A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(13)

Melody laughed, and gave Tank an affectionate punch on the arm.  "Accepted and appreciated. But that's exactly why I have to keep things  civil with Dylan. Deep down inside, I'm just a dumb girl who would get  her heart smashed if I let things get too out of hand."

"I get it," Tank said. "I wish I could say you were wrong, or that you  should give him a chance, but..." He sighed. "Sometimes I think we're  just not cut out for this whole ‘normal life' thing."

Melody cocked her head to the side, intrigued by his tone. "Why Tank, is there a young filly who got away?"

"No. I mean, yes, there is. But..." He scrubbed his palms over his face.  "Okay, I don't normally talk about this shit, not to anyone, except for  the guys. It might be a huge mistake to tell you now."

Melody's eyes widened. "Just spill the beans already," she said slowly.

"Alright, alright. I have a kid," Tank said. "She's thirteen and-"

"Whoa, whoa," Melody said, flapping her hands in excitement. "Let the  first bomb sink in, please. Tank Stanfield has a daughter?"

"Just let me get through it, because I come out looking like a total  loser. Her mom and I, we were really young when we had her. I'd only met  Snake and Rip a few months before that, and we wouldn't even meet Dylan  and Jesper for another year. But I already knew there was something  special about the band. Unfortunately, I was also forming a pretty nasty  cocaine addiction."

Melody gave him a comforting smile. "Yet another cliché."

Tank laughed, as she'd hoped he would. "Yeah. Between the long hours  trying to nail down a record label-and then actually getting a deal-I  was a wreck. Her mother told me I wasn't a good role model. She didn't  trust me with our daughter." He tried to smile, but it was pained. The  guilt in his eyes tore at Melody's heart. "She was really civil about  it. And I didn't even fight her. That's how messed up I was."

"You haven't seen your daughter in..."

"Four years," Tank said. Melody could practically see the walls he'd  built around himself to keep that admission from wrecking him. "I only  got sober about a year ago. I send her presents on her birthday and  around Christmas, but I wish..." He trailed off.

"You know, if you're clean now, maybe you could-"

"She hates me," he said fiercely, interrupting Melody before she could  finish. "My old man bailed when I was a kid; he stuck around just long  enough to make my mom miserable. I know exactly what I'd have done if  he'd walked back into our house, claiming he'd changed."

"That's because you're a dumb, stubborn boy," Melody joked. "Your  daughter? I bet she's a lot smarter than you. And even though she might  be mad at first, if you really wanted to make it up to her, I promise  you, Tank, she'd let you."

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, but not before she saw the  glimmer of moisture he tried so hard to hide. She put her hand on his  forearm again and squeezed. "It's never too late to make something  right."         

     



 

"Dylan's a good guy, you know?" Tank said gruffly, getting a grip on his  emotions. "He's a good guy, he's just had some bad shit happen in his  life. We all have."

"I know. I'll try to be a little less civil," Melody promised with a grin, knowing Tank wasn't just talking about Dylan.

"Appreciated," Tank said.

They headed back toward the front of the bus together. Tank veered off  to return to his bunk for some alone time, and Melody continued on to  the common area. As she approached, she saw Dylan having an animated  conversation on his phone. It didn't look like a pleasant exchange. His  jaw clenched, and she instantly felt a jolt of attraction. She scowled  at her body's automatic response.

Dylan hung up the phone and flung it down on the table hard enough that  Melody heard it crack. He didn't even seem to notice. Don't be civil.

"What, did the test come back positive?" she asked, smiling to take the sting out of her words. Not civil. Check.

"Aw, fuck off," he muttered, stalking back down the hall and disappearing into his bunk.

"Good job, Mel," she mumbled to herself.

**

"Remember," Jesper instructed, a burning intensity in his eyes, "smile  and say you're feeling more creative than ever. That you're happy to be  on the road again. No details about Snake, only that we support him and  look forward to his return. Laugh off the hazing stuff, and for God's  sake, do not answer any questions about who bought the tampons."

