I’ve learned where Zayne Gray is involved, anything is possible, so I’m sure the Australian rocker won’t be any different. “Yes.”
“Good. We’ll talk soon then.” She disconnects before I can even respond, something that used to irritate me. Now I’m glad. I don’t want her to sense my hesitation over the job just because I’m not cut out like the others I work with. Maybe that’s why I got so close to Violet Wonders the first time to get a story. I didn’t play the same games or toy with their minds, I simply…observe.
Something tells me this time will be ten times harder, though, considering how it all went down all those years ago.
“What am I doing?” I grumble to myself, readjusting my seat and turning the car on. I pop a couple Motrin to dull the ache in my body and crank the heat to rub my hands together for some extra warmth, glad the sun is out. I open the internet browser on my phone and read the latest gossip on my new subjects. Sarina won’t want anything that’s already been reported, which means doing research every chance I can. New stories surface all the time, so whatever I get needs to be better than the rest.
My eyes snap to the picture on the dashboard, now hanging halfway off from the worn-down tape. I quickly press it back into place, hoping it’ll stay until I can find new tape at the pharmacy I’ll have to stop at later.
When I look at Grandpa Al, it’s almost like he’s staring right back at me as if to say, “You asked for a sign.”
But I’m not sure how Violet Wonders or the man I’m supposed to out is a sign at all, much less a good one.
3 Garrick
The Lazy Croc is bustling with people grinding against each other on the dance floor beneath where the guys and I are perched in the VIP lounge. It’s not the type of club people would expect us to occupy, and that’s why we like it. Compared to other popular scenes in the area, we’re under the radar here—content without cameras being shoved in our faces and things being yelled at us in passing.
Manning and Zayne are slamming back shots across from me while Calder times them to see who’s faster. Jax’s eyes are trained on something across the room, probably at one of the women eye-fucking us instead of the men they’re here with. All the while my mind is wandering despite the loud bass of a shitty song thumping instead of dulling my thoughts.
An elbow meets my ribcage. “What’s your deal, bro?”
Jax is no longer paying attention to whoever captured his attention, or the idiots going through shots faster than they do women, which is impressive. I’m hardly one to talk, but I swear it’s always a competition between them no matter what the circumstances. Women, alcohol, press attention.
I tell Jax, “Not feeling it tonight. Might head out soon and get some rest.”
We’ve got a long day ahead of us working on the rest of our next album. It’s not even halfway done, and since we’re still settling in after coming back from our tour, we haven’t been as focused as we should be. Something always comes up—someone comes in late, hungover, or uninterested. Then our producer opens his mouth and says shit that only pisses us off because we’re off our game even if his irritation is justifiable.
“Pretty sure the chick with pink hair was checking you out earlier,” Jax tells me, tipping his chin in the direction of one of the servers who’s looking in our direction. “Curvy little thing.”
There’s no denying she’s attractive, but the purr in his tone tells me he’s set his eyes on her for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a woman or two, but I haven’t done that in a long time.
All the women they employ here are eye candy. I spoke with the douche who owns it once, and Roderick—or Rick the Dick as I like to call him—says the prettier the women, the happier the customer. A scummy technique but not wrong, I suppose.
I shake my head at the shot Manning offers me, watching as he downs it in one go instead. I haven’t had a drink in months even when the guys all called me out for it. The only one who doesn’t push me on it is Zayne. He knows my limitations as well as I do and tries not to encourage me like the others because he knows where my line is drawn.
It used to be a lot more fun losing myself in alcohol or whatever recreational drug was available at the time. The short-lived escape was everything I wanted when the nights became longer, and the work became more demanding. But what started as a pick-me-up turned into a necessity and the second I realized I was addicted I reached out to Mum for help knowing she wouldn’t judge me.
That’s why I try not letting it bother me too much when she or Chase bring up my old habits. My old choices are out there for the world to dissect and discuss even if I wish I could bury them for good. But the truth is, I’m ashamed of what I’ve done to get by. I’ve cheated, broken laws, fucked up relationships, and all for selfish reasons. Because I could. Because I couldn’t cope without a little destruction.
I act like I couldn’t give less of a shit because that’s what people already assume. I’ve learned it’s nearly impossible for people to think any different once their minds are made up about me. To them, I’m a rich playboy who does what he wants when he wants. Sometimes, I even believe it.
Fingers snap in my face. “Dude.”
I curse, scrubbing a palm down my
