A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (29 page)

Jesper and Tank exchanged a quick glance, one which was not lost on Melody. “I saw that. Don’t you dare prepare yourself for the worst, Sweden,” she said, glaring at Jesper. “He is going to be fine. End of discussion.”

The corner of Jesper’s mouth curved. “Sweden? What kind of a nickname is that?”

“The only one I’m capable of at the moment,” she admitted. “Thinking is kind of hard right now.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re holding up real well, though.”

“Only thanks to you two.”

Tank stared at her sadly. “You really love his dumb ass, don’t you?”

“I really do,” she whispered. “Is it...do you think it’s strange that I’m not crying?”

Jesper frowned. “Why would it be strange?”

“I was a slobbering mess the entire time he was missing,” she explained. “But the second I learned he was in real, quantifiable trouble, it all dried up. I mean, am I broken somehow?”

“No. You’re being pragmatic,” Tank said. “I feel like crying like a little girl, but I know that won’t help anything. Now is the time for us to be strong.”

Jesper glanced at his phone. “Grace will be landing soon. I gotta head out to pick her up.” He glanced at Tank. “Can you stay with Mel?”

“Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else,” Tank said, slinging a bracing arm around Melody’s shoulders. Jesper nodded, tried—and failed—to conjure up a smile for them, then left.

Melody leaned her head against Tank’s solid frame, grateful for his support. She was glad that she didn’t have to go through this alone, that she had friends like Tank to help her. Grace hadn’t had that luxury—she’d mostly been alone since Emma’s death. Melody was positive that if she lost Dylan now, it would finally break her.

She shied away from the thought of losing Dylan. Grace wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t survive if that happened.

Now that she had been roused from her semi-catatonic state, Melody found she needed to talk, to distract herself.

“What actually happened?” she asked Tank.

“Snake was driving,” he answered in a voice that implied he’d known this interrogation was coming. “They haven’t gotten the autopsy results back yet, obviously, but they’re expecting his toxicology report to be off-the-charts.”

“What the hell was he thinking, driving like that?” she muttered. “What was
Dylan
thinking, getting into a car with someone that inebriated?”

“Honestly, Mel, it wasn’t the first time,” Tank admitted. “I can think of at least a dozen times the two of them have done shit like this in the past.”

“Apparently, some of you still are,” she snapped, then immediately regretted both her callous words and her tone. She hugged his forearm in apology. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” he said. “And you have every right to say that. I’m pissed at them, too. I’m pissed at Snake for dying. I’m pissed at Dylan for getting in that car when he should have known better. And I’m pissed at all of us, for not doing more for Snake when we had the chance. It’s just…I don’t think we wanted to admit how far gone he was, because…”

“Because then you might have to hold up a mirror,” she murmured. “It’s always easier to ignore the ugly parts of yourself if you refuse to recognize them in others.”

He glanced down at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Speaking from experience, Big Red?”

“I’m just really bad at being a girl,” she muttered. “I mean, when it comes to female friendships. That’s why I like you guys. It’s easier. But I didn’t get along with Serena or anyone in my old band, because...I guess because when I saw them, I saw everything I didn’t want to be, everything that I feared I was actually becoming. Because I’m just shit at being a girl.”

“Dylan would probably disagree with you there,” Tank noted.

Melody sucked in an unsteady breath. “Then he damn well better pull through so he can argue with me about it.”

“An argument with a beautiful woman. That’s the kind of thing a man claws his way back from death to experience.” Tank squeezed her shoulder again, and she prayed to everything she believed in that he was right.

**

Hop arrived an hour after the news broke. He stormed into the waiting room, made a beeline for Melody, and wrapped her in his strong arms. Standing there, hugging her father, was the closest she had come to crying since she had first heard the news.

“Why in the ever loving hell didn’t you call me?” he muttered against her temple.

“Because I wanted to call with good news,” she confessed. “I didn’t want to...I didn’t know how to say it out loud, otherwise.”

“Shitty excuse,” he said, squeezing her tighter. “What do you need? Coffee? Valium? I’m sure they’ve got both in this place.”

