Rock Encore (Rock Harder #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ross

The lights go down, and I jog in place, warming up.

The crowd is loud tonight.

Energetic and excited and ready for some rock and roll.

I catch the eye of my lead guitarist and nod.

Our drummer is already out there, kicking a rhythmic staccato on the bass drum. The bass player matches his time, punching out deep, low beats that reverberate through the arena.

It’s go time.

I run out on stage and grab my mic just as the spotlight hits me.

“Phoenix!” I yell. “Who’s ready for some Ross and roll?!”

Our catch phrase sends the crowd into a frenzy as my drummer counts off.

“1-2-3-4!”

We go right into “Hot and Hammered,” our newest release, and I dance across the stage, feet moving in time to the music.

Getting’ so high so we can’t get by

Loving by the lights of the city

Ridin’ on the back with your hair in the air

Damn, baby, you look so pretty.

I lean forward, singing to the ladies in the front row.

But something is wrong.

Their faces start to melt and suddenly the entire audience vanishes, leaving me performing for an empty house. I spin around to look at my band in confusion, but they aren’t there either. Just lifeless blobs melting into the stage…

I sit straight up in bed, sweat covering my body like a second skin.

Not again.

I wipe my hands down my face, breathing hard, trying to still the hammering of my heart.

God damn nightmares.

I’ve been having the same one once a week or so for nearly two decades.

They always start the same, with me living my dream, and end with the nightmare of my reality.

No amount of therapy, pharmaceutical intervention, or even alcohol stops them from coming back. The only thing that stops them is not sleeping, and I can only go so long before that catches up to me.

I get out of bed and pad into the bathroom.

After taking care of business, I wash my face and stare into the mirror.

At forty-two, I don’t think I’m old, but my days as a rockstar feel like a lifetime ago.

It’s been nearly twenty years since I walked away from it all, and generally speaking, I consider myself lucky.

Today isn’t one of those days.

Yanking on shorts and a T-shirt, I slide my feet into flip flops and grab my phone and room key. As the tour manager for one of the biggest rock bands in the world, I don’t go anywhere without my phone. Not even to the john most of the time.

We finished a short European tour last April and took time off to regroup while the band wrote new music and recorded in the studio.

Now we’ve just kicked off what will probably be an eighteen-month world tour with friends and family along for the ride.

It’s a lot, with a ton of logistics to manage, but I love my job ninety-nine percent of the time, so I don’t mind.

Except when I don’t get enough sleep.

That tends to make me cranky.

It’s currently five thirty in the morning, so the Phoenix hotel is quiet, which is exactly how I like it. It’ll give me time to ease into my day, and maybe work through some of the surly attitude I feel coming on.

I wish I brought my cigarettes with me, but I’m trying to quit.

For about a decade.

How’s that working out for you, asshole? I ask myself wryly.

I tend to have a lot of solo conversations these days, since I’m firmly unattached in my personal life and spend too much time working to cultivate many friendships outside the Onyx Knight organization.

A faint cloud of smoke catches my attention as I round the corner to the pool, and I try to ascertain where it’s coming from.

The slight silhouette of a woman gets my attention. She’s standing with her back to me, the only time she moves is when she lifts her arm to take a puff of her cigarette. She appears completely lost in thought, and I hate to disturb her, but the aroma of nicotine pulls me toward her like gravity.

I approach as noisily as I can so as not to scare her.

“Excuse me. Do you think I could bum—” I cut myself off abruptly when I recognize her. “Wynter?”

She turns, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You caught me.”

“Is the fact that you’re an early riser and a smoker a secret?” I ask, smiling back.

She shrugs. “Harley gets on me about the smoking. It’s bad for us, right? I don’t know about you, but I was raised in an era where everyone from our teachers to our parents to the advertisements on TV advised us against it.”

“And yet, here we are.” I pluck the cigarette from her fingers and put it to my lips, taking a long, deep pull.

God, that feels good.

I’m probably sending myself to an early grave, but what the hell? I’ve already cheated death on a grand scale, so what difference does it make? It’s not like I have anyone at home waiting for me.

“Why are you up so early?” she asks curiously.

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Same.” She takes the cigarette back and proceeds to blow perfect little rings above her pretty face.

She has soft, feminine features, with a pert nose, a bow-shaped upper lip, and a heart-shaped face. Her honey-blonde hair is shoulder length, with soft waves that move when she does, and I momentarily imagine running my fingers through it. It’s probably silky and soft. Like the rest of her.

I catch myself before letting the fantasy go any further.

Wynter isn’t a groupie, so she isn’t up for grabs.

She has no business in my fantasies either.

She’s my drummer’s sister-in-law, and she’s in Phoenix on business or something.

I briefly saw her yesterday when she and a couple of the ladies got back from some fancy spa in Sedona.

Since she’s Tommy’s wife’s sister, I’ve met her on many occasions over the years, but never paid much attention because I don’t screw around with friends and family of the band.

Entanglements like that tend to get messy, no matter how careful you are.

Frankly, groupies aren’t my thing anymore, so it feels like I’ve been impersonating a monk the last couple of years.

Not that I’m uninterested in sex.

I just keep it casual, saving it for the occasional one-night stand on the road.

From what I’ve seen of Wynter, she doesn’t strike me as the one-night stand type.

“I don’t sleep anymore,” she says, surprising me.

“It started when River was born. Then it got worse with my new job. That’s when I went from smoking socially, usually just when I was having a drink or something, to craving it all the time.

Then I just stopped sleeping more than two or three hours at a time.

I’ve been at this job less than four months and it feels like an eternity. ”

“Sounds like hell,” I say thoughtfully.

I understand what it’s like to be in hell.

It’s not like that with my job, thankfully, but there have been a lot of periods of my life that felt that way, so I can commiserate.

“Sometimes. But it pays the bills.”

“There’s more to life than money.”

“Spoken like a man who’s learned that lesson?”

Now we’re in dangerous territory.

I don’t like to talk about the past.

Ever.

“You could say that.”

She smiles wryly. “It’s okay, Ross. I won’t spill the beans.”

“Excuse me?” I frown in confusion.

“I know who you are.”