reason as to why I can assure her that she will. I feel like I should have told her by now but it never seems to be the right time."

"No, you're right." Cera clatters around the sideboards, turning only occasionally to look over her shoulder at me. The whole kitchen smells of jam tarts, casserole and fresh bread. I don't know how the hell she does this but one day, my house is going to smell this good, too, with five people sat at the dining table. "I completely support your decision to hold off telling her who you really are. Right now, the focus is on getting her to a level where she feels comfortable outside of this building. We've spent such a long time looking for a way to encourage her to make productive changes and you seem to be it. If you tell her now and she responds badly, where does that leave her?"

"Years of feeling alone, betrayed, faulty, helpless and unable to function healthily outside of this sanctuary until she gets picked up by a hot millionaire?" I smirk into the cup she puts down in front of me. "Just hazarding a guess. Not talking from experience in the slightest."

"When you say 'hot millionaire', it doesn't sound quite so bad! But telling her is a judgement call nobody can make for you, only advise on. Your instincts and innate bond with her are working very well in her best interests and I'm quite sure that everyone here trusts your verdict. But do you want my advice?"

"Of course." Taking advice is quickly becoming an indulgence I'm hasty to satisfy. If I've learnt anything, it's that other people's opinions matter way more than I ever appreciated before and it's really easy to ignore them afterwards if it stinks of bullshit.

"Tell your husband first and introduce him to Creedance before you tell her. Maybe bring your little girl to meet her, too. Let her get to know the family she'd be walking into before she knows she has the option to do so rather than overload her with introductions when she's already feeling vulnerable. We're all flying blind here—none of the resident carers or therapists have had to deal with this kind of situation before either. If this ship goes down, we all go with it." Crap, no pressure then?

I screw my eyes shut and try to blank out the knowledge that so much rides on the decisions I make over the next days, weeks or months. Everyone is following my lead _again_ and trusting me to guide them onto the home straight. I alone am responsible for forging a complete family from this scenario and not a train wreck. What if I can't? What if I say it all a day too soon and blow it all to hell? How would I ever get past losing Creedance not once, but twice, knowing that the second time was definitely my fault? And how would anyone ever forgive me?

"Amelia." Cera squeezes my arm at the wrist and forces me to look at her. "How many times have you achieved the seemingly impossible before? In the past eighteen months alone? You've got this by the balls and you know it."

She's right. I do.

When I pull into my driveway at home, I'm somewhat confused by the swarm of cars parked up, not really leaving much space for me. Looks like the whole gang is here plus Gaby, Ems and my dad. Nice of him to let me know he was back around. What's more confusing is the deafening silence when I walk in.

"Um... hello?" I frown suspiciously at the gathered crowd of visitors sitting in my lounge looking complacent, and edge around them cautiously to put my guitar just inside the studio door. CJ and Delilah, Meredith and Andy, Plato and Levi, Erek, Gaby, Ems and my dad are all just sitting there. And they're all staring. It's creeping me out. "Why does this feel like an intervention? You're about six weeks too late and missing a banner."

"Where have you been?" Crap. I know that tone. Oh boy. What have I done now? No unannounced visits to prisons, no gyms and the car is fully intact...

"Nowhere."

"That's funny," Dad shakes his head and waves a bank statement at me, "because Nowhere hasn't taken any payments for a month, and when I called, Nowhere said you two haven't spoken since he was in Birmingham five weeks ago." _Fuck_. "So where have you been?"

Gaby is staring down into her mug of tea blankly. She obviously hasn't given anything away. I kind of appreciate that but—

"Nice, Dad. Don't see you for weeks and you pry into my appointments when you swore you wouldn't, then bum-rush my house with... What? What half-arsed accusation have you congregated to slap me with?"

"Who is he, Ams?" My neck snaps around to Meredith fast enough that I'm going to end up with whiplash.

"What?" My jaw drops when it registers what she's insinuating. "You think I'm having an affair?" Okay, what are the possible reactions here? Punch her, scream, cry, storm out or... yeah I'm going to laugh my ass off.

"Well, you're..." she bites her lip nervously and I can tell that she's unhappy at having been saddled with the duty of being my prosecutor, "... you've been really productive musically, relaxed, and you and CJ are... well, you know." He's been discussing our sex life with my band, my dad and my mother and siblings-in-law. _Are you fucking kidding me?_

"You think that because I'm putting out, I must be putting it about _everywhere_?" I look to CJ for my answer. I don't think he realises how insulting this is and that is enough to put an immediate stop to my hysterics.

"You seem happy, Amelia. You're coping with life again. It's almost like things are 'normal' but..."

"We've been tracking your phone, honey bee. We know that you've been going out to some country house every other day."

"So you assume I'm having an affair?" I shake my head in disbelief and engage in an intense eye-lock with my husband. "Did it not occur to you to fucking _ask_ where I'm going? Do you seriously think I would have your mother pick me up then wait outside while I fuck around on you?" I crouch down next to him so I'm at his eye level. "Do you honestly think I'm going out, cheating on you, then coming home and having sex with you without showering?"

"You might be showering there."

Faster than I ever believed I could physically move, I jerk away from him and thrust my hands into my hair. Is he fucking _serious?!_ "I... I can't believe I'm hearing this. I asked you to trust me. That's the only thing I've ever asked you for. I hired a fucking psychiatrist just so I could be the wife you wanted and you're accusing me of having an affair having not once asked where I was going or where I'd been? I didn't even try and cover my arse with shit excuses and alibis but you still just assume the fucking worst of me." I throw my hands up and turn my back on them all. I've never felt quite so betrayed in my life. I thought they understood that things are different now. I'm not Amelia Marsh anymore—not stuck in a desperate struggle to muddle through life. I'm Amelia Pearce, or at least I was. "I'll be in touch about custody."

CJ bolts up to his feet and lunges towards me. "You're leaving me?"

"Well, why would you want to stay with a cheat, CJ? If we can't trust each other, we have nothing. And you _know_ that I trust you implicitly." Only now he stands to lose something does he actually look like he's stopping to consider this lunacy properly.

"Just tell us where you've been going, Ams. Explain to us why you've been so secretive."

"I can't."

"Just tell them, Amelia." Gaby exhales slowly and leans back in the couch. She really does look like she's taken the interrogation of the century. "You'll need to soon anyway. She's doing very well."

"She?" I turn around reluctantly, head low and weary. I think part of me hoped that I could just keep her secret and never have to share her again. But I am glad to know that she's getting better and if I want her to come home, I need to have everyone on board. That doesn't stop me resenting that they couldn't wait for me to do this in my own time.

I pull my phone from my pocket and flip through my pictures to one Cera took of Creedance and I playing guitar together last week. I throw it down on the table and step back into the doorway. I can't be around these people right now. They can have their fucking truth if it's so much more important than my respect.

"I shouldn't have you tell you bastards jack shit. Do _any_ of you remember the premise of our band name? The Bystander Effect. The decreasing likelihood of offering help to someone in distress as the volume of people in an area increases. There are seven of you pointing the finger at one of me. You each have around fourteen percent likelihood of being the person who extends me the fucking support I need. Can any of you possibly perceive what it might be like to be that person sitting in the middle of a crowd waiting for help that doesn't arrive? I needed your trust. I asked for it and I fucking earned it. Don't dictate to me about unhealthy ways to live when not even a single god damn one of you can practice what you preach."

Meredith is the only one with the balls to pick up my phone and look at the picture. "Charity work?"

"Not really." I turn on my heels and make a beeline back to the studio for my guitar. Thank fuck I still have the loft.

"So who's the kid?"

"Blonde hair, grey eyes, a natural musician and hopelessly independent—you figure it out, Meredith."

Her eyes dart up from my phone and immediately meet mine. "But... but it can't be."

"It is. That's Creedance. She's alive."

"No," she scrambles to her feet and chases me through the lounge to grab my arm. "You're sick, Amelia—delusional. We buried her; I know you remember that. I know you remember finding her."

"What you buried," Gaby interjects, "was an empty coffin. I was Creedance's paediatrician when she came in, Meredith. I had her taken into the care of the local authority and fostered her. You all moved too fast and covertly for Dr. Cooper to let Bobby know that she'd been given a clean bill of health."

"What has Coops got to do with anything?" Dad whirs into life and spins around to Gaby looking positively sick. I can't help but take pity on the woman. She's probably been denying knowing anything for hours now she's puking details.

"Coops and Gaby own a private children's unit. Creedance lives there full time because she's not so good with... life. But she's getting better. She doesn't know who I am yet but we're fixing each other."

Ems crosses her arms moodily and shakes her head in CJ's direction, definitely thoroughly pissed off on my behalf. "We fucking told you she wasn't having an affair. Just like I told you she wasn't having an affair when she was sneaking to the loft. I thought she was going to Small House then."

"You knew about Creedance?" He looks at her with a snarl but she quickly wipes it off his face with a raised eyebrow. "How didn't I know?"

"Do the math, dickwad. You were travelling with Andy that year. You never met any of the foster kids. Mum didn't tell me but I put two and two together on your birthday. And before anyone starts jumping in with the 'impossible' theory again, I'd like to jump in and point out that there are now DNA tests attached to Creedance's very much active medical records. I'm totally with Amelia when she says that she earned and deserved your trust, CJ. The lot of you have acted like a bunch of fucking clowns today and now look at her. She was happy and you've shat all over that with bogus assumptions."

As calmly as possible, I sling my guitar over my shoulder and back out towards the door. CJ tries to stop me, obviously, but Andy sticks an arm out in front of him to stop him in his tracks. "I think you should probably let her go and cool off."

"Don't tell me how to manage my marriage, you fucking rimmer." I have to admit, a response like that does stop me in my tracks. But he's got no right to be angry with Andy, just himself. "Amelia," I step back when he moves to grab my hand.

"Save your apologies for someone who cares."

"You care. I know you care. I'll do whatever is necessary to make this right. I'll sleep on the couch because a spare room is too good. I'll get your name tattooed across my forehead. I'll... I'll let you burn me if that would make you feel better." The room flares into a burst of objections and 'you idiot's, and quite rightly so. He had my attention right up until that splash of insensitivity.

"I don't care, CJ. I don't care how sorry you are for assuming that my happiness must have come at the cost of someone else putting their dick in me. But you know what?" I step back from him and yank the front door open. "If I _had_ been fucking someone else, I would have sent you a FaceTime request."

# XLV

#

#

It was pure coincidence that I found myself in Las Vegas marrying CJ on the first day of August last year; a day that just happens to also be Creedance's birthday. It's pure misfortune that I woke up on my own in a different childhood bedroom: the one in my dad's shag pad.

I'm just waiting for someone to jump out and wave an accusatory finger in my face, chastising me for breaking my promise that CJ would wake up next to me every day for the rest of his life. He's the one in the wrong here, not me, but I hate being made a liar. I _am_ a liar, evidently a really bad one for being caught twice, but it will be me and only me who dictates the when's and where's of my deception.

Maybe they had a vote—I dunno, but Dad was the one who came to pull me from my funk. I left my phone at the house so he obviously just used his noggin to figure out where I'd be. He found me panda-eyed and sobbing into my knees at the loft and the Bobby Marsh response to tears is hugs and awkward silence. On this occasion, I guess being lost for words is permissible. He had enough to tell me how Gaby went through everything from start to finish, then eventually convinced me to go back with him to his place where there's food and, you know, furniture.

There were no more conversations last night. We ordered Chinese food and ate it with our feet up on the coffee table like old times, not talking over the television even when the advert breaks came on. Then he exercised another patented parenting technique and got me hammered on Jack Daniels so I'd sleep. And the award for best dad goes to...

I woke up to the smell of burning pancake batter and the sound of him firing fuck into someone over the phone. There was enough expletives and 'bitch troll's in there for me to guess that he was yelling at my mother, so I negotiated around him for coffee and skulked through to his lounge to watch cartoons, rubbing the ache left in my chest by not waking up near my baby girl.

"Happy anniversary." I get woken up again by Dad poking me in the nose with a dubious looking plate of pancakes. Hadn't even realised I'd fallen asleep but the allure of _CBeebies_ isn't quite so strong when there are no kids around. I really do battle to keep a straight face but it's so fucking hard when eye to eye with one seriously misshapen breakfast. "How do you feel?"

"Bittersweet," I croak hoarsely, "I miss Delilah and I should have gotten a good fucking over the breakfast bar when I woke up, but it's Creedance's birthday and I actually like hanging out with you. Where have you been, papa bear?"

"Visiting some old ghosts in some old haunts. Seeking closure, you know."

"Is that what you were just doing with Mum?"

He laughs and flops down next to me, stabbing a fork into his own plate of pancakes a la crunch. "The only closure you can get from that woman is a 'close-yer fuckin' mouth', and she never bloody does. What I got was a bunch of half-cocked bullshit she's either been rehearsing for years or dreamed up on the spot."

I snort, then make the most of the relaxed atmosphere and fart because I know it won't be made into a big deal like I just nuked Nagasaki. "Go on, amaze me."

"It was better that we never knew." I raise my eyebrow at him and shake my head. Is that the best she could come up with after nine years to sit on it? "Better that we never knew we could track her down because you didn't want her, and better that my reaction was genuine because having my grandbaby taken into care would have been damaging to my career."

"That's... inventive, I'll give her that. Except she got half of it wrong because I wouldn't have taken punches for a kid I wanted to be rid of."

"I know that, baby bear. So I told her to shove her crap excuses and Nazi regime of a family up her shitter and expect to be run out of her freaky little concentration camp town." Am I going to point out the conflicting insults there? No, because that's one of the smartest things I've heard him say. He can say whatever he wants to that woman because this is as much his fight as mine. He lost Creedance for a long time, too. Even Meredith is welcome to a few pot-shots when I'm done hating her.

I take a bite of what could be biohazard food and am actually pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes. If the phrase, 'don't judge a book by it's cover' is true, so is 'don't judge a pancake by it's charcoaled clumps'. "I just don't understand why I'm so different from them, Dad. It can't just be because I was the youngest; I stuck out like a sore thumb. They all hated me, even Mum."

"I know why. You _are_ different from them." Dad pulls his wallet out of his pocket and digs through it for a good few minutes before he passes me a very small and faded passport sized photograph of a fair haired woman with a very honest and genuine smile, kissing his cheek. "That's your mother."

"Jesus, she's changed!" Mum now has dark hair and a face like a smacked arse. Dad, on the other hand, hasn't changed a bit.

"No, Amelia." He shuffles over to a chest of drawers and digs right to the back for a box of old photographs. He picks one out and passes it to me—the same woman holding a very small newborn baby. But this time I can see that her eyes are grey and heavy, and she looks exhausted and sickly.

"This isn't—"

"No, it's not. That's not Elizabeth Marsh. That's Amelia Marsh."

"I don't... I don't understand." Well, I think I understand but it's just preposterous. "Are you telling me that Liz isn't my real mother?"

"Yup." He's said it so matter-of-factly, like it should be obvious. And I guess it is. This woman is like the female version of Dad and I can almost see myself in her. "And that's you, minutes old. She only ever held you once." He sits back down next to me and I'm secretly praying that he doesn't cry. I can hear in his voice that he might. "She haemorrhaged quite badly shortly after you were born and they just couldn't... it was twenty-four years ago so medicine wasn't as—"

"Dad." I reach over for his hand and squeeze it as tightly as I can. _Please stop hurting._

"I saw all of that blood when you were in labour with Creedance and I thought history was repeating itself. They knocked you out and carted you off, and I didn't know that I'd see you again. Not alive anyway." He sighs and takes the photograph from my fingers. "All she wanted was you. It took us a real long time to get you, so it only seemed right to give you her name. We already knew the Cho's—your mother and Mrs. Cho were 'bump buddies' or something even though they were a couple of months apart. They invited me to stay with them and enjoy the sea air for a while. Grieve in peace away from the city. I met Liz, who was recently bereaved herself with two young children of her own. We hit it off; there was no big romance but we leached off each other's need to be close to someone. Her little unit seemed stable and she was good with you when you had colic. I thought that we'd walked into a ready made family. That was a major oversight on my part."

And now I understand why he apologised for not giving me a good family. Unlike most other people in the world, he _chose_ my mother and siblings. But I don't believe for a minute that he would intentionally choose badly. I have a strong recollection of Dad lavishing all of his attention on me, being the 'it' girl at school and being adored while Wills and Mackenzie lingered in the background. Sibling rivalry gone mad; I _was_ different from them and they hated it. They wanted their own dad, or at least an equal amount of attention from mine, and I was never truly Mum's daughter. That's why I was treated like an outsider. I get it.

"Are you telling me that we are, in no way, genetically linked to those cretins in Plymouth?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Can we have a party?" I know it's only the decent part of him that's stopping him from celebrating our DNA. "Would you have ever told me if you didn't know that Creedance was alive?"

"I don't know. I could never understand what I stood to gain from telling you before. The fact that Wills knew all about what Lucien was doing to you but never told anyone was bad enough, but telling us Cree was dead... That's just something else entirely. After that, I wanted you to know that you're not like them."

"Thank you. Bizarrely, I feel much better despite the fact that I have a mother I never knew, one daughter in a psychiatric unit and another in a big ass manor on the other side of the city with a dick who doesn't trust me." Okay, now I've said it, not _that_ much better.

"Go and see Creedance. Tell her Bobby Marsh wants a play date without making it sound creepy. And CJ will come limping with his tail between his legs. That boy needs you, Amelia, and he damn well knows it."

Even though it's her birthday, Creedance is playing it so cool it's almost Baltic in Small House. She seems to be pretty keen on building the houses of cards, so I always bring a deck with me now. It's weirdly nice seeing how relaxed she is when she's concentrating, not at all hindered by the types of issues no nine year old should have.

"You look sad today." I give her a weak smile and pass her another two cards. They're not wrong when they say that kids are perceptive. "What's wrong?"

"My friends were really mean to me yesterday."

"How?"

"Well, you know how if two people are married, it means that they can't have other boyfriends or girlfriends?"

"Unless they're morons." I'm sure she means 'Mormons'—which isn't strictly true any more—but either way, full marks for satire.

"Right. Well, they thought I had a secret boyfriend."

"That _is_ mean. Did CJ think so, too? Jeez, what a Mormon." I disguise my laugh behind a cough and nod in agreement. He _is_ a fully fledged idiot and I'm still seething that he didn't trust me. "But you'll make up again, won't you? Because you love him and you have to be Delilah's mum and dad." It sounds like more of a statement than a question, and who am I to interfere with her uncomplicated view of relationships and parenthood?

"Of course we will. He just needs to apologise first." He probably has but I've had my phone turned off since Dad brought it to the loft last night. I'm not going to make it easy for him this time.

Looking to change the subject, I ask her, "What do you want to do for your birthday lunch?" It's the first birthday I get to spend with my first daughter and I'm going to make it her best.

"I'd really like to go for pizza, but I don't think Cera will let you take me out." _Wanna bet?_ Creedance is well on my wavelength today because I have a mean hankering for a meat feast. Not even a euphemism.

"You leave Cera to me."

"She wants to go out?" Cera nearly drops a tray of cookies over the floor in the kitchen and stares at me like I've told her that I want to take Creedance out for her first tattoo.

"Pizza. But if it's a problem... I mean, I'll take really good care of her and have her back by whatever time you want—"

"No, no!" She squeaks and splutters for a moment, then scrubs a hand over her face and gives me a beaming smile. "Amelia, I've been her key worker for five years, and not once have I been able to convince her to come out on day trips with the rest of the girls. This is really quite astounding." _Chill out, love, it's just bloody pizza._

"So I can take her?"

