A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(12)

Dylan took a breath and stepped back. Jesper was right. Melody looked  like she was ready to castrate him for that last comment, and he  couldn't say that he blamed her. He always lashed out when he got  defensive. He knew she was right, but there was nothing she or anyone  else could do about it. He was drowning in every way a man could drown.

"I have an idea," Tank said, wrapping a beefy arm around Melody's  shoulders. "Why don't you and I take a super fun walk all the way to the  other end of the bus?" Though she still looked livid, she nodded  stiffly, and they left. Rip, too, disappeared behind the curtain of his  bunk. The guys could sense what was coming, and they knew that Jesper  was the only person with the patience and the wherewithal to force Dylan  to have a conversation he didn't want to have.

Once they were alone in the kitchenette, Jesper gave Dylan a hard shove in the chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"

Dylan scrubbed his palms up and down his face, the scratch of stubble on  his chin reminding him he needed to shave. "She just drives me insane,"  he muttered. As excuses went, that was about as lame and vague as they  got.

"I've known you almost twenty years," Jesper said quietly. "I've seen  you angry and I've seen you lost, but I've never seen you this pissed at  someone. You just won't leave her alone, you feel the need to either  hit on her or argue with her, it's like middle school all over again."

"I don't have the fucking time for this," Dylan whispered.

"I'm not asking you to explain anything to me," Jesper said. "I'm not  even asking you to deal with whatever's bothering you right this  minute-but you do realize, don't you, that you're going to have to deal  with it at some point?"

"I'm gonna get it together," Dylan promised. "I know we need songs. I  know Hop is pissed. The writing, it's just hard, man, and that damn  redhead isn't making it any easier."

What did he need, exactly? Inspiration? He'd never had a problem with  that before. When he was angry, he wrote angry songs. When he was sad,  he wrote music to kill yourself by. On the rare occasions when he'd been  infatuated (Dylan was sure he'd never been in love, and if he had, it  definitely wasn't all it was cracked up to be), he had written some of  his tunes, the ones dripping with lust and desire.

What he really needed was to get out of his own head for a while.  Drinking copious amounts of alcohol had done the trick in the past, but  it didn't seem to be working anymore, and it definitely hadn't worked  since she had gotten under his skin.

"You can't keep fighting with her like this," Jesper said, as if reading  his mind. "We need her. And as tough as she pretends to be, she's not  invincible. Pranks are fine as long as they're in good fun, but you're  crossing the line with her. I have a feeling you might like her on a  deeper level. I haven't seen this from you before, but if that's what's  happening, you need to embrace that somehow, not let it destroy the  band. We need to stick together, if only for the length of this tour."         

     



 

"You think I'm in love with that chick? You gotta be out of your mind," Dylan muttered.

"You're my partner," Jesper said. "My brother. I've never lied to you,  and I'm not going to start now. And I'm telling you, that girl is what  we need to be on tour. You love her, you hate her, it's your business,  just get along with her long enough so we can finish this."

"Snake-"

"Is a loose cannon," Jesper said firmly.

Dylan sighed. "But one hell of a bass player."

Jesper chuckled. "No doubt about that. But until the day he is back we  have Melody. We need to get along and you being hung up on her is  threatening that."

"I'm not hung up on her, goddammit," Dylan said.

"Call it what you like," Jesper said, echoing the exact words of the  brunette psychoanalyst groupie. "Just get it together, and fast. If she  walks, we're screwed." He placed a comforting hand on Dylan's shoulder.  "I'm here if you want to talk. You know that."

"Don't get gay with me," Dylan muttered, embarrassed by Jesper's steadfast, unconditional affection.

"You couldn't handle me," Jesper said with a wink.

"I'd break you in two," Dylan joked back. He smiled, which seemed to  convince Jesper that he was all right. Jesper nodded and headed back to  his bunk, leaving Dylan alone.

