Ch. 1: The Blizzard
The snow was coming down hard.
I winced as my car eased up the hill, the engine grumbling under the strain, the windshield wipers frantically batting away snow. Poor thing wasn't built for this.
My phone rang, and I tapped answer without taking my eyes off the road – or rather, the packed dirt path.
"Hi, Camden," I said.
"Are you there yet?" My older sister's voice sounded tinny and distant over answerphone, but considering the dense surrounding woodland, I was impressed I could hear her at all.
"Not yet."
"Are you driving carefully?"
"Yes, that's why I'm not there yet."
Camden made an unhappy noise. "I wish you'd postponed this until the weather improves."
"You know I can't. If I don't get that internship, it's another two years before I can reapply," I said.
"But the opening doesn't close until the end of December. You'd have weeks to rearrange this interview," Camden said.
"It took Jude months to get Finn to agree to it in the first place. I can't take the risk."
Not to mention that if I didn't get the internship, Izzy fucking Rollins probably would.
Camden sighed. "I wish he'd at least agreed to meet somewhere neutral, instead of making you drive fifty miles into the middle of nowhere."
"He's a rockstar. They're used to people coming when they call."
"Mine's not like that," Camden muttered.
"He absolutely is, but he also comes when you call."
My sister laughed wickedly. "In more ways than one."
"Oh God, I so don't need to hear about your sex life."
Less than a year had passed since she'd drunkenly married one of the world's most famous rockstars and turned her life upside down – and to an extent, mine too.
"Are you nervous?" Camden asked.
"A little."
"Because of his reputation? Or because you like him?" Mischief crept into Camden's voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied with dignity.
Camden, knowing me better than that, snorted.
"Okay, fine, I am excited to meet him. I love his music, and he's hotter than hell, but this is about my career," I said.
For years I'd been working towards a career in music journalism, and now that one of the UK's biggest music magazines Clash had opened up its biennial internship, I had a shot of getting my foot in the door. Unless my rival writer beat me to it. Again.
Which was why I was forcing my car to the top of a hill on the outskirts of the South Downs National Park, to interview notoriously reclusive rockstar, Finn Donovan, thanks to some strings pulled by my rockstar brother-in-law, Jude Scott – and wow, was that still weird to think.
Renowned for his hostility towards journalists, this was only the third interview Finn had agreed to in the last few years ago, and the last one hadn't even taken place because he'd turned up blind drunk to the venue and had fallen asleep in his chair.
"You know Jude's always willing to get in touch with Clash himself, and put in a good word for you," Camden reassured me.
"You know I applied under a pseudonym for a reason."
I'd let Jude set up this interview because there was no way in hell Finn would've agreed to it otherwise, but the interview itself and everything that came after had to be done on my own merit. It would have been so easy to coast on my superstar brother-in-law's name, but I wanted to earn this.
My car made a spluttering noise and I patted the dashboard. "We're almost there," I murmured.
"Sorry?" Camden's voice sounded even further away.
"Nothing. I'll call you later, okay?"
We said our goodbyes, and I ended the call.
A palisade fence of gleaming metal appeared, at odds with the winter-bare trees all around. I pulled up to the gate, unwound my window, and pressed the button on the intercom. A buzz sounded, but no one spoke, so I leaned forward, ignoring the snow that settled on my hair.
"Hi, I'm Tasha Harris. I've got a meeting with Finn Donovan," I said.
Silence. Movement caught my eye; a mounted security camera swivelling to focus on my car. I gave a little wave.
There was a long pause, then the intercom buzzed again and the gate slid open. I eased my car forward, tyres churning up the deepening snow as I chugged uphill a little further before the ground levelled out and a snowy building appeared.
Holy shit.
I was finally at Finn Donovan's house.
It wasn't what I'd expected.
I'd heard he lived in a mansion, but though the sprawling structure in front of me was huge, I couldn't describe it as such.
It was one-storey, the roof slightly pitched and the exterior walls panelled with wood. One room to my left featured floor-to-ceiling windows, and a plume of smoke drifted up from somewhere, flickering in and out of view through the falling curtain of snow. The rustic look of the place helped it blend with its rural surroundings, and it had probably still cost a small fortune, but I'd imagined something . . . flashier.
