A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (31 page)

Dylan had vowed to himself that the song would make the final cut for their new album.

They were greeted at the door by the funeral director, a kindly old man who showed them to their private room. Though it was still before the start time for the service, a crowd had already begun to gather. The band thanked him, then slowly started preparing the room for their presentation.

Dylan was ordered to take a seat—though he was mostly recovered from his injuries, he had only been officially released from the hospital the day before, and his bandmates were acting less like rock stars and more like a bunch of worried mother hens. While he rested, Jesper set up the projector and Tank double checked the sound system.

Dylan allowed his gaze to wander around the room, and his eye caught on Melody, who, of course, had arrived early. She gave him a small smile and a wave, tucked securely against her father’s side. His eyes slid over to Hop, who offered him a long, measured look that managed to be sympathetic and menacing all at once. His heart sank. Even if Melody
wasn’t
looking for a way out, Dylan was pretty sure that Hop would never give their relationship his blessing.

By the time Jesper finally stepped in front of the podium to begin, the room was overflowing with people. Dylan wondered how many of them were actually here to mourn Snake, and how many just wanted a front row seat for the closing act of his life’s story.

“Thank you all for coming,” Jesper said. “I’m sure that if Snake were here, he’d say…well, he’d say that funerals are boring as shit.”

Half of the assembled crowd allowed themselves to let out nervous laughter; the other half gave a heartfelt guffaw. Dylan had his answer: only half the people here were actually mourning.

“Wilson McCreedy lived every second of his life exactly the way he wanted to,” Jesper continued. “Even the name he chose for himself was an expression of his rebellion. He taught me not to take myself so seriously. He taught me to live on the edge, no matter the cost.”

Behind Jesper, footage began to play, courtesy of the laptop Rip had hooked up to the funeral home’s PA system. Images of Snake’s life flickered on the screen, bittersweet moments that memorialized the best parts of his career. Jesper spoke reminiscing about those moments of triumph, and told the tale of how the band had become a family. He touched briefly on Snake’s struggles with sobriety, but focused mainly on what he had done best: living completely, unapologetically, with a sharp, chaotic beauty that anyone would envy.

When Dylan couldn’t stand to see Snake’s face smiling down at him anymore, seemingly taunting him with his loss, he turned his attention to the crowd once again. It wasn’t long before his gaze was drawn back to Melody, who was listening to Jesper with rapt attention. He felt a deep, fathomless ache at the thought of losing her, too.

Jesper’s words hitched in his throat—he was losing the battle with his emotions.
Come on,
Dylan thought.
You’re almost done. Close it, man. Leave ‘em wanting more.
Jesper drew a deep breath, steadying himself; then he bravely finished, “Somewhere, Snake is still raging, a glorious, cacophonous expression of passion. I no longer worry for him. But I miss my brother.” He looked at Dylan, at Rip, and at Tank. Dylan even thought he might have glanced at Melody. “We all do.”

**

Dylan wanted to head straight for Melody after the service concluded, but he found his way blocked by dozens of mourners, all of whom apparently needed to shake his hand and pat him on the back in sympathy. He muttered his thanks to the people offering their condolences and did his best to partake in the obligatory small talk, though most of them he had never seen before in his life. His desire to escape was overwhelming. He waited for a momentary lull in the swarm of the crowd, then surreptitiously ducked out the back exit of the room.

The sun was hot and bright, typical for Los Angeles, but inappropriate for the mood of the day. He leaned back against the brick wall of the funeral home, grateful to finally be away from everyone.

“So you’re serious about my daughter.” 

“Um,” he replied hastily. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess so?” Hop muttered, stepping out from the back door and into the sun. Like the rest of the band, he wore jeans and a plain shirt, though he had at least bothered to embellish his ensemble with a gray suit jacket. “Jesus, I don’t think you’re ever gonna change.”

“I’ll surprise you,” Dylan said. He was finding it difficult to look Hop in the eye; he was not only ashamed of his behavior over the last month, he was ashamed of his behavior over the last few
years
. He knew how little respect he’d shown Hop. This man was Melody’s father, and, even more importantly, he was the first person to believe in Dust and Bones. Hop had given them a chance when no one else had; he had made them into stars; he had been there with them every step of the way. Dylan owed him a hell of a lot more than a series of scandals.

