A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (26 page)

“The show must go on,” she declared blandly.

“I’m glad you took some time,” he continued. “Bottling everything up isn’t healthy. And, though I’m still horrified by the idea...I’m glad Dylan has you there to look out for him. He needs someone sane on his side.”

Truer words had never been spoken. “Thanks, Dad,” she sniffled, tears once again blurring her vision. Was she ever going to be done crying?

“Hey, don’t blubber,” he muttered. He had always hated to see, hear, or otherwise be aware of her crying.

“It’s okay. I’ve just got something in my eye,” she told him, like she always did.

“Talk to me, ladybug,” he urged. “Tell me about the new songs.”

She gulped. Technically, Dylan had only finalized one. “They’re great,” she declared. “Some of them are better than great. My favorite one is probably the best song Dust and Bones has ever put out.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie; the single song Dylan had managed to complete was beyond amazing, and from what she’d heard, the remaining unfinished pieces—including the piano melody they’d developed together—were beautiful in a way most rock songs had forgotten how to be. Dylan was finally living up to his namesake.

Please be okay. Even if you hate me for dragging you into this emotional minefield, please, just be okay.

“Setting the bar awfully high, aren’t you?” Hop noted.

“They’re that good,” she boasted.
Go big or go home.

Hop sighed. “I’ll level with you, Mel. I’m the head of the label, but I still have people to answer to. I’ve made promises about this new album. It looks like I can’t manage my talent every time I have to push the release date just because of some bullshit case of writer’s block.”

Melody tamped down on the instinctual desire to defend what Dylan had been going through. Now that she understood how sharp the dangerous corners of his mind were, she was amazed that he’d even been able to keep writing for this long. Emma’s illness had been too much for him, and had likely been the final straw that had kept him from making all those deadlines. The drinking and casual sex hadn’t helped, but that had been a symptom, not the disease itself.

“You won’t have to push it again,” she said.

“I need the final songs by next Friday,” he added. “And why isn’t Dylan taking my calls? He could ignore me all he wanted if he would just email me a goddamn track.”

“I’ll make sure he sends you my favorite song tonight,” Melody promised. Dylan had a demo of it on his laptop, which had remained on the tour bus while the two of them had gone to Oklahoma. Rip could dig it out and guess his password easily, she was sure. They’d be able to give her father what he wanted, thus buying them enough time to find their AWOL lead singer.

“Why can’t he send all of them?” Hop insisted.

“You know how the artistic process is,” she reminded him. “You don’t want to let it out there until it’s perfect. The other tracks need some fine-tuning. But I know he’s proud of this one, and he’ll be happy to have you listen to it.”

“All right,” Hop agreed. “I trust
you
, Mel. If you say I don’t need to worry, I won’t worry.”

The words made a new guilt bloom within her, adding another heavy weight in her abdomen. Melody had never been the kind of child who lied to her father. They had always been allies, the two of them against the world. Unfortunately, her recent predilection for emotionally stunted singers seemed to be ruining her spotless record.

Then again, she had never lied to her father about any of the others, like Ian, and the clowns who had come before him; she’d never even felt the
desire
to. Dylan wasn’t just the latest in a series of bad choices; he was the first man she’d ever truly loved. He was the only one who felt real to her; she had seen the true Dylan Bennett, a man who gave his heart to stray cats and little girls, and who had, for a moment, given his heart to her. He had given it wholly and unconditionally, in a way no one else ever had. But his fear had swallowed him up again, and now she feared that he was lost to her forever.

No. I won’t lose him. I can’t, not after all we’ve been through.

Her father would understand; he would forgive her for the lie. Assuming he ever found out about it, which she was very much hoping he wouldn’t. All she had to do was track Dylan down and tie him to a piano until he finished the rest of the album’s songs. And they
would
find him, safe and sound. She couldn’t accept any other possibility.

“You don’t need to worry about the songs,” she assured him softly.

“And what about you?” he asked, after a long pause. “Do I need to worry about you?”