"Of course! You're her mother; I trust you more than anyone else. The other parents take their girls out whenever they please, sometimes just for lunch and sometimes for long holidays. This is a treatment facility, not a boarding school or mental asylum, and she has no minimum sentence. I love her to pieces, but I'll be very glad to see _you_ take her home instead of Gaby." The idea of that kind of overwhelms me when it's said out loud. Coming to see her here is one thing, but taking a nine year old home—that's huge. Delilah is just six months old, but I know her mannerisms and budding personality like the back of my hand. There's so much of Creedance that I've missed and so much left to learn. How the hell do I look after her in the meantime?

I think Cera must sense my anxiety because she helps herself to a hug which I don't fight and gives me a motherly pat on the back. She must only be in her late twenties or early thirties but she has got this maternal attitude down to a fine art.

"You two are very good for each other, you know. I've seen you both grow immensely in just a few weeks and I almost don't recognise her anymore. I know that things aren't exactly sparkling at home right now—I've spoken to Gabrielle," she answers my unspoken question with a tight lipped smile. She's pissed at CJ for being such a knob, too, I can tell, "—but don't let that get you down. Everything will be back to normal in no time and with your husband in the know, you'll be able to make some really good steps towards getting Creedance home with you, probably starting gradually, but eventually permanently. You are two peas in a very tight pod, Amelia. I'm grateful for all that you've done. You've even rubbed off on the other girls." What the fuck, how is that even possible? All I do is sit here and stuff my face with baked goods. "Have her back by five, okay? The girls have made her a birthday cake."

"Of course."

Cree is still building her house of cards when I get back to the lounge and it's like watching myself from ten years ago. Hair pulled into loose pigtails and an expression of intense concentration. I can't quite believe that she's mine. And she remembers nothing, not a single moment of those first nine months except a face. So does any of it matter? Surely it's all just a bad memory of my own now I have the assurance that nothing that happened when she was with me last time really changes the fact she still wants her mother in her life, and that she became everything I dreamed of. And all she is, is me. My miniature reflection.

"Can we go?" She looks up at me with her eyes full of hope and honestly, it's hard not to cry. All of my scars, inside and out, seem so insignificant now and all my demons at peace. Well, most of them.

"Of course we can! Like she could say no to me!" I give her my best tearful rockstar pout and nod in the direction of her bedroom. "Come on, slacker. Get your coat and let's bust this joint." I swear I've never seen a kid move so fast. Sure, and she's insular and introverted. Give me a break, she's all me. Not a single ounce of Lucien in her. And that makes me stupidly happy.

She bounds out in a sweet little monochrome, dogtooth swing coat and I could swear that there's a skip in her step. There's something different about her today, something that gives me the suspicion that she's enjoying her birthday. _Duh, Amelia, she's spending it with a rockstar_. Right, of course. That's still a big deal for some people.

"Okay, I'm rea—" she stops in her tracks and stares at me, mouth agape like she's catching flies.

"What's wrong you?" I wave my hand in front of her face and click my fingers. "Hellooo, Creedance. Is there anybody in there?"

"Stop waving at me and turn around!"

"What?" We're going to have to have a serious talk about the tone she just gave me. "I know you're eager to go but—"

"You two heading out?" Cree raises an eyebrow at me when my jaw drops to match hers. I'm not really sure I want to turn around because I am still _so_ pissed at the owner of that voice. So I'm not fucking going to. Life lesson number one to my eldest child: never chase a man because they end up being more trouble than they're worth. "Creedance, right? I'm CJ."

"I know who you are!" She does the goofiest starstruck giggle I've ever heard and goes bright red. I'm sure that in the years to come, I will mock her incessantly for her school girl crush on her stepdad. One day, not today. "We're going for pizza, you two should come." Two? I glance down at the floor behind me and see Baby D's feet kicking wildly in the car seat. He's done this on purpose. He knows that I must have been climbing the walls without her around last night.

"How did you know I was here?" I mutter quietly, knowing that he'll hear me just through virtue of being aware that I reserve this too-calm tone for him and his stupidity.

"I didn't. I came to see the birthday girl. You're just an added bonus." I call bullshit. "So, pizza?"

I spend most of our starters stuck somewhere between Heaven and Hell. On one side of me, my daughters are giggling at each other and even though they don't know that they're sisters and look totally different, I can see the bond forming. But on the other side of me, I'm having to battle off the unwelcome advances of my errant husband. His hand keeps creeping onto my thigh under the table and no matter how many times I forcibly remove it, it always finds it's way back.

"Stop it, Caspian Jonas. I am still _so_ mad at you."

"I know, that's why I brought back up." _Knew it_. "She looks like you."

"I know."

"Have you told her?"

I make eye contact with him for the first time and shake my head. "No. Not today, CJ. Not until she can take it."

He nods once and shuffles a little closer to me. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice is goading and a little bit petulant. I shooting him a look of warning and fix my gaze on the dessert menu. This is so not a Pizza Hut appropriate conversation. "Did you think that I wouldn't understand?"

"CJ..."

"CJ nothing, Amelia. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine. I'm going to adopt her, girl—she's coming home with us." I look back up at him and frown awkwardly. What was I expecting, really? For him to insist that we live in separate houses? And then it dawns on me that he's in a similar position to the one Arnold was in, taking on a rapist's child. Maybe he's being noble.

"Look, I appreciate that you have an obligation to—"

"Obligation, are you fucking kidding me?" He glares at me and he actually looks _really_ pissed. We've never really argued before, we've always duked out our differences at a distance, and I have to say that I'm not exactly keen. "Being civil to your toxic sister is obligation. Lying to Meredith when Andy has some grand romantic idea to surprise her with is obligation. But this? Hell no." I shrink down in my seat and resist the urge to fire into him for berating me in public. "Don't even try looking at me like that, Amelia. You're not the only one who's ragged off. I can't believe you, Ems _and_ my mum kept this from me for so long."

"Will you two please stop fighting?" Our eyes simultaneously swivel around to Creedance and lower with shame. What type of precedent are we setting? It's the first time she's seen us together and we're tearing strips off each other. "I'm only nine but I'm not dumb. I know that you're not really mad at each other, so just say sorry for being stupid and eat your damn pizza. Honestly, adults today..." She grins and giggles, sticking her tongue out and putting us firmly in our places. It's the first time I've seen her laugh so hard and that smile... Jesus. CJ laughs and grabs my chin to kiss me, and all is forgiven. Part of me knows that he already has the paperwork to adopt her sat in his office at home, and that same part of me knows that he will have called his legal team the minute I stormed out of the house yesterday. I don't stand a chance in hell of calling the shots, especially when she's just disarmed me like that. _She smiled..._

"So, Creedance. Had any good presents this year?" She wrinkles her nose at him and picks at her salad. Why? Just... why? _You're in a pizza joint and you get salad?_ Why?!

"My foster mum—I mean your mum, too, right? She got me a new iPod Touch and my so-called dad sent me money as ever."

"You see your dad?" I can feel the disapproval permeating through CJ and I pray dearly that this won't be used against me.

"Sort of. I see him a couple of times a year and he just stares at me. He creeps me out. Anyway..." She flicks her hand and dismisses the subject. Anyone can see that there's no attachment to him. "Amelia got me a guitar last month and I think that's the coolest thing I've ever had in my life."

"That wasn't your birthday present." She looks at me and her jaw drops. It only just occurs me that a guitar is kind of an extravagant gift 'just cos' and I possibly should try to look less like I'm buying her love. "But you know, if you don't want it..."

"I want, I want!" Of course she does, she's nine.

"Well..." I pull a face and wipe my hands on my trousers, "Cera told me that you're mad on Monday's Miracle and they kind of owe me a favour."

"Because Chase Garret was a jerk and made you pretend he was your boyfriend?" I trade glances with CJ and he's stifling a laugh. This girl doesn't miss a trick. I would have called Chase for nobody else, but he's surprisingly apologetic and sedate now his doctors have put him on Ritalin.

"Um, yes. Anyway, they're touring in January and I have a backstage pass for you."

"WHAT?" Cree slaps her hand to her mouth and slumps down in her seat, bright red from squeaking so loud. "Really?"

"Yup, and as much signed merchandise as you can carry."

"Oh em gee, the girls at home will puke." I smile through the stab of hurt that she considers the clinic home and throw her a small box.

"Yeah, but that's next year and it's only August, so you have that and a date with Bobby Marsh when you want it."

"Bobby Marsh..." She looks like she's about to explode. It's probably the most awesome thing I've seen in a long time; her so amped she's practically vibrating. She snaps the box open and blinks at its contents, probably a little bit put out.

"It's a brooch," I explain, leaning over to look at the cluster of three glittery stars set against the fabric of the box. "Real platinum and diamonds. I used to wear it all the time when I was a kid and lost it for years. I found it again the day I met CJ." I try to ignore his curious eyes burning into me and settle back into my chair. "I think it was my good luck charm." Not really the full story but the abridged version seems to do well enough for her. My dad gave me the brooch when I was a kid and said it was my mum's. The enormity of that didn't set in until this morning, but I always swore that I'd pass it on to my own daughter. I lost it around the time I met Lucien, and was wearing it on my jeans when CJ finally had the balls to approach me. What were the odds, huh?

"You're sure I can have this?" Cree looks up from the box, all her hyperactivity gone. "I don't want to take your good luck away."

"Oh kid, trust me. Since this guy turned up, he's been responsible for all my luck. Even if he wasn't, I think if I had any more good luck now, my heart might give out. Take it, please. I hope it serves you well."

"Thank you." With no more hesitation, she pulls the brooch out of the box and turns to attach it to the lapel of her coat. "I really love it. You've been really generous."

"Hey, we're not finished yet." Cree and I both stare at each other before turning to CJ and giving him identical 'huh?' looks. He glances between us both and laughs to himself, pushing another box across the table towards her. "I can't compete with lucky charms or Bobby Marsh, but this is something small from all of us, something that means a lot. And you're going to need it to get backstage at The Bystander Effect's Halloween gig." His arm snakes around my waist and firmly grips my hip, like he's bracing himself and hoping for approval. From us both apparently.

"Excuse me? Halloween gig?" First I've heard of this and he knows I don't like surprises. Well... okay, they might be growing on me.

"Happy anniversary?" He dips close to my ear and nips the lobe with his teeth. If he's trying to soften me up because he was a royal cunthole yesterday and this is all he got me... "Your other gift," he whispers, seemingly reading my mind, "isn't child friendly." I pull back and he's got a dark look in his eyes, full of hot threats and naughty promises. I see it a lot but this is like, burning hot. Like 'you won't walk for a week' hot. I feel my skin prickle and all my breath get trapped in my chest.

"Oh."

He nods and pushes my chin around with one finger to make me look at Creedance. "Oh indeed." I'm still mad at him. Really, really fuckin'... Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I love the make up sex.

Creedance rolls her eyes at us and pulls off the narrow red ribbon wound around the box. Inside is a familiar sight. A black plectrum attached to a black ball chain with the words _Meet Me Halfway_ **** shining up in silver. Our talisman. Our protection. A sign that we all belong to the same pack. And _he's_ giving it to her. That's got to be good, right?

"We all have one of them. Delilah has one hanging on her cot, and Amelia and I wear ours all the time. That means you're one of our gang, if you want to be."

"One of you?" Creedance looks up at him and I feel his grip tighten when he's hit with the full impact of those grey eyes. Yeah, she's pretty fucking amazing. She definitely seems a little shocked by the gesture and she's not really giving away anything of what she's thinking. What I'd do to whop out those cards... "Of course I want to be one of you, if you'll let me." Please God or whoever, let her say the same thing when she finds out who I am.

The first thing we hear when we get back to Small House is Gabrielle's voice hushing the other girls in the lounge. Cree groans as soon as she clicks onto what's going on and looks up to shoot daggers at me.

"Sorry, kid. When you're a grown up like we are, you don't have to have birthdays anymore if you don't want to. But right now, there's cake in there and I don't get to lick the knife if you don't blow the candles out."

"Will you stay? All of you?" I look sideways at CJ for his input, not knowing how much stuff he brought out for Delilah or if he wants to hang out with a bunch of neurotic kids for a few hours. I mean, the band is almost like hanging out with neurotic kids except we drink and cuss, and don't make claims to wanting to marry Justin Bieber. If it was up to me, I'd never leave her side.

He grabs my hand and runs his thumb across my knuckles. "We're here until kick out time, Cree, unless you want us to go early."

"No, of course not. I wish you didn't have to go at all." Forcing myself to smile at her, I hold my breath so I don't respond with some sort of deranged, strangled sob. She has no god damn idea how much I hate leaving and when she says stuff like that, it makes it worse. So much fucking worse. "Let's get this over with then..." She takes the lead into the lounge and tries to act happy and surprised when she's pounced on by nine crazy girls wanting to know exactly what lunch with the hottest couple of rock entails.

"Ow..." CJ whispers next to me, tugging on my hand so I realise my fingernails are digging into his skin. "I deserve this, but ow." At least he knows he deserves it.

"Yes, asshole, and if you think this is bad, you just wait and see how bad I'm gonna fuck you up later for that 'burn me' comment."

"Looking forward to it." _Ass!_ "Because nothing could hurt more than your Facetime comment." _Giant ass._ It was meant to hurt but I didn't want to be told that it did. He hurt me first. God, listen to me, I sound like a complete wanker.

"Okay, so we've reached an impasse, Mr. Pearce. Let's review the situation at such a time when I don't feel like such an emotional basket-case."

"All right." When I pull away to head into the lounge, CJ pulls me back towards him by the collar and wraps his arms around me, crushing his face into my hair. "She's okay, Amelia. And she's real." _What?_ How could he possibly know that I've felt like I've been walking around in a dream state for the past six weeks and I've just been waiting to wake up? I snuggle into him because as much as we hurt each other on the rare occasion, he's attached to the only mouth that can make those words sound believable.

Everyone is huddled around a chocolate cake that looks like it might be the world's sole cause of type two diabetes when we slump awkwardly into the lounge, wrapped up in each other. Immediately, we're hit by ten open mouthed and fascinated faces ogling CJ, and one of them is Cera's. Creedance, Gabrielle and I trade unimpressed eye rolls and join the disgustingly fixated crowd. _Okay, we get it, he's gorgeous. Get over it!_ Nah, can't even think that without grinning inwardly. We've been married for a year and I'm not even a little bit over how freaking hot he is. More so for the fact he's still giving me that smouldering glare of bone-jumping goodness. Yikes...

Once the candles are lit, I watch with some serious fondness as Creedance cringes all the way through everyone singing _Happy Birthday_ and takes a huge breath to blow out all nine of the little dancing flames wedged into the cake. Next year is a biggy—double figures—and next year is _mine._ I've never been quite so certain of anything before, but I'm making a silent promise now that she's going to be sat in our dining room in Chez Pearce with everyone around her this time next year, probably still cringing. It is now my prerogative to make such adamant promises.

"What did you wish for?" One of the girls asks, which turns into an avalanche of the same question from eight other directions.

Cera jumps in to the rescue and saves the cake from the table to slice it. _Come to momma... "_ If she tells you, it won't come true."

"It won't come true anyway, Cera. I wished that my mum was here." CJ, Cera and Gaby all go rigid and stare at me right around the time everyone blatantly hears me swallow a thick, hard lump in my throat that was threatening to choke me. "Amelia?"

"Happy birthday, Creedance." I shake off the lurking tears and slip on a stage face to rival all stage faces. This isn't the time or the place, and this is _her_ day, not mine. "Wishes are powerful. You never know what's just around the corner."

Or who's across the table.

# XLVI

#

#

You know, sometimes I just don't care how late at night it is when I roll into the house. I don't care how shattered I'll be the next morning when I have to get up and battle nappy changes with a baby who won't stay still for toffee now she can roll over and sit up on her own. I don't care about any of it—I just go about my business like it was the middle of the day.

I should be trapped in some glowing great bloody orb of rapturous bliss with a face like I've smoked a big fat joint all on my own, but I'm not. I'm so far out of the comfort of that outer-body experience feeling that it's almost painful to move. I should be happy, god damn it, but instead I'm sat in a hot tub grasping onto a glass of wine for dear life, pretty much mourning a child who I should be grateful to have back.

The thing that rains on my parade is when she says that stuff about wishing for her mum. It amasses into a pile-driver of empathic hurt for her, regret, an innocuous pinch of hope that she'll be happy when she finds out and a totally irrational stab of jealousy that hanging out with me isn't enough to fill that void.

_Why_ do I keep doing that? Why do I keep twisting things around into something totally irrelevant? So she's spending time with me but wishes it was with her mother. I _am_ her mother. This is like the whole 'was CJ settling for second best?' obsession all over again. _Get the fuck over it, Amelia May, you're your own worst enemy._ Right. Moving on.

"She's asleep, finally," CJ's shadow fills the doorway into the house and paces towards me. "Those kids got her all het up and wired. She loves being centre of attenti— ... Are you naked in there?"

"I'm not wearing a bikini in my own garden, Caspian, not when we're completely cut off from the world and out of view." And I have to say, this kind of isolation has always been a major selling point for me about this house.

"Fair point," he admits, pulling his t-shirt up off over his head to showcase a torso that instantly makes me straighten from my lazy slouch. "We have roughly two and a half hours left of our first anniversary. What do you want to do?" When he looks like that? Well now, uh... let me think... I relax back again with my eyes closed and enjoy the mental image of my lost breakfast bar boning, vaguely aware of the sound of his jeans hit the decking. _Oh yeah..._

"Give you your anniversary gift, I guess. Except I kind of can't, because it's not here. I wanted to take you to it this morning and fuck across it before I sneaked off to Small House—" No idea how I was planning to work around the issue of not being allowed to leave CJ's side on our anniversary, "—but I guess it'll have to be tomorrow, now."

"Well, what was it?" He sinks into the water and slides in front of me, picking one of my feet up to massage the arches. Redundant in a hot tub but still...

I hook my finger through a keyring I've had on standby while he put Delilah down to bed and purse my lips. "Three guesses."

He looks up. "A car."

"Smart. It's not just a car, it's the ultimate." Just because I'm too exhausted to play games, I put the key back down and open one eye. "I got you a Dodge Charger and had it made up like the General Lee."

"You did not." Releasing my foot, he towers over me, pinning my legs together with his knees, and lowers his face down to mine. "Are you my Daisy Duke?"

"Not unless you want the next baby to come out with webbed toes and an enlarged forehead, you weirdo."

"Next baby?" He stills for a moment, then pulls back to look at me. "You still want—"

"You think I've been crossing my fingers and using happy thoughts as contraception? I knew Creedance was alive the day I told you I wanted you to put a baby in me, Mr. 'I want a big family'. Nothing has changed for me."

"Argh!" My legs get yanked open and wrapped around his bare waist, then my whole body is flung around so I'm sat on his lap. "How do you do this? How can you possibly be so amazing when I fuck up?"

"You _did_ fuck up pretty badly. I mean, who pulls out an accusation like that without at least asking for an explanation first?" But I drop it because I don't want to get pissy with him again and he did have a whole team of other people behind him. It might not have even been him who made the assumption. Whatever. Don't care. "But I fucked up, too, CJ. I broke my promise this morning." My hands stroke across the strongly defined muscles in his chest, tracing the deep line between his pectorals.

"This morning _was_ torture, girl. I woke up harder than Japanese algebra and wanted you. I could have kicked myself for not brushing off that FaceTime comment and chasing you down to the loft." In my defence, that remark _was_ supposed to be a debilitating and spiteful kick in the balls to make him hurt as much as I did for his stupid intervention and 'sadism me, bitch' sentiment... "But we both needed time to cool off and I needed my mum to explain it all to me." It is probably best that he didn't come after me. We might not be here like this if we were both charged up with tension. Whether I like it or not, I still need to run away to get my bearing sometimes, and Gaby would have explained it way better than I could when seriously afflicted with a bruised ego.

