Never Ending (7 page)

Chapter
11

          “
A
surprise?” My mouth opened into a wide grin.
Since Jim and Roc had joined the band, Danny and I had hardly been able to
spend any time together, let alone romantic time. I missed him. Completely and
absolutely. My body ached for him. Every muscle in my body, every nerve, every
hair on my head, prickled with the sensation of being near him. For a whole
week I had longed for him – longed to go to him, to kiss him, to touch him, to
take him into my mouth, to allow his flesh to touch mine, to take control of
me, body and spirit. We hadn't even had sex since we were interrupted by
Steve's injury – we didn't have the time. After every performance, every
rehearsal, we were too tired to so much as look at each other, let alone fall
into bed. It was exhilarating, in a sense, to be working so hard, and
dedicating so much time to the music that I loved. On the other hand, being
without Danny for so long had been agonizingly painful – my whole body missed
him. I needed Danny like I needed oxygen. I couldn't breathe when I'd been
apart from him for too long. The need was so visceral, so palpable, that it
floored me.

          And now, as he
kissed me so lightly, so softly, before allowing his embrace to become ever
more passionate, every rougher, all I could think was that I wanted him to take
me right here, right now. I couldn't wait another second to have him.

          I began fumbling
with his buttons, trying to strip his shirt from his body, to feel his warm,
bare chest beneath my fingers.

          “Not yet,
dearest,” he whispered.

          “Where are you
taking me?” I asked, my voice urgent with my need. “Where are you taking me,
Danny?”

          He shushed me
with a kiss. “Somewhere where we can be alone, Neve, darling. Somewhere where
we can be ourselves. Our true selves – not these stressed-out people we've
become...”

          “What do you
mean?”

          “Not Never Knight
the rock star. Not Danny Blue of Blues Records. Just us.”

          We drove for
thirty minutes in his car, the LA skyline glittering all around us, until we
were far enough out of the city that we could see the stars glimmering in the
sky. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful.

          And then I
recognized the road – the quiet little street, winding its way towards a
secluded little house on a cliff overlooking the sea.

          “Our cottage!” I
exclaimed, joy washing over me. How I loved that place – the beautiful little
cottage where Danny and I had first fallen in love, back when he was only my
TA, back when things were simple, easy.

          “But I
thought...you were only subletting it.” I furrowed my brow.

          Danny looked
nervous. “Uh,” he started, “at the time, you know. I didn't mean to lie, exactly.
But I didn't want you to know...I was embarrassed...” he sighed. “What I'm
trying to say is that I owned it. And I didn't want you to know. When I moved
to America to get my doctorate, the last thing I wanted to do was let everybody
know that I was Danny Blue, the wayward son of Clarence Blue. I didn't want
people to judge me for that.”

          I could
understand that. I knew what it was like to grow up the child of somebody
famous. I'd told more than a few white lies in my day to hide the fact that I
was Keith Knight's daughter.

          “Fair's fair,” I
said, punching him playfully on the arm. “And to think – I fell for you when I
thought you were just a poor and struggling musician.”

          “Don't forget
sexy,” he pointed out.

          “That's a given.”

          “Talented?”

          “That too.”

          “Amazing in bed?”

          “Now you're just
fishing for compliments,” I laughed.

          “I didn't want
people to like me for who my father is. I got enough of that at home in
England. I wanted people to like me for me. You understand, don't you?”

          “More than most,
I think,” I said. “Maybe that's why we get along so well. We both lead such
strange lives...”

          “Growing up with
the paparazzi...”

          “Tabloid stories
about your mom's weight gain...”

          “Or your dad's
cheating.”

          “So-called
friends that take photographs of you on their iPhones at parties...”

          “Being closer to
club bouncers than to your parents.”

          “Not me,” I said.
“I was close to my parents.”

          “You're lucky,”
said Danny. “For people like us, that part's rare.” He gave a heavy sigh. “That
was the happiest time of my life, you know. I really loved my doctorate.”

          “And you gave it
up. For me.”

          He shook his
head. “Suspended. Not gave up.”

          “But it was so
important to you...” I sighed. “And instead you're Blues Enterprises.”

          “I had to. For
our band. For us.”

          “But would you
have gone back if you'd never met me?”

          “Honestly?” He
shook his head. “No. I wanted to play music, but I also wanted to study it. To
teach. To play for the love of it. Not to get sucked back into the world of
rock stars and hotel suites. But for you...it's worth it, Neve. To help this
band – I believe in us. And maybe one day I'll go back to school, finish my
doctorate, travel the world as an ethnomusicologist. But right now, you're my
priority. And if that means being Clarence Blue's only son, then I'll do that.
But I won't be defined by that.”