I couldn't see any obvious parking spots under the snow, so I parked a short distance from the house and hoped I hadn't driven over anything important.
Apprehension knotted my stomach as I climbed out, and I couldn't tell if it was because this could be my big break, or because I was meeting the man I'd fantasised over for years.
Probably both.
I was heading toward the front door, when a loud whistle split the air. I turned. A door had opened in the room to my left, and a man was leaning out.
My heartbeat quickened, and my nipples peaked, because that was Finn fucking Donovan, live and in the flesh, just a few feet away.
Finn beckoned, a sharp, impatient gesture. I started toward him, my booted feet kicking up sprays of white. The snow showed no signs of stopping, and I felt another twinge of unease. If it got much deeper, how would I drive home?
Finn waited while I slogged over to him. Clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, he had to be freezing but he didn't show it.
"You're late," he snapped.
I blinked. "Um, sorry?"
Finn disappeared inside, leaving me staring after him. Ooo-kay. I kicked the snow off my boots and followed Finn into the house.
I'd expected that he'd take me to an office or similar space; instead I was in his living room. Three walls of the huge space were dominated by the floor-to-ceiling windows, while the farthest end was occupied by a small kitchen, separated from the living area by an island unit and a plush grey sofa.
The window next to me was interrupted by a narrow slice of brick wall, featuring a wood-burning stove that filled the room with warmth. Too bad that warmth didn't extend to the man lounging in a padded seat opposite me, a glass tumbler of something amber-coloured dangling from one hand.
Finn glared at me like I was something he'd stepped in, and a prickle of unease ran up my arms. This could be harder than I'd thought.
Slapping on my brightest smile, I held out my hand. "It's great to finally meet you."
Finn stared at my hand for a long, awkward moment, before reaching out to shake it. His palm was cool from the tumbler, and he wore chipped black nail polish. I didn't bother with it myself, but something about it on the bigger hands of a man made me all tingly inside.
Finn let go and settled back in his seat. "So you're Jude's sister-in-law," he said.
His voice was cool, remote, but the delicious Irish lilt sent a flutter through me.
"Yep," I said.
Finn's eyes travelled over me, from the top of my head to my feet, then back up again.
I took a seat close to him, shrugged off my coat, and crossed one leg over the other, hoping I looked professional – as professional as a twenty-one-year-old with no journalism degree and almost no experience could look, anyway.
"So, Finn," I said. "These last few years have been a bit of a rollercoaster for you, haven't they?"
He gave a sharp-edged smile. "You could say that."
"When you first stepped onto that stage, in your Starfinder audition, did you ever imagine you'd end up here?"
Finn Donovan was a huge name in this second golden age of rampaging rockstars, but unlike my other favourites, he'd cut his teeth in a fresh-faced boyband put together by the producers of a talent show he'd auditioned for. The band, Momentum, had won the show and catapulted its five young members into the dizzying heights of superstardom, but it wasn't until Finn reinvented himself as a solo rockstar that my inner groupie had taken notice.
Finn flinched, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it expression, but one I hadn't imagined.
"Did I imagine I'd end up with a successful career, a massive house, and beautiful women driving long distance for a few minutes of my time?" Finn shrugged.
I frowned. Was he talking about me?
"Why did you go solo after nearly four years with Momentum?" I said.
Finn smirked. "Because I was the best."
"You think the rest of the band was holding you back?"
He laughed, a short, harsh sound. "We weren't a fucking band. A band would write their own music or play their own instruments. We were puppets on fucking strings, dangling around to make shrieking fangirls cream in their panties."
Finn's attitude shouldn't have come as a surprise – in the years since leaving Momentum, he'd been very vocal about everything wrong with the band, the talent show, his manager, but beneath the vitriol in his voice was a note of real hurt.
"You seem to have a lot of anger toward your old bandmates," I said.
Finn's hand tightened on his tumbler at the word 'band' but he didn't correct me. I wasn't trying to piss him off, I just didn't know what else to call it.