More than you know.
“I’m fine, Dad.” Melody thought about how she would have answered his question a few hours ago. “I’m happy. It’s real this time, you know? He’s real.”

Goddamn tear ducts.

“I know he is,” Hop admitted reluctantly. “He just has no idea who the hell he really is. I never wanted you to love someone so lost. It can be painful, ladybug.”

“Hey Dad, I’ve gotta go,” Melody said, because she feared that she was going to start blubbering again. “I’ll call you soon, I promise. I love you.”

She hung up before he could reply. Heaving a sigh, she gazed around—she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors in the back of the car and saw that she had almost completely cried off her mascara, so she began removing the remainder of it. Just as she finished scrubbing away the last of it, the car pulled up outside Tank’s loft. She thanked the driver, slipped him a generous tip, and dragged her backpack upstairs.

Jesper opened the door for her. “Still nothing,” he said, before she could even ask the question. “We tried to intercept him at the airport, but it’s easy to lose someone at LAX. He won’t answer Grace’s calls, either, and none of his usual contacts have heard anything from him. He’s good at avoiding people when he wants to.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured dryly.

Melody walked inside the big, open space. She had only been here once before, but oddly, it still felt like she was coming home. Pieces of the band lived in this loft, their hearts and souls infused into every corner. Tank’s presence was most prominent—he was the only one out of all the members of the band who had put down permanent roots. Before she’d gotten to know him, she’d found that odd, but now it made perfect sense to her. He was more ready for commitment than he knew.

“What is she doing here?” Rip snapped.

He sat behind the largest computer monitor Melody had ever seen. The glare on his face made her want to shrivel up and die.

“Lay off her,” Jesper said firmly.

“Unbelievable,” Rip said. “She’s the reason all of this happened, and you’re standing there, fucking coddling her.”

“Last time I checked, Dylan was capable of making his own decisions,” Jesper said. “They’re not particularly good decisions, but they’re his nonetheless.”

“He hasn’t made a decision for himself since she got her pretty pink fingernails around his balls,” Rip said flatly.

“Man, let it go,” Tank said as he entered the room. “No one is interested in your one-man emo show.”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Rip demanded. “She’s not one of us for good.”

“Maybe she should be,” Jesper said quietly.

Rip shoved his chair back violently. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he seethed, glaring between Jesper and Melody.

“This is not the time to have this particular discussion,” she said hoarsely.

“Right,” Rip scoffed, “go ahead, play the fucking martyr—”

“Oh, shut up, Rip,” Melody snapped. She was tired of taking his crap, tired of playing nice, tired of being the cool girl who worried about how everyone else was feeling. She stalked up to him and got right in his face, no longer afraid of what he thought of her.

“I’m not the bad guy here,” she reminded him. “I’m not the one who got so fucked up that I drove a vehicle into a politician’s house. I’m not the one who pushed album deadlines back so far that you’re one missed-deadline away from being dropped from the record label. I didn’t show up and break up your band—you were barreling down that road all by yourselves long before I got here. You can resent me. Hell, you can even hate me. But you don’t get to twist reality to suit your false narrative, and you do
not
get to disrespect me for another second.” Her voice broke. “I love him, too.”

Rip looked angry, shocked and ashamed, all at the same time. She didn’t have the mental reserves to deal with any of it.

“Mel,” Jesper said softly.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll go back to my place. Please let me know if you find him.”

“You don’t have to go,” Tank said quietly.

“I do. I need to check on my dog. He’s probably destroyed José’s apartment by this time.” She looked at Jesper. “By the way, you have to break into Dylan’s computer and send my father the demo of the new song he finished. Send it from Dylan’s email. No note, just attach it.”

“You haven’t told your dad what’s going on?” Tank asked.

“He’ll pull the plug on the album if he finds out Dylan’s gone off the reservation,” Melody said. “If we don’t find him before this gets out, it’s over.”

She didn’t allow herself to consider the possibility that they
wouldn’t
find him.

**

Her apartment didn’t feel like home anymore. The warm, cozy space now felt alien, like someone else lived there. Tank’s loft, even radiating with Rip’s hostility, had felt like the place where she truly belonged.

