Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Eddie

One thing about distractions is they only last for so long, and self-control is not something I'd class as my strong suit. I think Callie's finally given up because my phone hasn't blown up in about an hour. Even though I'd put it on silent, I could still feel the vibrations in my pocket.

As I wave goodbye to Beth and the kids, my phone buzzes again. With a sigh, I decide I'd best find out what she wants before she thinks I'm MIA and does something stupid like call Oliver or Mickki. I'm surprised to see it isn't her; it's a friend from a few tours ago, whose band opened for us. We called him Blazin' Brazen, and I haven't seen him in well over two years. It was just a case of never being in the same place at the same time.

"Yo, my brother from another mother. What's up?" I say.

"Not much. I saw all the publicity and knew you were in town. Come hang and catch up on old times."

"Text me the address and I'll head straight over."

You know when you instantly know something is a bad idea, but you think fuck it , and do it anyway? I see the look Damien gives me—he knows of Brazen and doesn't think it's a good idea for me to go catch up with an old mate. I tell him only one drink, but he knows as well as I do it's bullshit.

My driver takes me to the address Brazen texted. It's not too far, and as we pull up to a security gate, we are buzzed inside. The house is massive, and there are cars and people everywhere. The party is in full swing.

As I walk inside, I see Brazen. He's sitting on a massive chair like a fucking king, with a woman rubbing herself all over him. Now this is my kind of party—the music is loud, the women are loose, and anything goes. Brazen whispers something to a leggy blonde, causing her to smile at him and look my way. I know how Brazen's parties work. She's been assigned to me for the night, and I can't say I mind, as she is exactly my type with legs that go on for days and a big rack. She struts towards me in her skimpy outfit, but I'm not one for theatrics—I don't need a bat of the eyelashes or flip of the hair. I'm a fucking rock god. I have needs and no trouble finding someone to fulfil them. Damien is close behind me, as he gets jumpy when I take him into crowds like this alone. He has Marcus on speed dial, and I swear the guy is magic and can appear out of thin air.

"Brazen would like to talk to you," the blonde woman whispers in my ear as she takes me by the hand. As she pulls me along, I watch the sway of her hips, which causes a twitch in my pants.

"I see you like my gift for the night." Brazen smirks, then clicks his fingers, and a waitress dressed in next to nothing brings us both a scotch on the rocks. I knock mine back and hand the empty glass to the woman, who gets me another.

"So, what's happening with you? The paps are all over your binge," he says with a laugh.

"I wouldn't say it was a binge, more like a good time. Now I'm supposed to have a fucking sober buddy and stop using."

"A sober buddy? That's fucking hilarious," he spits out through uncontrollable laughter.

"Fuck you, man. She's riding my balls, and she's always around."

"She! Is she at least hot?" he asks.

"Maybe—in a stick-up-her-arse kind of way—but I need to get rid of her."

"Easy, just fuck her. Then go fuck some more chicks afterwards."

"She hates me, and won't drop her panties like a normal woman," I say seriously. Callie needs to go. She makes me want to use with her judgemental looks and condescending tone.

"Make her fall for you, charm her, then fuck her and dump her."

"Let's get fucking wasted and not worry about women."

"You might want to think about that woman," Brazen says, pointing to the blonde who now has two coke lines across her tits.

I guess one line can't hurt. What my sober buddy doesn't know won't hurt her. I snort the coke straight from her body and I see the look Damien gives me. I point to the second line on her other tit and nod my head his way, but he shakes his head. Well, can't say I didn't offer, right?

Brazen tells me about his upcoming tour and I'm glad we've got a break at last. I love the rush of playing on stage every night, and being constantly on the move, but there's nothing like being at home and writing and recording new songs. I can't think of anything I'd rather spend my life doing—well, besides fucking, but that comes with the lifestyle.

After a few drinks, Brazen has the idea we should move the party to a club because he wants to dance. It's not easy going out in public, but he convinces me it'll be fine. He knows the owners and they'll have a VIP booth sectioned off. We will blend in with the rich arseholes and will not draw any attention to ourselves.

I tell Damien to go home early, as Brazen has plenty of security and I'll be fine. I normally don't have security, and only have him now because everyone's gone nuts over my recent outbursts. He's hesitant to leave, but I remind him who pays his wages.