"So why didn't you just come and find me at my dad's? I know he told you I was there." There's no way CJ would have rested unless he knew where I was, not after last year and my car crash.

"Like I said, harder than Japanese algebra. Every time I started to go soft, I thought of you again and was back to square one. By the time it'd gone down enough to put a pair of jeans on, it was lunch time."

"Bullshit. You wake up late or something?"

He grins at me and curls his arms behind his head. "I woke up at 5am... we need new sheets." I don't think I've ever seen a man look so pleased to admit to having a wankfest in my memory. Actually, I don't think any man has ever admitted it, not that I doubt it happens.

"You know Japanese algebra is no harder than English algebra?"

His face smoothes out into a totally impassive and unnerving expression of repressed rage. What? It's a valid point! "Shut up. You don't want to make my vendetta against you worse. You've been a bad vixen with all your secrets and poker hot scathing insults. You got anything else you want to confess before I make you suffer the wrath of my revenge fuck?" Oh Jesus, he's got that look in his eyes again. Savage, almost crazed. Like my seconds are numbered before he tears me up like a tainted mattress. But he betrays himself when the corners of his mouth curl up like a mad man standing over his next victim with a chainsaw in his hand. Might sound intimidating, but I know that he has one thing on his to-do list and it's 'ruin the wife in a Biblical sense'.

"Uh..." I shrug, feeling his lust flowing through him and into me, so potent I can barely think straight. "I always wanted to fuck in a hot tub. It has jets."

"Way ahead of you."

In one fluid movement, I end up with my backside sticking up out of the water and CJ behind me, mouth on my back biting and kissing. My fingers claw into the wooden decking when he pushes his hard thick cock into me slowly, too slowly. All of my muscles twitch convulsively around him needing more, all of him. "Is this your interpretation of a revenge fuck?"

"No," he says flatly, moving me around until one of the jets hits right between my legs. Holy fuck, that's good. " _This_ is my revenge fuck."

His hands wrap around my hips and keep me still as he starts a hard, fast, unforgiving pounding into me, like he's jacking off and using me instead of his hand. It doesn't stall or waver, and no matter how much I squirm, he keeps me in one place, getting drilled from behind with that jet concentrated on the front.

Suddenly, I really regret chilling in the hot tub because the noises coming out of me are... well, they're not decent. If I don't wake up the neighbourhood, it wouldn't be much short of a miracle. The sensation of him ramming into me right to my limits and that gentle, no, brutal stream of bubbles hitting my clit, it's too much. My hands start to slip and eyes burn from the need to tip over that precipice into an orgasm that will probably hit a firm six on the Richter Scale. It's all building up inside, ready to bubble over, and there's no way I can—

"Funker shunt me up the manhole!"

CJ creases up behind me and pulls me out of the assault zone, lifting me up onto the decking out of the hot tub. "Okay, I think revenge is served," he laughs, stroking the hair out of my red face. "I was just going to screw you like that until you begged me to stop, but that... that was just awesome how it was."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He climbs up onto the deck and picks me up to carry me indoors, cradling me against his chest to ease the postorgasmic shivers. "You'd have been in trouble if you'd said 'funker shunt me up the cornhole' though."

"Oh wow, why won't you shut up?" I groan sulkily, throwing my arms over my face when he puts me down on one of the stools around the breakfast bar. "I wanna go back to my dad's."

CJ rounds the bar and pulls me up against him, warming me up with his firm, hot body. Seriously, he's like a human radiator all the damn time. "No, you don't, because every time I have to wake up without you, I'll do that again..."

"I'm not sure that's a good threat..."

"... and start recording your outbursts to sample and turn into drum 'n' bass tracks." _Oh._ _Oh dear god..._

"I'll be good. Now, about this breakfast bar..."

We somehow end up back in the garden, sprawled out naked across a blanket looking up at the moon. Peaceful, happy, and replete with totally satisfying sexual exhaustion. My back is nicely stiff from being posed like a mannequin in impossible positions and my insides are humming and throbbing nicely through overuse. Neither of us can really keep our eyes open but both of us are so determined to be the one who gets up when Delilah cries so the other can rest that we have some silly showdown going on.

Don't care though. When I'm lying here with him, covered in sweat and grass stains and... well yeah, I'm pretty covered in spunk, too, which is tasty, nothing else really matters for a little while. He takes all that away with the kisses he spreads over any part of me he can reach and silly factoids about stars and constellations.

But of course, it was only a matter of time before he very carefully broaches the subject of Creedance. He seems less interested in why she's at Small House and more interested how it was she came to be there. Talk about dwelling on the past. "Do you want to go to Plymouth and fire into your family?"

"No." But I'll bet he does. I bet Liz had an irate phone call from him, too, already.

"Don't you want an explanation?" Other than the bullshit excuse she gave to my dad?

"No. I could dwell on it, CJ, I really could. I could go down there and demand their sub-par explanations for all the lies and negligence, and I could really kick up a stink. But I'd just be creating new reasons to irrationally blame myself for not being a little smarter and a lot more vigilant. So I'll focus on what's important, what I have now. My whole world lives in this city and if I'm down there dragging up the past then I'm not here where I should be, making up for lost time with all of you. I've already missed so much so I'll be damned if I'm missing another day."

CJ tosses an arm around my shoulder and lifts his head towards the sky. He has the same starry eyed look I had when I first found out Creedance was alive. I still feel like that a lot, but the buzz gets obstructed by the worry over what I have to do next before she can come home. And CJ gets that, I know he does. He's been on the other side of that concern before.

"Remember how scared you were to tell me who you really were last year?"

"No, of course not. Why would I possibly spare part of my memory for such an insignificant part of our crazy tour romance?"

His chest shakes underneath my head when he laughs silently and his arm tightens around me. "You got yourself wound up expecting the worst. You're doing it again now. Your fear of rejection makes you crazy and deep down you know that it doesn't matter how she reacts initially. She wants a mother and that's you; telling her so is preliminary. Either way, she's going to end up back here with us."

"I guess." He does make a valid point, I suppose. She's not going to be allowed to stay at Small House forever and if she doesn't come with us right away, she'll go with Gaby. We all know Gaby will be fighting my corner. Maybe I am making it up to be something bigger than it is. "Preliminary?" I ask, lifting up on my elbows to look at him better. "How do you come up with a word like that when I just fucked your brain out?"

"Actually, I think you'll find I fucked yours out. All pistons firing on my end. And speaking of pistons, I never gave you your real anniversary gift." Didn't he imply that the fucking was my gift in Pizza Hut _?_ "In your studio, there's an autographed _Star Trek_ figurine of Captain Kirk in it's original packaging."

My eyes narrow. "You liar." And how is that about pistons?

"Nope. I think it's signed, Amelia, Here's one for your secret inner Trekkie. William Shatner."

"Bullshit." I scramble to my feet and make a jelly-legged rush for the studio. Autographed Captain Kirk figurine indee—holy fuck. He wasn't joking. Feeling his presence behind me, I put my hands on my hips and scoff with mock disgust. "If anyone asks, I'm telling them that you got me 3D porn and a monster truck. _Star Trek_ , puh-lease. I'm way too cool for that shit." But the sad reality is that I am actually going to— Oh, yeah there it is. My naked happy dance.

"I, uh... actually did already tell them I got you 3D porn and a monster truck. Hows about that?" Wow, that's some kind of crazy affinity. Like we needed any more signs that we're perfect for each other, now we're telepathic across long distances. Ridiculous. His hands lay down on my shoulders and he rubs the nape of my neck with the pads of his thumbs. "I get why you kept her secret, girl. I really do. But you have to share her now, share her with the rest of her family."

"I know." My chance to be selfish with her time is over now. Nothing will really change, just that other people will be there sometimes. I got almost six weeks of her on my own, so I can probably afford to stop hogging her. "But on the subject of family, my dad had a belter this morning." CJ pulls me back flat against him and wraps his arms around me, settling his chin on my shoulder.

"You're half angel?" _Oh, barf!_

"Almost actually. I was named after a woman who looked just like my dad. She died from a major haemorrhage on 27th April twenty-four years ago not long after she gave birth to a baby girl." I turn around to face him and hold his confused face in my hands. "Me."

"You weren't born in Plymouth?"

"Nope. We only went there because Mama and Baba Cho offered Dad a peaceful place to grieve. That... schism of freaks who took my child from me are no more my family than a Bulgarian tribe of iron mongers. Nothing connects us other than the many tangled webs of lies that they trapped themselves in. Uh..." My eyes flicker downwards to the massive swelling hard-on digging into me. "Knowing I share no genetic link to Mackenzie makes me sexier?"

"Frankly, yes." He rests his forehead against mine and takes deep breath with his eyes closed, kissing the tip of my nose, not really looking surprised by the revelation. "So all you need really is in this city. This is going to be perfect, girl. Just you wait."

#  **~*~**

So I wait.

And I wait.

And I keep waiting.

I watch the days pass on my calendar, counting them off until it gets to twelve weeks, which we live in two week intervals.

It crushes me to see CJ lose a little hope after I limp out of our bedroom every twenty-eight days with my 'I've got a dirty stinking secret you won't like' look guiltily etched on my face and head for the nearest supply of chocolate to sulk. I can't even take solace in the fact that it doesn't feel like I'm dying inside like my first couple of periods after Delilah was born because he just looks so god damn dejected. His moodiness lasts for about ten days, then we start fucking like feral beasts and spend another two weeks hopelessly disillusioned that 'this might be the month'. I've even taken to sniffing coffee beans every morning just to see if it turns my stomach. It doesn't. I love my coffee.

Of course, you can count on Meredith to whip the iPad out for research. When she came crawling back to the house the morning after Cree's birthday, she came with a mission to make herself as useful as possible. Turns out that her version of useful ain't so 'useful'. Every time I see her she's got some new bullshit conception theory printed off, too detailed evidence of stress interference with ovulation, and has been ramming the Shettles method quite insistently down my throat because 'CJ needs an heir'. Give me a fucking break, what is this, the fourteenth century? Who gives a shit which bits it comes out with as long as it comes out happy and hopefully looking like an even balance between its two parents? Got to admit though, don't fancy my odds against CJ's aggressive swimmers. At nearly nine months old, Delilah is even developing his freaking facial bone structure. People are going to look at all of us and think me and CJ walked in with a kid each from different relationships. That's only half true.

Things with Creedance are pretty rough, too. I keep my visits to every other day, not wanting to crowd her, and sometimes I have hangers on in the form of CJ and Delilah. She's made a lot of good progress but every time it looks like she's close to being discharged, she flips her lip and ends up right back at square one. Even knowing her reasoning, there's only so much I can give her beyond patience to build her back up and I hate that I'm so powerless to help her.

Her last freak out was last week and came in the form of her trashing her bedroom and refusing to eat again. That... was a shit phone call to take. No parent wants to hear that their kid is being a little bastard. I just wanted to rush over there and make her feel better but I couldn't because, without knowing that I'm what she wants, I'm not what she wants. She wants her mother to take away her fears and insecurities of being away from Small House but I can't do that when she keeps crashing and burning. It's a vicious cycle that's showing no signs of let up.

The only positive thing I have to hold onto right now, besides the fact that I have a great group of friends and family hurting with me, is the fact that our first gig as The Bystander Effect plus CJ is only three days away. That means it's the best time of year: Halloween! Everyone I know has always loved this holiday better than anything like Christmas, because it is a day dedicated to dressing up like twats and acting like big kids.

Chez Pearce is all done out in orange and black decorations, novelty skeletons hanging up behind the guest room doors and big ass plastic bats stuck to the brick work outside. Naturally, CJ and Andy have been bombing around like Bo and Luke Duke in the General Lee, pulling out all the stops to get us set up for the gig. Big Dave and Lou have been hanging out a lot, making lists and septuple checking them now we have to factor another member into the equation. Hauling heavy amps and makeup might be their respective fortes, but adjustments in routine definitely aren't for those two creatures of habit.

Just to complicate matters further, they're having to confer with my dad's roadies because—fucking get this—I'm opening the show with a duet. Amelia Pearce and Bobby Marsh thrashing out an undisclosed track for the first and probably only time in history. I think he's more excited than me but that's probably down to the fact he's going to see Creedance there. Meredith doesn't appear to have clicked onto that yet. It's going to be a pretty big night.

For the first time in ages, Erek, Meredith, Levi, Plato and I are sat on the tour bus eating lunch together, insulting each other over the table. Nobody except Meredith has been stupid enough to mention the whole intervention thing, so we're living on a nice thick, fluffy cloud of denial. It's probably—no, _definitely_ not healthy, but it works for us, we who are all about good mental health. Honestly, we are wasting our Psychology degrees on ourselves.

All our usual kit is all packed up and ready to go in an unusually meticulous fashion. By some crazy turn of events, we managed to score the go ahead for some pyrotechnics, so the bus is heading over to the venue in a couple of hours to unload and we're going with it to make sure everything goes where we want it. A second, smaller Steinway has been ordered in for gigs and, like the awkward bitch that I am, has to be transported in a separate van. Easily sorted because Louise passed her driving test in the summer and there's an abundance of holiday drunks willing to go dry for a couple of days. Though we do have a minor issue of having to guess where to put CJ because he's out with Delilah visiting a grandparent or cousin or... something. But that does give me some time to be old Amelia and talk trash a bit over a burger like old times with a bunch of bastards too scared to bring up the absent daughter. Ah well, I guess they're used to not prying, or at least they should be.

"We sold out." I narrow my eyes at Plato, wondering if he's making some sort of reference to taking on CJ. "The gig," he clarifies, "not even standing space. Looks like we got some of Bobby's old rockers in."

"Oh jeez, wrinkly rock," I groan, scrunching a ball of paper up in my hand. Last time I wrote a set list for a one off gig, it catered to the tastes of a man who ended up getting a muffled rendition of the first three songs under Chrissie's flab, then the ugly vengeance version. A shudder runs through me just thinking about it.

"Are you going to tell us what you're opening with?"

"No. Top secret. Think festive."

"A Christmas song?" _What?_ Meredith catches my gaze and laughs into her can of Coca-Cola at Levi's amazing lack of common sense.

"No, you massive poof. Halloween festive!"

"Oh." At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. "So who's providing backstage crèche facilities for your, uh..." Everyone shifts to look at him and six eyes burn into him to shut up. Even I can feel that; I can only image what it feels to be like in that line of fire.

Covering my burger filled mouth just to be damned polite, I nod once to urge him on. "My kids. You're allowed to say it, Levi. Kids. I have two of them. Always have, we just know that both of them are alive now."

"I don't want to upset you..."

"Why would you upset me by asking about my living, breathing, flesh and blood daughter who isn't rotting in a tiny coffin?" There's a harsh intake of breath around the table at my morbid description. "Well she's not..."

"Fabby Gaby is bringing her out to the gig then?" The cold, dark void left by another sprogless cycle and Cree's recent bitch fit thaws a little at his affectionate endearment towards my mother-in-law.

"Hopefully. It can be kind of hard to get her to leave the unit. Plus she regresses when it looks like she's about to get discharged from inpatient care. It's like self-sabota—" Oh. Realisation strikes. She's doing it on purpose.

"Ams?"

"Sorry, epiphany. I'm going to have to buy that girl a freaking big teddy bear to make up for all the shitty behavioural traits she inherited from me." Or a car. Hmm... when do cars become appropriate gifts?

CJ swoops in like a cool breeze in a desert, aviators on in the middle of autumn, hair mussed up by the winds outside and a wicked lupine smile that hits me right in the g-spot. I would fuck him so hard he'd be in traction for months, and his teeth locking down on his lip tells me that he knows that I am appreciating the shit out of him right now.

"Oh, Christ," Erek groans, "you know that when _that_ happens..." he nods towards my face, "... _those_ happen." He nods at Delilah snuggled up in her car seat and it's like he's slapped me in the face with my own tits.

Meredith mutters, "You dick," under her breath and rubs my arm in an attempt to comfort me. Oh god, someone stop her before she gets the fucking fertility charts out again. Sensing the danger, CJ pulls me up to my feet so my back is to her and makes an advance towards kissing me...

... Just for his phone to ring. "Mum," he answers with a sigh, leaning down to kiss my forehead, then frowning. "No, I just got here. I don't know, I'm not—okay, okay!"

"What's wrong?"

"Why isn't your phone on?" he shoots at me pointedly and I get the impression he's kind of irritated. I hold up the dead handset apologetically and give him a begging look. I can't help that this piece of shit can't handle my music, internet and text message demands for more than a few hours. "Her battery is flat. No, of course. We'll be there as soon as." He hangs up and suddenly his irritation slips away and I'm instead exposed to one really disgusting shit-eating grin.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what, babe?"

My eyes narrow. Babe? "Like you're about to tell me something I'm going to hate and you're trying to use a deficit of sanity and decency as a platitude." Our eyebrows rise at the same time. "Am I right?" Why am I even asking? Of course I'm right. Though I may have shot myself in the foot by being so evasive and intuitive, and missed out on some dry humping.

"We have to go to Small House."

"We went yesterday." CJ wrinkles his nose at me and pulls me out towards the bus' door without a word. To his benefit, he catches me off guard and we're nearly off the bus before my mind kicks back into drive. "Tell me what's wrong, Caspian."

He breathes out quickly and spins around to face me. There's a distinct look of panic in his eyes that he's not letting get to the rest of his face. "Cree flipped out at Mum—" Nothing new there. Seriously, nothing. Why are we rushing there this time? "... Because she hasn't found her mother yet."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." The freak outs are usually over something trivial and minor, an attention seeking kid throwing a tantrum from the outside. "There's no way we can keep up the pretence any more, girl. It's doing more damage than good now."

"Okay." Oh fuck me side ways, that means— "Oh no." My hand reaches out for something solid to steady me as an unwelcome bubble of sickness starts to roil in my stomach. "I have to tell her." Suddenly, the conversation I've been dying to get over and done with is the last one I ever want to have.

CJ grips my arm to straighten me and pulls me into a stiff hug. "We'll be there with you. I promise, I'm with you every step of the way." That's so easy to say when it's not his child's mentality at stake. Maybe he'll tell her for me. Maybe I can convince them that it's better I'm not there when she finds out. Maybe it would be better if they told her that we found her mother in a graveyard. _Bitch, are you trippin'?_ That's a stupid idea. I know how much it would hurt her to find out the truth later after she's spent too long mourning over a corpse that doesn't exist.

The guys spare us a well meaning but frankly lacking murmur of encouragement and luck as they wave us off through the windows, and the closer we get to Small House, the sicker I feel. This is it. Show time. Another year, another house, and another big reveal.

But this might be the one that breaks me completely.

# XLVII

#

#

Small House is almost eerily quiet when we arrive, something we quickly learn is due to the fact that there are no other kids in here today. Part of me wonders if Gabrielle has vacated the building, anticipating that Creedance will bust a gut and torch the place.

Ridiculous. She's 'troubled', but she's not psychotic. Is she?

Gaby marches out from the dorm area of the building towards us waiting in the reception, looking totally bone weary and defeated. Whatever Cree has done today, it's taken an obvious toll. "Cera has taken the other girls out for Halloween decorations and costumes," she offers as an explanation for the silence. "How are you feeling, Amelia?" I shake my head, rendered mute by paralysing fear and the unwillingness to admit that I feel dog rough, and would most likely toss my cookies over her nice clean floors if I open my mouth now. "Me, too. But it's time to give her this peace of mind."

"But she's not ready," I blurt out, sounding a lot more ballsy than I feel, "and neither am I."