She dug through her backpack until she came up with one of Dylan’s artfully ripped white T-shirts. She’d stolen it from him on the tour, figuring that even if they crashed and burned, she would have something of his to keep with her forever. Creepy? Perhaps. But it gave her a small bit of comfort, and now she was glad she’d done it.

Quickly stripping off her clothes, she pulled the shirt over her head. The material was soft against her skin. She inhaled his scent on the collar, which brought her joy and anguish at the same time.

Impulsively, she picked up her phone and dialed Dylan’s number. Again, it went straight to voice mail. She wasn’t even sure he would check his messages any time soon.

“It’s me.” She didn’t know what she wanted to say, so she rambled. “I am so mad at you. You’re scaring me so much. I need to know you’re all right. Maybe you hate me now, I don’t know. Just please tell me you’re okay.” There was a beep.

“The voice mailbox you are trying to reach is full.”
It hung up on her. Defeated, she dropped her phone onto the coffee table.

She stood there for a few moments in a stupor, until she was startled back to reality by a knock at the door. She jumped, and nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to answer it. Disappointment flooded through her when she yanked the door open and saw the person on the other side. She took a calming breath and managed to force a smile for José. “Hey you. How’d it go?”

“He was a perfect angel,” José answered with an easy smile. “He only destroyed one of your tomato plants.”

Nudging his way around Jose’s leg was Lennon, her big beast of a baby. Melody sank to her knees and threw her arms around her dog’s massive furry neck. He nuzzled into her, the way he had since he’d been a puppy.

“Do you mind if we caught up tomorrow?” Melody croaked. “It’s been a long tour. And, an even longer day. I think I just need some rest right now.”

“Of course not, sweetie,” José said, patting her shoulder gently. “Go get some sleep. You deserve it.”

Nodding gratefully, Melody shut the door behind José and dragged herself to bed, Lennon bounding along beside her. She settled down, wrapping herself in her blankets, as if trying to shield herself from the world. Lennon lay next to her and gave her face a long lick, seemingly concerned by her tears.

“Mommy’s sad,” she confirmed, scratching the top of his head the way he liked. “I met someone.”

He growled.

Laughing, Melody leaned over and gave him a kiss. “It’s okay. You’re really going to like him.” She had been so looking forward to introducing Dylan to Lennon. They would have had so much fun together. Now, she couldn’t help but think that her two guys never got a chance to know each other.

Melody embraced the cliché and cried herself to sleep.

**

The ringing phone woke her. Confused and groggy, Melody glanced at the clock on her bedside table—it was two AM. For a moment, she didn’t recognize where she was...then everything came flooding back. She tumbled out of bed and ran for her phone, which she had stupidly left on the coffee table all the way in the living room. A number she didn’t recognize appeared on the caller I.D. screen, but she knew who it was. It had to be him.

“Hello,” she whispered, her voice gravelly from sleep.

“You’ve gotta stop calling me.” His voice was slurred and hopeless and bitter, but it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard because he was
alive
.

“Never,” she sobbed. “Where the hell are you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“Of course it matters,” she said. “I’m coming to get you.”

“I don’t want you here,” he said. “I don’t want you here because I want you here too much.”

“Baby, that doesn’t make any sense,” she whispered.

“It does,” he insisted. “You just don’t get it because you think that you know me, but you don’t.”

“I
do
know you,” she argued. “I knew you the first time you played the piano with me. The first time we created something together. I knew you then and I know you now.”

“You know what you want me to be,” he said stubbornly. “But you’ve seen the truth of who I am. I don’t know why you’re still denying it.”

“What truth?” she asked, grabbing her jeans from the floor and pulling them on.

“I’m no good for you,” he said. “I’m just going to hurt you. I’m exactly like him.”

“You are nothing like your father,” she insisted. “The only thing you have in common is a bad habit of crawling into a bottle when things get tough.”

“I have to do the right thing for once,” he continued, as if he weren’t listening to her. “I have to do right by you.”