After an hour, we're pulling up to Club Stixx. It's a pretty popular club, and the line winds all the way around the corner and into a side street. Brazen walks straight up to the bouncer—so much for blending in. Since people will know we're here, we might as well make it worthwhile. Brazen leads us through the club and up to a VIP booth where he shakes hands with the massive guy guarding its entrance.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket—here we go again. This chick is worse than a nagging girlfriend. I pull it out so I can shut it off, but the name flashing on the screen catches my eye. It's Sasha. Now why would she call me? She made it clear she can't be my friend, so something must be wrong.

"Hello?" I say, but can't hear a damn thing over the music. "HOLD ON, I'LL GO OUTSIDE!" I yell over the music as I push my way through the crowd. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," she says. I can tell she's been crying.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" I ask, genuinely concerned.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you," she sobs out.

"Don't be silly, you can always call me anytime."

"That's the problem, Eddie, I can't. Seeing you brought back so many memories. I need to stay away from the dark place, but I miss her so much."

"I miss her, too, every day... I feel numb without you both."

"You're a good man, you know that?"

"Tell that to Mickki and the rest of the fucking country. You and Amelia were the only people who saw the best in me."

"We still do, and I believe she's watching down on us both. Do you remember her telling you before each show to make her proud? That shouldn't have to end because she's no longer here."

Her words hit me hard in my gut. Not only did I let her down in life, but also in death. Hell, I need to change the subject.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to let you both down. Look, I have to go." I hang up before she can get a word in. How did my life get to this point? I'd give up everything I have for a do-over.

As I walk back towards the club, I see photographers everywhere. It wouldn't surprise me if the owners tipped them off for the publicity. Putting my head down, I turn in the other direction. I need to call someone to come and get me, but who? A taxi is out of the question since the incident in 2009—apparently making the driver think you're going to not pay and do a runner isn't funny, especially when he had no idea who we were. Being charged with fare evasion wasn't one of my finest moments, even if watching him chase me was hilarious.

Mickki is not an option for a ride, as he won't take me being high well. And there's no point calling my security team—they'll tell Oliver, and the last thing I need is the label on my arse. Maybe Callie? She might bust my balls, but she wants to see me sober. The call rings and rings, and I'm expecting an answering machine to click over before she answers.

"Hello?" Holy shit, stick-up-the-arse Callie has a phone-sex voice.

"What are you wearing?" I say in my best sleazy voice.

"Eddie?"

"Say it slower, more like, " Oh, Eddie, right there .'"

"I'm going to hang up if you don't get to the point. I don't have time for your stupid games."

"Well, love, you're my sober buddy and I need your help."

"Do you really need my help or is this some kind of trick?" she says, and I can tell she's getting frustrated with me. As much fun as it is to tease her, she's my only chance of not being busted.

"I really need your help. I'm sitting in the dark at the corner of Paulson and Amie."

"Fine, I'll come, but you owe me an explanation on the way home."

Sitting on the steps of some upscale café, I try not to think about the phone call from Sasha. I send her a quick text to apologise for hanging up. Why do I have to be a disappointment to everyone? My mother used to tell me that a disappointment was all I was, and it was all I would ever be; I guess she was right and could see this fuck up in me even as a child.

But fuck them all. They all think I can't do it—even Mickki. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me, how I'm taking him down with me. They all want me to be sober and deal with my past; maybe they're right and it is time. But what do I know? I'm high as hell and a little drunk. Okay, maybe I'm a lot drunk. Maybe the shitload of shots I did with Brazen before we left his house wasn't a good idea.

Headlights approach, but it can't be her. Then the car slows down and I see a window roll down—no, it's her alright. I shake my head. There is no way I'm getting in that death trap.

"Get in the car," she calls out.

"You seriously want me to get in there?" I can't keep the shock out of my voice.

"You called me, remember? Sorry, but not all of us can afford to drive around in limos. I can call Mickki to come get you if you prefer?"

"Nope, I'm good. Let me quickly update my Twitter and all my socials, saying goodbye in case we die." I buckle myself in, then pull my phone out to take a selfie.

"You're being ridiculous—this car is perfectly safe," she says as she pulls away from the corner.

"How about we go buy you a new car, my shout?" I slur.

"How about I take you home and you can sober up?" she retaliates.

"NO! I can't go home. Mickki will be there, and I don't need his pity. Just drop me at a hotel."

"People will recognise you and you're supposed to stay out of the papers. Oliver is going to be pissed."

