I leaned back as Finn drew closer, my heart hammering, my brain twisting itself in knots as it tried to comprehend that this might actually be happening.

Then Finn walked past me and left the room.

My overexcited heart shuddered down to a normal rate, and I slumped on the sofa, deflated.

Talk about misreading the signals. But what had I actually expected – that Finn's idea to pass the time was with hot, steamy sex? Come the fuck on, Tasha.

Even if that had been Finn's intention, was I really stupid enough to go through with it? I was supposed to be finding out article-worthy material about him, though I supposed that investigating his favourite sex position probably fit the bill. Plenty of women would be interested in that.

But more importantly, however desperately I was attracted to Finn, acting on that wouldn't end well.

It couldn't.

No matter how long I stayed here, I couldn't get lost in the fantasy.

Finn returned, carrying a flat board marked with black and white squares, and I laughed before I could stop myself.

"Chess?" I said.

"Yeah." Finn frowned a little. "What's wrong with that?"

"It's just not the sort of thing you imagine a rockstar playing."

"Don't stereotype me," Finn said, grinning.

He set up the game on the coffee table, and I slid off the sofa so I could join him on the floor.

"I'm not very good at this either," I warned.

"I used to play with Rhydian but he's been busy lately so I'm out of practice," Finn said.

"See, I know I shouldn't stereotype, but I can't picture Rhydian Byrne playing chess. It would be like watching Billy Idol knitting."

"I bet Idol knows his way around a needle," Finn muttered. "Once, Rhydian would have laughed in your face if you'd asked him to play chess, but he started getting into it while he was in rehab. It helped him focus on something other than cocaine."

"Did you start playing to help him?" I asked.

Finn moved his knight. "As good as that would make me sound, not exactly. My parents taught me, but I lost interest as soon as I discovered girls. When Darius told me Rhydian had started to play, I dusted off my old skills so he'd have someone to play with."

"Darius doesn't play with him?" I asked, studying the board as I planned my next move.

Finn chuckled. "Darius Keller has many talents, but chess is definitely not one of them."

"He put Rhydian through rehab, didn't he?"

Finn stole my pawn. "Yeah, Rhydian and Darius's friendship goes way back. Rhydian's never been the cuddliest guy but once he developed a coke habit, he turned into a real bastard. He pushed everyone away, but Darius refused to go. No matter what Rhydian said or did, Darius stuck by his side, and eventually got him clean. Rhydian hasn't relapsed once, but I know Darius still keeps a close eye on him. He probably always will."

I moved my rook, realised immediately I'd made a mistake, and could only watch as Finn claimed it with a grin.

"Jude once told me that Darius was the most well-adjusted out of you all. Is that true?" I asked.

"I'd agree with that. Most of us developed one problem or another during our rise to fame, but I guess Darius was too busy cleaning up our messes to get hooked on anything."

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down, hoping that Nola was responding at last. But it was Camden checking in. I quickly texted back.

"In some ways you had it worse than the others, though, didn't you?" I said, turning my attention back to Finn.

"How do you mean?"

"Angels & Demons, Incarcerated, Cherry Pie, none of the others made it big until they were in their twenties, but you were thrust into the limelight when you were just sixteen."

"Cole has it worst because he was literally born into this lifestyle. It's all he's ever known," Finn said. He took my knight with a sombre expression. "In many ways, he never stood a chance."

Unease pricked down my spine. "You don't believe the rumours that he'll die young, do you?"

Sadness shifted in Finn's eyes. "I don't know. I don't think Cole wants to die, but I'm not sure he cares all that much about living either."

"What can you do?" I asked.

"Keep trying to help him. He's a stubborn son of a bitch, and sometimes he deserves a punch in the face for the crap he pulls, but he's still my friend. You don't give up on your friends."

I swallowed hard, thinking of Nola. "No," I agreed.

Finn paused, mid-move. "Did I hit a nerve?"

I toyed with my glass, swirling my ice cubes around as I tried to decide how to answer.

