Page 23 of Worth the Trouble

Coke.

All my favorite fucking things. But while the guys were more than happy indulging in everything the club put in front of us, I was checked the fuck out.

I’m starting to think this last tour broke me.

I look over at Eloise, who’s lost in thought as she sips her coffee and stands next to Adrian. Every time I look at her lately it sends my brain spiraling, and I wonder if anyone notices.

There are very few people in the world I care about on a personal level—her being one of them. And to think that someone messed with her. That someone forced themselves on her. I might have kept it together on the outside, but inside is a tunnel vision of red that still hasn’t faded.

Maybe it’s that I know what it’s like to have someone rip your soul out of your body. Maybe it’s that I understand the scars that come with true violation. But I can’t kick the mess of shit that stirs every time I’m reminded what she’s been through.

And unlike me, she’s somehow so strong through all of it.

While my demons made me turn to debauchery, she turned to celibacy, and I can’t help but question what it says about me that I’ve lost all sense of control.

How many drinks, women, drugs, or distractions is it going to take? Because when I look in the mirror, all I see are the same eyes staring back at me as that punk kid my father used to beat the hell out of. Except now, he’s buried in tattoos and pretending they hide him.

Those thoughts circle like vultures in my head.

Which is why it’s now been twenty-five days since I’ve touched a woman. And yes, I’m still fucking counting.

At this point, I’m not sure if the fact that I haven’t had sex for nearly a month is self-inflicted punishment or me trying to prove something. But even if it’s pointless and means nothing to anyone, I can’t seem to break this lame-ass celibacy streak.

Write it on my tombstone—Rome Moreno, The Riff King, died turning down a stripper’s willing pussy in favor of going home with blue balls.

“Hey.” Eloise bumps my arm with her shoulder, and I realize I’ve been drifting off again.

Sebastian and Adrian have moved to the other side of the kitchen and are digging through leftovers, but Eloise is staring at me with a pinched expression.

I wrap my arm around her and give her a hug.

Eloise is the kind of person who makes you feel accepted no matter how fucked up you are. She’s seen me at my absolute worst and still treats me the same as her own brother. It’s something I appreciate.

“You okay?” She blinks up at me. “Something seems off lately. What’s going on?”

Her eyes search my face for clues, and even if part of me would like to hand them over to her in reassurance, it doesn’t come easy to me.

“Adrian didn’t deliver his report the other day?”

El shakes her head. “He said what you wanted him to say, that you’re fine and all that. But I know you and I worry.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know you do,Mom.” I plant my hand on the top of her head and tussle her hair until she wiggles away.

Adrian glances over long enough to catch her smacking me in the chest and smirks before going back to his conversation.

“You know I’m always good.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and lean against the counter. “Shit’s just off since everything that happened on tour. It stirred things up, I guess. Figured you’d be proud of me tamping it down and shit.”

I grin, but it doesn’t erase her worried expression.

“I’m glad to see you not getting into trouble.” Her eyes assess me. “But I know you Rome and tamping it down isn’t your thing.”

She’s right. She knows she’s right. But I have no answers to give and it’s irritating.

“I’m fine. Give me a week and I’ll be fucking every chick in the city again.”

Eloise rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I smile wide and try to divert the conversation. “What’s up with your pretty little house guest?”

---