They were in Seattle now, which was one of Melody's favorite cities.  Jesper was prepping them because a hotshot reporter from some local  music blog was coming to do a story on the band's tour. Apparently, she  was especially interested in the new group dynamic, now that Melody had  come onboard. Jesper was excited. Melody was not.

Her hair sported a purple haze streak in Jimi's honor, and she'd busted  out the guitar she'd nicknamed ‘The Professor,' thanks to its plum hue.  Her power panties and matching bra were color coordinated, completing  her pre-concert ritual. She was ready to rock. What she was not ready to  do was pour her heart out to Seattle's version of Katie Couric.

Melody hated reporters. It sort of ran in the family; her father had  once punched a reporter who had asked an invasive question about one of  the singers he had been managing at the time. Melody didn't think she'd  get violent, but she had to think soothing thoughts to avoid  pre-interview jitters. Having to speak about herself in coherent  sentences in front of someone who was hanging on her every word was a  nightmare, as far as Melody was concerned. Performing on stage was a  breeze compared to this.

The bus door opened, and Big Mike escorted a woman inside. She was  short, with a dark pixie haircut and pink cat-eye glasses that looked  more decorative than practical. Melody wondered if she even needed them.

"Chelsea Smith," Big Mike announced.

Jesper moved forward to shake her hand, and welcomed her aboard. The  rest of the guys did the same. Melody nervously glanced over her  shoulder; Dylan had been MIA since the previous morning, when he'd  cocooned himself into his bunk. They had all assumed he was sleeping off  his hangover or possibly working on acquiring another. Jesper had  reminded him about the interview a few hours ago, and he'd snapped back  that he remembered and to leave him the hell alone until then.

Melody had a bad feeling about this.

"Nice digs," Chelsea complimented. "Melody, how are they treating you?"

Melody feared she resembled a deer in headlights . "Great. Good. I mean,  we're still feeling each other out." Jesper was pinning her with that  intense look of his. "I'm happy to be on the road," she stammered.

"We're feeling more creative than ever," Rip added.

"How about that hazing?" Tank laughed.

Melody got the feeling they were making fun of her but she was too  nervous to care. Chelsea was tapping notes into her tablet computer. She  opened her mouth to ask another question, when a loud thump drew  everyone's attention to the bunk area. Melody suppressed a groan; she  knew what they would see.

Indeed, when she turned, she was rewarded with the sight of Dylan  sprawled in a heap on the ground, staring straight up at them. He  laughed. "So that's where the ceiling went."

"Shit," Jesper muttered.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Rip asked quickly, leaning into Chelsea's personal space.

"Yeah, I'll have whatever he's been having," Chelsea said, jerking her  head toward Dylan. "Dylan, are you planning on joining Snake in rehab?"         

     



 

"Fuck rehab," Dylan declared. "Life's one hit after another until you  crawl into the grave. If you're lucky, you get to have a little fun  along the way. Hey, that's not bad, is it? Maybe that can be the lyrics  to our big hit song. Just need the melody to go along with it, Melody.  Can't write worth a shit, man, and I got her to annoy the shit out of me  every day." He rolled onto his side.

"Help me get him back in bed," Jesper hissed at Tank, hurrying over to  Dylan and struggling to lift his dead weight off the ground.

"No way, I'm not leaving ," Dylan argued. "I gotta give an interview to a lady."

"I'm ready when you are," Chelsea said, with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," Melody suggested gently, worried by the reporter's eagerness to speak with the drunken Dylan.

"No," Dylan snapped, with more venom than she would have expected from a  jolly, giggling drunk. He grabbed onto the side of the bunk and hefted  himself up. "I'm not going back to my goddamn bed." He swayed a little  on his feet, then began tugging at his shirt.

"Dylan-" Jesper started, but he cut himself off and groaned as Dylan whipped off his T-shirt.