Looking in her back seat, I find a big floppy sun hat and big fly-looking sunglasses. I reach for them and put them on. "They won't even know who I am in these."

"You look ridiculous," she says with a smile. Shit, I've not seen her smile before. Now she doesn't look so serious, and I realise it's the first time I've truly seen Callie and not some stuck-up pain in my arse.

"I look seriously hot."

"If you say so," she says, rolling her eyes. "We're here."

"We're where—Gangbangers ‘R' Us? I'm too young and pretty to die."

"Just get out of the damn car. You're drunk and need to sober up. This is my sister's house. I'll take you home in a few hours and Mickki won't ever know, but you owe me."

"It's a bit soon to meet the family, don't you think? We haven't even banged yet. Don't you want to ‘try before you buy,' so to speak?"

"For shit's sake. Just get inside." She leads the way into the house.

"Won't your sister care you're bringing a strange man home? And what the hell are you wearing?"

"My sister isn't here—she's away—and this is what I sleep in."

"That's something a granny would wear to bed. You're what, in your early thirties? And from what I can tell, you've got a somewhat rockin' body under there. You're going to die a lonely cat lady if you dress this way and drive this thing," I say, following her into the house. She switches on the lights, and it looks like a typical family home, with pictures on the walls. It's like nothing I've ever had in my life.

"Maybe it's designed to scare men like you away?" She throws her keys onto the kitchen bench, as I lie down on the couch, kicking my boots onto the floor.

"Men like me. You mean to say you know heaps of rock stars with monster cocks?"

I see her smile again, and for a split second, I get a warm feeling.

Damn it, Eddie, how fucking pissed are you?

"Go to sleep. I'll take you home in a few hours."

"You don't want company?" I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Not in this lifetime, buddy," she says as she leaves the room.

Maybe she isn't so bad after all. And just maybe she is the type of person I need to help me get my life back on track. I've never met a woman who doesn't want to jump my bones.

"Fuckin' shit, fuck! Why'd you fuckin' slap me in the head?" It must be Groundhog Day—kill me now.

"Get up, we have to leave," Callie says, standing above me in her grandma attire. I make a mental note to buy her some age-appropriate clothes.

"You couldn't have woken me up nicely? I would've appreciated a handy. He's already hard, so you wouldn't have had to work too much."

"Just get up. I don't have time for your bullshit this morning—I have places to be," she says, looking at her watch. I mean, who wears a watch anymore? It's 2019, for fuck's sake.

"You need to pull the stick out your arse, and you look like a stiff in those clothes. Maybe wear something less bitchy tomorrow." I see her growing more pissed at me. I thought last night we might've bonded a little, but maybe I was really that drunk.

"If you got up and put your shoes on, we could go!" she shouts at me. "Sorry, should I keep my voice down? Do you have a hangover?" For extra emphasis, she bangs her hands on the table. "Oops, that's right, I don't give a shit. Now, get your damn shoes on or so help me God..."

"Or so help you God, what?"

"Maybe it's time to call in your mother? Maybe they were wrong, and I can't help you? When they told me how hard you can be to get along with, I didn't think it would be this ridiculous."

"You wouldn't dare call the she-bitch! It would cause me to relapse, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"You can't relapse when you're still using, arsehat."

"I'm not." I grab her wrist and look at her watch. "It's been exactly four hours and twenty-seven minutes and, let's say, eight seconds I've been sober."

She snatches her wrist from my hand. "It doesn't work that way. You don't get to wake up and say you're sober. You were sleeping, so it doesn't count."

"Actually, it does count. An addict admits to themselves they have a problem and decides to get sober. I don't think there's a rule on what time of day the addict has to start."

"You mean you really want to try?" Her eyes light up, like I just made her day.

I want to tell her not to get too excited, as I didn't do it for her. However, something tells me she needs this moment more than I do.

"Only it's on my terms." She can see the look in my eyes, and she knows this won't be easy.

"What terms would they be?"

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know." Before she can answer, a car horn beeps outside—saved by the bell.

"Who's that?" She raises an eyebrow at me.

"It's Damien, and possibly Mickki and Marcus."

"How did they know you were here?"

"Magic," I say with a laugh as I pick up my boots from beside the couch.

"Magic, my arse. They're going to think we?—"

"We fucked?"

"Yes, Eddie. That is exactly what they'll think."