"I know," Gaby nods, "but I'm starting to think that there won't ever be a perfect moment for both of you. You need this as much as she does, so we'll do it now. Quickly and probably painfully, but at least it won't be hanging in the ether waiting to go up in flames like the Hindenburg _._ Then she can start to process the information like you have."

I half nod and half shake my head, in total agreement with her. It has to be now, no matter how much I don't like it. Live for the moment, carpe diem, better out than in, and a bunch of other shite clichés I never imagined willingly attaching to my own life. "What did she do?"

Gaby looks at me hesitantly for a second, then turns away, massaging her temples. "She said that she deserves a real family, and if I can't find her mother, she'll get her dad to find her." _Shit._

"Over my dead body would I let that bastard near my girls again." CJ grips my hand tightly enough for it to be painful, but that discomfort is drowned out by the intense rush of love I feel for him in this moment. _His_ girls. He's already staked a claim over Creedance and considers her one of his own. The way he talks about her when we've been to visit, it's like he's already fused himself to her as a father rather than the protective big brother he might have been if I hadn't come into the picture the way I did. To some degree, there always would have been a part of me in his life, whether he'd made that advance across the university library or not. Always a reason for me to appear. Cheesy as it sounds, we were destined to be together. "Why the hell didn't you tell us he was visiting her, Mum?"

"Honestly? I didn't think your paths would cross. He comes here so infrequently and I was sure she'd be out of here by the time he came again. I didn't want to—" She turns to look directly at me and reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. It's a struggle not to flinch because it's such a foreign feeling. The only other person in the world to touch me that way is CJ, but the way she does it is maternal and gentle. Something both Creedance and I have never felt. "I didn't want to add to your anxiety by making you worry that you'd run into him here, and I didn't want to demonise myself in Cree's eyes by depriving her of the only parent she had. I don't know how he found her here but I couldn't banish him once she'd seen him. She's right; she does deserve a real family and as much as I loathe seeing the man, I can't argue with blood because he's why she's here." She looks pointedly at CJ for a second. "She doesn't know what he did to you, Amelia, and she's too young to have her view of him tarnished with those kinds of horror stories."

"So we had to find out from the nine year old." I yank CJ's arm with a scowl to rein him back in. This is so not the time to be picking out petty grudges to hold against his mother who, in all fairness, has taken an awful lot of crap to get Creedance back to me. So many lies told and truths bent, if she's anything like me for preferring to be on the moral high ground, I know it's been ripping her to pieces.

"Why don't you go and fetch her from her room, Amelia? Bring her out to the lounge. I've set out some snacks and drinks." Nodding slightly, I try to pull away from CJ but he tugs me back, blinking sternly at Gaby until she turns makes towards the lounge to give us some privacy.

"It'll be okay, girl. I promise." His thumb rubs across my bottom lip and tugs it down so he can nip it gently and suck it into a slow, deep kiss. I know his plan is to pacify me but that shit does not work on me. Now I'm just nervous and fucking horny.

Finding Cree's room is easy. If it wasn't obvious from the olde worlde blackboard hanging in the corridor that has all the girls' names written next to their room numbers, it would be clear from the huge homemade name plaque hanging on the door over a poster of us and a handwritten scrawl of ' _KEEP OUT_ ' on a torn out sheet from a notepad. I knock softly and hear a squeak of, "Go away," but damn it, my right to assert my motherly authority starts now.

It's the first time I've been in her room and I'm immediately hit by how spacious and well-furnished it is. Coops and Gaby definitely stuck their necks out to make this place feel like a home for the kids who come to stay. It's almost as big as the room we've picked out for her at Chez Pearce but has a low sloping roof at the one end nestling down into a window alcove big enough for her to sit in. All the furniture is solid pine and the walls a pale lavender, littered with more posters and the occasional photograph, none of which portray her as a happy bunny. Her guitar leans up against the foot of a bed that holds one seriously grumpy—and now surprised—looking nine year old.

"Amelia," she sits up cross-legged and I can tell that she's been crying because her face is streaked with tears. _No, baby girl, don't cry._ She shifts around to look at me better and I'm hit with the full force of three bold sentiments. A platinum and diamond brooch fastened to her t-shirt, a black plectrum on a black ball chain dangling around her neck, and a very small and very battered teddy bear. The teddy bear missing from that box. It _did_ come with her.

"Hey, kid. You've been causing a fuss again." How the hell I sound so neutral, I have no idea.

"I didn't think you'd be coming until tomorrow," she says sulkily, worrying the bear with her fingers. "Am I in big trouble?"

"No, 'course not." At least I don't think so. "Why don't you come down to the lounge? CJ and Baby D are waiting down there, and Gaby got your favourite milkshake in."

"Uh..." Her eyes fix down on the bear uncertainly.

"Bring him. He's cute."

"Yeah," she nods, "my dad said my mum ran away to get him for me. It's the only thing I have of her." Not the only thing, not anymore, but I'm almost impressed that Cockface Fellows told a half truth so she knew she had something from me.

With a little coaxing, Cree slumps behind me down to the lounge with her arms firmly crossed across her body. She relaxes a little when she sees Delilah and makes an immediate beeline to sit down next to her. I see CJ clock the teddy bear in her hand and look up to me for confirmation. _Yes, genius, that's the bear_. He nods in reply and rolls his eyes like he's read my mind.

"You like Delilah, huh?" Cree looks up at him for a moment, then to me, and then sinks down into the couch.

"Yeah I do. I always wondered what it would be like to be a big sister." Fucking hell, she's killing me here. "Have you two come early because of what I said to Gaby earlier? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'd never go anywhere with my dad." _The hell if I'd let you._

"Sort of. Creedance, can I ask you something?" She doesn't answer, just looks nervously in Gaby's direction. Obviously opening up isn't high on her list of favourite things with 'authority' around. I'm sort of humbled that she gives it up to me so easily. "When you play up like you do, are you doing it on purpose so you don't get sent home?" Her jaw stiffens in reply. That'd be a yes then. So okay, here goes... "Are you doing it because..." This is so stupid... "Are you doing it because nobody will be able to find you if you're at Gaby's house, and you want your mum to find you like your dad did?" Tears come up to the surface of her eyes and it takes more self-control than I have to stop myself going over there to hug her. "I'm sorry, I just needed to know." Needed to know that my instinct was dead on. She's holding out for her mum to take her away.

"Why?" She whispers. "Why do you care?"

My voice cracks, every word of the speech I rehearsed over and over in my mind for months wiped clean from my memory. I had it all planned, I know I did, but now it's all vanished when I needed it the most. If I got up on stage and forgot all our songs it couldn't feel as bad. Both of my hands wrap around CJ's left hand, fiddling with his wedding ring, and it's a plea for help. _Please, show me the way here._

"What do you know about Amelia?" His voice is a gentle, soft lilt.

"Super awesome. Super famous. Super pretty."

"I won't argue with you there. But did you know that she didn't know her mum either?"

She looks up at him, looking almost interested. "She didn't have a mum?" CJ squeezes my fingers and I know that's my cue to take over. Shit...

"I had a mum, Cree. I didn't find out she's not _my_ mum until recently, but I thought she was for a really long time. And do you know what? She was really horrible to me when I was a kid. So were my brother and sister. The people I thought were supposed to love me because they were my family spent most of the time making me feel like the odd one out."

"If this is going to turn into a lecture about how I should be grateful that Gaby is a nice foster mum, I don't want to hear it." I'm slightly taken back by hearing so much bitterness in such a young girl's voice. "I still want my own mum."

"That's not where I was going with this, Creedance, I swear. I'm just trying to explain my childhood to you."

Her eyes narrow to slits. God damn, she's a tough audience. "Okay."

"Okay." _Okay...?_ Where the hell do I go now? "So, uh... My family, except my dad, who was away a lot, were all pretty mean. I told you about her shouting at me for not finishing dinner. Anyway, that made me grow up feeling rebellious and being Bobby Marsh's daughter made me kind of big headed. I was a pretty stupid kid who thought I could have everything. So when I was thirteen; not really that much older than you, I met a much older boy, who was best friends with my brother. He was... mean to me, too."

I take a deep breath and exhale in a rush. The faster this is over with, the better. "When I was fourteen, I had a baby—"

"Fourteen!" She squeaks, and I've never felt quite so much like I'm being judged. "Holy cow, that's so young!"

"Don't interrupt, Creedance. It's very rude." Gaby's admonishment pushes her right back into the couch cushions to sulk.

"Yeah, I was young. Really young, and I didn't know how to look after a baby. So my sister took her off me and wouldn't let me spend any time with her unless she was sleeping. My boyfriend—her dad—got even more mean because he didn't really want our baby around but knew it was the only way I'd stay with him. He scared me all the time and said that he'd take her away if I didn't do what he told me, I didn't want that. I didn't want to lose her.

"On my fifteenth birthday, I went out with my friend, Meredith, who you know is in the band with me, so I could get away from everyone being so horrible. When I came home, I found my baby girl wrapped up in a blanket on my bed, really really poorly. My mum, sister and boyfriend came in and took her away and—"

"And what?" God, she's watching me like I'm a fucking soap opera, eyes all bright and intrigued.

"They told my baby had died, Creedance. They took her away to the hospital and I never saw her again."

"That's so sad." Her grip tightens around the teddy bear. "But why are you telling me this?" Not really winning any awards for compassion here but I guess she is just nine. I stutter and croak, a little lost for further explanation.

CJ shuffles an inch closer to me and puts his free right hand on top of mine. "A little while ago, we found out that Amelia's family lied to her and her dad, and that her little girl is still alive."

"Why would they do that?" Cree looks between us desperately. "Why would they tell you something like that?"

"I really don't know. I don't. But Gaby found her and told me all that I'd missed."

"So if she can find your little girl," she practically vibrates on the spot, seeping hope and excitement, "she can find my mum."

"Yeah," I laugh, resting my head against CJ's shoulder as it starts to pound. I give up flowering this up with flashbacks and backhanded hints. "She can. She did. You're looking at her."

And there's nothing but deathly silence again. Even the pin waiting to drop is holding it's breath. Through the cover of my hair, I look up at Creedance slyly and she's perfectly calm and still, except her mouth is wide open. CJ is barely breathing next to me and Gaby is chewing on her lip like a dog on a steak.

"I wouldn't let Amelia tell you this unless I was completely sure," she mutters quietly, breaking the stillness to move to the same couch as Cree. "We have DNA tests—all that Jeremy Kyle stuff, and it's definite that she's... That she's your mother." Another violent shudder runs through me that pushes tears up into my eyes. She knows and she hasn't said a god damn thing. "So that means that you can go home with them one day. Delilah is your little sister, Bobby is your grandpa and—"

"You're my grandma?" Cree creaks back into life and raises her big grey eyes up to look at Gaby. "You're my proper grandma, Arnold is my grandpa, too, and Ems is my aunt. Holy cow..." This seems to be going deceptively well. Her gaze swivels around to CJ and she blinks a few times before she speaks. "You're my stepdad?"

He takes a quick breath and glances down in my direction. "Yeah, but I'd like to adopt you. It would mean your dad wouldn't be your dad any more in the eyes of th—"

"Adopt me, adopt me!" She practically screams at him, grabbing on to her knees to rock backwards and forwards like one of those demented looking clown heads in a jack-in-the-box. "But wait. How long have you all known?" _Uh oh_.

"I, uh... CJ found out the day before your birthday. I found out about five minutes before I met you the first time."

"Gaby?" She turns around to Gaby and glares harshly. "You've been telling me you hadn't found her. I've been sitting with Am— ... my mot—" her hands rub away at her eyes in frustration. She doesn't know what to call me anymore... "I've been sitting with her all this time and you didn't tell me. You've been lying to me. You swore you'd never lie to me!"

Gaby shoots up to her feet looking panicked, casting desperate glances in three directions. I straighten from CJ and brace myself to defend her. "It wasn't like that. It's really my fault, Creedance. I should have told you sooner but I was scared."

"Scared?"

"That you wouldn't believe me. That you wouldn't want me. That you'd be upset."

"I am upset," Creedance snaps, "I'm upset because I told you how much I wanted my own mum and you still didn't tell me. You left me hurting to protect your own damn feelings."

"Creedance, language!"

"Shut up!" She scrabbles up to her feet, pulling her plectrum chain up over her head and the brooch from her t-shirt, throwing at them at me along with the teddy bear with surprising force, and hisses, "You're right, Amelia. You shouldn't have told me. I don't want you. I don't want a liar for a mum," with enough maliciousness to make my jaw snap open. She's right, I am a liar. I should have just come straight out with it instead of dragging it out for months and months. She's hurt so much so unnecessarily because we thought we were acting in her best interests but no, we weren't.

I watch her stomp back out through Small House to her bedroom and flinch at the sound of her door slamming. For such a small person, she's pretty strong physically. But mentally? Have I really fucked this up by not telling her outright and risking getting laughed at? That would have been better than having my gifts thrown back in my face and a first look at her vindictive streak, right? Hell, I deserve this. I deserve it for all my fuck ups now and all my fuck ups when she was a baby.

"Stop it," CJ orders, wiping away a tear from my cheek, "it's a shock for her. I'm sure you reacted like that when you found out, too."

"Sort of." I remember being naffed off that Gaby had known for a couple of weeks without telling me, but that amount of time is nothing compared to what, four nearly five months of eating lunch with the girl knowing I bear a five inch scar for her, amongst obvious others. Looking at her and hearing what she wants but not giving it to her. "Should I go after her?"

"No." Gaby sits down on the table in front of me and takes one of my hands from CJ's. "She's angry. That's understandable. But notice that she's angry because we didn't tell her sooner and not because _you_ are her mother. In fact, I've never seen her look quite so elated."

"But she just said she doesn't want me." And rightly so. I wouldn't want me as a mother either. Fame and fortune aside, I'm a pretty lousy role model.

"Of course she does. She'll come around, Amelia. I promise."

#  **~*~**

My back hits the floor and knocks the wind from my sails in a mighty rush, leaving me a little light headed. I definitely need to start risk assessing my bets. My shoulders and back will be all kinds of colours under my ink in the morning thanks to me foolishly telling the guys that there's no way they could flip me after some sly dig about my 'size'. Okay, so I've been comfort eating recently, but I'm bigger all over after having Delilah and it's toned, dammit. _Toned_. So far, everyone but CJ has managed it and that's because he flat out refuses to try.

"Okay, you all made your point," I groan, taking whoever's offered hand to pull me to my feet, "let's stop before Delilah kicks my arse, too." Nobody even tries to disguise their laughter while I battle to regain my bearings. Of all of them, Levi's throw down had to hurt the most. I kind of expected it from Erek, but fuck me, man. I can't believe he's the femme.

CJ announces his battle in the form of a thumb war and I have got this shit down. Most of my French classes were spent taking Meredith down with my brutal digit and that, my friends, is why I can't speak French. From the safety of an amp, I sit and claim my defeat a few dozen times before he throws his hands up and steps back. "Okay, you win!"

"And why do I win?"

He rolls his eyes at me, pushes my legs apart to get between them and lifts me up by the waist. "Because you are Amelia Pearce: matriarch, genius, sexpot extraordinaire, performer of miracles and all the awesome of my universe." Fair play to him, he's got that down in parrot fashion now.

"And why do I make you say that when we fuck or fight?"

"Because making you come is a privilege, not a right, and in both cases I need to know my place."

"Which is?"

"Beneath you." He drops his head and looks up at me coyly through his hair. "Behind you. On top of you. Inside you. In your mouth. In that hot, tight, snug little pu—"

"Whoa!" I grab his fingers flexing and clawing at my back and force them to slacken off. "No ad-libbing!"

"No squashing my masculine authority." His teeth flash white and mischievous. I know that look and I know it well. It's the same look that usually ends up in my underwear being used as a spunk rag on the nearest flat surface. My tartan skirt is short enough for him to have his way with me none too discretely right now, in front of everyone... "You looking for a prelude, Big Tasty?"

"Isn't that how our gigs are supposed to start?"

Crap. Now I've done it. He fully disengages from hot horny stud mode and splits into a still sexy but not sexual happy dance with me still wrapped around him. " _Our_ gig! Like screwing away your stage fright wasn't enough of a treat, I get in on the musical action this year. I'm a famous rockstar!"

"All right, chill out, Slash. It's not like it's your first time at my rodeo."

"No, but—"

"Amelia!" Our heads lift up to find a purple blur fast approaching, playsuit glittering with a thousand obnoxious, tiny diamantes and horribly mismatched to its thigh high Demonia boots. "Bloody hell, Meels! Look at you! I'm freaking moist here!" Ew.

"Nancy?" I jerk up to my feet, totally bowled over. I haven't seen her since CJ's birthday disaster last year and she hasn't changed even a little bit. She's still my tiny little purple haired journalism munchkin with a cockney accent to rival Barbara Windsor's. "I had no idea you were coming."

"Are you kidding? _Rage Against Everyone_ wouldn't miss covering this for the world and you know I get first shout on your articles. So how's life? How's marriage? What's the big surprise being revealed tonight? I heard you were in a car crash. What's up with your hair being so short? Is it true you had a breakdown? Where's this baby you haven't yet let me bloody photograph?"

"Uh... we'd need a week for me to update you on all that and I'd need you to promise me total discretion. But let's start with why the hell you didn't tell me you were coming?" I have the same phone number, the same phone, and so do the guys. Seriously, there is no excuse for her sneak up on me like the bride of Barney.

She sticks one hand on her hip and pouts. "Aren't you happy to see me? I lost my mobile and _RAE_ only have your tour phone on record. I've been messaging you on Facebook but you never rep—ah. You still live in the technological middle ages, don't you? Well, I'm here now. Show me your belly friend!"

Seeing Nancy hold Delilah is bizarre at its finest. It's not so much the fact that Delilah is already half the size of her, but more that Nancy is freakishly confident with her despite looking zero percent child friendly. There again, looking at my crew of weirdos, it's a marvel that Social Services haven't labelled her at risk of being eaten alive.

The roadies buzz around out on the stage doing their last checks before our one and only support act go out to warm up the forming crowd outside. The arena isn't nearly full but it's crazy knowing that all of the seats arching around and the entire space up front are going to be full to capacity. After all this time, this still amazes me that people are this crazy for what I do so easily.

"Nervous?" Meredith hooks her arm around mine, swaying slightly from her level of intoxication. Standing here and not drinking until the aftershow makes me feel kind of short changed.

"Not even a little bit." She scoffs in disbelief. "Really, Mer. Buzzing isn't the word. I can't wait to get out there. Is Dad here?"

"Shooting the breeze with CJ and Levi. Hey, check it out." She points out through the crowd to a face I once knew very intimately for two days last year at the _Weak_ video shoot. "It's CJ's doppelganger." Holy shit, I never realised just how similar they are, except he looks older and thoroughly fucking miserable. It's such a far cry from the green eyed boy who tried to act like a total hard ass when he had me spread over a Mercedes but didn't flirt with me in the slightest.

"What's wrong with his face?"

"Woman trouble."

"What? Did he fuck up and drive her off to Southampton or something?" Depression like that comes with long term separation. I've seen that empty look before.

"No, New York. She's been there for two months."

"Ouch!" He must have done something beyond stupid to push her that far away. But there's no point dwelling on mistakes, mine or anyone's, and I have to go and change into my costume. My duet with my dad is still under wraps and nobody but Lou knows what I'm wearing, so when I kick the door open and everyone turns eagerly, just to see me completely covered in a black cloak, they all look as disappointed as I'd hoped. Score.

"Hey, Mimi. Is that yours?" Levi shouts over to music to disturb Plato, Erek and I doing the _Time Warp_ and jabs a thumb at the staff entrance. "Special delivery?"