"We got on well enough at the beginning, but we were kids on an adventure then. Once Starfinder ended, and we were out in the real world, the cracks started showing. The pressures of fame got too much, too quick, and we all bought into our own hype in our own way."
"Momentum fell to pieces after you quit."
Finn's smirk returned. "Told you. I'm the best."
"Is it true that you and the other guys no longer speak to each other?"
His gaze flickered away. "Yeah."
"Do you ever regret that?"
"Sometimes." Finn sipped whatever was in his glass. Whiskey? Brandy? "We were friends once, and we went through a lot together, but by the end of that final tour, we were ready to kill each other."
After the band had dissolved, each of the five members had gone their own way, making forays into acting, rapping, and solo pop careers, but only Finn had achieved fame that equalled his Momentum days.
"How do you feel about Andy Norton's recent comments?" I said, referencing a former bandmate.
"What comments?"
"He claimed the only reason you still have a career was because of the rockstar stunts you pulled after leaving Momentum."
Finn sipped his drink again. "He's probably right. We all know I didn't initially get where I am today by writing good music." He gave me that sharp grin again. "But the only reason anyone's talking about Norton today is because he's still bitching about me."
"Is there any truth to the rumours that you're rekindling your romance with Penny Lang?" I asked.
"No," said Finn abruptly. "And before you ask, any similar rumours are a steaming pile of shite, too."
"Okay."
Finn's eyes gleamed. "Why do you ask? Scoping out the competition?"
I swallowed a splutter.
Finn looked me over again, his gaze lingering on my legs. I treated him to a once-over of my own.
Finn Donovan was hot as fuck, no doubt about that, with messy hair that could never decide if it was blond or brown, a jaw chiselled from marble, and piercing grey eyes. His faded jeans and black tee hugged his tall, muscular frame in a way that made my mouth go dry. A couple of small earrings gleamed in his right earlobe, a slim metal bar pierced the cartilage higher up, and I couldn't see it now, but behind those kissable lips, he had a stud through his tongue.
As he lifted his glass, my eyes wandered over his tattooed arms. Jude had heavily tatted arms too, but his were carefully designed artistic sleeves, whereas Finn's were a weird jumble of images with no apparent relation to each other, like the frog on a unicycle on his forearm, or the winged cock flying across his left bicep.
Finn lifted an eyebrow. "That wasn't a no."
"I . . ." My words failed.
"You're not one of those girls who pretends she doesn't know she's hot, are you?"
"No, I know I am, I'm just confused. Are you . . . hitting on me?"
"If you want to call it that."
My heart gave a strange little thud. I'd dreamed of scenarios like this, but now it was happening, it felt all wrong. Finn wasn't flirting with me, he was hitting on the nearest available woman. Far from being flattering, it made me feel prickly.
"Can you not?" I said. "No matter what you think of me, at least have the respect to treat me like a professional rather than some fangirl."
Surprise flashed across Finn's face. I guessed he hadn't had that reaction from a woman in a long time. He leaned back in his seat, one finger tapping against his tumbler. He wore a chunky silver ring that clinked on the glass – Jude had one exactly the same.
"Let's talk about your fourth album," I said.
"What is there to talk about?"
"Do you have any updates for your fans?"
"Not really."
I bit back a sigh of frustration. "Didn't Jude explain that talking about the next album is the main reason I'm here?"
"I thought the main reason was to get into my pants," Finn returned.
"You think a lot of yourself, don't you?"
"Yeah."
Irritation surged, sparking my temper. "You're kind of an asshole too."
"Yeah," Finn agreed. "But I don't know why you expected anything else."
His voice was nonchalant, but melancholy flashed through his eyes, and he started fiddling with the braided leather bracelet on his left wrist.
We talked a bit longer – or rather, I talked and Finn deflected, until I realised I was wasting my time. Finn had given me almost nothing to help my career in any meaningful way.
"I guess that's everything then," I said, standing up and reaching for my coat.
Finn watched me. "You sure?"
I felt another hot spark of temper. "What else am I supposed to say? You either dodge my questions, or outright ignore them, and I don't get why you agreed to do this when you clearly don't want me here."
