Page 2 of Sweet Distraction

We’re in Los Angeles. The home we’ve longed for after what’s felt like endless months on the road. That’s why we made it our final stop before taking a two-month long break. We’ve done this long enough to know there needs to be a hiatus from the wear and tear on our bodies, our relationships . . . and our livers.

And thank God that break is finally here.

The music is blaring, and the lights were just dimmed, so if I want to lose myself in their shadows to have a little privacy, no one will care what I’m doing.

This is the fucking life.

It’s messy, wild, loud as hell. Ours.

I’m Rocket fucking Caldwell. I’ve got platinum records on my walls and groupies waiting to unzip my jeans.

This is who I am.

This is all I’ve ever wanted.

I raise the bottle, take another drink, and let the burn slide down my throat like a reward. Two months off. No shows. No press.

Just excess and freedom and silence.

I tip my head back and let the buzz settle in. Savor the chaos. Own every single fucking moment of it.

But had I known this was the last night of true freedom, I would have savored the predictability more. Because up until this moment, my life felt complete. Mine.

CHAPTER TWO

Rocket

My mouth. It’s dry as sandpaper and tastes like a regretful combination of whiskey, remorse, and cotton.

But it has nothing on the pounding in my head. It feels like my brain is trying to claw its way out of my skull.

Fuck me.

I roll onto my stomach, bury my face into my pillow, and mutter a curse. My body is still buzzing from last night’s show and the hours of chaos that followed. A blur of bodies, booze, possibly a few bad decisions, but definitely some entertaining memories.

No doubt I’ll remember a few of them once this fog clears. I hope.

The plus side? I’m not in a hotel room, not on a bus going to the next stop . . . I’m in my own bed. In my own silence.

And thank fuck I was smart enough in my celebratory stupor last night not to have brought anyone home with me. While it might have been fun at the time, kicking them out in the morning is always a bit fucked up. Callous but needed.

I welcome the quiet. The stillness. After months on the road, days on end of bus wheels rumbling beneath me, and footsteps clomping up and down hotel hallways, it’s just silence and the comfort of my own fucking bed.

Heaven.

Or at least the heaven I’ll revel in for a few weeks before I get antsy to get back out there under the heat of the lights and in front of the roar of the crowd. The new town every night might suck, but the adrenaline and attention that come with this job are two highs I thrive on.

I let out a groan and stretch, arm flopping over the edge of the bed—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I jolt from the sound and immediately bring my hands to my head as if that’s going to help protect it from the sound.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Jesus,” I mutter, dragging myself up and out of my bed. The room spins and my stomach pitches right along with it.

Who the hell is at my house this early?