"What are you talking about you, ho... mo... Oh." All my breath leaves my lungs as I watch Gabrielle walk in with her hand on the shoulder of a girl I've missed so much it hurt; a girl wearing a zebra print pencil dress and red patent leather _Doctor Martens_. We didn't go and see her as normal the day after the big reveal, wanting to just give her space to absorb the information, and honestly, I'm surprised to see her here at all. Three days away from her and she's never looked more beautiful or terrifying. CJ immediately rushes over to me to grab my hand, wrapping an arm around my waist protectively like the Grim Reaper just walked in and he's prepared to bargain for my soul. "Yes, Levi. _She_ is mine. Next time you refer to my child as an inanimate object, I'm going to break your face."

"I'd like to see you try, bitch bags."

We set on a cautious pace towards Creedance and Gaby, CJ keeping me steady while I greedily drink her in. It's clear that she's still annoyed, but she's here. She wouldn't come if she didn't want to.

"Hi," I say shyly, "I'm glad you came."

"What's with the cloak?"

"Surprise."

"Oh." She scans the area with a frown and looks up at me, disappointed. "This is what backstage is like? I thought it would be crazier." I look over my shoulder at the scene: heavily tattooed rockers playing Peanuts, raucous moshing to the assembly music, half-naked groupies fussing over our support act and my dad talking to a few massive looking guys in foot-high boots with more facial piercings than skin, wearing kilts pinned together with skull embellished safety pins. Is this not crazy? _Of course it's not crazy, you tit, she lives in a nut house._

"We, uh, have to keep a cap on the crazy or nobody makes it on stage." The ugly memory of the only time I never made it on stage flares in my mind—my endless string of panic attacks because I thought I'd lost CJ. That seems like centuries ago.

"Oh." Cree folds her hands in front of her and looks up at me with her lips pursed. "You said I had a date with Bobby Marsh on my birthday. Can I have it now, please?" Holy fuck, first pleasant sentence in and she wants to meet her grandpa. He's been gagging for this moment for twelve, nearly thirteen weeks. I, however, cack my pants as I turn in his direction and whistle shrilly though my teeth, which of course gets both his and CJ's attention.

CJ narrows his eyes at me and cocks his head. "You said you can't whistle."

"Yeah like, tunefully to a song. I can 'here boy' whistle."

"That's still whistling. You can officially do everything. I am impotent next to you."

I snort and bite my lip. "You liar. You've had a year and a half long semi. I don't know how you think straight with all the misdirected blood and whatnot."

"Uh, guys?" Cree fakes a gag at us and crosses her arms. "You're being really gross." I feel the redness hit my cheeks just as Dad reaches us looking nervous as hell. At least she's seeing a loving relationship this time when she's exposed to stomach churning yuckiness.

Dad, as ever, hides his nerves behind a no-holds-barred, lead paint melting, thermonuclear smile and squats down to Cree's level. Oh, his stage face is good. I learnt from the best. "Hey, kid. It's been a long time." Her eyes shine at him and there it is. The total Marsh family resemblance. He sways slightly on the balls of his feet, probably feeling just as exposed and transparent as I did the first time she looked at me with my own eyes, and leans an elbow on his knee to prop up his face. "I hear you're pretty good with a guitar. Want to come on stage?"

"No!" She gasps, looking horrified. "There's no way you'd get me out there! Have you seen how many people are out there?" Oh no, stage fright is hereditary. "Aren't you scared?"

"Not me, grambaby bear." _Holy fuck, easy Dad!_ "I've been going out there for thirty years."

"So you must have been like five the first time?" Cree peeks over at me and winks, looking pretty damn pleased with herself. Nicely done! Flattery is always the way forward with Bobby Marsh and already, she knows how to handle the men in her life. Oh, uh... fuck. I should nip that in the bud.

Dad stands up and laughs, holding a hand out for her to shake and turning his ball busting grin to Gaby. "You've got the Marsh charm, all right. How about we go and get you and your fabulous grandma a drink, then go and find your little sister?" _Jesus! Don't flirt with my mother-in-law!_ Not when he just used the word 'grandma'. Not sexy. _And enough with the casual family pressure!_

"Okay." I get a quick smile before the three of them tramp off towards the table made up with refreshments like there was no near-decade of separation. All those familial turns and she's just like, 'okay, whatever'.

"That went... well," CJ mutters suspiciously, then turns to me with a look of total nonchalance and acceptance. _What is wrong with you people?!_ "Want to go and watch the support act?"

I pick mindlessly at a bowl of Bombay Mix staring out across the stage, watching our support act file off looking knackered. This stuff tastes like crap, so why can't I stop eating it? I just keep dumping it in my mouth like popcorn at the cinema.

From my vantage point, I can see all the guys stood closer to the stage—close enough to include me but far enough away to give me a wild berth—and hear Dad, Cree and Gaby laughing behind me. The doors to the arena are closed and the crowd noise is deafening, and yet... Bombay Mix...

"Hey, what are you eating?" Creedance sneaks up behind me and raises an eyebrow at my bowl. "It looks gross."

"It is. Is the old man being nice to you?"

She pulls a crisp twenty pound note from her pocket and grins. "Yup."

"Impressive. You, uh... think he'll be a good grandpa?" _Carefully, Amelia..._ Christ, it's like talking to a terrorist.

"Sure. If he keeps paying up." I laugh in total disbelief and she grins at me. The girl who never fucking smiled has done nothing but for the past half an hour. This has got to be a good sign.

"You're awesome, Cree."

"Yeah," she shrugs, "apparently I get that from my mother. So says, like, everyone." My laughter stops. _Do. Not. Cry._ A welcome distraction comes in our ten minute warning and a wave of mania hits backstage. From the corner of my eye, I catch CJ go green and my dad laughing at him, very clearly making out the word, 'pussy'. "That means you're going on stage, right?"

"Almost. Do you want to meet the band properly?"

I don't wait for an answer before I grab her hand and pull her over to the awaiting four faces that look like I'm walking over with a big pink elephant. "She's not going to bite, you idiots."

"I might." She looks up at me unapologetically and I can see it now. The school reports, meetings with numerous headmasters and multiple school exclusions. She's going to keep me on my toes, just like I did with my dad. Yeah, maybe he went away so much to escape me if this is anything to go by.

"So okay, this is Erek, our drummer, Plato, our lead guitarist, Levi is his boyfriend," she nods uncaringly at the word 'boyfriend'. Okay, we are gay friendly! "And you know you told me that you remember a girl's face? Ta-da!" Meredith sucks her lip at me and drops down to the floor to Creedance's level, on the verge of tears. Cree stares back at her and tilts her head to one side, then the other. It's like watching two cats in the street about to scrap.

"You haven't changed."

"Lil sis!" Mer grabs her and pulls her into a hug. Now there's the drama this scene was missing; the blubbing wreck! Okay, now this is complete. This is my whole fucked up little family reunited backstage at a mammoth gig. This is home. Cree turns her face to look at me with her eyes and nostril flared, and mouths 'wow', rolling her eyes at all the emotion. Everyone who can see it laughs and attack me with matching 'you have a clone' looks.

Our five minute call rings out and everyone congregates in a crowd around us. Gaby smiles at me warmly, nodding like she's approving of how things or going or confirming that it's going okay—I don't know. Ems emerges from a dressing room with a totally daft looking Delilah wearing massive ear defenders and passes her to me for a good luck snuggle. My old pal stage fright pokes its nose out of its box and I mentally slap it with a rolled up newspaper until it goes away.

It's Halloween. It's my whole family stood together looking amped.

It's showtime.

# XLVIII

#

#

"Okay guys, you know what you're doing?" I hand Delilah back to Ems and sigh with suppressed enthusiasm. _Let me out there already!_

"You're starting out, Bobby cuts in, then we all join when the lights go up. But wait!" Meredith grabs my wrist and rubs at her smeared make up. "What if we don't know what you're playing?"

I snicker and smirk at my dad, pulling the hood of my cloak up over my head. "You'll know it." Grabbing, Cree's shoulder, I kneel down and try not to be too intense with the whole motherly concern thing. "You'll be okay back here, right?"

"Yeah sure, Gaby and Ems are here."

"Okay." I blow out a long breath and stand up, raising a hand to Big Dave's signal to get my ass at my piano. The lights on the stage lower to total darkness and the only way to see anything is by the glow in the dark strips put across all of our instruments for a true Halloweeny feel and the stars marking the guys places. Our stage has never looked more awesome. "All right guys, lets get this show rockin'!"

It feels weird sitting at a luminous piano in the pitch black, listening to the guys shuffle around as quietly as possible—weirder to feel a hook attached to the back of my cloak ready to rip it off at the right moment. From my stool, I can see out across the crowd and hear the buzzing of about fourteen thousand voices, but I can also see the six eager faces standing on the sidelines. Andy has his arms protectively around Gaby's shoulders, who's grinning like a fool, and Ems and Levi are jigging around with Baby D feeling the pre-show buzz. Creedance stands in front of them all, mouth slightly open and arms crossed. In the back of my mind, I'm telepathically telling her, _this one's for you_.

With only a cleverly concealed LED light to illuminate the keys, I start to play as soon as I get the nod from Big Dave that I can't respond to. For this to work well, nobody can see any part of me like my telltale tattoos.

The melody is haunting and familiar, an overly elaborate rendition of _Meet Me Halfway_ prettied up with too many trills and flourishes, making it sound like a dirge.

A spotlight hits me like a bolt of lightning and kicks me to turn the 'misery' up a notch. It's bright enough for people to murmur, wondering who's playing, but doesn't drown the stage completely. As soon as I hit the bridge, I end the prelude with a crescendo and link it into some very simple repetitive chords. Erek starts to drum with his brushes behind us—yeah, we failed to tell anyone that he was in on this—then another spotlight falls on my dad.

_"I was working in the lab late one night..."_ I laugh to myself at the sound of the guys going crazier than the crowd and launch into the full piano she-bang of _Monster Mash._ We knew it would go down a treat.

Dad sings through the first two verses and choruses, adding in the chords on his guitar to make it grittier and more 'us', then pauses dramatically to pull the wire that yanks off my cloak to reveal me in all my naughty nun glory, tiny halter neck habit minus veil, with stockings and New Rocks. Seemed logical when the man who 'knows me in the Biblical sense' is dressed as the priest from _The Exorcist_ , much to Andy the Vampire's annoyance.

_"The zombies were having fun, the party had just begun..."_ The cameras start to flash in the crowd and the hysteria really kicks in when people realise that the phantom pianist is me. I look and see Cree bopping away and not looking too bloody happy about it, and it makes me swell up inside. It's one of those songs you can't not dance to and she very blatantly does not dance.

The lights go up completely when it gets around _"to whatever happened to my Transylvania Twist?"_ and the guys thrash out together to make this track really something special. When we draw close to the end, instead of finishing up—and just because it's the fucking law—we link into a full on rock version of _This Is Halloween_ that has obviously seen more rehearsal than every other song on our set list put together. Unlike all our other songs, everyone gets a turn to sing so it's just like the original but... not.

And just because we're flashy bastards, we end it with a thick plume of smoke and glitter from centre stage thanks to the pyrotechnics team. And this is just us getting started.

While the smoke and glitter clears, I fill the air with the intro to the notorious Bobby Marsh's _Love My Baby_ , a song we couldn't really not play. He sidles over to me and passes his guitar to a waiting roadie so he can lean up against the piano and just focus on me. It's a gentle lull of a song that I'll never look at the same way again.

Part of me wonders if he wrote this for my mum, too, Amelia Marsh the first. Would she be proud of me now? If she was standing backstage with everyone else, would she stare at me as fondly as they do?

The words say more about Dad than anyone realises—than I realised. I've never seen him cry but his lyrics tell me that he did, frequently.

_"Oh, why'd you have to leave, my baby? Crying hard so I don't forget your face. Oh, the world was too small for my baby but, my baby, but why'd you have to go away? Heaven, love my baby but won't you bring her back some day?"_

And maybe he even dared to believe that she wasn't really gone. Maybe he was in denial for so long that the universe contorted somehow and made it true. Maybe my dad's blind hope brought her back to me.

I have never loved my dad as much as I have in this moment, watching the lights bounce off him. I'd never tell him to his face or say it out loud, but I find myself awestruck by him sometimes. If he can take me, a daughter so broken, and raise her into what I am now with nobody else's help, undoing fifteen years of damage from a negligent stepfamily, then surely I can rebuild a girl who was saved early enough to not be burdened with the bad memories.

Coops told me that the people around me draw from my strength to reach out. My dad doesn't share that enviable trait, but I admire his ability to draw strength from within. Sometimes I get the feeling that I don't know him as well as I should. Well, that changes tonight. I can't fill the void of my namesake but I can damn well express my gratitude for him doing an exemplary job of bringing me up to be just like him.

I am honoured to be the daughter of Robert 'Bobby' Marsh.

He pulls me up from my piano stool and hugs me when our duet draws to a close. Not really caring that fourteen thousand plus people are watching, I let a tear of utmost respect and adoration slide down my cheek and look on, choked by my love for him, as he hugs and high-fives the guys before leaving the stage to the sound of raucous applause. CJ and Mer give me their doe-eyed looks that reveal their secret love of me being a big softy and Creedance grabs my dad for a hug when he reaches her side. I'm amazed by how freely she's accepting being part of a new family. Well... Half new family. Only CJ, Delilah, Dad and I are the new commodities in her life. Unless you include the band, who are starting to look a little impatient. Right...

"Bobby Marsh, ladies and gentlemen," I say into my microphone, settling back down at the piano. I tug on the collar of my outfit when he's looking and make the sign of the cross across my chest. "Bless you, Father." I get the titter of laughter I was looking for, and I flex my fingers happily.

"So it's Wednesday night. It's Halloween. The stage is set and the band is keen. The crowd wearing shit disguises, so come on, guys—WHO LIKES SURPRISES?!" Jets of sparks erupt on either side of the stage and successfully make half the audience and Meredith scream. She soon finds herself the target of mocking laughter and sticks her lip out moodily. She's known it was coming for six weeks, bloody wimp!

"Thank you for humouring us with your shock, it took a lot of bribery, cash and time to get those fireworks. But I got poetic for a reason. A year or so off the road may not seem like a big deal, but for us it feels like an eternity. In that time, we've grown up, acted like children, broken down, reformed, crashed and burned, and performed miracles. The biggest of said miracles couldn't be coerced to come on stage—" Cree blushes vermilion and hides her face in her hands, "and my littler miracle doesn't have the motor skills to take over on drums. But the miracle that brought them to me is standing on this stage now and if I'm stuck with him for life, all of you are too."

I start to play the opening strains of _Feeling Good_ and the band joins in, gathering together into a burst of drums, piano and guitars. "So I'm proud to introduce you all to a man who no longer has to invade my stage with grand romantic gestures, a man who will fill the space in your empty souls the way he filled ours, the very sexy and very permanent addition to The Bystander Effect—and no, he's not here because he's married to the boss—Mr. CJ 'Yes I'm that millionaire who didn't know I was dating Amelia Marsh' Pearce!"

The crowd howl and scream when he starts to croon into the microphone and a massive backdrop falls revealing a photo from a shoot we did for the new album. His face fits in perfectly between us, like he's been there the whole time since we started out. He's the last piece finally slotted into our insane jigsaw and hell, does he ever look like a god standing at the other end of the stage. I take over at the second verse and we turn the song into a duet, completely filling our mushiness quota.

He bows politely at the end and gives me a cheeky wink. I believe he is now what some may call 'initiated.' Therefore, "I now declare this party started!"

Lou rushes over to me with a towel and a bottle of water after an hour of screaming old and new tracks and key hammering. We're not nearly done, this is just a much needed intermission. Well, if one is going to do a massive comeback gig on Halloween, it only makes sense to make it humongous and worth the ticket fees, right? CJ slings a sweaty arm around my shoulder having stripped from half his costume down to a t-shirt between songs, and drags me into a hot, mouth-fucking kiss that leaves me dazed. Holy shit.

"Is performing turning you on?"

"Yes," he grins proudly, "you have no idea how beautiful you look sat at that piano singing your soul out with your eyes closed, and when you open them and look at me..." he trails off and stares numbly into space, grin still plastered to his face.

"Beautiful?" Not the adjective I was expecting. Sexy, fuckable, white hot—these were expected responses. But beautiful? That just makes me blush and feel strangely shy.

He snaps out of his daydream and strokes my face with the back of his fingers. "You're always beautiful, Amelia. I wake up every morning with my heart in my mouth because it just doesn't seem possible that you're there. Plus, you know," he coughs and tugs me towards him so I can feel his hard on bulging in his trousers, "when you look at me, it's the same look you have when you're about to be 'under siege'. 'Oh CJ, fuck me, fuck me now and fuck me hard!' " And there he is. Caspian Jonas Pearce - moment killer. Can't spoil me with sweet nothings, obviously. Wanker.

"Well then," I huff, patting the sweat off my face with a scowl. "If you're quite done toying with my emotions, I need to hydrate. If you think you're too warm now, just wait until we get back out there. This break won't be enough to stop you feeling like you're going to die the more tired you get." He pulls a surprised face at me and cocks his head. Even I'm surprised by this sudden mood swing. Why am I so offended by his typical randy behaviour?

"Hey," CJ pulls the towel from my hand and tosses it over his shoulder, leaning down so his eyes are level with mine. "I love you." My insides soften like chocolate. Mmm... chocolate...

"I love you, too, even if you do turn every gentle word into a crass flirt."

"You love it."

"Hmm." Dammit, he knows me too well.

Ems rudely interrupts by grabbing me and yanking me into a totally unexpected hug. In all the time I've known her, she's never let on that she could define the word 'affection' let alone display it. That was one of the things I liked about her. She was a stone cold bitch like me and Meredith. This is so fucking uncomfortable.

"You were amazing out there, all of you were. You were just so... alive! You've turned my little brother into a rockstar, it's just... Wow!" Our awesomeness should not be news to her. She knows what its like to be on that stage with us.

"What have you been huffing? We're only halfway through and you look like you're about to have a heart attack."

"Oh Ams, it's just..." Holy fuck, is she going to cry?! Her eyes are shining the way Delilah's do when I try to stop her from eating my car keys. "You look so happy. I've never seen you like this." Oh brother...

I pat her on the back awkwardly and mouth 'help' at CJ. He just laughs at me and strolls off towards the bathroom. Bastard! It's his husbandly duty to save me from inane interactions like this. "Thanks Ems, that's... I am happy, but to be honest, this whole death-grip snuggle shit we've got going down is turning me on and I think it might class as incest."

"Ew." That does the job nicely. She jolts back and holds me at arm's length by the elbows wearing a look of utmost repulsion. "You're a fucking penis. I was trying to be a doting sister-in-law."

"Don't. Your feelings are ugly and unbecoming." Her eyes narrow, but then she laughs and releases my arms to punch me in the left boob. Ow...

"You're right. It felt wrong. I'll stick to empty threats of violence and drinking competitions." She glances over her shoulder at a small crowd of clammy rockers and family huddled together. "The kids are really enjoying the gig. Delilah has been bopping like a loon but..." She frowns and looks back at me, "Creedance has been quiet for while. Lou took her for a piss and she's been weird since." Now why does that make my Spidey sense tingle like a motherfucker?

Looking at Cree, Ems is right. Something is wrong. That complete apathy she always wears is different, cooler. She's paying attention to everything around her but she looks vacant, almost lost. Before I even realise I'm moving, I'm steering her into a quiet corner and kneeling down with my brows pushed together in concern. Whoa, auto-mum mode. "What's wrong?"

