He carried only his messenger bag with a clean T-shirt and underwear. In the past, simplicity had brought back the music. It hadn’t worked so far this time, but that only made him more determined to pare down his life. He’d shut off his phone at Heathrow but stifled the urge to chuck it out. It was a silent weight in the bottom of his bag, and he wouldn’t think about the inevitable deluge when he turned it on. He’d left the band at the end of their last tour, unable and unwilling to keep up the frantic pace if he couldn’t compose. His sister knew he was taking a vacation. No one needed to know more. After all the years in the spotlight, Josh wanted nothing more than to be invisible. Maybe disappear. Maybe then, he’d hear new melodies in his dreams again. Without the music, he couldn’t see the point of any of it. He stood outside the small terminal building at the helipad, appreciating the feel of the wind in his hair and the sunlight on his face.