I open the door and pull up my zipper on my jeans.

"You fucking arsehole!" she screeches.

I turn to blow her a kiss and there's a shoe flying straight for my head. It's time to get out of here.

"See you later, lover." I laugh, running for the car before I get another projectile thrown my way.

When I'm in the car, I cop a look from Damien that says, You're an arsehole . He would never say it in front of Marcus, though I don't know why he's so scared of him. Marcus might be in charge of the band's security, but I hired Damien as my personal bodyguard.

"Didn't take you long to stick your dick in her," Mickki says.

I don't bother correcting him. If I did, I'd have to tell him I got high as a kite last night, so I shrug.

"He didn't fuck her," Marcus says with a sneer. "She's a smart woman, and I doubt she let him anywhere near her."

"Hey, women can't resist the monster once they see him."

"Can we not talk about your dick, Eddie? I swear I'll cut it off and feed it to you one day."

"If you dare touch my dick, Mickki, I'll kill you."

"Enough, children. Damien, let's stop so the dipshit can at least change his clothes before we go to the interview."

"I don't need to change—I'm fine," I protest.

I know it sounds stupid, but I wouldn't have a clue how to buy my own clothes or even what size I am, as Delilah buys everything for me. She's more than my housekeeper, she's the mother I always wanted but never got, and she looks after me even when I'm on the road.

"You're wearing an old Eminem shirt and it's not appropriate for an interview," Mickki says as he rolls his eyes.

"Fine, pull over," I retort.

Marcus reluctantly has Damien pull the car into a side street. I make Damien pop the boot, where I know he keeps a white button-up shirt in case I make him do something stupid and he needs to get changed. Marcus steps out of the car with me and watches as I get changed. Damien might be all muscle, but he must have little T-Rex arms, as I need to fold the shirt to my elbows to make it look halfway decent. And the cheat wears a tie on some elastic—not that I blame him because I couldn't tie one to save my life.

Dressed more appropriately, I get back in the car and pull the elastic band from around my wrist to put my hair up.

"You're wearing my clothes," Damien complains.

"Yep, sure am. I'll buy you some more."

"No, you won't," he huffs out.

"You're right, I won't. But I pay you way more than I should because I'm a pain in the neck. So, let's move on before I fire your arse and give Marcus a heart attack at the thought that he'll have to deal with me."

Walking into Fontaine Records, we find Benny, Brodie, and Drew waiting. Oliver's assistant greets us and takes us back to his office. It must be nice having a rich daddy and not having to work your arse off. As we walk in, Oliver is standing with a beautiful blonde.

"Hey guys, thanks for coming," Oliver says once we're all in the room. "This is Alex." I think I've missed something—am I supposed to know who she is?

"Alex," Mickki says, looking at Oliver. "She's a woman?"

"She's also the best in her field," Oliver throws back. The rest of the guys are quiet and keep looking at me.

"I don't doubt she is," Mickki retorts.

"What's going on? I thought we had an interview?" I ask.

"This is an interview," Alex says. "It's not only me interviewing you, it will be you guys interviewing me."

"You're hired," I say, not even knowing what she does.

"Eddie!" the rest of the band members say in unison.

"What? She's hot and I could look at her all day."

"You don't even know what we're interviewing her for," Benny complains.

"Now you understand our dilemma. Eddie can't be trusted around women. We'd be looking at a sexual harassment charge and have to find a new manager in a week," Mickki says, frustrated.

"Hey, I pulled a lot of strings to get Alex here. Trust me when I say she's the best at what she does, and she will have other offers as we speak."

"Guys, let me interrupt for a second. I'm very professional, and I don't sleep with my clients. We can do a trial run and you can see me work my magic. Oliver's right, I do have other offers, but I want to represent you. If you give me a chance, I'll prove I can do a better job than your last manager."

"That wouldn't be hard—Avery was a wanker in tight pants, and I think the loss of blood supply to his nuts affected his brain. I vote that you're in, but I also know you'll end up sleeping with me, so it's up to the rest of the band. Damien, let's go. I have places to be," I say and walk out.

Mickki goes to say something, but I honestly don't give a rat's arse who our manager is. Mickki's always handled these things. I don't know why they even wanted me here when they clearly know me so well.

My mind is on staying straight today and not getting high. I was serious about trying, and I think I've come up with some terms to tell Callie.