"Where have you been? It's been over a month — no update, no new chapter, no single word! Did the illness take you? Well, even if it did, I don't care. Superstar and the other books need to continue getting updated. You've left your fans starving, aching for more! How could you just end things there? It makes no sense!"
The tear-jerking yet furious voice erupted from the phone, sharp enough to cut through the hospital's calm air. The sound startled Dough. Hearing the way he was just spoken to — by Rebecca, the PR manager — hit him deep. He was hurt, yes, but even more than that, he was livid.
And this time, he wasn't going to hold back. Especially not on this topic.
Dropping the sign in his arm, his jaw tightened, and the veins on his forearms began to bulge. His eyes darkened with fury as the tension climbed up his body. The phone trembled in his grip, plastic creaking under the raw pressure of his palm. You could almost hear the energy in him — anger mixed with power — running through his arms as if ready to burst through his skin. Then, in one explosive breath, his voice thundered, echoing through the entire hospital corridor.
"What did you just say to me?"
Rebecca tried to speak again, her voice trembling between confusion and guilt — but she didn't even get the chance. Dough's roar cut through her words like a blade, shaking every soul around.
"Do you even know it's me, Dough, you're talking to? Not our senseless author who just left us to dry! Like—what was the point of even creating me? Ten chapters in, he gets sick and just leaves us! Leaves me! Do you even understand what that means?"
Rebecca's voice softened on the other side, pleading for calm, but Dough only grew louder, his emotions spilling out uncontrollably.
"Don't tell me to calm down! You don't know what it's like! You already have over a hundred chapters with you in them — what about us? What about the readers? They've been messaging, waiting, caring… and he just didn't care! What the fuck, Rebecca, what the fuck!"
His shout echoed, a mix of frustration and heartbreak, carrying the anger of not just himself but the thousands of fans whose voices had been trapped in silence.
After what felt like hours of chaos — with Rebecca begging, security guards hovering nervously, and even a few passengers at the airport trying to help — Dough finally began to calm down. His breath slowed. The heat in his chest cooled to a low hum. People backed away, whispering, clearly relieved he wasn't being dragged to the back like some unhinged passenger.
And as the tension thinned, something shifted inside him. His heart, still racing moments ago, started to clear. Deep down, he could feel it — something was changing. A stronger hand was at play here, something beyond the page.
That suspicion was confirmed with Rebecca's next words.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just received the memo… he's coming back today. I had to vent my frustrations, I didn't mean to offend you."
Dough, still panting slightly, blinked in disbelief. His voice came out uneven but filled with hope.
"Wait—he's actually back? You're not playing with me, right?"
Rebecca exhaled a shaky laugh, her tone shifting to reassurance. "Just calm down, Dough. I'm not joking. The two of us are actually the ones who'll start the chapter Ethan might not even appear here don't know what he is thinking. Just take a deep breath. When you're ready… we'll begin."
Dough swallowed, his pulse steadying, a small grin forming on his face. "He Better start with me I have been dying to get more screen time Ethan doesnt need more the whole book is for him let us shine a little also, I'm ready. I'm ready, let's start."
Rebecca smiled through the phone. "Okay then… let's begin."
......
"Dough, where are you? You left over three hours ago! Why aren't you back yet? You know the recorded practice should have started by now — we had to push the entire session to tomorrow, and the show is the day after that! We can't be wasting time like this!"
Rebecca's voice came over the phone — fast, sharp, and laced with worry. But beneath that worry was something heavier: stress. The kind that crawled through every word, making it obvious that whatever was going on back there was taking a massive toll on her.
Dough, hearing her voice, immediately understood the situation. He could already picture the tension Back there, the assistants pacing, the sound techs waiting, the clock ticking away mercilessly. So instead of matching her tone, he exhaled and tried to calm her down.
"I know, I know," he said, his voice steady. "But the Laryngologist's plane was delayed. Been in the airport for over two hours now, just waiting around. Even had to pay extra parking fees — with my own money."
Rebecca sighed on the other end, long and tired. It was the kind of sigh that didn't need words to explain how little she cared about parking fees or delays. Her silence said it all.
Dough heard it too — the quiet disinterest behind her breath — and decided to skip the small talk. He got straight to the point.
"I've already spoken to the information desk," he continued. "The flight should be arriving any time now. I've got his card on hand, so once I identify him, we'll be on our way. Don't worry — in the next thirty minutes, we should be there."
Another sigh came through the phone, softer this time, like she wanted to believe him but couldn't risk hoping too much.
"Please… just be here," Rebecca finally said, her voice almost pleading.
"No issue," Dough replied calmly.