“True or not, I wanted to tell you that I am sorry for your loss,” Hop said heavily. “I can’t say I’m surprised by what happened, but that doesn’t make this any easier. At the end of the day, Snake was a good kid. He made good music. He just didn’t know when enough was enough.”

There was a brief pause. Dylan took a breath for courage and said, “I wanted to tell you something, too.” He wasn’t quite sure how to put all of his feelings into appropriate words, but he
had
to try, or he’d never get what he needed most in order to have a chance of building a life with Melody: her father’s respect. “You were always there for us,” Dylan admitted quietly. “None of us had a good male role model growing up. None of us had a dad to teach us how to be men.
You
were the one who did that.”

“Did I?” Hop said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Dylan laughed. “I didn’t say we listened.”

Hop’s mouth twitched with what might have been a hidden smile. “I know you boys had it rough, every one of you. I always tried to cut you some slack, but I guess what you really needed from me was some good old-fashioned discipline.”

“You gave us plenty of tough love, believe me,” Dylan assured him. He swallowed, then took a breath and forced himself to look Hop in eye. “I won’t tell you that I’m in love with your daughter, because I’ll be damned if I say it to you before I say it to her. But I swear to you, Hop, she’s the one.”

Hop considered him carefully. “Not buying it.” 

“I swear it,” he vowed, looking Hop straight in the eye. “There’s nothing I’ve meant more ever in my life. And I will spend my life proving it to you, if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

There was a brief pause which felt like an eternity to Dylan as he awaited judgment. Then finally, Hop nodded. “All right. Then I’d like to amend my previous mandate.”

Dylan frowned. “What—?”

Hop stepped closer and placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, gripping hard. He speared Dylan with that steely, unwavering gaze of his, a gaze that felt like it was cutting right through Dylan’s skin and into his soul.

“I’m not sold on you yet. But she’s a big girl, and it’s up to her. But if you try to revert back to your old ways, know that I’ll be watching.” Hop gave Dylan’s shoulder a shake. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Dylan answered. From Hop, that threat was akin to a heartfelt blessing.

He shook his head and released his iron grip on Dylan’s shoulder. “Just don’t make
her
sorry and we’ll be fine.” Hop jerked his head to the side. “That’s your cue.”

Dylan followed the movement of Hop’s head, and froze. Melody had followed them outside. She was standing there, the sun shining upon her sea of red tresses. A single black streak decorated her long hair in Snake’s honor. She walked towards him slowly, her arms wrapped around her middle, wearing a nervous expression on her face. That wasn’t something he was accustomed to seeing in Melody. She was never unsure—she was fearless.

Hop approached her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She smiled at her father tightly as he passed her and walked back into the building. Then she turned, her attention focused solely on Dylan. Uh-oh. She wouldn’t dump him at Snake’s funeral, would she? Of course not, she was better than that. But then again, maybe Jesper’s eulogy had showed her how insane she’d been to get involved with Dylan in the first place. Maybe she was about to cut her losses and run...

Stop being a little bitch and go get the girl, jackass. If she’s put up with your shit this long, you’ve still got a shot.

That tiny boost of confidence was all he needed. Dylan stepped forward to meet her. His hand rose automatically, and he gently brushed his fingers through the black streak in her hair.

Her cheeks reddened and she forced a smile. “I wanted to do something,” she mumbled. “I didn’t really know what he would—I mean, he probably
wouldn’t
want me of all people to—but I still felt like I should—”

“It’s perfect,” he said quietly, staring down at her. “You’re fucking perfect, you know?”

She laughed. “Dylan, I’m far from perfect. I’ll probably have to get a heart transplant at thirty-five, because mine will end up corroded with bacon fat and French fry grease. I’m great at telling other people what they need to do to live their lives better, but I suck at taking the right steps for myself. And I’m a coward,” she finished, her emerald eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Not true,” Dylan said decisively. “You came on tour with us.” He hesitated, because this next part was going to be hard to say—but nothing was harder than the idea of living without her. “You became a part of me. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute you were driving me crazy, and the next I couldn’t imagine my world without you in it.”