          “You're so much
more than just Clarence Blue's son,” I said. “You're your own person. And Blues
Records – that's you, that's not your dad...”

          “I know,” Danny
said. “Believe me, I know. For the first time in my life, I feel like myself.
With you. I'm doing this for you. Because you're not the girl Clarence Blue
chose for me. You're mine and I'm yours. I chose you.  Being with you – it's
the first time anything really feels like mine, and not my father's.” He swallowed.
“I'm so afraid to lose you, Neve...” he said.  “And I can't let that go. Not
ever.”

          “Never ever,” I
said, smiling.

          “Now,” Danny
said. “Never ever, my darling, my love. I think there's something we've both
been missing.” With that, he leaned in, enveloping me in a kiss that sent me
reeling. He took my hand and led me inside the cottage. It looked just as I
remembered it – I felt a pang as I remembered the first time we'd kissed, the
first time we'd undressed each other, in this very room.

          He led me through
the house and out the back door, onto the terrace, which overlooked the sea.

          “I want to do it
with you out here,” he whispered.

          Our love-making
was passionate, desperate as ever. But this time, it was slower. Softer. More
tender. As if there was something more than mere desire motivating us. As the
moonlight washed over us, as our bodies moved together, as his breaths got
shallower and shallower, louder and louder, as he moved within me, I had never
felt happier, more content.

          “I love you,” he
told me, kissing me so, so softly. “You have no idea how much I love you. You
mean the world to me.”

          Finally, I
believed him. Finally, I let my defenses fall – the last few defenses, the last
fears. I let myself love him wildly, wholeheartedly, without reservation. I
trusted him, now, completely. And I knew he would not hurt me again. I knew
that at last, at last, I was free of the heartbreak, free of the worry. I could
let myself love him at last.

          And I fell in
love with him – deeper and more truly than I ever thought possible.

          From that day
onwards our relationship seemed to take a more serious turn. I moved out of the
studio apartment I lived in, and Danny and I moved back into the cottage.
Together – like a real household. We cooked together – we even cleaned together
– we lived a life of domesticity side by side with our rock star days. In the
rehearsal room, we sang about groupies, about nightclubs, about sex. But we
went home to each other. We took two cars to avoid rousing suspicion – I didn't
want to tell Luc or Kyle about us just yet – but for all other intents and
purposes we operated as one-hit-won I even introduced him to my father,
something I'd almost been dreading. My father had spent his whole life telling
me to stay away from rock star boys: and now I was living with one. But to my
surprise, Danny and my father hit it off brilliantly.

          They traded
jokes, stories, and anecdotes. They compared their favorite musicians, their
favorite albums. They traded notes on playing, techniques, and songwriting.
They had a mock-argument about whether Goth was a subgenre of postpunk or not.
It didn't hurt that Danny Blue had been a huge fan of my dad's growing up – and
that he knew every single album the Knights had ever recorded, including
obscure bootlegs. Flattery will get you anywhere, they say, but sincere
flattery is the best kind, and Danny's flattery was 100% sincere.

          But the moment I
knew that my father had decided that Danny Blue was acceptable was the moment
he took out his guitar.

          “He only does
that when he likes them,” whispered my mother in my ear, beaming with pride.

          “Come on, then,
you fool,” my father said to Danny, in a voice that made it clear his mockery
was benign. “Show me what you got.”

          Before long, the
two of them were playing together, rocking out in unison. I couldn't help but
grin as I watched them: my two favorite men in the whole world, bonding.

          “He's a keeper,”
my father said as he loaded us into the car home. “You really know how to pick
the good ones, Neve. I suppose I approve.” He gave me a serious fatherly look.
“But be safe, right, Neve?”

          “Always, dad!” I
blushed as Danny and I sped away.

          That night, we
lay in each other's arms, happier than ever. Rehearsal was over, dinner was
over, and now we had time to ourselves to relax, to talk, to make love.

          And then Danny's
phone beeped.

          “Who would text
me at this hour,” moaned Danny, annoyed, as he rolled over to get the phone. He
picked it up and turned white. “What the...”

          “What? Who is
it?”

          “Roni.” His voice
was hollow.

          “What does it
say?”

          He swallowed.
“Doesn't matter.”

          “It does, Danny –
what does she say.”

          “I'm tired of
your games, Danny. You're a disappointment to me and to your father. If you
continue to play such juvenile tricks and get in the way of my band, there will
be consequences. These things do not go unnoticed, and will not go unpunished.”

          Danny and I
looked at one another. We didn't want to lend any credence to Roni's words, but
we both knew that she meant every syllable.

          “You don't think
she...”

          Danny shook his
head. “She can't hurt us, Neve,” he said.