Melody laughed, and even though the sound was strained, it felt like a small weight was lifting from her chest. “I’ll take one of whatever you’re having.”

Hop turned back around and headed for the cafeteria. Moments after he left, Tank re-entered the waiting room. He had just gotten off the phone with Jesper. “Grace’s plane landed safely, and they’re on their way back here,” he said, as he sat down beside Melody again. “They’ll be here within the hour.”

Melody nodded. “No news yet on our end. He’s still in surgery.”

“Christ, I don’t know if it’s good or bad that they’re keeping him under the knife so long,” Tank muttered.

“It’s good,” she insisted. “It means they think they can make him better.”
That’s what I have to believe if I have any hope of retaining an ounce of my sanity.

They lapsed into silence again. Hop soon returned, bearing steaming cups of coffee with him. It was burnt and terrible, but they all drank it anyway, grateful for the caffeine boost. They sat close together and talked quietly to pass the time; Tank reminisced about the early days of the band. Hop shared some of the fond memories he had of Snake, back when the boys had first been signed. Melody only listened with half an ear, unable to bring herself to speak of her happy memories with Dylan and the band.

Within the hour, Grace arrived. She entered the waiting room alone—Jesper was probably parking—and Melody was struck by how small and frail she looked. She held herself like she might break at any moment, her arms folded tight around her middle. Melody got up to meet her.

“Before you say anything, I just have to get one thing out of my system, and after that I promise I’ll leave you alone,” Grace said, looking Melody straight in the eye. “I know my brother has a lot of demons. I know he can be a colossal pain in the ass. I know he’s probably given you good reason to cut your losses and run. But please, if you’re considering writing him off—don’t. Because he loves you so much.”

Melody felt the first crack in the armor she’d built around herself. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d never pushed him to see your dad. I just wanted…I wanted him to be happy.”

Grace took Melody’s arm and sat her back down. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. How could she still manage to be so strong at a time like this? “I knew you were going to do this to yourself,” she muttered. “Don’t worry. He’s tough; he’ll pull through. But he’s going to need you when he does.”

“He has me,” Melody vowed.

Grace smiled. “Good. Then everything’s going to be fine. Forgive yourself, sweetie. Life’s too short to hold grudges, especially against yourself.”

“What the hell is
she
doing here?”

An angry, disbelieving voice cracked through the room, and all eyes turned to the door by the nurses’ station. Rip had finally arrived, and he was glaring at Melody with eyes filled to the brim with fury and hatred. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the pep talk about grudges yet.

“Lay off, man,” Tank muttered. “You can’t possibly—”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t fucking do,” Rip seethed. “She’s the reason
all
of this is happening! Do you really think Snake would have been in that car if
she
hadn’t screwed Dylan up, first?”

“You watch your goddamn tongue,” Hop growled, standing up swiftly.

“Just leave it alone, Dad,” Melody said, her voice tired and strained. “Apparently I’m to blame for every bad thing that’s ever happened to Dust and Bones, even the stuff that started long before I joined. I don’t care anymore. Let him think what he wants.”

“He can
think
anything he wants,” Hop agreed, “as long as he keeps his mouth shut.”

“What are you going to do, threaten the band some more?” Rip asked, glaring at Hop. “You were perfectly happy watching us self-destruct back when it wasn’t hurting your bottom line.”

“You weren’t self-destructing until recently,” Hop argued. “You don’t want to have this conversation with me, son. I promise you won’t like the outcome.”

“Like I give a shit anymore,” Rip said, his voice breaking. “After what I’ve lost today, there’s nothing left for you to take.”

Tank stood quickly and pulled at Rip’s arm. “You know what, we’re done here. Let’s go for a walk.”

“I’m not letting her run me out of here,” Rip said, yanking his arm from Tank’s grasp and gesturing wildly at Melody. “She’s the one who has no right to be here. That’s my brother in there.”

“No, it’s
my
brother,” Grace snapped. “You’re just the idiots who’ve spent the last decade showing him more efficient ways to flush his life down the toilet.”

“You’ve haven’t even been around for the last decade,” Rip scoffed. “You were so busy…” He trailed off, a look of shame crossing his face. Grace looked stricken.