“Dylan,” she whispered.

“Just let me fucking get this out,” he begged. As long as she let him keep talking, he could delude himself into thinking he hadn’t lost her. “I know I fucked everything up. I got caught up in all this shit, and I couldn’t see a way out. I thought I was trapped in a cycle, just like Blue, but the thing is…” He paused again, desperately searching for the right words. He’d practiced this speech a thousand times, but he’d never found the perfect way to phrase it. Now he’d have to wing it—as always, time was forcing his hand.

“What’s the thing, Dylan?” she asked softly, her mouth pinched with worry and pain.

“I understand that I don’t have to live that way anymore.” He held his hands out to her in a placatory manner, entreating her to believe him. “I don’t want to lie to you and say that I’m a hundred-percent healthy and well-adjusted, because I’m not.”

“You’d be a piss-poor rock star if you were,” she teased.

He smiled—she wouldn’t be teasing him if there wasn’t hope. “That’s very true, Ms. Hopkins. You told me all along that when it’s real, it’s worth getting hurt. And I want that. I want it to be messy and hard and sometimes painful—and completely worth it. I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t want to be my father, Mel...I want to be the man who deserves you.”

“Really?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. Tears were beginning to leak down her cheeks.

“Baby,” he muttered, cupping her face between his palms. He brushed his thumbs gently under her eyes, wiping her tears away. “I hear music again. Everything’s different because of you. Everything’s
better.
And the less I drink and the more I deal with my shit, the better it will get.” He held her face with gentle pressure, leaning down so their noses brushed. “I love you, Melody. I always have. Please,
please
say I haven’t fucked this up beyond salvaging. Please tell me some part of you wants to—”

He never got a chance to finish, because she cut him off with a kiss, her mouth connecting with his, wet and warm and open.

Dylan decided to take that as a very good sign.

8 months later. 

Dylan cracked one eye open as the alarm clock radio clicked on. A troupe of local DJs was on the air, discussing the only thing anyone had been talking about for days.

“
... and if you haven’t heard it before, you must have been trapped under a log—Dust and Bones’ new single is tearing up the charts, coming in at number one on our countdown for the third week running.”

“I thought they were over,”
said one of the female commentators from the morning show.
“I mean, Dylan Bennett is hot, but after they lost Snake McCreedy—”

“Most bands can’t survive that kind of thing,”
another host agreed.

“Not only are they surviving, they are thriving. If you haven’t gotten tickets to their concert tonight at Madison Square Garden—well, you’re screwed, because they are totally sold out.”

A smile curved Dylan’s mouth. They had sold out their Madison Square Garden show, a show which marked the beginning of a six week tour to promote the upcoming album. When Hop had first told them he thought they were ready to fill the Garden, the news had been bittersweet; it was an accomplishment they’d dreamed about since they had first formed the band, but now one of their members wasn’t there to enjoy it with them.

The DJs wrapped up their conversation, and the number one single in question went out over the airwaves.

“Mm,” Melody mumbled beside him, turning and pressing her nose against the crook of his neck. Her limbs were tangled up in his; she was enveloping him, which was precisely the way he liked it. “Our song’s going to end up getting played at cheesy weddings for years.”

“There are worse fates,” Dylan murmured, pressing his lips against the side of her head. He breathed in her scent, content to have her close.

They had spent a long time talking about how they should handle their relationship; neither of them really knew how to do the whole “long term” thing, and they’d also wanted to be respectful of the band. They were still ironing out the details, but Dylan had a plan, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was heading toward a future he could be proud of.

“I can’t wait for tonight,” she said. “It’s gonna be amazing.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by José’s personalized ringtone which began blaring on her cell phone. She bolted upright and clambered over Dylan’s body to grab the phone off the nightstand. He rolled his eyes; she had warned him that her relationship with Lennon was something he would have to get used to, but he’d had no idea how big of an impact the gigantic horse-dog would make on his life. Not that Dylan didn’t have a soft spot for the big guy; he just didn’t think it was necessary for José to call with trivial updates quite so often.