          But deep down, I
knew that she could.

Chapter
12

         
W
e tried to forget all about Roni, but it
wasn't easy. Her presence was felt everywhere we went. When we were in the
rehearsal room, writing new songs with Kyle and Steve. When we were in the
green room, putting on our makeup. When we were onstage, looking out into the
audience, afraid we would catch a glimpse of her face, or the faces of the Dusk
Riders, who by now seemed to be little better than her minions. Even when Danny
and I were in a room alone together, kissing softly, making love, whispering
sweet nothings in one another's ears, I began to feel that she was there too:
an unwanted and insidious presence, worming her way into our lives.

          I hated it. Every
second of every day, Roni Taylor was there, out for blood, out to make our
lives miserable.

          “I don't
understand it,” I said to Danny one morning as we lay in bed together, looking
out over the sea. We'd gotten used to the cottage by now – its beautiful views,
its peaceful breezes. It was the only place that felt safe from her, and even
then we didn't feel fully secure. “What does she
want
? I mean, she can't
want
you –
knowing how much you hate her?”

          Danny avoided my
gaze. “It's complicated,” he said. “Roni gets what she wants. She has – her
whole life. She wanted to marry a billionaire and she did. And – you know, it's
not  like my father treats her very well...”

          “Are you
defending
her?”

          “No – no...”
Danny said quickly. “All I mean is – being married to my dad would turn anyone
into a crazy lunatic. You remember: Roni isn't my first stepmother, not by a
long shot. He's cheated on every woman he's ever been with. He's never loved
anybody, not really. He likes women for their bodies, for the prestige of
having a beautiful woman or two on his arm. But he doesn't see them as people.
Just props to make him look good. Being around my dad – it screws people up,
Neve.” He sighed loudly, the sheets rising and falling across his chest. “It
screwed me up for a long time. I wasn't a good boyfriend – not to a lot of
girls. Not even to...”

          He fell silent,
and I did not press him further. He wouldn't say her name. He never would. The
woman that he loved – the one he felt he had killed – that was a loss too great
for words. Only silence could encompass the pain he felt. Against myself, I
felt a twinge of jealousy. I loved Danny, but I knew that there were some
things about him I could never truly understand.

          “But that wasn't
your fault!” I pressed him. “It's not like you grew up with a good example.”

          “That's certainly
true.” Danny's laugh was full of bitterness. “Do you know – growing up – I
don't have a single memory of him hugging me. Not one. Not one example of him
caring about me. I was shipped off to boarding school as soon as I can
remember. “Danny has business to conduct,” he told me. “Now be a man. Don't
cry.” But even at boarding school, I wasn't immune. He never came to my plays,
to my performances. But I saw him, of course. Lots of him. At boarding school
the boys used to be allowed to leave the school in the afternoon to go into the
shops – you know, to buy sweets, that sort of thing. And at the check-out
counter I'd catch a glimpse of him on the cover of the tabloids. A new woman on
his arm. A new model – or a prostitute. And maybe she'd become his wife, after
a while, and I'd learn about that from the tabloids, too. Until she couldn't
take the cheating....until she couldn't take the pain....”

          “Sometimes they
divorced him. One killed herself. I learned that from the tabloids too.”

          Tears had started
to form in Danny's eyes. I turned to him, surprised. I'd never seen Danny so
vulnerable – so open to talking about his pain.

          “Did you know –
though – what the worst part is? I never stopped loving him. Not for a second.
I thought it was my fault, you know. That I'd been bad. That if I was a better
son, a better kid, he'd have wanted me around. I used to shoplift the tabloids
and cut out his picture and keep it on my dresser – just like a real family
photo. Because it was the only thing I had of him.”

          I felt the tears
spring to my eyes, too. How much suffering had Danny enduring because of his
family.

          “I'm sorry,
Neve...” Danny sighed heavily. “I don't mean to unload on you like this. But
ever since I went to your house for dinner – met your dad...”

          “It made you
realize what you'd missed out on?”

          “Yeah,” Danny
said, smiling. “I knew you'd understand, Neve. Being with your dad made me
realize what a dad is supposed to be like. You know – I always figured that it
was karmic justice that made my dad what he was. Like – I had all this money,
all this fame, that the universe decided to punish me, to even things out, by
making my dad the way he is. I thought you couldn't have all those things
without having a dad like mine. That's what he said, after all. “You have to be
this way in the business. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.
There's no choice.” And so I grew – so angry. So cruel. I felt like – if I
can't have a loving family, then at least I can have my typical rich-boy
pursuits. Money. Fast cars. Cute girls. Music. I was...I was
awful
at
your age, Neve. You think Geoff was bad? I was probably worse. I was punishing
the world for my pain. Acting like it owed me all this stuff because I'd
suffered. Until...she died. And then I knew what I'd lost. I knew what I'd
given up. And seeing your dad the other night made me realize how wrong I was.
Like – it didn't have to be this way. Like there was another way I could have
turned out. Like you.”

