So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ch.35: Digger

Jude's way didn't make a difference.

The first day that I was back at work after the Rush incident, a huge bouquet arrived at the bar for me. Maybe I should have known better by now, but I foolishly thought they were from Jude until I opened the card that came with them, read the message that promised to leave flowers like these on my grave, and realised that the flowers were a threat.

I threw them straight in the bin.

I'd blocked that number that called me the morning after Rush, but calls kept coming. I stopped answering any number I didn't recognise, but that didn't stop the texts. They came constantly, from different numbers, so even when I blocked one, another was ready to take its place. Usually I deleted them without reading them, but every now and then morbid curiosity would lead me to read them. I always regretted it.

Jude had started getting them again too, along with the letters, and though he pretended it wasn't a big deal, I suspected he was downplaying it to make me feel better.

Army of sockpuppets came after me on social media, ranging from insulting my appearance to threatening to rape or kill me. Pretty quickly, I stopped checking my accounts.

One morning a brick was put through the bar window and though there was no note, nothing to expressly tie it to the stalker, I was convinced that it was their work. Jude came to collect me from work that day, which drew a crowd of shrieking fans, and even though I knew this was something I'd have to get used to, I couldn't help the raw terror as I was shepherded through the crowd towards the waiting car. Screaming fans could be intimidating at the best of times, but knowing that the stalker could be anywhere in that crowd made me feel as exposed as if I was standing naked in the middle of a busy street.

Samantha called me a few hours later and asked me to take some time off. I had a horrible feeling this was the end of my time at The Tipsy Swallow.

Jude was prepared to put the whole album on hold so he could stay home with me, but that was one thing I refused to allow. Making music was both Jude's passion and his job, and I would never ask him to give that up, especially not when we had no idea how long this thing would last or what we could do to stop it.

Jude wouldn't admit it, but I knew the barrage of threats and abuse was starting to wear him down too. I could see it in the way his smile had become strained, and how it rarely reached his eyes, and the way he always seemed to be on the alert, rather than the relaxed, arrogant rock-god that I'd met in Vegas. I was as angry about his suffering as I was about my own. Even if the stalker hadn't been harassing me, I'd have the weight of all this, because when Jude hurt, I hurt.

When I'd agreed to stay married to him, I'd seen it as an adventure, but I'd never truly imagined that it would become something real, and I still wasn't ready to put a name to what I felt. But Jude's sleepy smile was what I looked forward to when I woke up every morning. I couldn't bear the thought of going to bed without him, of not feeling the warmth of his body curving around mine. The sex was amazing, but this was more than just sex.

My least favourite part of the day was when Jude left for the studio.

My favourite part was when he came home again.

One day, after more than a week of relentless bullshit, Jude came home with a gleam in his eyes.

"I know you've been getting anxious about being home alone, so I've got something for you," he announced.

He opened the front door again, beckoned, and then stood to one side.

A golden retriever loped into the loft, a red bow attached to its collar, and I let out a little squeak. The dog paused, cocked his head at me with uncertainty, then looked back at Jude.