Sneak Peek

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Total Chaos Sneak Peek

Chapter One- Declan

“The last we heard from Raging Chaos after drummer, Gage Sharp, was taken to the hospital due to a drug overdose is that they’re taking some time off and requesting privacy during—”

The bitch yapping on the screen is cut off by an incoming call from my mom. I hit ignore, but it immediately starts up again. 

“Another, sir?” the bartender asks, nodding toward my empty glass.

“Yeah, and you can keep ’em coming,” I tell him as my phone rings again. “As a matter of fact, if you could just bring me a bottle, that’d be great.” Since the bar I’m drinking at is located in the building I live in, they have my card on file. Normally, I’d just drink in my apartment, but right now, it’s empty and lonely, and I hate being there more than I have to be. 

The bartender nods and grabs me a new bottle, opening and placing it on the bar top, along with a larger glass. 

“If you need anything else, let me know,” he says before he walks away to help someone at the other end of the bar. 

My phone starts up again, and since she’s clearly not going to stop until I answer, I hit accept and bring my phone up to my ear. “Yeah.” I pour myself another double shot of Johnnie Walker Blue Label—my go-to—and throw it back. 

“Hello? Who is this?” 

“You called me, Mom,” I say dryly. 

“Declan, I wasn’t sure if it was you. Is that how you answer the phone for everyone who calls? It’s rather rude. I know you’re in a band, but—” The word band comes out sounding like a curse word, and I sigh, already exhausted by this conversation. 

“Mom—”

“What if it were someone important? A business—”

“Mom!” I bark, having zero fucking patience for her shit today. 

“What in the world is wrong with you?” she asks, sounding as if I’ve offended her. “Have you lost all respect for your elders? I’m your mother, not one of your trashy friends. Don’t—”

Fuck, I’ve had enough. “Is it an emergency?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your reason for calling incessantly. Is it an emergency? Because I’m really not in the mood to talk.”

“Yes, it is, actually. Your father and I saw the news. That… friend of yours almost died, and they said your band is over. Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“Because one, you don’t like my friends, so I didn’t think you would give a shit that he almost died.” Since the day I became friends with Camden and Braxton, who asked me to join their band—later, recruiting Gage—she and my dad have been negative as hell, trying everything in their power to get me to “stop messing around with the wrong crowd.” It’s been over ten years, and they still don’t take my career seriously. 

“And two,” I add, “our band isn’t over. We’re taking a break, so if you’re calling to gloat or whatever, save it.” 

I know I sound disrespectful as hell, and normally, I try a lot harder to be the son she and my father want me to be—the son I’ll never fully be. Since I refuse to give up being part of the band, I make it a point to speak properly and dress nicely. I don’t have any tattoos or piercings, but I do have long hair, which drives them insane—but in my defense, I had long hair before the band—so when I’m at home or at a function they’ve guilted me into attending, I make sure to wear it up and out of my face. But she’s called me at the wrong time, at a moment when I just don’t give a fuck about being nice or proper or respectful, especially to the woman who has done nothing but talk shit about the band since we started it over a decade ago. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Declan, but I would appreciate it if you would not speak to me that way. I was simply calling to see how you’re doing and talk to you about your future.” And here we go… “You’re only twenty-five years old, so it’s not too late to go to college, and if you’re in need of a job—”

I laugh. Fucking laugh. Because she’s lost her damn mind. And if I don’t laugh, I might snap at her because I don’t have it in me to refrain from doing so.

“Mom, I am never going to work for you and Dad. I’m a musician, not a hotelier. I play the bass guitar and sing, and even if the band never produced another album, we’re worth millions, so please fucking stop. I love you, but I can’t deal with you today. Let’s call this a loss and try again tomorrow. Goodbye.” 

Without waiting for her to respond, I pull the phone away from my ear and hit end on the call, throwing it onto the bar top, facedown. I pour another double shot and am bringing it up to my lips when a feminine voice, one I would recognize anywhere, says, “Drinking alone?” 

“Got no one to drink with.”

I swallow down my shot, set the glass on the bar top, and glance at the gorgeous woman occupying the seat next to me. Her naturally blond hair is pulled around to the side in a braid that would make most women look young and childish, but it looks sexy as fuck on her. With her hair swept up, leaving her face completely visible, the light makeup she’s sporting makes her bright blue eyes pop and her lips look glossy and plump. She smiles softly at me while she removes her jacket, hanging it over her chair and revealing a long-sleeved white shirt that shows off the swells of her breasts, skintight jeans that, if she were to stand, would showcase her toned legs and ass, and those fluffy boots women always wear. 