"For most of my life, I've had two best friends, besides my sister. Lily and Nola – both girls I met at school. Throughout our teenage years we were pretty much joined at the hip, and then –" My throat knotted.

"Then?" Finn gently prompted.

"She met a guy. He was handsome and charming and he made her feel special, and to begin with everything was great. And then it wasn't. It started small at first: he'd make comments about her outfits or her hair, but in a way that seemed like he was joking. But it wasn't a joke. When she told me he'd asked her to move in with him, I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because I knew this wasn't right. In the short time that they'd been together, she'd changed, becoming more nervous and less confident in herself. And believe me, the Nola that I grew up with had more confidence than she knew what to do with."

"Did you tell her not to move in with him?" Finn asked.

Our chess game was forgotten.

"Not in so many words, but I advised her to make sure she was ready. That didn't go down very well. She didn't speak to me for another two weeks."

"I'm guessing that's a long time for girls."

"I can't speak for all girls, but for me and Nola? Yeah, it was a hell of a long time. When she started speaking to me again, she'd already packed her stuff for the move."

"Did she go through with it?" Finn asked.

I blew out a shuddery sigh. "Unfortunately. She's been living with him for six months now, and I've only seen her twice in that time. Even when I did see her, I wasn't really seeing her because the Nola I knew and loved isn't there anymore. Her bastard boyfriend ripped her confidence to shreds. He won't let her wear anything that he doesn't like, and we're not talking about revealing outfits – she's banned from wearing anything striped or spotted or lacy for some reason. If she puts on makeup, he tells her she's wearing too much, but if she doesn't put any on, he tells her she should. She's not allowed to put her hair in a ponytail or a bun because that's not sexy, but he'll also yell at her about leaving hair on the floor or in the shower. Girls with long hair are like cats – we shed. She told me that she'd suggested cutting her hair short but that only pissed him off more. He criticises her weight, and sometimes even monitors her food if he thinks she's had enough. She works full time but he still expects her to do all the shopping, cooking, and cleaning, and she still has to pay half the bills, but he never stops reminding her that it's his apartment, not hers. No matter how much she cleans, it's never enough, he'll always find a hair she didn't vacuum up, or a spot of dust she missed. She's not allowed any say in the décor of the flat or the arrangement of the furniture – she's not even allowed to fucking move anything."

As I spoke, Finn's eyes grew harder, and his jaw clenched.

"He makes rude comments about her body when she's naked but still expects her to sleep with him. He has gifts from ex-girlfriends on display, and he won't let her take them down. He doesn't like it if she goes out with her friends, but he's an antisocial fuckhead so he pretty much doesn't let her go out at all. On the rare occasion when they visit his friends, he pretty much ignores her all night."

I had to stop again; tears were building in the back of my throat.

"I know that when people talk about abusive relationships, they think of physical abuse, and I don't think he'd ever actually hit her, but psychological abuse is just as damaging, in a different way," I said. "But every time she thinks about leaving him, he surprises her with a gift or a weekend away together, and suddenly she's in love with him again. Then they'll go for their weekend away, and he'll treat her like shit the whole time, and the cycle begins again."

"Can't you tell her to leave him?" Finn asked.

"It's not as simple as that. She thinks she's in love with him, and even when he's chipping her self-esteem down to nothing, she'll still defend him. If all I do is tell her to leave him then she'll stop talking to me altogether, and I have to keep that door open for her." I glanced at my phone again, my last text to her still unread. "Although, she seems to have stopped talking to me anyway. I haven't heard from her in over five weeks."

"That's fucked up," Finn said. "Sorry, I don't know what else to say."

I drained the last of my whisky. "And I don't know why I'm dumping all this on you."

Finn reached across the table and touched my hand. "Because you obviously need to talk to someone about it."

He was leaning slightly forward, the dancing light from the fire casting his jaw and cheekbones into sharper relief, and I found myself leaning forward too, as if he was a magnet drawing me in.