          “You can't blame
yourself, Danny,” I said, kissing him lightly on the forehead, wiping his tears
away, brushing his face with my fingertips. “You've become a wonderful man. And
if it took you time to be the person you are today, then you need to forgive
yourself for that. You need to forgive yourself – and realize that you learned
from your mistakes.”

          “Roni's crazy,”
said Danny. “No doubt about it. But deep down, I feel sorry for her, too.
Because I know what my father does to people. I still love him, you know. But
sometimes I don't. Just sometimes, when my mood is so dark I cannot stand it, I
don't. And then the guilt is so terrible I can't breathe.”

          My heart ached so
badly I couldn't breathe, either. Seeing Danny in this much pain was torture.

          “Let me cheer you
up,” I whispered. We made love slowly, deliberately, running our hands over
each other's bodies. I wanted to get through to him, to get into that deep and
dark part of his heart he hadn't shown me yet, and which sometimes I doubted he
would ever show me. I wanted to be able to cure him, to heal him, to make him
whole again. But all I could offer him was this gift of love, this gift of
myself. All I could offer him was our two bodies becoming one, when it was our
souls I truly wanted to join.

          “You know,” I
said, afterward. “You're part of my family now. And that means – my dad loves
you. And if you want to spend more time with him, with us, as a family – that's
great. It's not just about sex with us anymore. It's about...love. Community.
You're part of my world.”

          And then a
lightbulb went off in my brain.

          For so long, I'd
pushed myself away from my father professionally – tried to distance myself
from his legacy, his history, tried to find my own path without the stigma of
being just another rocker's daughter trying to claw her way out of his shadow.
But now I felt something else about my father's legacy. Pride. I
was
Keith
Knight's daughter, like it or not, and I was proud of it. I was proud of my
success because it
did
come from him, whether I wanted it to or not. Not
because of the money or the fame, not because of the connections. But because
his support of me, his love, his unconditional love, made it possible for me to
have the strength to carry on. He had inspired me. He had motivated me. He had
kept me sane.

          And I could no
longer hide from that.

          “What would you
say to a joint concert?” I said, kissing Danny lightly. “Us and my dad's band?
A celebration of family.”

          “Really?” Danny
looked surprised. He knew how I usually felt about capitalizing on my dad's
name.

          “Family – both
the kind you're born into, and the kind you make for yourself.”

          And that was how
Keith Knight and his band joined us for the next gig. I'd never appeared
onstage with my father before, and I had to admit I was nervous. My dad wasn't
just a rocker – he was a legend – and while I had confidence in my talent, I
wasn't at his level yet. Not by a long shot – the man had been honing his craft
for decades. But somehow, when we were onstage together, that didn't seem to
matter. We both loved this music; we both loved this world. We both believed in
the possibilities that it offered us.

          I didn't feel
self-conscious – like I was an impersonator, snatching onto my dad's fame. I
was Never Knight, a musician in my own right, proud of the dad who had
supported me and willing to work hard to get to the place where he was now.

          And the crowd
went wild. They loved it – every minute of it. They believed in us. Both of us.
I had never felt closer to the person I wanted to be.

          Backstage after
the show, I stood with my parents, feasting on oysters from the enormous spread
the venue had laid out for us. My father's arm was around my shoulder, his
other arm around my mother's. Danny was standing with us. Kyle and Jim were in
a corner, talking animatedly about bass techniques. Luc, Steve, Roc – we were
all there. Together.

          And then Danny's
phone rang.

          “Slayton,” he
said, rolling his eyes. “I've got to take this....”

          He walked over to
the corner. “Hello?”

          I watched him
through the crowds, not taking my eyes off him. He looked beautiful – more
beautiful than ever, I thought. Happiness had changed him. His hollow, haunted
look had faded somewhat in the presence of my family, replaced with a sense of
boyish joy.

          Until he started
sobbing.

          “Danny?”

          He was on the
floor, collapsed, sobbing hysterically – sobbing like a child – his breath
heavy and deep, his face a mask of pain.

          “Danny – what is
it...”

          He could hardly
force out the words.

          “My fault....my
fault...my fault....”

          “What's your
fault, Danny?”

          “I should never
have said those things...it's my fault...I know it is...”

          “What is, Danny?”

          “Heart attack,”
he gasped. “My dad. He's in a coma.” He took a deep breath. “They say he's not
going to make it.”

          And with that, he
collapsed into my arms.