MARRYING THE ROCKSTAR (#3 ROCKSTAR SERIES)

♪ twenty-six ♪

The train bumped along the tracks as I stared out at the scenery. Green blobs, gray and blurry buildings, and cloudy skies looked back. Foggy figures flocked in troops at every station we stopped at, waiting to climb into the wagon. Vague noises of conversations echoed down the halls, and bells rang when the train took off again.

It was all the same to me. Every noise and image morphed into the same dreary stretch of nothingness.

I didn't care.

If someone hadn't nudged me when we'd reached the last stop, I'd have stayed on, seated in one of the compact seats near the window. The Long Island Railroad had departed Grand Central Station over two hours ago, and I'd spent most of the trip totally zoning out.

"Thanks," I said in a monotone timbre, heaving my backpack over one shoulder, my duffle bag over the other. I filed out of the train, eyes cast down, my limbs achy from the ride.

Outside, the sea-spray air hit my cheeks at once, but I didn't smile. The freshness should have woken me up, dragged me out of my haze; but it didn't.

I just wanted to be alone.

I checked my AirBnB reservation as I waited for my Uber to pick me up. People surrounded me, buzzing about, shapeless forms I didn't care to recognize. It was surprising to see so many tourists this time of year, with the weather bordering on freezing; but apparently, they, like me, didn't care.

The Hamptons was a year-round destination, it seemed. I'd been there recently—my first time—and I was back. There was something about the tranquility here, despite the tourists. Something about the air, the huge houses decorating along the streets, the purity of the glistening waters nearby.

It'd helped me clear my head once, so I figured—why not go there again? While most hotels were out of my price range, I could afford a small cabin for a few days. I'd saved up some money from my articles and had sufficient funds to get by while I took some time for myself.

Maybe, thanks to the isolation, I'd get another article started. I'd get inspired enough to draw some questions up. Sapphire promised me to get in touch with the people on her list and tell them I was wide open for business. I had plenty of time for interviews now.

But first, I needed to get away from the city for a while. The place I lived and loved had become draining, emotionally and physically. Much as I enjoyed the loud honks at all hours of the day and night, the fried food and sewer smells, the stressful busy aspect of it all, I needed a break.

A vacation of sorts.

My Uber pulled up at the cluster of cabins that composed this Air BnB's compound. The area was packed with one-bedroom spaces with bathrooms and kitchenettes and lovely views on the below public beach. Said beach was deserted, and I was told I'd have no neighbors for the entirety of my stay.

The cabin looked exactly like its picture. Picturesque, quaint. Lonely. Small, but cozy.

Just what I wanted.

I unpacked a few things from my bags, then snagged one of the best items I'd brought—a very expensive bottle of champagne—and opened the sliding door in the rear to exit out onto the beach. It was only a few yards away, crossing a parking lot and a dune or two of sand; and then I was there.

I took my shoes off and dug my heels into the sand. It was cold, but I embraced the sensation. Ahead of me, the waves crashed, the salty air filtered into my nostrils, and I breathed it all in.

I uncorked the bottle and brought it to my lips. "Congratulations," I said to myself, my smile not reaching my ears. "You're single now."

As I sat on the sand, I pulled up the headline I'd read while at Grand Central, waiting for my train. The one that followed me everywhere I went now, that was blasted on every TV show, radio station, and newspaper across the globe.