Page 13 of Finding Storm

The Ritz-Carlton.

Guess I was feeling plush last night.

Honestly, I’m surprised they even let me in. I was definitely trashed, clearly up for partying and not alone.

But then celebrity gives you all sorts of powers that non-celeb folk don’t have. And being the only child of Jonny Creed and the adopted son of Jake Wethers has its pull and perks.

Honestly, I feel like a jackass, just thinking it.

I walk over to the reception desk and settle up my bill. I tell them to send breakfast up to the suite for my two remaining guests.

I might be a shit. But I’m not a total shit.

The polished thirty-something receptionist doesn’t even flinch that I had two women up there with me for the night.

I guess they must see shit like this all the time, even in a nice establishment like this.

Money doesn’t always buy class.

The doorman gets me a cab. I thank him and give the driver my address.

I moved in my place a year ago.

I was living with the guys in a rented house after moving out of Jake and Tru’s.

I honestly loved living with Jake, Tru, and the kids. It wasn’t my first home. It won’t be my last. But I know it’s a home that I will always be welcome back to.

But I was a twenty-year-old rock star still living at home. The band was taking off big time. It was time to move out, so me and the guys rented a house together in West Hollywood.

But recording and touring together and living together just got to be too much.

I love those guys, but not twenty-four/seven. I needed my own space, so I moved out a year ago to my place in Beverly Grove.

Raze moved out when I did. His apartment is two blocks from mine.

Cash and Levi still live together in our old apartment, which is ten blocks away.

Raze and I didn’t go far.

And I didn’t go far from Jake and Tru’s either. I’m a ten-minute car ride away.

I might not want to live with any of them anymore, but I don’t want to be too far from them either.

The cab pulls up outside my apartment building. I pay the guy and then head inside my building, saying morning to the doorman, Griffin.

I ride the elevator up to the tenth floor where my apartment is.

Letting myself in my apartment, I don’t waste any time. I go straight to my bedroom. I kick off my boots and drop my cell, wallet, and keys on the bed.

I go into my bathroom and get two Advil from the cabinet and sink them with some water.

Teeth brushed, I strip off last night’s clothes and climb in the shower, scrubbing the night off me.

Towel around my waist, I stand in front of the basin and wipe the steam from the mirror.

I stare at myself. I don’t like what’s staring back.

I look jaded.