Chapter 1

Chapter

One

SILAS GREEN

I don’t want to open my eyes. I know what I find when I do will only shame me. Getting blackout drunk and waking up naked in a bed with fuckall only knows who is on either side of me is the sort of stupid shit I did plenty of when the band and I were young. Back then, it was just part and parcel of being a rocker. Play music, get wasted on the party favors flying around backstage, wind up mindlessly taking whoever was willing up to whatever hotel room the label put us up in for the night. Rinse and fucking repeat.

That shit gets old, though. Predictably. When old timers warned there would be a time when the music forced us to choose partying or playing, we’d laughed them off. I remember being so confident I’d always be able to balance rocking and raging. Filled with arrogant overconfidence, I thought I was immune to the burnout and breakdowns they foretold.

But I hadn’t been.

Two years ago, standing on the actual ledge of a hotel balcony, high on blow and convinced I could fly, it was only the lucky hands of my bandmates pulling me back through the window that saved me from going splat. Since then, I put myself through rehab, found some fucking humility and stability, and stopped the self destructive shit that was driving me into an early grave.

I thought I did, anyway. I’m pretty sure opening my eyes is gonna force me to face up to failing with my new sober living life. A life I don’t think is super sober now. Searching through the fog and shadows swirling through my memories of last night I can’t find a legitimate reason why I’m naked and octopussed around what I think is a man at my back and a woman at my front.

“We know you’re awake, Si. You can open your eyes.” The man’s bass voice moves the air and rustles the too-long hair at my temple, and the feel of springy male chest hair between my shoulder blades has my morning wood hardening into painful stone. My balls feel like lead weights, tight to my body as though they want to crawl through the cock currently nestled against the cotton panties of the woman on her side in front of me. The crush of her tits against my diaphragm is a perfect counterbalance to the masculine cage of arms from behind me.

Whoever I’m in bed with, they know the nickname only those closest to me ever use. Nobody calls me Si but my bandmates and their families. I crack one eye open, scared shitless to see what I’m fairly sure I’m about to.

“Mrs. Anders….uh…ma’am…oh shit….sorry…shoot…oh fuck. Did I—” My words disappear, leaving only stutters and humiliation.

The woman, whose panties my cock is currently trying to invade, is Ava Anders. My drummer Jameson’s mother. Which means…

“Breathe, boy.” The mountainous bear of a man spooned around us both is Huck Anders. Jameson’s father. By the feel of the scorching cloth-covered iron branding its way between my ass cheeks, it’s his nearly naked and turned on father.

Fuck my actual life. I’m in bed with my best friend’s parents. My bandmate. My very intense, very protective, very temperamental and quick with his sticks drummer.

I’m fucked. I don’t need to remember whatever the fuck happened last night to know that.