Page 72 of Dirty Rock

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“There’s no fun in safety, Ma.”

“Oh, son, you’re so wrong. So very wrong. There’s more fun in safety than you can let yourself imagine. In cosy nights in front of the fire with someone you love. In the bubble you can create that makes you believe bad things don’t exist. In waking up and knowing what the day is going to bring. But you’re too young to understand that. Right now…” She pressed her palms harder against my cheeks. “Right now, you’re made of the wild stuff. You’re feral. But one day, when you’re a little older and a lot less crazy, you and I will talk about the safe side of life again, and all the fun you can have there. All the fun youwillhave there.”

“One day.” I smiled at her, using the boyish grin she liked. The one that existed before cigarettes, a body full of tattoos, and the shit that suddenly made me feel ashamed to stand in front of her. The drugs.

“And you’ll tell me I was right.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” I smirked.

“Promise me you’ll come home.”

“I can promise to try.”

She smiled a sad smile in return. “Then promise me you’ll call more. Make more good decisions than bad. Get fewer new tattoos.”

“Woah. Now you’re just talking crazy.”

“And that you’ll give me a grandchild at some point.”

“Jesus, Ma.” I laughed, pulling her hands from my cheeks and holding them between us. “Be careful what you wish for. With the amount of women I’ve slept with, you could get a few knocks on that front door—ouch!”

Her slap to my arm was one only a mother could deliver.

“That’s enough of that, Rhett Ryan. Not in this house. Your name might allow you to talk like that out there, but here, in my kitchen, you’ll have some respect.”

“You got it.” I laughed.

I loved her.

She was the only woman I’d ever loved so openly.

It fucking terrified me how much I loved her, and yet how easy I found it to walk away.

Still. I walked away.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thanks to Dicky hooking me up, I spent two days in the Baglioni Hotel, in Kensington, London. Seeing the smog of the city every day was oddly satisfying. I’d done nothing but drink and stay in my room as I sorted out a few odds and ends, needing to purge my mind of all the shit running through it.

It was a Wednesday night, just before midnight, and I’d been writing lyrics for the last three hours in preparation for meeting the guys for rehearsals and shit this week. I had become a lyrical fountain, overflowing with verses, choruses, bridges, and conclusions. Paper was strewn all over the place. I’d hung out of the window so many times to smoke, I had a permanent line indented across my chest from leaning over the ledge to look out at the dark, perfect night of the city that held so many fucking secrets.

I didn’t want to know any of them. I had enough of my own.

After every smoke, I’d dropped back down in the hotel room sofa, and I’d started scribbling again, only ever stopping to take another sip of whatever spirit I’d pulled from the minibar.

My pen flew across the paper, the visions of Julia making my dick hard every time she became my muse… which was more often than I’d admit to anyone. The amount of times I’d jerked off to thoughts of her already could have been embarrassing if I’d have been the kind of guy to give a shit.

This empty hotel room seemed like solitary confinement without her presence. I thought about going out and finding some hot woman to keep me occupied, but the thought of touching anyone who wasn’t Julia made my insides shrivel. The others were always the same, full of shit and all but forgotten the second I’d got what I wanted from them.

Jules was different, and different was my new favourite flavour.

Funny how I’d always thought the familiarity of the band was what kept me happy.It was the familiarity of her. Of her bossy voice, pointed stares, arched brows, folded arms, and those sexy cropped bloody blazers.

I stared down at the last scribbles of my handwriting that sat on top of the overcrowded coffee table.

Trying to find peace

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