Finn started to speak, but I held up a hand. "Don't bother," I said. "I'll show myself out."
I slung on my coat, and buttoned it with trembling fingers.
"You're mad at me," Finn noted, his tone unreadable.
"I know Jude told you how important this was to me, and you've spent the time hitting on me or dicking me around, neither of which I appreciate. You made me drive all the way out here for nothing, and maybe that's funny to you, but it's really not to me."
I sighed and met Finn's eyes. He still lounged in his seat, his drink dangling from his hand, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn't been there before.
"And I'm deeply frustrated because I've been a fan of yours for years, but you're really not who I'd hoped you'd be. I guess it's true what people say about not meeting your heroes."
Finn said nothing.
I shook my head and made for the door.
"Press the green button on the fence to get out," Finn called after me as I stepped outside.
I slammed the door.
The snow was falling even more heavily, and I felt a stab of panic at how much it had already covered my car. Glancing back at the house, I saw Finn standing by the windows, watching me. I turned away. I doubted he'd let me wait out the weather even if I wanted to.
I brushed snow off the windscreen and roof with my sleeve, then climbed into the car. My breath plumed white on the air as I jammed my key in the ignition, and the engine made a couple of chugging noises that made my throat go tight before it finally came to life.
Carefully, I steered the car toward the fence; I'd probably have to drive this slowly the whole way home. I was almost at the gate, and debating whether to give the camera the finger as I passed it, when a crack ripped through the air like a gunshot.
For a split-second I had no idea where it had come from, then a tree on my left lurched forward, its branches clawing at the air.
I screamed and slammed on the brakes as the tree crashed across the path, but my tyres skidded, and suddenly I'd lost control of the car, and I was spinning around, frantically turning the wheel as I tried to correct course.
The back of the car hit something with a dull thud, jolting me in my seat. For a moment I felt frozen in my seat, my hands locked on the wheel, my breath coming in staccato bursts.
I twisted around, trying to see what I'd hit, but there was only white behind me. Some bushes, maybe, or a raised bank of earth. It couldn't have been a tree – I'd have felt that.
I turned back to the windscreen. Snow was already collecting on the glass, making it hard to see, but the black shape of the fallen tree blocking my path was unmistakeable. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold slithered down my spine – if I couldn't get past the tree, I couldn't get down the hill.
"Okay, okay, don't panic," I told myself, even though I really wanted to.
I turned the key in the ignition. My car spluttered once then fell silent. The chill down my spine got even worse. I turned the key again, and then again. Nothing.
A shout of frustration boiled up before I could stop it, and I smacked both hands on the wheel.
A knock on the window made me jump so hard I almost fell out of my seat.
Finn Donovan stood outside, wrapped in a padded jacket, a snug beanie pulled almost to his eyes.
"You okay?" he said, his voice muffled through the glass.
"Do I look okay?" I snapped, blinking back tears.
"I meant, are you hurt?"
That made me pause because I didn't actually know. My body was running on fear and that made it hard to focus.
"I don't think so," I said, after running a mental inventory of any aches and pains.
Finn opened my door – with some difficulty, thanks to the snowdrift hugging the side of the car.
"Come on," he said, extending a gloved hand.
"Thanks," I muttered, climbing out.
I skirted around Finn and approached the fallen tree. It was even bigger than I'd realised, a forest giant slumped in front of the gate, its splintered branches nudging the fence. No way in hell was that thing budging.
"How far is the road from here?" I asked.
"Too far for you to walk," Finn said.
"Maybe I could –"
"Tasha," he cut me off. It was the first time he'd actually said my name. "The road's too far away, the weather's getting worse, and you don't know your way through the woods. You'll have to come back to the house with me."
With a sinking feeling, I realised he was right. "What about my car?" I said. "I can't just leave it here."
"You don't have a choice." Finn's tone was blunt but he was, again, right.
I looked mournfully back at my car. Objectively, it was a hunk of junk, but it was all I had, and I'd scrimped and saved to buy it. I hated to abandon it like this.
"Come on," Finn said again.
All I could do was grab my bag and phone from the car, and start trudging up the hill after the rockstar who'd come to rescue me.
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