She chews on the side of her lip for a good long minute, then sighs, looking guilt-ridden. "I did something bad." I wait patiently for her to elaborate. "Your roadie took me to the bathroom and I saw my dad out there." My stomach flips and churns like a washing machine. He's been watching. We've been in the same room as him all this time. I mean, it's a pretty big room but that's beside the point. How close has he been to the stage? "He followed us back to the staff entrance and told her who he was. He waited until she left and told me I should go and watch in the crowd with him." I could get pissed about Lou leaving her but she knows the score. She would have been watching. Planning.

"Go on."

"I told him that I hate him. I said I was mad at him for not telling me you were my mum so Gaby could contact you ages ago, and that he's not my dad any more because CJ is adopting me." Wow, I bet that went down like a ton of bricks. I can just imagine his face—his 'say another word and I'll fucking slap you' face. If he exposed her to that glare, I will personally break his dick off.

"It's okay, Cree. He had to find out eventually."

"No no, that's not what I did wrong." Say what? Telling a man that his daughter is disowning him is rough, it can't be any worse than hearing it directly from the daughter herself, surely?

"I swore," she whispers with her head hung like a criminal walking to the electric chair. "He told me that I was his and only his, and I told him to F off and die. I think your big roadie guy heard me. He came over just as I said it." She's ashamed because she said 'fuck'? Not because she told him she hated him and revealed that she's being adopted in a not too friendly manner. Because she said 'fuck'.

I have to bite my lip to stop myself laughing. She really does look like she ran over someone's cat repeatedly. "Look, Creedance, you know you said a bad word. I don't need to make you feel worse by telling you why you shouldn't say it because you already understand, right?" She lifts her eyes to mine and blinks once, which I figure means 'yes'. "And you know what? Big Dave has a brain like a sponge—squashy and full of holes—so he's probably already forgotten. We'll keep this between us because I used to say that to your dad a lot too."

"Really?"

"Of course, Cree. I—" A surge of shame and resentment for those first nine months floods through me. Why does _he_ have to be her dad? Oh god, I'm going to cry. I know I'm going to cry... "You're my... I'm your..." _Crap. "_ I didn't do a good job of looking after you when you were a baby but I'm going to make up for that now. When I found out that you were at Small House, alive and beautiful, I promised myself that I would make up for everything that happened when I was fourteen. You've seen what my world is like tonight and I want to share that with you, and I want you to feel safe and happy. So I'll be with you, by your side, if you want to see your dad sometimes—"

"I don't," she interrupts and shakes her head, "never ever again." I'm not even going to deny that hearing her say that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Then you never will. If you tell me that you don't want to see his face again, we will all keep him away from you. But if you ever change your mind—"

"I won't." Okay, these manners need brushing up...

"But if you do, that's okay. I hate him, too, but I'm glad that he made you happen." As much as I hate the idea, one day she might want to see him. At nine years o,,ld, she's unlikely to forget that he exists and like Gaby, I can't deprive her of her real father in good conscience. Why did Dad have to bring me up so god damn moral? "I promise to look after you, Creedance. Just give me a chance."

And here I am, laid bare for her to see. My future is in her hands and now she knows it. If she says no, there's nothing I can do but watch on from a distance. I think that would kill me. But if she says yes, I have it all. What more could I possibly ask for if I have everything? I can sit in that house for the rest of my days watching my girls grow up around me, mini me and mini CJ painting each other's nails and arguing over clothes. And my god, I will spend a year sitting on CJ's cock if that what it takes for him to have everything, too. One more little face to complete our pack.

She looks up at me, all long blonde haired and grey eyed, and sighs. "Okay. I'm sorry that I called you a liar."

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner." Our eyes lock and something passes through the air between us, forgiveness for fucking up and acceptance of each other into our lives. I have her. I have my baby back from the dead, the most impossible thing I could imagine standing in front of me. "You sure you don't want to come on stage? You can sit on my piano."

"No!" She rolls her eyes and gives me a small begrudging smile. "You have to go back on stage soon, right? I'll go find Gaby—uh, Grandma. Whatever." She huffs and waves a hand, tracking back off towards the huddle to harass the grandparents. I wish I knew what that girl was thinking sometimes.

I pull Big Dave to one side and he immediately gives me a knowing 'your daughter has a foul mouth' smirk. So we've clarified that he heard... "Lou fetched me to turf him out as soon as she knew it was him. He's still around..." he mutters, and I know he means Lucien. "He scarpered pretty fast when he saw me but I got a good look at him, ugly bastard. What the fuck were you thinking?" _I wasn't, obviously._

"He was a hot teenager. Do me a favour? When he tries to get back here again—and he _will_ try—tell him that I'm not scared of him anymore and if he wants Creedance, he has to get through me first."

The crowd screams and chants _'Bystander'_ repeatedly when we take our places back on the stage. I wisely choose to ignore the mass exploitation of a pet peeve, my good mood stoked by the fact that Cree looks way more relaxed now. The guys have all shed their costumes, leaving me as the only one dressed up. Well, a girl has to keep up appearances.

Our second half set list is made up of the heavier stuff we have in our repertoire; the dark and moody rock designed to have the standing audience swirling around in a mosh pit. The lights over head flash white and red, illuminating us like devils with a mission to cause trouble. Even though I'm sat down at a piano, I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead and brow, and by the fifth song in, Plato and Erek are stripped down to jeans and looking like they're about to drop.

CJ blinks at me across the stage and a thousand images of him throwing me down and fucking me stupid flash in his eyes. Holy shit, how am I supposed to make a career performing opposite this man when all I want to do is barrel across the stage and attack him with my mouth? He's barefoot and somehow that makes this worse. How? A smile creeps across his face and I know he's thinking exactly the same thing, except rather than look away, he grabs the hem of his t-shirt and peels it up over his head, evoking a massive whoop from the ladies in the audience.

Somewhere out there, a voice screams 'take it all off!', which starts a chant of the same request. Laughing, I shake my head and pull my eyes away from CJ. "You don't want him to do that. There are children backstage, and we don't make love, we make war. Ugly, ugly war. You'd go blind." Laughter ripples through the arena and the chant continues.

So I don't really have any choice but to stand up, go over to him, and tug his jeans down around his ankles. I look up at him from the ground and he raises a suggestive eyebrow at me, steps out of his jeans and holds out a hand to lift me up. Such a gentleman, standing there in CK boxers that leave nothing to the imagination and licking his lips at me.

"Like that is it?" He smirks and leans towards me to lick my face. "Right." I gather his jeans up from the floor and strut back over to the piano, turning only to the throw them into the audience. He looks as pleased as punch until I lean forward on the piano's lid and bat my eyelids. "Remember the hot tub?" His jaw drops and he shifts his guitar quickly over his groin. "Uh huh. Behave, you bloody show off."

After forty-five minutes of screaming and slamming the ivory, we end our set with my duet with CJ. He sits on the piano stool next to me and takes the lower half of the keyboard. Our hands cross over several times, and every time they do, our skin touches and the air thickens between us, humid and weighted. He sings about dreaming hard for a white hot blonde nightmare with a broken smile and I sing right back about being fixed by a green eyed god with bad taste in women. We link into _Weak_ , and somewhere into the first verse, my eyes travel the enraptured front row of faces crushed against the barrier and see a challenge.

On impulse, I spring up from the piano and grab CJ's free microphone, taking centre stage and locking on to the face that used to be the ruling authority over me. The face that took away my daughter for nine fucking years.

The face that inadvertently gave me everything.

I smirk at him while the guys play the outro, and under the light of the final pyro effects making the stage glow with their flare, throw down my gauntlet with three mouthed words.

_Bring it, bitch._

We don't so much stagger through the door as we do collapse. It was all rainbows and cuddly bunny rabbits for the first hour after the gig finished, then it all just got terribly messy. It was really heart warming to see Creedance mingle like a baby rockstar with us on the tour bus for the afterparty, not at all intimidated by the huge brusque musicians around her, but it just got to the point where the poor girl couldn't keep her eyes open. Gaby whisked her back off to Small House and Ems took a surprisingly alert and even tempered Delilah back to her place, leaving us to get really fucking hammered with the band.

I've only seen CJ truly steaming once before and let me tell you, that man gets indecent. He never bothered to find new clothes, preferring to strut around proudly in his pants, and did absolutely zilch to disguise the raging erection he got after tackling me into a seriously hot make out session in one of the bunks. Holy cow, when that man gets the horn; He. Gets. The. Horn. It's no secret that I'm certainly not the nun I'm dressed as, but even I was a little embarrassed by the stuff coming out of his mouth. I thank my lucky stars his mother wasn't there.

My dad, however, was. I do not ever want him to see me like that again and I certainly don't want to see the expression he was wearing again either. I think it might be illegal in some countries. If not, it should be.

It's the first night we've had alone since Delilah was born and probably the last for a while, so we were determined to make an early break for it. My vision is too skewed to see the time but I'm sure it's around one in the morning as we tumble through the door and end up flat on the floor in fits of giggles, insisting that the other shushes even though there are no kids to disturb. It's weirdly empty without Baby D here and almost alien, but not too alien for me to remember where the wine cellar is.

"Booze!" I declare, rolling around ungracefully to clamber to my feet. CJ grabs my leg from his position still on the ground and licks as far as he can reach up my calf. O-kay... "You could be putting that tongue to better use, Caspian Jonas. And those hands for that matter. Make me a sandwich."

"A sandwich," he repeats, blinking repeatedly, "you want _me_ to make _you_ a sandwich? Now why the hell would I do that when you've got a ready made meal in my pa—"

"Okay Casanova, you need to sober up or my plans to reward you for such a good show will be thwarted by you being flat out and snoring, covered in your own puke."

He lifts up onto his elbows and raises a curious eyebrow. "Reward?" I lean down and whisper in his ear. "Okay, one sandwich coming up for the nun with the dirty mouth!" Uh huh... I thought that might motivate him.

He limps into the kitchen and starts to rattle around in the fridge, singing his actions loudly as he goes. As much as I'm enjoying his 'making a sandwich for my filthy wife' song, the urge to lie down is overwhelming. I take my favourite spot on the loveseat and recline from 'rock' to 'relax', feeling strangely complete and satisfied.

The night has been a huge success. A very happy arena full of people got their money's worth. My family has indefinitely increased by one, and one day, Creedance will live here with us in Chez Pearce as my daughter. My dad and I bonded through the vice that makes us extraordinary to others and I got a delicious taste of what it's going to be like 'working' along side my husband. Bliss.

"Have you noticed—" CJ mumbles with a mouth full of cold chicken, putting a double layered monster sandwich on doorstop bread down on the coffee table in front of me. How the hell do I fit that in my mouth? "—that tonight has been uncharacteristically drama free?"

"The night is still young, CJ. You never know what kind of spooks and horrors are lingering outside really to jump out and terrify." The front door raps loudly right on cue. Huh... Didn't plan that but cool. I gasp ominously, jump up and shimmy backwards to answer it, being totally too theatrical about it all. "Is it a zombie? Is it a ghost? Is it a vampire?" I yank the door open and the hilarity drops from my face. "Oh."

"Trick or treat?" A sallow-faced nightmare stands on my doorstep looking like he's seen a ghost of his own. I sag into the doorframe and cross my arms with a scowl. Of all the stupidity in the world, turning up on your ex-girlfriend's door step on Halloween looking like Death himself, obviously having followed her all night to know that she's home with only the man who naturally wants to cave his head in, must rank pretty high. I've played this moment over a million times in my head and not once does it happen in the comfort of my own home.

"I sincerely hope you are a fucking trick. You'd best come in."

# XLIX

#

#

The man I'm looking at isn't the boy who used to make my life hell. This guy is a fucking parody. The eyes that used to pierce right through me like warning shots are hollow and empty, and the face they're in looks better suited to the homeless slums in the deepest pits of the city. He pulls his black knit hat—the same one he wore in McDonald's—off his head and reveals the lank, dirty blonde mop I used to yearn to run my fingers through. He looks lost and desolate, and it's vindictively satisfying to see that his life is clearly shit. It's nothing less than he deserves.

His gaze stays fixed on mine as he cautiously steps past me into the house, edging around like I might attack him. How the tables have turned.

"Drink?" I offer sweetly, turning my back on him to head into the kitchen. "There's a sandwich going if you want it, I've inexplicably lost my appetite."

"Mia." His voice is a hoarse rasp, nothing like the sharp bark that used to threaten me.

"I'm not Mia anymore, Lucien. I'm Amelia and very proud of it."

"And rightly so." He takes a wary step in my direction but stays in the entrance hall. "You're an amazing singer, you always were."

"Mm-hmm." Not that he ever heard me at my best until tonight. The hummed platitudes I sang to my abuser were nothing compared to the anthems I wrote in his bitter memory.

I step into the wine cellar to grab the closest bottle and pour it into two glasses from the draining board. "So what do you want? You _have_ been stalking me for months. Money? Are you going to try and blackmail me with the secrets of my youth? The media won't care; in case you weren't aware, I'm a much loved celebrity with a talent for evading bad publicity."

"No. I came for you. I want you and Creedance back." Yeah, this has got to be a trick. Maybe he's insane. He does look like he might have had a breakdown. Heh...

"Amelia, who was it?" My eyes move coolly to CJ walking in through the adjoining dining room. There's an obvious change in his stance when he's struck sober by the sight of our visitor and he takes an aggressive step towards him. "You've got a fucking nerve walking into my house, you sick fuck."

"Don't." He pauses next to me and glares. "Don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He's just come to reclaim his girlfriend and daughter, apparently."

"What is he, a comedian?" CJ snaps, talking about him like he's not here. "He seriously thinks you're going to go back with him? There's no space left on you to scar without ruining your tattoos." Lucien winces loudly and a cruel smile spreads across CJ's face. Does that idiot seriously think he's walking out of here with me?

He takes another nervous step in our direction. "I understand what you might think of me, Mia—"

"Amelia," I hiss, eyes narrowing.

"... Amelia. But can you just hear me out? Let me explain why I—"

"Why you raped, impregnated and beat a child?" I scold CJ with a slap around the arm but can't resist smirking. He's not going to make this easy and I'm going enjoy watching him make that arsehole squirm. "Sure, dare to justify what you did. We could use a good laugh after spending years picking up the shit you left behind. Come on, don't be shy. We won't bite."

"With all due respect," Lucien clears his throat and closes the distance, showing a small glimpse of the callous bastard I knew before, "I came here to see Mi— ... Amelia, and not her meat-head husband who broke her heart by fucking my sister."

Immediately, I step in front of CJ before he has chance to act on that murderous look in his eye. "Don't, CJ. Your lawyer is good but not good enough to save you from a manslaughter charge. Your fat fuck of a twin raped him, Lucien, and you know it. She's very vocal about the fact she's quite pleased, too, yet even she is ashamed of what you did to me. Go figure."

"I'm sorry." Lucien sags a little on the spot and holds up his hands. "But you really don't need a bodyguard. I'm not here to hurt you."

"Oh, he's here more for your protection than mine, trust me. I might be laughing on the outside but on the inside I'm incandescent with rage that you have the audacity to turn up on my doorstep after all that you've done, thinking I'm seriously going to believe your bullshit excuses and walk out of that door with you." I take a breath and a big gulp of wine. "CJ, go and put some clothes on. I can't think straight with you looking like that."

The flare of ire in those green eyes turns on me. "What? I'm not leaving you on your own with this psychopath."

"Relax, I won't let him near the knives or utensils." CJ side steps and huffs at me, then marches in Lucien's direction to the stairs, shoving him with his shoulder.

"You so much as fucking breathe on her—I'll kill you and gladly serve the time for it." He gives me another dirty look over his shoulder and sets off upstairs with a curse. Whatever, if he's annoyed he can revenge fuck me later, because obviously I'm still going to be here.

"Come on, then. I'm dying to hear why you think I should leave my family for you." Lucien opens his mouth and nothing but a croak comes out. "You have nothing do you? Not a single word to plead your case. You don't really believe that I'll come back to you."

"No, I don't. I..." A dirty hand combs through his hair and he has the nerve to smile at me. "It wasn't all so bad was it? Us? What we had?"

"Yes," I snarl, emptying my glass and promptly refilling it. "We were together for two weeks before I tried to walk away and you responded by knocking me up. Worse, you made me think that life was like that for everyone. You ruined me and some of that damage is permanent." The scars, the nine years of Creedance I lost, the fact that I will always secretly blame myself for it getting so far... "Who the fuck does that?"

"Someone crazy for you?" Oh, he was fucking crazy all right, but the implication that it was done through affection is foul. Normal people buy flowers, take their partners out on midnight strolls across beaches or, in my case, declare their love with impulsive tattoos. They don't beat the shit out of each other until they're afraid to leave. "Don't you remember when we watched _Labyrinth_ together?" I fend off the memories of being forced to watch that film over and over because it was his favourite. I'd usually watch it sore and tear stained. We spent no time together socially, very much two ships passing in the night. Our relationship was little more than classroom gossip and rumours, never witnessed by the human eye. To my 'family', we just coexisted.

That's his idea of a happy time? The only basis of anything 'good' or 'normal' in our twisted relationship was watching that fucking film together, sharing a bowl of popcorn I felt too ill to touch.

"You remember how that film goes, right? Evil goblin king steals small child to drag young unwitting girl into his warped and dangerous kingdom so he can make her his bride. She escapes with the baby, happily ever after. Yo, _Jareth_ , you have no fuckin' power over me." __ I'm drunk enough to find that hilarious but sober enough to not laugh.

"No, you're right. You had all the power."

"Oh, give me a fucking break! Don't come into my house and undo all the stitches I had to painstakingly sew into my chewed up and spat out ego to finally believe I was helpless." His eyes widen in surprise at my outburst. No doubt he expected me to be the same compliant waif he moulded me into.

"I may not have let you see it, Mia, but you pulled my strings like a puppet master. I was so in love with you it hurt to not be around you."

"You frequently beat the shit out of me!"

"Because I couldn't stop!" Lucien buries his face in his hands and claws into his hair, peering at me between his fingers. "At first it was the adrenaline and I said stupid shit to get you on board. Then when you tried to break up with me, I panicked. I did what I had to, to keep you with me. By then, I couldn't just stop hitting you. I told you it was normal and there was no way to just go back on that without you walking away, so I took that self-loathing out on you. I couldn't let you leave, I was crazy about you. Every time I came to you in tears and you held me, it was because I felt like shit for what I'd done to you. It tore me up."

"You could have stopped." I shake my head and tug on my lip. He could, he could have just stopped. I was young and stupid so I would have forgiven him if he'd explained instead of trapping me with a majorly unwanted pregnancy. It could have ended at those two weeks. This all could have been avoided. "You told Wills everything, Lucien. The whole time, you two were laughing at me behind my back."

"No, it wasn't—" he stiffens and pauses as CJ prowls back past him towards me with a folder in his hand, dressed in smart trousers and half buttoned shirt, shoving him again like a playground bully. What's with all the formality?

When he's safely out of danger of physical contact, Lucien sighs. "Wills inveigled the information out of me. Once he clicked that your injuries were connected to me, he wanted to know everything. He hates your guts because you're so much better than him in every way. You were attractive, smart, talented and popular—he was an ugly nerd with the 'it boy' best friend. I liked you better than him and he liked knowing that I was—"

"Stop." My stomach twists and an intense wave of nausea courses through me. I figured that he'd laughed about it but knowing that he got that much of a kick out of it... I curl up into CJ's chest and screw my eyes shut. I did nothing to Wills but come from good breeding. I did nothing to make him hate me; he just did. Why do people exercise their jealousy toward me in such malicious ways?

