Page 1 of Reckless

Chapter 1

I’m so fucking over being Jude Smallwood.

A half assed laugh escapes my lips as I imagine my manager following my trail. He’ll be losing his shit because I’m not where I’m supposed to be. He’ll find the leather jacket I’d been wearing, which felt like it was smothering me. My phone and keys will come next.

He might think I’ve been abducted.

I should let them run with that. Disappear for a while. Even if I got what I wanted, what I needed, I still wound up at that party tonight. One last obligation.

No one fucking understands.

Running a hand through my hair, I tip my head back to look at the stars above me. For the first time in years, I know where I am, and that has a laugh bubbling out of me. For the last three years, my life has been tour buses, a stage, a music studio or meeting after meeting. Industry parties, photoshoots, nightclubs, crazed fans, alcohol.

Montana skies are fucking unbelievable. How much bullshit do you have to have put up with to forget what the stars look like?

Sitting down, I lean back so I can keep looking at the stars. The universe is so much more than Reckless Soul. The band is all I’ve lived for the last eight years since we skyrocketed from a small time band, struggling to make ends meet, to a world famous rock band.

Dropping on to my back, I cross my palms over my chest. I must look like I’ve settled into my grave. Fuck.

Maybe it’s a bad idea wandering away from the party. Especially without telling anyone. And leaving my phone behind. But if I didn’t get out, my head was going to implode. I’ve already vomited twice, and it’s nothing to do with alcohol or drugs.

My sanity is hanging by a string, or the very last threads, that are about to unravel. My brain hasn’t been able to function for weeks. Months, if I’m being honest. One thing I’ve neglected to be. Most of all, with myself.

Clarity hit me a few weeks ago, after waking up on the floor of the music room in my LA house, having no fucking clue how I got there. The last thing I remembered was being with my bandmate, Solene at her place. It scared the shit out of me because I wasn’t drunk.

I’d blacked out. Then the anxiety kicked in. There is no way to explain how I felt that morning, lying on the floor in a ball, clutching my chest, believing I was in the middle of taking my last breath.

After researching the symptoms, I finally figured out it was a panic attack. It still took me two months of more touring and partying, and staying turned on for everyone around me, before I stopped moving. Before I knew I needed to tell someone, if I didn’t have a break, I could end up dead.

No one wants to admit their head is so fucked up, they think they're dying. I've never had suicidal thoughts, I would never go down that road. This is more like my body is going to give up on me.

Something had to give.

Solene was the first to realize how bad it was. We’ve been close since before we started the band. She’s like the sister I never had. Over the years, people speculated there was more to our relationship, but we’ve never so much as kissed. Our bond is too strong to jeopardize. Solene can read me like a book, and it only took one frank conversation for her to realize I was on the verge of falling.

The physicians and therapist they sent me to all agreed on one thing. I’m so burned out, my brain and body aren’t able to function. They recommended a complete break from work.

The therapist was a hard ass with our label about not paring it down to some half assed month-long break. She fought for me. Said I needed at least three months away. From it all. The band, the fame, touring and anything to do with music.

Three months to find myself.

I’m still looking. And maybe I won't find it in the dark wilds of Montana. But it's a good place to start.

The sound of an engine breaks me from my stare off with the stars. I tilt over on to my side and watch as a mobile home approaches on the road. As the vehicle gets closer, I hear music blasting through the windows. It’s ‘Happier’ by Yungblud. It’s so out of place in this quiet, mountainous area. I let out a low laugh.

I met him once. He’s an amazing guy, a fantastic artist and a voice even I’m jealous of.

The red lights of the mobile home disappear around a bend in the road, and I lay back down, this time putting my hands behind my head, thinking about how my life has changed over the last decade.

I’ve never been comfortable with the way people react to me. I’m not insecure, I’m a decent-looking guy. I was lanky and slight until about fifteen, then I filled out, grew beyond six feet and bulked up. I had my fair share of girls in high school, but it was nothing like what I’ve put up with since starting the band.

There is a whole Jude Smallwood fandom. And they’re fucking rabid. At first it amused me how people adore me. Then I began wondering what it is they hoped they’re going to get from me, because a lot of them feel they’re owed something.

In the last two years alone, I’ve had to take restraining orders out against a couple of fans. It’s not like I play up to it. I love music. I play and sing on stage and put my heart and soul into it. Somehow that has translated to me becoming some kind of sex symbol.

Some of the shit people say about me makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I have had it written into contracts when we’re interviewed, no one is to ask me about that 'sex god' shit. I wouldn't mind but I'm not currently even having sex. It's been months since I dated. Groupies have never been my thing, which turns out to be a good thing. That could have made things a shit ton worse.

My eyes close, and I relax into the ground. It’s soft, the grass smells fresh, and the air is warm. For a minute I worry about wild animals. Maybe I’m going to wake up being mauled by something. I’ve seen coyotes killing smaller animals enough times back in the LA canyons. There are bears out here, cougars, and probably other mountain lions.

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