There was a short pause — the kind where you could almost hear someone thinking through the line — before Rebecca's voice returned, slightly gentler. "Oh yes, that's true. Remember, Dr. Zeitels is known to be… eccentric. And we have to keep this visit on the low. Just make sure you handle it carefully."
Dough smiled faintly, half in reassurance, half in fatigue. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Trust me."
"Okay…" she murmured, the word faint and fading, before the line went flat.
The silence that followed was almost too quiet. Dough slowly dropped his hand, staring at the dark phone screen for a moment before letting out his own long sigh — one that carried both exhaustion and resignation.
He looked around the terminal of Manchester–Boston Regional Airport, the low hum of announcements echoing through the hall. Travelers moved briskly around him, wheeling suitcases, greeting loved ones, living ordinary lives. Dough, meanwhile, stood still, a man working behind the curtain of someone else's spotlight.
He hadn't even been in New Hampshire long. Barely knew the streets, the skyline, or even where to get decent coffee. Not that he'd done much sightseeing in the other states either — not since he was assigned this task. Running around to fetch some celebrity doctor wasn't what he imagined when he first took this job, but he just sighed again.
This was the job he'd signed up for.
Before his thoughts could settle, the air around the terminal shifted. The automatic doors opened, and passengers began pouring out from the arrival gate. The energy changed instantly — chatter, footsteps, bags rolling, greetings filling the air.
Jolting from where he stood, Dough straightened up, tightening his grip on the small white sign he held. The doctor's name was boldly printed across it. He made his way to the front, holding it high enough for visibility, eyes scanning the small wave of people trickling out from the terminal.
He barely had time to look through all their faces before he froze — because right then, in the middle of the crowd, he saw him. The person he had been waiting for.
Before leaving, Dough had been briefed about the man and even shown several pictures, but seeing him in person was a completely different experience. The man was strikingly eccentric — a fifty-year-old frame but somehow maintaining an almost youthful flair, highlighted hair catching the airport lights, a carefully unkempt yet deliberate look. He moved with a peculiar confidence, walking across the terminal as though each step were a statement, one foot occasionally brushing against the edge of his designer clothes, perfectly aware of every ripple in the fabric.
Seeing him, Dough quickened his pace. "Dr. Zeitels!"
The man lifted his glasses with a single, deliberate motion of his index finger, peering at Dough with a sharp, appraising gaze. Dough's smile widened, unbothered by the intense scrutiny.
"I'm Dough, the patient's assistant," he said warmly. "I was asked to pick you up from the airport and drive you."
The man's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, unblinking, before Dough decided to extend a hand. "Please, let me help you with this."
He gently took the small bag from the doctor's grasp. There was no resistance — no words — but Dough could tell he had been heard.
Finally, the doctor spoke, voice clipped yet tinged with concern. "Oo, please be careful! That's a limited edition Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière — it's priceless."
Dough flashed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, sir. It's safe with me." He adjusted the bag carefully, then gestured forward. "Let's go, sir. They're waiting for us."
The man paused briefly, assessing Dough with a slow glance before sliding his glasses back onto his face. "Lead the way."
Without hesitation, Dough led him across the terminal, weaving through the small crowd toward the car. Upon reaching the vehicle, he swiftly opened the door. "Sir, here we are."
The doctor didn't respond immediately, merely observing the surroundings with mild curiosity. "This will be my first time in this state," he remarked casually. "I've heard about it — far more serene than Boston."
Dough nodded silently, carrying the man inside the car before moving to the driver's seat. Just as he was about to start, the doctor spoke again, a hint of command in his tone. "Oo, thank you. But please, pass me the bag — I don't want it sitting in the boot. I'd rather lap it here."
Dough didn't hesitate, moving quickly to accommodate the request as they settled in. He started the engine, maneuvering out of the airport, the hum of tires on asphalt filling the car.
Not even a few minutes later, the doctor finally spoke again, breaking the silence. "Lord… I'm so tired. Just finished a five-hour reconstruction operation, and then I'm informed I have to come here. Didn't even have time to prepare properly. Your boss… what exactly is wrong with him?"
Dough kept his eyes on the road, his voice calm and neutral. "I'm not exactly sure, sir. It would be best if you see him yourself. Don't worry — they aren't far from here."
Dr. Zeitels hummed softly, his eccentricity subtly showing. "Well… before that, let me just rest my head a little. The plane ride was horrid — they didn't even have First Class. Had to rough it in Business. Couldn't rest my head properly."
Dough noticed the man removing his glasses, leaning slightly toward the window, eyes closing as if to grab a few moments of respite. Dough didn't speak — didn't want to disturb him. Honestly, he welcomed the quiet. Despite the eccentric nature of the doctor, the interaction had been surprisingly normal.