“That’s enough.” Another voice, a voice of calm and reason, reached them. It was Jesper. Level though his tone might be, Melody could see he was radiating barely-controlled rage. He walked into the room and approached Grace, his eyes swimming with pain as he looked down at her.

“I owe Dylan more than you will ever know,” he told her. “I know what the two of you went through, and I know how much you’re hurting. But you have to understand that you’re not the only one who loves him. I love him like a brother, and so does Rip. It’s just that not all of us are as good at keeping our emotions under control as you are.”

Tears began streaming down Grace’s face, and she nodded stiffly. Jesper turned to Rip next, pinning him with a glare.

“This was an accident. It is nobody’s fault,” Jesper told him, “least of all Melody’s. Snake didn’t listen to anyone but Snake. He did whatever he damn well wanted to do—he lived his life with passion and aggression. He was determined to go out with a bang, and he did. The only thing we can hope for now is that he doesn’t take Dylan with him.”

Rip looked like he would have loved to argue, but it seemed that he didn’t have the energy. He hurled himself into a nearby chair and crossed his arms, glowering down at the tiled floor.

Jesper looked at Melody. “You
know
this isn’t your fault.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“On some level, I do know that,” she conceded. He opened his mouth to say more, but she shook her head. “That’s as much as you’re getting from me right now. I don’t want any pep talks; I just want Dylan to get better.”

“We all do,” Jesper said softly. He sat down next to her, settling in to wait.

Three hours later, the doctor approached them, still wearing her scrubs. And she was smiling.

Melody burst into tears.

**

Dylan drifted in and out of consciousness. He never awakened long enough to speak, but he was always aware of the goings-on around him. He knew when he was alone and when he wasn’t. The smells and sounds that reached him told him that he was in a hospital, but he couldn’t remember what had happened, or why he was unconscious. His ragtag family seemed to be taking turns with him in shifts, relieving each other every hour or so. But though people came and went, he always felt Melody there—a constant presence to guard against his demons in the darkness.

Grace was there a lot, too. She cried. She begged him not to leave her. She made crazy promises about coming on tour with the band and reconnecting with him and making up for lost time, if he would
just
open his eyes.

When Jesper visited, he talked about the past, recounting stories Dylan hadn’t heard in years, tales of times both good and bad. He promised Dylan that he was going to make sure things were different from now on, and that, while change might be hard, it would be good for all of them.

Tank told jokes when he was there, all the filthiest, funniest wisecracks he could think of. He informed Dylan that he refused to stop, and that Melody might get offended enough to walk out if he kept going, so if Dylan didn’t want that to happen, he should wake the fuck up already.

Rip came only after everyone else was gone. He read Tweets and letters from fans, telling Dylan that a whole world of people needed him to get better—as if the people close to him weren’t enough incentive to do so. Dylan could hear anger and resentment in Rip’s voice, and he tried to open his eyes, to ask what was going on...but it was too late.

He drifted away again.

**

“Haven’t you slept long enough?” Snake asked.

Dylan knew he was dreaming, though he couldn’t say how he knew; this felt real, like it was just another night at home. He and Snake were in Tank’s loft, sharing a bottle of bourbon.

“For some reason, I don’t want to wake up yet,” Dylan admitted.

“You wanna see that chick of yours, don’t you?” Snake waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I do, it’s just...I know that when I wake up, nothing’s ever going to be the same again.”

“Is anything ever really the same?” Snake wondered. “Shit’s different every morning you open your sorry eyes. That’s the trick of life, man. Making us think we’ve ever had a lick of control.”

“But there’s more to it this time,” Dylan insisted. “It’s different.
I’m
different.”

Snake nodded sadly. “Yeah. Maybe you are.”

“How will I keep us together?” Dylan wondered. “All of us, the guys, me and Mel? What do I do now?”

“Find a good bridge,” Snake suggested. “You’ve already got a chorus of voices and your own personal Melody. Might be hard, but you’ll get it—you’ll see. I just wish I could be there to help you.”

“What?” Dylan asked.

“Time to wake up, brother,” Snake whispered, with a sad gleam in his eyes.