My gaze ascends back to her face, and I notice her eyes are a bit glassy and the area under her eyes a tad swollen, like she’s been crying and did a good job of covering it up. 

“You okay?”

Scrunching up her adorable button nose—that, when she’s not wearing makeup, houses a cluster of freckles—she waves me off while she grabs the bottle and pours herself a shot, slinging it back. “How’s Gage?” 

“Alive.” 

Her eyes flit over to me. “Because of you.” 

“No, he almost died because of me.” 

I reach for the bottle, but she pours the shot for me, then hands me the glass. “You saved his life, Dec.” Her words are soft and matter of fact, but they don’t change the guilt I feel about everything that went down. 

“His life never should’ve needed saving in the first place.” I down the shot and slam the glass on the table, glaring at her. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insists. 

“Yeah, it fucking was.” 

*Two weeks ago*

“I love this. It’s sexy and sweet and so perfect.” Kendall reads over the slight changes to the lyrics and music I made and grins, nodding in excitement. “This is it. It’s going to be amazing.” 

“Yeah? You sure?” 

“Definitely. There’s no way my dad won’t be all over this.” 

Her dad is the owner of Blackwood Records, the label both she and I are signed with. Kendall is a pop princess—think Taylor Swift meets Ariana Grande—and I’m the bass guitarist for the rock band, Raging Chaos—think Maroon 5 meets OneRepublic. We couldn’t be any more different if we tried, but that’s precisely what Kendall wants—to shake shit up a bit. And since the band is on a bit of a hiatus, with our lead singer—her brother—Camden and his wife, Layla, having a baby, I had some time on my hands, so I said, fuck it, why not? We had written a few songs together while we were messing around, so all we had to do was figure out which one would be the best and make it perfect. Then we could pitch it to her dad, Easton.

When we first discussed it, we were both on tour, so it got thrown on the back burner, but now that she’s living in New York, she brought it back up, saying it would make the perfect single—and I agreed. 

The truth is, even if I didn’t agree, I’d still say okay because I can’t say no to Kendall. I’ve been in love with the damn woman for as far back as I can remember—even though she has no clue—and would go along with whatever the hell she wanted. 

“We should totally record it, so he can listen to it when we pitch it to him.” 

“Sounds good.” 

We spend the next hour singing our hearts out until we agree it’s as good as it’ll get without having the professionals produce it. 

“I’m going to play this for him tomorrow.” Her stomach rumbles, and she giggles, covering it with her hands. “We’ve been at this forever. I’m starved. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“You don’t have plans?” I glance at the huge rock on her left-hand, trying to keep the bitterness and jealousy out of my words, but it’s hard, so damn hard, wanting a woman I can’t have. 

“Kyle’s working late.” She forces a smile, and I want to ask if she’s sure he’s really the one, but I bite my tongue because it’s not my place to ask. Because we’re only friends. Because I’ve been friend-zoned.

“I’m not in the mood for being in the public eye tonight, but if you want to come over, I can cook us something.”

She beams, and it takes everything in me not to beg her to dump the fool who’d rather spend his night at work than with the woman he’s supposed to be in love with. “That sounds perfect.” 

Since it’s late, we lock up the studio behind us and head out. Gage and I are renting an apartment just up the street, which was our goal when finding a place, but Kendall and I can’t go anywhere on foot without security. So we jump into her waiting SUV, and her driver takes us to my place, leaving us at the elevator in the underground garage. 

We’re talking about the snowstorm that’s supposed to be arriving in the next couple of days as we walk into my place. It’s quiet, and I assume Gage is sleeping since I don’t hear any of his loud music playing. 

“I’m going to light the grill and see if Gage wants to join us. Want to pour us some wine?” 

Kendall nods, and I hand her the bottle and opener, then search for Gage, hoping he’ll agree. He’s sunk low lately, and I’m worried about him. 

I knock and, when he doesn’t answer, crack the door open so I can check on him—make sure he doesn’t just have his headphones on and can’t hear me. Sometimes, unless I force him to eat, he doesn’t give a shit enough to feed himself. 