He sighed. How long had he been pretending, even to Jesper, that he was  happy? How long had it been since he'd laughed, really laughed, because  he'd found something funny and not because he knew it was expected of  him?

He didn't want to think about it. Mechanically, Dylan grabbed the pot of  coffee off the stove and poured half a cup. Then he opened the cupboard  above the microwave, and dug around behind the coffee filters and  plastic spoons until his hand closed around another bottle of bourbon.  He filled the other half of the cup full and took a big sip.

They didn't have a gig until tomorrow night in Seattle. If he were  passed out drunk, he wouldn't get into another argument with Melody  between now and then. It seemed like the best solution at that moment.



**

Melody wanted to punch someone. Tank seemed to realize this, and kept a respectable distance.

"He's such a … jerk," she muttered, flailing her arms in frustration. "He's such a jerky jerk."

"Those are some high quality insults, missy," Tank noted.

"What did I ever do to him?" she asked, planting her hands on her hips. "I've bent over backward to be civil."

"I know he's been kind of a prick, but you being civil is just making things worse," Tank confided.

Melody's mouth dropped open. "What? How is that making things worse?"

"For a guy, civility is like, the kiss of death," Tank explained. "It  means you don't even care enough to be pissed off. Civil is worse than  hate."

"That makes no sense," Melody declared.

Tank shrugged. "It is what it is. I've been in love exactly once in my  life, and the moment she stopped yelling at me and started using that  calm voice-that's when I knew it was over. If you care about Dylan's  sanity at all, don't be civil to him."

"I guess I may have taken the polite indifference thing a little too  far. I just … " Melody bit her bottom lip, wondering if it would be wise  to continue. "Can I tell you a secret? The kind of secret that I will  completely eviscerate you if you spill?"

Tank crossed his heart. "I'll take it to my grave, Big Red."

"Dylan was my first celebrity crush," she admitted, spitting the words  out quickly before she had a chance to second-guess herself.

Tank laughed. For a solid minute.

"Ohmygodohmygod," he wheezed, doubled over, clutching his sides. "That  is the best thing I've ever heard. I have never been more upset that I  agreed to take something to my grave, because everyone on this bus needs  to know that shit."

"It was long ago, right when your first album hit it big," she  explained. "I was eighteen, Dylan was twenty-one, I saw him play, and I  was hooked. I admired his talent, and that led to an infatuation of  sorts. I didn't really have a lot of crushes. Growing up in this  business, with my dad...well, you can imagine."

"I just imagined." Tank looked faintly queasy. "Hop scares me."

Melody laughed. "Why? You're twice his size."

"Doesn't matter," Tank answered. "That man's like a Navy SEAL. He could probably kill me with a pen."         

     



 

"I could kill you with a pen," Melody said. "You just have to know the right angle to hit the jugular."

Tank paused, considering her. "Is this a good time to apologize for the hazing?"

"Don't worry about it. I get it. As long as it's done with now, we're good."

"Whew." Tank mopped his brow. "So your crush on our Mr. Bennett..."

"God, don't say it out loud," she moaned. "It's so cliché and embarrassing."

"Everyone gets one rock star crush," Tank said.

"One," Melody repeated woodenly. "Yeah."

Tank's eyes widened. "You said he was your first."

"I didn't say he was my last. And when you've got connections..."

"You dirty slut," Tank said, beaming at her proudly.

"There was this guy. Ian. He was the worst six months of my life,"  Melody said. "And we were only together for three. He was only using me  to get to my father. I'm pretty sure he was cheating on me the entire  time, though I only have proof of the last time."

Tank winced. "Ouch. Sorry."

She shrugged. "I'm grateful, really. He taught me an important lesson:  that I should have followed my gut. My instincts told me that getting  involved with a rock star was a mistake, but I didn't listen."

"We're assholes," Tank said. "And by ‘we,' I mean men. On behalf of our species, I apologize to you, Ms. Hopkins."