His gaze flicked to my lips, then back up, and a shiver went through me. The space between us was thick with tension, but very different to the sharp, spiky tension we'd had before.

Had he thought about kissing me just then?

Finn sat back on his heels and the moment was broken.

But I hadn't misread the signals this time.

The ice between us had completely melted, and in its place something new was gathering shape. I wasn't entirely sure what, but despite what I'd told myself earlier about not getting lost in the fantasy, I wanted to find out.

***

Later that night, after we'd gone to our separate bedrooms, I googled Finn in his Momentum years. It was fascinating to see a sixteen-year-old Finn walking onstage for his first audition, so fresh-faced and innocent, but at the same time there was something sad about it, because I could easily track how fame had changed him.

That unassuming Irish boy soon developed a cocky streak, which was apparent even in photos. The warm smile he'd worn throughout Starfinder had become harder, more arrogant – a smirk rather than a smile. I'd seen it once or twice when I'd interviewed him.

Fast forward another couple of years, and the sparkle in his eyes had faded. He wasn't even out of his teens, but already he looked more jaded and cynical than people three times his age. Had no one else seen this at the time and worried about it? Or had his management team just not cared?

Considering how Jude's last manager had faked stalker harassment in an attempt to drive Camden away, I was leaning towards the latter.

I'd used to think that managers had the best interests of their artists at heart, but perhaps that was very naïve.

I pulled up the video clip of Finn's first audition. God, he was so young, his hair carefully swept to one side, that jaw not yet fully defined, and his skin baby-smooth. When he sang his voice was steady and confident, but I didn't miss how his hands trembled. Yeah, he'd been nervous. He was still wearing that leather bracelet.

After watching it twice, I skipped ahead to some of his Momentum music videos. There were no signs of nerves there – though that was hardly a surprise. The video had been carefully choreographed and any mistakes would have been reshot.

Whatever doubts he'd had about the band, he'd hid it for the videos. This Finn was bright and energetic and handsome, looking for all the world like a teenage boy having the time of his life, and if I didn't know better now, I'd have never guessed that anything was wrong.

I skipped ahead even more, to his rockstar reinvention. One clip of a live performance caught my eye. Jude stood on stage wearing nothing but leather pants and a dazed expression. A bottle of Jack Daniels dangled from one hand. In the background, Darrell was fumbling with his guitar, managing to hit most of the right notes despite being obviously as high as a kite.

The crowd sang along with the chorus, and I couldn't tell if Jude was letting them do it for the atmosphere or if he'd genuinely forgotten the words to his own song.

Finn and Cole suddenly ran on stage. Finn's clean-cut boyband image had been replaced by ragged black jeans and a charcoal grey vest, and the bright scrawls of his tattoos had started snaking down his arms. His hair was damp, his eyes ringed with smudged liner, and he looked nothing like that smooth-faced boy with the shaky hands.

Only about four and half years separated those two versions of Finn, but the changes were staggering.

I watched as he grabbed the microphone, jostling with Jude for space. Jude said something I couldn't hear but it made Finn roar with laughter. He tried to snatch the bottle of Jack, but Jude resisted, and they playfully wrestled for it while the audience laughed and sang. Finally Jude hooked his foot behind Finn's ankle and pulled his leg out from under him. Finn went to his knees and Jude victoriously pumped his fists before tipping the Jack over Finn's head. Finn promptly threw his head back, sending an arc of glittering whisky drops through the air, and tried to catch the whisky in his mouth.

In the background, Cole was climbing the scenery.

They all looked like they were on top of the world, which brought a smile to my lips, but that smile faded when I considered where they were now, just a couple of years later. Jude, stalked and betrayed by his best friend, Finn, isolated on a hilltop and hostile to the world, Cole flirting with death, and Darrell already in the ground.

Jesus, that was depressing.

I closed the videos and lay back on my pillows.

It had been a long, strange day, but for the first time, being stuck here with Finn Donovan didn't seem so bad.