CJ's arms fold around me, warm and guarding, and I catch a twinkle of envy and longing in Lucien's eyes. _You had your chance. "_ You took my daughter away from me, a daughter you didn't even want, and gave her to an acidic bitch of a woman who drafted me for nothing more than wet nurse duties. You all objectified me, using my body as you wanted. I was a slave and a vessel. You played God with my life and left me a tattered pile of soulless flesh and bones. You never told me that you loved me when it might have made a difference and trained me to see the world as a dark, unhappy place of pain and subservience. Did that make you happy?" Lucien's eyes drop down to the floor and he hangs limp and lifeless. If he ever wondered how I felt for all that time, he now knows. I felt used and worthless but sadly it's only half his fault. Those three wankers in Plymouth take the other half of the blame.

"Of course not. But look at the amazing life you have now. You're monumentally gorgeous, incredibly famous, stinking rich, surrounded by good friends, married to a millionaire, live in a fucking manor _and_ you have both of your daughters here with you. You came out of this pretty well."

" 'Pretty well?' You want to see what you did to me?" Without any due consideration, I push out of CJ's hold and immediately strip down until I'm wearing nothing but my underwear and plectrum, every inch of tattoo work exposed except for my Heaven tattoo. "This is what you did to me. I had to hurt myself to cover every physical and emotional scar you left behind and make myself look like Frankenstein's fucking monster. I don't like looking like this—like a freak. I don't like looking in the mirror and having to admit that you had a lasting effect on my life. It was bad enough that I didn't talk for months and I spent most of this year thinking I killed my daughter. You ruined my life for eleven long years and I will never get the first nine years of my daughter back thanks to you."

"But you didn't even want her! You said yourself that you didn't want to be a mother at fourteen. I thought that taking her out of the equation would give us more freedom to—"

"I was never free!" I scream at him, fists clenching at my sides. "I didn't stop being a mother because she left and I never stopped reliving the moment I lost her. You don't turn off love for a child you carried for nine long months of feeling constantly sick and fearing that you'd both get killed. But you—" Lunging forward, I grab him by the lapels of his beat up black trench coat and shake him, jaw clenched. "You didn't even have the balls to be there when she was born. I would have been alone if not for Dad, and I would have fucking died. I should have realised that you were a coward then. Why the hell did you get to be there for those first nine years when you did nothing to deserve it?"

"Because she was all I had." Lucien doesn't fight my assault and lets me throw him back a few steps. "I lost everything when Creedance went away, and it wasn't until I was on my own that I realised she was the centre of my universe. I was stupid enough to think that you loved me enough to stay after she left, I never... I didn't realise that what I was doing would end up in everyone disowning me. I took your lack of resistance as acceptance and enjoyed your body in every way I could. I was a messed up kid and you were good for me. I felt calmer—sated—when I walked out of that bedroom after screwing you blind and seeing you starry eyed and spread out, beautifully well-fucked, across your bed. I didn't know that I'd lose both of you together. In hindsight, it should have been obvious."

CJ steps forward and pulls me back into his arms. I can feel him seething. Hearing Lucien talk about me this way must be killing him inside. Will he go if I tell him to? I look up at him and he shakes his head, reading my mind, making old words echo in my pounding head. _Every step of the way..._ I have no option to fight this battle alone like I had to before, even if I want to.

"So why did you stop having sex with me after Creedance was born? You did at first, so what changed and why did I lie there wondering if this was the time you'd put me out of my misery? And why did you do it in front of my baby?"

"Because she took you away from me!" Lucien straightens and transforms into a hostile tower of a man, seemingly growing a few inches and filling the room with pent up aggression. _This_ is the Lucien Fellows I know, cold, selfish and intimidating. CJ's arms tighten around me. He obviously felt me wither a little. All this time passed and that man still has the ability to scare me with a single look. How pathetic of me. "You were _mine_ , Mia. Body and broken, tattered soul. I fucking hated her and it drove me out of my god damn mind. And worse, I hated you. Watching you feed her made me sick. We didn't connect when I was inside you anymore. You cut me off. That was _my_ body and you gave it to her." Post-natal depression. I know it can happen for men and that they can grow to resent how their child is centre of attention. But I can't rationally accept that as an excuse. _He_ gave my body to her, not the other way around. He didn't give me any other choice. "You loved me before she came."

"No, I didn't." I force my voice up from a whisper and dig my nails into CJ's side. "I never loved you, Lucien. I was scared of you; too scared, too young, and too naive to see that there was a way out. I might have thought I did at some point of lapsed judgment, but no, in the clear light of day, I hated you from the moment you lit that candle. If I'd known there was a door, I would have been out of it faster than you could see me move. Hell, if there was a window, I would have jumped through it from twenty storeys high to my death. Anything was better than what we had."

His eyes drop to the floor momentarily then dart back up to mine full of unrestrained rage. "You don't mean that. You _did_ love me. You're just lying because your _husband—_ " He says the word with complete disgust, "—is here. Don't get me wrong, I understand the appeal. Rich, attractive... He can offer you the security I can't anymore. You need nice things like fast cars and big houses—"

"Is that what you think this is?" My jaw drops and I'm totally mortified that he thinks I'm so inherently materialistic. I have my own money, I can buy that shit myself. I did! "You think I'm here because he's rich and sexy?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Would you have married him if he was ugly and poor? Would you have even given him the time of day?"

Oh crap, how the hell do I answer that? All of a sudden I feel like I'm the one in the firing line trying to justify my misdeeds. If it had been the guy sitting next to CJ in that library who'd come over to me and played dumb about my identity, would I be here now with him, having paid for this house myself and taken a whole heap of heart break for the cause? If CJ had looked like the Elephant Man, would it have mattered how rich he was after I'd made that initial opinion of him? Money—no, that doesn't matter. I accepted his proposal before Nancy dropped the millionaire bomb on my birthday. Would I have been quite so crazy about him if he didn't have a fucking boat? Yes, probably. But, looking up into those celadon eyes, if they were in a less aesthetically superior face, would I have still let them stare into the depths of my soul?

My chin wobbles as I open my mouth and grunt my objection to this situation silently. "No," I whisper, completely ashamed of myself, "I wouldn't be here if he wasn't attractive." I pull away and CJ lets me. He looks so hurt... My hands grip onto the side of the breakfast bar with white knuckle force. "I'm shallow and I'm not proud of it. If he'd been anyone else, I would probably be stupid enough to walk out of that door with you." My voice cracks and a lump forms in my throat. "I met him at a time when I was self-destructively fucking my way around the world to make myself feel better for letting my daughter die. I let him into my life because I wanted in his pants." With tears burning my eyes, I glance up at Lucien briefly. "But what is the point of focusing on what could have been when I have what I do now? How does any of that matter? Why think about how I could have screwed him once and sent him away when I didn't? One way or another, he would have found me, Lucien. Finding me and sealing all the cracks you left behind was... his fate. Our fate. It wouldn't have mattered to _him_ what he looked like and he would have chased me to the ends of the earth until it didn't matter to me either. He's the only person in the world out there for me. I really believe that. Even when I was with you, it was always going to be him." I shyly turn to look at CJ, who's staring at me with the same look he had when he cornered me at the _Weak_ shoot. We persistently keep breaking each other's hearts and we need to kick that habit.

Even though I'm looking at him, I still talk to Lucien. "I love him for all he is and that all he isn't. How he looked on the outside might have put an initial black mark on his score sheet but now I know what he looks like on the inside, I don't even see it half the time. When he walks into a room and my heart skips a beat, it's only partly because he's the most beautiful man on the planet." My eyes drop to the black granite surface between my fingers. "It's because I'm honoured that he thinks I'm good enough for him. So do you really want to test to see how hard I'll cling onto what I have here? Do you really want to probe into the substance of our marriage and find out all the things I see in him that I never saw in you? After following my every step for so long just to come here to try and win me and my daughter back, do you really want to try your hand at masochism and see if you can hurt as much as I did thinking that my baby was dead?"

And just like that, with the skill possessed only by women scorned and wronged, both men fighting for my heart know exactly where they stand at exactly the same time. Everything I ever wanted to say to both of them but could never verbalise is out in the open air, just lingering and waiting to be absorbed. I love CJ unconditionally, and truly believe that the world would have bent and twisted until my path in life merged with his. I was his from the moment I was born. I just didn't know it until last year. Whether Lucien and Creedance had come into my life or not, CJ was definite and miracles would have kept happening until I reached that conclusion on my own one day.

I have said my piece. Now someone else has to say theirs. "Tell me why you used to hit me, Lucien. Explain to me why I got left with so many scars." I need him to explain to me what it was that made him want to treat me so badly, what it was I did wrong so I can avoid doing it again. Just in case... No. I will never be in that situation again. I know it.

Lucien crosses his arms and pouts at me, nose obviously firmly out of joint. _Just give me the damn reason. "_ My dad used to beat the shit out of us over anything." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. A fucking sob story. Great. "Any grade less than a B, bad table manners, getting home two minutes after curfew... He'd bend us over and tie our hands down to our legs so we couldn't stand up and thrash the fuck out of us, and then go and give my mum a pounding in the bedroom. I was curious—I had to know if it was all that great, the tying up and beating. You knew I wasn't a virgin, so you trusted me too much." I will _not_ take the blame with my innocence! He retreats backwards a step from my molten glare. "Turns out the old man could only get the blood pumping enough for an erection through physical exertion so, selfish as the old cunt was, he took every opportunity to 'exert' himself on us. Chrissie got it worse than I did."

Following a poor example. That's it. That's his explanation for making a year and a half of my life a catastrophic whirl of beatings, violent rape and disfigurement. That's the closure he's offering me. He and his twin were victims, too, but you know what? I just don't have it in me to feel sorry for him.

"Well, thank you for that truly pathetic excuse. At the age of seventeen, you were old enough to know better, Lucien. I wasn't. As soon as you hit eighteen, you were an adult, an abusive paedophile. I fucking worshiped you and you took advantage of my innocence. But do you know what?" His eyes lift to meet mine straight on. "I know now that I'm better than you. I survived your abuse, entrapment, family betrayal, horrendous pregnancies, nightmare birth, blackmail and I survived you telling me that my daughter was dead. I survived all that and found a good solid career, a decent education, a group of loyal friends, a stable home, a multimillionaire husband who can deal with just how fucked up you left me and _two_ amazing daughters. And look at you." I wrinkle my nose in distaste and flick a hand at him. "You suffered nothing but discipline and now you're pathetic, alone, your family hates you and your child doesn't want you as a father. You know what I think? I don't think your dad beat you fucking hard enough. I don't think he did the job properly. Maybe you can go back to Plymouth and share tips."

I'm done. The last drop of my fighting spirit vanishes as I drain another glass of wine and reach for the bottle. CJ's hand closes around mine and for a minute, I'm suspended in time, staring at our wedding rings glinting in the light. In all the madness, it was easy to forget that he was here, too, rooting for me but stinging from my unintentional insults. Does he think less of me now he knows that I wouldn't have accepted him as easily if he hadn't been exceptionally gorgeous? Is he playing over his own 'what if' scenario and torturing himself as much as I do?

He grips my chin between the thumb and index finger of his free hand and tilts it up so I'm looking at him. His expression is so foreign that it's a struggle to interpret. Sadness? Yes, he looks a little sad, but more than that. I can see that, thank god, there's still that love and undue reverence he's always spoiled me with since the day we met. I don't know what I'd do if that sparkle for me left his eyes. I'd know we were over for good.

But there's something else. Something I've only ever seen in the faces of children who look up at their parents with... Admiration? Is he proud of me?

The slight smile on his lips says that he is. His hand strokes over my cheek and I lean into the touch, tearfully thankful that he can love me enough to listen to the conversation he's just heard and still gaze upon me like my own zealot. Our hands around the bottle stay together as he lifts it to refill my glass, and he begrudgingly removes his hand from my face to fish a sheet of paper and a cheque book from the folder. Holy shit, he's been standing there with adoption paperwork the whole time?

"All right, Fellows. How much?"

Lucien's eyes snap to CJ and he scowls. "What?"

"For you to consent to me adopting Creedance." CJ ignores his look of disbelief and pulls a pen from the folder's binding, flipping open his cheque book. "I have three hundred and two million in our business account—"

I choke on my own breath. "Beg pardon?"

He shrugs. "We branched out." My open mouth snaps shut at his explanation. Branched out into what, sex trafficking and slave labour? Fucking hell! "And one hundred and fifty million in my personal account. Name your price."

Lucien laughs at him and strolls towards the breakfast bar. His hands splay out across the surface to support him as he bends to meet CJ's eye level. "You want to buy my daughter?"

CJ looks up from his cheque book slowly and folds his hands under his chin. I don't see his business face often, but... Mmm, he is going to _get it_. "No, Creedance is going to be mine either way. I'm offering you money to _consent_ and make this easy on all of us. I want her to take my name, and I want you to stay the fuck out of hers and my wife's lives for good. I have a very good legal team who can take the tales of all the depraved shit you did to Amelia at the age of thirteen and tell them that Cree is at risk in your care. I can utilise all the proof I have of you and the Marsh's fraudulently purchasing a grave plot and a casket to fake a child's death, and if you're extremely lucky, you'll escape prosecution. If not, maybe I'll put in a good word for you and have you put close to your rapist sister." He holds his hands out and pulls a full on _Godfather_ 'I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse' face. "But from a logistical point of view, I suggest you make some dollar out of this rather than end up having your lawyer trying to force yet more compensation on us that we won't accept." I want to salivate at his corporative tirade but I don't think it's entirely appropriate. However, that was just... wow. I can't realistically see how Lucien can refuse that kind of proposition.

"It's not money I want. I want my girls." He's still saying this? When he knows already that it's not going to happen?

"Not an option." Arching my brow at him, I shake my head. "We're not your girls anymore, Lucien, and when we were, it was under sufferance." I push the adoption agreement over to him and narrow my eyes. "You never _really_ wanted Creedance, so give her to somebody who does. Make it your one and only act as a decent father."

"I made you the person you are today." He snaps at me defiantly like a kid who's has his toys confiscated. I should have known he'd try and make himself out to be some sort of generous philanthropist through his actions.

"No, you made me the hollow broken husk who I had to become to find this man so he could put me back together. My musical career is self-made and the strength to confront all of the memories you left behind, that was CJ."

"If I walk out of that door, you'll never see me again. Ever."

Laughing at his delusions of grandeur, I walk right past him to the door and nod towards it. "I can't believe that you honestly think that you have that kind of influence over me now! If I'd known it was that easy, I would have told you to take a flying leap out of my door eleven years ago. I don't care if you walk out of that door and have a heart attack, get struck by lightning _and_ get hit by an articulated truck all at the same time. I don't care if you live or die, as long as I never see you again. You're nothing to me."

"That's not true. You're still scared of me, I can tell." Oh my god!

"No, I'm not." Advancing toward him, my hand darts out mid-step and grabs at his grubby t-shirt. I yank it with a sharp tug and hear a satisfying snap. Two metal dog tags and a broken chain slide out of his t-shirt and hit the floor with a clatter, and I get my first look at what it was he didn't want me to see. This explains it all—this explains Lucien Fellows down to a tee. "Blank. They're fucking blank." All that anger and dominance over two blank pieces of metal. I'm almost speechless. "Did hurting me make you happy, Lucien?"

He looks at me doubtfully for a moment, then hangs his head. "No. Knowing that I _could_ hurt you and you'd still wrap your arms around me when I wept made me happy." And now I know why he cried, and I don't care. If I'd been a smarter kid, I would have got some sort of sick thrill from his tears. I should have. I should have been as evil as he was.

"You'll hurt more remembering our past than I will washing my hands of it. Now sign the paperwork and get out of my house before I tell my very protective husband the truth behind every scar you left on me."

He makes no hesitation in sweeping up the pen, leaving his scrawl across the adoption agreement and making a hasty retreat to my front door. CJ already knows about all of my scars, but Lucien doesn't know that, and he's right to be fearful of the reaction. I see his figure reach my front door and my chest swells with joy to see him running away like a sissy. I took back control of my life and towered over him the way he used to tower over me. I am stronger than him and maybe I always have been. I'm no victim. I'm a survivor.

"Hey, Lucien." I give him a wry smile when he turns to look at me and lean against the door frame to the kitchen with my arms crossed. He is in my domain and completely helpless, so— "I forgive you." He looks anywhere but me for a moment, realising that he never did the one thing he should have: apologise, before closing his eyes and heading out into the harsh winter air, slamming the door behind him. I turn around to CJ and that's when it really hits me. It's over. That verse, that movement, that entire fucking opera of my life is through. Somewhere out there is a fat lady singing for me. I went into battle with the largest of my demons and emerged victorious.

I'm under no disillusion that the nasty little goblins won't sneak out and nip at my toes on occasion because that shit still happened to me. There are a whole host of new scars to replace the old, but it's cool. I've got this down. I have nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Sweet dreams, all my demons. You put on one hell of a performance.

# EPILOGUE

#

#

"Married?!" I practically choke on my coffee and mince pie. "What the fuck do you mean married?"

"Legal union. Big piss up, rings, pretentious hats on our mother's heads. You know, that thing you did with CJ." Me and my locked open jaw turn to Meredith and she smiles hopefully. They fight like cat and mouse and drive each other mad, and they want to get _married?_ No escape for at least a year, inextricably bound by the scary C word: _commitment,_ and getting up in front of all their friends and family to make solemn promises of devotion and cooperation. __ I never thought I'd see the day. But I know that they're for some reason looking for my approval, like my blessing is important. Hell, who am I to put the kibosh on a party?

"So uh... which one of you is wearing the dress?"

There's a collective heaved sigh of relief. Plato and Levi grin at me across the room, arms and legs wound around each other. Nobody can deny that they look deliriously happy and I'm in no hurry to spoil that for them. It took us all a long time to reach a point where we were content with our lives and even though some of us still have a long way to go, things have never looked better for The Bystander Effect gang.

CJ claps his hands together and heads off into the wine cellar. "All right, Christmas morning champers! Let's get this house pumping!" I follow him halfway across the lounge and throw myself at the two latest victims to 'marital bliss'.

"I'm so happy for you gays!" I sniff, fighting off the tears I've been inexplicably shedding in secret a lot of late. People have stopped pointing it out, content with my reasoning for being so emotional.

"Hell, honey bee, you've gone soft." Okay, so some bastards are still pointing it out.

"Have not." My dad pulls me back up to my feet and hums a contemplation at me, sweeping a look at me head to toe. How rude. I appreciate that the slob look doesn't do much for me but I was damned if I was dressing up to cook. I stick my tongue out at him childishly and jab him in the ribs with a finger. "Cut that shit out right now. You've learned that probing look from Coops." He grins and nods guiltily. I wonder if he's still having sessions with the old codger...

CJ rescues me from my judgement with a kiss on the cheek, a glass of champagne and a whisper in my ear. "I have no idea why but I'm fending off the urgent need to fuck you senseless."

"Oh, well," my eyebrows wiggle suggestively. "Merry Christmas to me! Think you can hold off until after dinner?"

"I'm not making any promises." Yeah, neither am I. He's going to spend all day making fuck-me eyes and touching me up under the dining table, and I have no will power where that man is concerned. "To Plato and Levi, Mrs. and Mrs... uh..." They look at each other and pull a face. It would figure that they wouldn't have discussed the basic mechanics of civil union like surnames.

"You two are idiots."

It's hard to not be a little offended by just how surprised everyone is by the success of dinner. They should really know better than to doubt me by now. After many painstakingly tedious cooking lessons from my beloved, I knocked out a traditional three course meal with enough left-overs to feed my dad for a week. There's a definite deep sense of satisfaction from seeing everyone look totally stuffed and satisfied, and strangely, a deeper satisfaction for molly-coddling Dad a little. I think I like looking after him in some weird 'consider this my repayment for your trouble dealing with my trouble' way.

"There's still more mince pies if anyone is interested..." Everyone breaks out into a roar of protest at the suggestion of more food. Give them an hour. "You can all watch me eat mine, then."