He’s lying on the bed, and I’m about to assume he’s sleeping as I originally suspected, but then the light hits him in such a way that I do a double take. He’s still, too fucking still. The worst feeling comes over me, and I rush over to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Gage. Gage!” I shake him, but he doesn’t move. “Fuck! Kendall!” I yell. “Call for an ambulance.” 

Everything from that point on is a blur. The paramedics, ambulance, hospital, doctors, nurses. They manage to save him but make it clear it was a close call. Too close. Had Kendall not been hungry… had we not gotten to the apartment when we did… had I not checked on him… He’d be dead. 

But she was, and we did, and I did, and he’s alive… If you can call it that. Thankfully, there was no brain damage or long-lasting effects. He’s been an addict since the summer after our senior year, and we’ve ignored it. We should’ve forced him to get help sooner, but he was functioning,  and when we brought up him getting help, he shot us down. We didn’t want to push him away, so we let it go until he almost died. 

Now he’s agreed to get help, so that’s where he is… getting help. 

And Braxton’s living with his girlfriend, Kaylee.

And Camden’s married with two kids. 

And that leaves me here, alone. Well, not alone. Right now, Kendall’s here with me… But later, she’ll go home to her fiancé, and then I’ll be alone again. 

“What are you doing here anyway?”

Kendall’s gaze shifts, and she pours another shot. “Same thing as you.” She throws her drink back and shakes her head, wincing as the whiskey goes down. “Trying to drown my problems at the bottom of a bottle.” 

My eyes stay trained on her for several seconds, and when it’s clear she isn’t going to talk about whatever is wrong, I shrug because I know how she feels. The last thing I want to do tonight is talk. So instead of pushing the topic, I grab the bottle, pour us both a double shot, and raise my glass. 

“To drowning our problems.”

She clinks her glass against mine. “To forgetting the world exists.” 

We swallow back our drinks, and then I pour us another one. We do this a few more times before the bar music turns up—the game on the television has finished—and Kendall slides off the seat. 

“Let’s dance!” She’s loud in the quiet bar, but since it’s not too busy, only a few people glance over before minding their own business. 

Nobody’s dancing… There’s not even a dance floor, but Kendall doesn’t seem to care as she extends her hand and bats her long lashes at me, waiting for me to join her. 

And that’s exactly what I do… Song after song, we dance our drunken hearts out in the corner of the bar. Well, Kendall dances her drunken heart out while I watch her sway her luscious hips to the beat as she throws her head back, exposing her slim neck. The entire time she belts out the lyrics to each song like she’s performing, I imagine what it would be like for her to be mine. To do more than dance with her. To be able to pull her closer, to kiss and touch her…

I’m lost in my fantasy, so I don’t realize she’s stopped dancing and is looking at me like she’s waiting for me to say something.

“What?” 

She cracks up laughing, and I join in, having no idea what we’re laughing about but loving the sound of her laughter when she lets herself go. 

“What?” I say again. 

“I said, the bar is closing.”

I glance around, and she’s right. Everyone is gone, the music has been silenced, and the lights have been raised. “Well, shit…”

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” Kendall says. Stepping into my space, she wraps her hands around my neck. The smell of her perfume—Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue—mixed with the sweet scent of the whiskey on her breath sends my head into a tailspin. 

“Let’s take that bottle up to your place and continue drowning.” She places a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, and shivers, motherfucking shivers, race down my spine.

A throat clears in the distance, and I look over at the bartender, who’s trying to silently convey he’d like to go home. His disruption is enough to help clear the fog clogging my drunken brain. 

“What about Kyle?” She’s engaged, which means she shouldn’t be kissing me, and she most definitely shouldn’t be giving me a look that says drinking isn’t the only thing she wants to do once we’re at my place.

“We’re over.”

This gets my attention. Kendall got engaged a little over three months ago, and their wedding is next month. She insisted on fast-tracking the hell out of it, so her saying it’s over is a huge one-eighty. 

“What happened?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She drags her nails up my nape, stopping at my bun, and tugs on it gently. “I just…” She swallows thickly. “I just wanna forget.” Her blue eyes, filled with so much sadness, bore into mine, begging, pleading. “Please, Dec,” she breathes. “Help me forget.” 

I want to ask questions and find out what the hell’s going on… But remember when I mentioned I would do anything for this woman? I wasn’t kidding. So instead, I simply nod. “All right. Let’s go up to my place.”

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