Not even five minutes later, Dough realized the man was completely passed out. The subtle signs had given it away — the slight nodding of his head, the gentle sway against the door, the slow, even breathing, and most obviously, the deep, steady snoring filling the car.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Dough rolled down the window and let the cool New Hampshire air fill the cabin. His eyes wandered over the landscape. New Hampshire… one word summed it up: beautiful. Rolling hills dotted with clusters of charming houses, the deep green of forests interspersed with streams sparkling in the sunlight, the small-town vibe so different from the relentless pace of the cities he had been used to. It was refreshing, soothing — exactly what he needed to distract himself from the snoring beside him.
He couldn't help but smile a little. This state… it felt like a world away from chaos, fast cars, and city noise. Here, time seemed slower, calmer, cleaner.
He exhaled softly, letting the tranquility sink in.
The past few weeks had been insane for Dough. He had heard stories about how fun, intimate, and chaotic the tour had been before he came along, but whenever he thought about his own experience of it…
Firstly, that whole "intimate" vibe he had thought about earlier, Dough quickly realized, wasn't much of a concern. From what he could see, the team was genuinely close-knit. Ethan, for all the chaos surrounding him, was by far a normal dude — far more normal than Dough had expected. If he were the one with over fifty thousand people screaming his name day in and day out, Dough knew for sure he'd probably be losing it by now. Honestly, even someone like Kanye might look mild in comparison.
While his boss was easy-going and the team genuinely good, the real challenges came from the outside — the fans, the public, the media, the label. That was where the real drama unfolded.
He remembered one incident clearly. The label had called and insisted they let a female singer, Tate McRea, open for Ethan. Dough could still picture the aftermath: after the first show, fans had erupted in a massive backlash. People booed and shouted while she performed, and online, they bombarded the team's socials with criticism. The messages were relentless. Ethan even had to apologize publicly, trying to calm the storm. Fans had been clear: we didn't pay for someone else but him.
By the time they returned asking for another show with Benson Boone opening instead, Ethan had personally turned down the label. He didn't want the hassle, and he made sure the fans got exactly what they had come for — him.
Dough also recalled the constant logistical headaches. One time, they had arrived at a stadium only to discover it had been double-booked with a college football tournament. Mark had been livid, pacing and negotiating furiously. But after talks, they struck a compromise. Ethan would perform a small halftime show during the game, then immediately follow it with a full "Courtyard King Bear" set for ticket holders and football fans alike. Dough had been running around coordinating, checking passes, setting up equipment, but even that felt light compared to the intensity of the fans themselves.
And it was always the fans that made the tour worth it. Dough had heard countless stories about Bella, one of the team's staff, who had been a superfan before joining professionally. Among the team, Bella might still seem "fan-like," but calling her crazy would have been wrong.Not after The crazies he had seen before. There was the girl who had gone completely insane and pulled a knife on security because she wasn't allowed near Ethan. The old lady who tried to drag Ethan mid-show into the stands. Fans who ran onstage mid-performance. And countless women who attempted to seduce Dough himself just to get closer with one crying because he didn't replicate her advances Honestly Dough wasn't sure about his love life again after this tour he didn't think he had it in him to see women the same way not like the men were any better. The chaos was nonstop. Just thinking about it made Dough sigh again.
Not long after that memory passed, the scenery shifted. Rolling out of the open roads and greenery, Dough began to see more buildings, approaching the small stadium. As he turned into the parking area, he could see the trailers lined up, equipment stacked and ready — the team's temporary home away from home.
"We are here," Dough said quietly, noting the familiar chaos that awaited.
Authors Note
I want to start by deeply apologizing for how long it has been since I last reached out.
Yesterday, I was honestly shocked — and incredibly grateful — to see that some of you were still Replying and commenting some still even voting for the book. Your patience and loyalty mean more than I can express.
The truth is, my illness took a serious turn for the worse after it relapsed. I was forced to travel for treatment, and it was a harsh reminder of how fragile I've always known I am due to my SC genotype. But this crisis was bigger than anything I could have anticipated.
I'm deeply sorry for disappearing during such a critical time.
I only returned last week, and I had to take time to get my affairs in order. That's why it took so long to reconnect.
Unfortunately for me — but fortunately for you — the illness and the time off led to the loss of my job. So now I'm fully here and ready to dedicate myself to writing.
I also want to apologize for the chapter. It was my way of recapping everything for everyone and getting us all back on track.
I'm genuinely thrilled to be typing again and to have the chance to continue sharing our work.
Thank you for your patience, understanding, and continued support.I can't wait to dive back in with all of you.