"You've eaten a prawn cocktail, a full turkey roast _with_ seconds, Christmas pudding _and_ Yule log, and you still have room for mince pies?" Meredith narrows her eyes and slides a half-full bottle of champagne across the table. "You need something to wash that down with?"

"No, I'm sticking with apple juice." My dad's head snaps around and they both smirk at me. _Fuck you both. "_ Don't look so surprised, I have a child to look after." Gabrielle's prediction was dead on. Delilah started walking a fortnight ago and now she just. Won't. Stop. WALKING. Seriously, can't keep her out of anything. The ongoing confusion over how to baby-proof a house that isn't the same structurally as a three bed terraced place in Aston is becoming a pressing matter, and typically all the other rich types CJ knows don't have kids or wives. I'm assured that these attritubes, family and wealth, aren't even slightly connected. Uh huh...

"No kidding."

I look down at a gravy covered baby and roll my eyes. See what I mean? Can't keep her out of anything. "Right, okay. Make that a child to bathe." A banal task I still take great joy in—greater joy in family bath time.

A smile spreads across my face every time I think about how far my life has come in the past couple of years, this year in particular. Occasionally the nightmares about Lucien sneak back in or I get kind of paranoid when Delilah gets the sniffles, but with CJ around, it's rare that anything really drags me down now. The deck of cards hasn't been touched for months because there's just been no need. All my demons are sleeping soundly in the back of my mind, sated and comfortable with the closure they've been given. I never spoke to my 'mother', Mackenzie or Wills again, and Dad even took me to see my real mum's grave. He has tons of photos and videos of her, and I've looked at them all a thousand times. Home movies of holidays and hangovers have shown me just how much like her I am. It's a massive comfort to finally feel like I belong. My place in the world has been determined, and what a world it is.

And CJ has made enough peace with Arnold to invite him to dinner, so I guess my new positive outlook is rubbing off. No words can describe just how amazing it feels to have my real family assembled around me. Well... all except one.

Gaby jumps out of her skin when her phone vibrates on the table and rolls her eyes. She hit the champagne in style and has been kind of squiffy all afternoon. "Hello?... Oh, hi, Cera. Merry Christmas and all that jazz... Oh, really?... No, of course. Arnold is the designated driver but I can get there... Righto."

"Small House emergency?"

She looks up from her phone and nods thoughtfully, brow furrowed. "Yes, that's right. We'll be back soon enough—save me some mince pies."

"Of course." My eyes follow her as she gathers her coat, handbag and grumpy husband who looks almost like he doesn't want to leave, and I can't help but feel a little guilty that we didn't have time to visit Creedance this morning. We made sure she had gifts to open; a photo of the four of us on her birthday, a laptop for her school work and the boots I'd seen her eye-balling in a magazine for weeks, but nothing could compare to waking up to a family. There just wasn't enough time with all the cooking... What a crap excuse.

"We'll go first thing in the morning," CJ promises, "and she'll be home before you know it."

I know he's right but that doesn't stop it hurting. She's been trying so hard and because that effort is genuine this time, it's slower. Excruciatingly slow little notches towards a goal. Her discharge paperwork is ready to go, so it's just a matter of waiting for her to be ready and we can't force that. When she leaves Small House, they'd prefer for her to never go back, so that confidence needs to be fully bolstered. One wrong move and we could be right back to square one, and Creedance knows it. Baby steps, always god damn baby steps. I've been there so I know how the pressure doesn't help. At least she's taking it seriously.

But it's Christmas Day, so my stage face ensues. "Until then, this one is entertainment enough, right? I'll get her cleaned up." Just so I can go and hide for a while and miss my girl in private.

Delilah's splashing puts me in much better spirits and makes me grateful that I at least have the people around me and a daughter to visit instead of a grave. Children make Christmas and you don't get a more childish bunch than the guys around me tearing into gifts. No, I still haven't done wrapping paper but I got _festive_ gift bags. Okay, not much of an improvement but I mostly got booze anyway. Why break my brain being creative with the gift ideas when these idiots like whiskey more than the gift of sight?

As ever, CJ has gotten me amazing custom made jewellery—a stunning diamond and sapphire eternity ring that fits around the other two—and Creedance's name added to our dog tags. He has a new Rolex watch and a shiny new Mercedes on the driveway because I'm crap at buying gifts, have too much money and his is looking kind of old. Two years is old, right? The envelope in his hand also has something way awesome.

"Is there something in here?" he asks, pinching at a lump in the paper.

"No, I gave you an empty envelope for Christmas. Just open it and find out." I grab his hand before he rips it open and clear my throat. "But before you do, I want to tell you that I love you, that I'm sorry in advance, and that I swear that I want this."

Two huge sparkling green eyes get wider. "You're scaring me. Are you divorcing me?"

"You got divorce from 'I love you'?" He doesn't have time to answer before the door knocks loudly enough to rattle the walls. "That'll be your parentals."

"Good. If you're sacking me off, I'm going to need cuddles from my mummy." _God help me..._

I jump up from the couch and make my way to the door with a growl. "Self-fulfilling prophecies are covered in basic AS Level Sociology, Caspian. Don't tell me that degree of yours has been rendered useless already. And don't make me conform." The door raps again when I reach it and flings open with subzero blast of icy air. Like I needed reminding it was winter. "Sorry, Gaby, I—"

Words fail me. Standing between Arnold and Gabrielle is the small nine year old figure of my dreams and nightmares, wrapped up in her dogtooth coat with a small suitcase clasped in front of her. I step back to let them in out of the snow and stand there, completely paralysed. _Why the suitcase?_

"Amelia?" CJ creeps up by my side and wraps an arm around my waist, the unopened envelope still in one hand. "Mum?"

"Look who I found." Gaby urges Creedance forward and crouches down by her side. "I think she has something she wants to ask you."

"Umm...." Cree fiddles with her buttons, flashing a glimpse of the brooch I gave her for her birthday. Does she wear that all the time? I told her the real story behind it after Halloween so she knows it's pretty much an heirloom. Does she really like it or does she wear it through obligation? Why the hell am I thinking about it when she's standing in my house for the first time? "If you have space and time, and if, you know, it's okay..."

"Cree."

She looks up at me, big grey soulful eyes wide open and cautious. "Can I stay with you for Christmas?" It's impossible to speak through the lump in my throat and the burning behind my eyes. Everyone told me it would happen but I never actually imagined that it would. She reaches forward and grabs my hand, and I know that it's a big deal for her to ask and reach out for me. I never stopped being her mother but she doesn't know how to be a daughter. That gulf in her understanding of something so basic will take a lot to overcome.

"Michael and I are satisfied that she'll manage with outpatient care. As soon as she told Cera that she wanted to come home—"

"Home?" My heart flutters in my chest. "You want to come and live with us? Properly?" Cree nods reluctantly and shuffles on the spot. _But she said for Christmas..._ It's almost too painful to speak through the colliding emotions in my mind, but as always, one man has my back.

"Have you had a Christmas lunch?"

"No."

"Okay..." CJ whistles to my dad effortlessly, mentally boring into me that he's still pissed about my tiny half fib, and waves him over. "Bobby, why don't you and Meredith show Creedance through to the kitchen and fix her up with whatever she wants? Within reason, Mer." Even anti-youth Meredith Cho should have grasp on what constitutes as acceptable food for a nine year old. Reheated turkey and stuffing sandwiches, yes. Skipping the main and binging on Christmas pudding. Eh, maybe. Amelia's liqueur chocolates? No.

My knees hit the ground as soon as they slip out of view and there is really nothing I can do but sob in a way only a woman surrounded by unconditional love can, mentally exhausted, overcome, and practically laughing. This year has been so full on and intense. My tears hit the hardwood floor beneath me, symbolic of the last drops of my terrible life being shed and replaced with beautiful happy alternatives.

They're all here, every single person I love in one house with the obvious exception of Arnold—I still think he's a tool. But my whole family is here. My dad, who named me after the strong woman he knew I could become. Meredith, who stands by my side always and protects me the best she can. Andy, who is making her grow up and learn that love really ain't so bad. Plato, the former busker who helped us open the door to greater possibilities, and his now fiancé, Levi, who keeps him level when he needs it. Erek, who offers profound insight when least expected but most needed. Ems, who always turns up at the best times. Gaby, who gave me my life back. Delilah, who gave me a fresh start. Creedance, who gave me a second chance...

And more than anything, CJ, who gave me _everything._ Hope, love, and most of all trust. His blind conviction has pulled me through everything. I could apologise until I'm blue in the face for how crazy I must make him, and I could apologise to everyone else for being such hard work. But there's something more important that I should have done too many times before.

I feel the shadows of everyone behind me lift my head to look at them all one by one. Meredith and Dad can wait their turns. "Thank you all, so so much, for helping me become a good enough person to get that girl back." And then I can't breathe through the pile-on group hug.

Creedance and I sit at opposite ends of the kitchen service island munching leftovers from dinner. For a girl who has issues with food, she's sure packing it away and Gaby has noticed, too. This makes me feel awesome in so many ways. She's comfortable enough to eat here and she definitely looks like she's enjoying it. If she can keep hold of that enthusiasm, she might just settle easily.

She slurps through mouthfuls of turkey washed down with juice. "Did you really make this? It's really good."

"Well, coming from a food critic like you, that is a huge compliment." I set my fork down and tug on my lip. "Did you get a gift from your dad this year?"

"Huh? No. Cera said he's letting CJ adopt me so he's not really my dad anymore." We use the word 'letting' loosely. It didn't seem right to tell her that we essentially blackmailed him, even if she does hate him.

"What do you think of CJ adopting you? Are you still okay with it now it's all happening?"

She looks up at me and half shrugs. "Do I have to call him Dad?" Uh... what?

"Only if you want to." Without another word, she slips down to the floor and paces into the lounge, flopping down next to CJ and leaning up to whisper in his ear. For a moment, he has the fear of God in his eyes, but then he nods and she skips back in to me.

"Cleared it with Dad and I'm changing my name," she announces. Did... Wha— ... Dad? "Creedance Pearce." Holy fuck. That was going to happen anyway but she's nine years old and gunning for her third surname like the youngest trophy bride ever. I'm so fucking proud. Is this really happening? "Can I have some champagne?"

My brow still manages to arch through the shock. "Do you think I'm seriously going to say yes?"

"I think you're going to say half a glass watered down with lemonade." _Cheeky little..._ This is my life now, isn't it? Being manipulated by kids and a sexy man. Bring it on.

"I'm saying a weak Bucks Fizz, Cree. Gaby will freak if she finds out I'm letting you have alcohol on your first night here." Though looking at the state of her, I would say she's unlikely to remember. "You want to go and drink it with the guys? I think Levi wants to get the Kinect out."

"Totally. Thanks, Mum." She walks out with a smirk and leaves me planted to the spot. She said it loud enough for everyone to hear and they're all gaping at us, so it definitely happened. I don't even know if I should be encouraging that but... shit. _Suck it up, Pearce, you have to get used to this._ There are years of 'Mum's and 'home's to make up for, and she's saying them to me already. I don't even know how to react. It's like she's completely overpowered me already and tied me down to the tracks of an oncoming train.

And do you know what? It feels great.

I'm still going to cry.

I find CJ standing on the landing, looking through the crack of the door into Creedance's room. The smell of fresh paint has gone and she looks perfectly at home in there, tucked up in her massive double bed like a queen after a night of schmoozing with rockstars. Dad is smitten. Mer started crying as soon as Cree went to bed. She's such a little diva and is so much like me it's unreal. She even handed CJ's ass to him on _Call of Duty_. It's almost impossible to imagine that she wasn't in my life for so long because it feels like she's been here forever already. I know she's going to be a handful, especially when she's a teenager, but I was the queen of rebellion. As long as she isn't _too much_ like me when she gets to thirteen, we'll be fine. A little more streetwise and less flirtatious would be preferable.

"Can you believe it?" CJ whispers, backing out onto the landing to wrap his arms around me. "Both of our girls asleep in our house."

"You said 'our' girls." I smile and nestle my head against his chest. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"Well, it is and we'd best make the most of the peace. Give it a couple of days and she's going to rule the roost. Just like her mother." Damn straight. It's good that he knows who's boss. "Don't I still have a gift to open though?"

I look up at him briefly and shake my head. "Leave it. I don't want to overkill Christmas."

"Aww..." He gives me those irresistible puppy dog eyes and pouts. "Just tell me what's in it so I won't be surprised."

"It'll still be overkill, CJ. Maybe more so because nobody else is here to see it." He whines softly and paws at my back. Ugh, fine. We head down to the lounge to find the envelope hiding in a sea of wrapping paper and take a moment to watch everyone having a snowball fight outside with Bandersnatch bouncing around between them. "All right, do you remember when everyone came to see Baby D when she was two days old and you gave me that fucking 'I'm With The Band' vest for her? You asked me when we could start making the next one."

He hums, reliving the moment. "Yeah, you looked like you were going to flatten me." _I was..._

"Well, I asked you how many we were having and you said three."

"You said one and I told you to meet me halfway at two. You did." He waves a hand outwards the stairway, "See?" I love that he already genuinely considers Creedance as his own. How lucky are we?

"Technically, _I_ have two and you have one by blood. And I've been feeling pretty shit that my lady bits don't seem to work properly to give you two of your own and give you your own damn way for once."

"Amelia," CJ grabs my hand in both of his and pulls me close, "if you're trying to tell me that this envelope contains a 'sorry we can't reproduce, here's a consolation prize' gift, I don't fucking want it. Blood or not, we have two amazing girls upstairs." Jesus, this man slays me sometimes.

"Shut up, CJ. Just let me talk." I drag him back upstairs to the landing between the two bedrooms and lean against the banister. He knows I suck at making speeches at the best of times but when I can tell that it's about something he's secretly really cut up about, the pressure is really on. "A couple of weeks ago, I went to go and see Cree. We went out shopping, had lunch—stuff that's really normal for me but a huge deal for her. We talked about Delilah and she asked me something... weird. She asked me how you 'know' if you're having a baby. Obviously I explained about pregnancy tests and how some women get really sick, so she asks how you know if you're not sick. And that—" I turn to him and sigh, "—that is when I felt it."

"Felt what?"

"A flutter. Light as air and something I wouldn't have even noticed if I wasn't thinking about it. And the more I thought about it, the more I felt."

"Are you..." He grabs me by the shoulders and I can feel his hands shaking. Maybe it's me shaking, I dunno, but he's looking at me with eyes so unusually dark they're like emeralds. "Are you telling me that there's a new fruit blooming in the lady-garden of Eden?" Oh, fucking trust him to lower the tone!

Slapping his shoulder, I stifle a laugh and roll my eyes. "No, what I'm telling you..." I step back out of his reach, really not knowing how he's going to react to my next sentence. So I take a deep breath. "I'm telling you that there's been a ninja baby hiding in here for a while, decided that monthly spotting is the new hyperemesis, and if you look in that envelope—" yeah, this is totally going to overkill Christmas, "—you'll find a scan picture of your son."

"Son." He repeats the world blankly, staring at my feet, then looks up at me like a man meeting God. Reverent and devout like I gave him life and purpose.

And in the tears in his eyes, I see the reflection of the house that holds everything I love. A man who loves me unconditionally, now _three_ children who will always look up to me, no matter how badly I fuck up, friends who have and will stand by me through everything, a matrimonial family who treat me like we share blood, a father who always did his best for me, and me. I have myself back. My demons lounge out across chaise longues like placid Roman monarchs eating grapes with no intention to rule over my life again. The place inside me that seemed so irreparably empty is filled by people and hope. My family.

My name is Amelia Pearce, I am twenty-four years old, and my life is complete.

# AUTHOR'S NOTE

#

#

When I wrote _I'm With The Band_ in August-September 2012, I never imagined that there'd be a sequel. It was a nineteen day splurge of inspiration that I never thought would be taken seriously. To have enough interest to write _All My Demons_ was huge. A response big enough to justify a third—overwhelming.

It never occurred to me in my wildest dreams that the series would kick off as well as it has. As a self-publishing author, any sales are a victory, but it's the feedback that's really driven me on. You've dropped me messages to ask how long it'll be until the next book, recommended me to friends, bugged the crap out of me...

If you hadn't, I might never have kept writing.

_YOU_ have made this book happen. In a world so dependent on word of mouth, _you_ have broadened the audience and given me a reason to extend the series. This combined edition comes to you as a refresher course or an introduction to new readers before you get the new book _you_ wanted.

I'm touched to have a loyal following, no matter how small. It amazes me to see how you pounce on a new release and drop me a line just to let me know you've finished it. I'm still at a point where I just don't get why you like them so much, but I plod on because you do. It's the personal relationships I feel I share with you that stop me trying to break into mainstream publishing—somewhere I'd be censored, edited, paraphrased and poorly represented. What you see is what you get and it's already been made obvious by certain ebook platforms that what they're seeing isn't something they like. I'm a person who can't be anything other than me, and every word I give you counts.

For every sale I make, every hit I get on a download link, I'll value each and every reader more than they'll ever know. I'll write until my fingers bleed, cry with my characters in time of emotion, and drop in lines to make you laugh. I'll make promises of teasers and release dates I can't keep, and I'll feel like a mug for breaking them.

But in the end, there'll always be another book coming. At least another three. Maybe four...

The possibilities, like your ability to amaze me, are finite.

# REFERENCES

#  Music

#

'I DID MY TIME'

Korn

'DICK IN A BOX'

The Lonely Island ft. Justin Timberlake

(lyrics referenced)

'LITTLE BABY SWASTIKKKA' and 'WEAK'

Skunk Anansie

'TOXIC'

Britney Spears

'HOWL'

Florence and the Machine

'WISH YOU WERE HERE'

Avril Lavigne  
(album covered referenced)

'THREE WAY (THE GOLDEN RULE)'

The Lonely Island

'CENTERFOLD'

J. Geils Band

'THE GIFTOF GAME'

Crazy Town

(album cover referenced)

'U.G.L.Y'

Daphne and Celeste

'BROKEN'

Seether ft. Amy Lee

'I WANT YOUR LOVE'

Transvision Vamp

'GIRL ANACHRONISM'

The Dresden Dolls

'TUBULAR BELLS'

Mike Oldfield

'PROPANE NIGHTMARES'

Pendulum

'STAR WARS THEME TUNE'

John Williams

'THE CHICKEN DANCE'

Werner Thomas

'MUTTER'

Rammstein

'ILLUMINATI'

Malice Mizer

'THE KILL'

Thirty Seconds To Mars

(lyrics used)

'MIRACLE'

Paramore

(lyrics referenced)

'DO IT WITH A ROCKSTAR'

Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra

'ROCKING ALL OVER THE WORLD'

Status Quo

'MY IMMORTAL'

Evanescence

'TSUBASA'

Alice Nine

'GUITAR HERO'

Amanda Palmer

'TIME WARP'

Richard O'Brien

'MONSTER MASH'

Bobby 'Boris' Picket

(lyrics referenced)

'THIS IS HALLOWEEN'

Danny Elfman

'FEELING GOOD'

Anthony Newley and Anthony Bricusse

#

#

#  Quotes

#

"Skip to the end..."

From Spaced

"(Jareth)... You have no (fuckin') power over me..."

From Labyrinth

"I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

From The Godfather

This book also includes multiple references to Fifty Shades Of Grey.

I won't deny it, I think the series is terrible and a great source of amusement.

Sorry E.L. James.

#

Follow Corri Lee at

www.corrilee.com

www.facebook.com/corrilee.author

www.twitter.com/corrileelit

www.smashwords.com/profile/view/corrilee

www.goodreads.com/corrilee

for release updates

