A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(21)

Melody nodded slowly, wondering what could be so important.

"I looked for her," Dylan whispered. "Keith Richards. The guys think I  didn't. I let everyone think that, because … " He frowned. "I don't really  know why. She was a nice cat. She was kinda stand-offish ‘cause she'd  been alone on the street for so long, but sometimes she would let me  scratch her belly, or she'd curl up next to me at night. I looked for  weeks and put up flyers and even posted an ad on Craigslist, but I never  found her." He took a breath. "It just … it bothered me that you thought I  didn't care about her."

Melody put her hand on his arm and squeezed gently, because he looked  like he needed the contact. He had truly cared about that poor little  cat. Then again, that shouldn't have surprised her. She no longer  believed Dylan Bennett did the things he did because he didn't care; in  fact, she was beginning to suspect he behaved the way he did because he  cared too much.

Don't fall under his spell. You thought the same thing about Ian, and  you were wrong. This could be another heart-crushing, dignity-smashing  embarrassment, and you're running right into it.

But...what if she wasn't wrong? What if this was the real Dylan, a Dylan  who had been trapped beneath layers of grime and behind walls he had  constructed around himself to keep everyone else out? A man who would be  capable of opening his heart, fully and completely, if only he weren't  so afraid of what the consequences might be.

She drifted to sleep holding onto his arm, arguing with herself about whether or not she should let him go.

**

The bus pulled into Billings, Montana, nine hours before showtime.  Melody opened her eyes just as they rolled to a stop, the faint memory  of Dylan lying beside her lingering in her subconscious. It felt, in  some absurd way, wrong to have woken up alone. Don't go there, Melody.  It was a warning and a mantra. She wasn't doing a very good job of  heeding it.

All the guys were roaming around the bus in a zombie-like stupor, the  alcohol and late night coming back to haunt them. Rip put on a pot of  coffee, and Jesper pulled out the blender. Dylan started gathering the  supplies for the hangover remedy, and Melody put toast in the toaster  while Tank portioned out little ibuprofen tablets for all.

By the time sound check rolled around, everyone was feeling remarkably  human. Melody had put a streak of neon yellow in her hair this time. The  color made her feel happy and melancholy all at once, which, she  supposed, was a fair description of her current mood. Clouds were  gathering outside, and it smelled like rain was imminent. Ever since  she'd been a little girl, Melody had always felt like rain, so rare in  Southern California, had signified that change was coming. She worried  whether she would like it when it did.

"So, I've got a surprise," Dylan said, once they had all taken their  places on the stage and run through a few basic sound check rituals.

"You're finally getting the surgery," Rip guessed. "Vaginal rejuvenation changes lives."

"He had that surgery months ago," Melody teased. "Just look at how he eats."

"Shut up, assholes," Dylan muttered. "I wrote a fucking song."

Everyone was silent for a few seconds, glancing back and forth to make sure they'd really heard what they thought they'd heard.

"Like, an actual song?" Tank asked .

"Music and lyrics by Dylan Bennett," Jesper clarified.

"Listen, if you all don't collectively fuck off, I'm not going to play  it for you," Dylan threatened, but there was a light in his eyes that  Melody had never seen there before. He had been drowning since before  she had met him, she realized, and this was the real him finally  breaking the surface and gasping for air. This was the man who had  mesmerized her when she had listened to his music.         

     



 

"We'll play nice," Jesper said quickly. He delivered a friendly punch to Dylan's arm. "I'm proud of you, man."

"You haven't heard it yet," Dylan warned.

"Still proud," Jesper said with quiet confidence.

"I'm reserving judgment," Rip said with a grin.

Dylan started strumming on his guitar. He was using the beat-up acoustic  again. Melody noticed it had been attached to his hip ever since  Seattle. The tune he played for them was sweet and simple, almost  folksy-but it had an edge that would sharpen when Tank brought the  electric to it, and would intensify when Rip brought the beat. It would  ooze charisma when Jesper brought the rhythm, and it would make people  swoon once she added the bass line she was hearing in her head.

Then, Dylan started to sing. It was intoxicating. Dangerous. Sexy.  Everything you wanted a rock star to be. Melody watched him, her mouth  hanging open. He leaned into the microphone, his lips touching metal as  he sang about want and longing and raw, unrestrained desire. Something  clenched low in her belly just listening to him.

When he looked her straight in the eye, her nipples hardened.

Oh no. I am so screwed.

**

After Dylan had performed the song he'd written, everyone had swarmed  around him to envelope him in a congratulatory group hug. Melody had  felt so proud of him, not to mention excited that one of her favorite  artists was one song closer to putting out a new album. It was still  surreal to her that she was a part of their family now...if only for a  little while. She was just happy to be here.

With him.

God, he was getting to her. Trying to make her fall into the dark, scary  unknown of what they might be together. The worst part was, the little  swoon-worthy, panty-melting shit knew it, too. But that knowledge didn't  make Melody as irritated-or frightened-as it once might have. Now it  only served to excite her.

They were playing two nights in Billings-"Cowboys love old school rock  ‘n' roll," Jesper informed them-which meant they were getting a hotel  room when the gig was done tonight. Melody wanted to weep at the thought  of having a large, soft hotel bed and a proper bathroom all to herself.  She was going to scrub every inch of that tub and then she was going to  take a long, well-deserved bubble bath.

The show was going well. The crowd was eating up the music, screaming  and cheering themselves hoarse. Melody could feel that there was a  different energy in the band tonight-perhaps because they had all been  inspired by Dylan's new song.

"Now, you all know we don't normally do covers," Dylan was currently  saying to the crowd, "but there's an artist that means a great deal to  me, personally. He's a hero, for lack of a better word."

Melody frowned and glanced down at the set list by her feet. There were  no covers listed on it. She looked up at the guys, but they didn't look  blindsided at all.

"Tell me something, Melody," Dylan said, his attention still on the  crowd. At least, he made it seem that way. She got the impression that  his attention was solely focused on her.

"What would you like to know, Mr. Bennett?" she asked into her own  microphone, injecting some sauce into her voice for the sake of  performing for the crowd.

"Could you recognize a famous song with only the first few notes, and  play me its bass line?" He grinned at her because he knew damn well that  she could. She was a huge fan of Dust and Bones, but even the truly  dedicated couldn't memorize every song without the ability to play by  ear.

"I guess you should test me and find out," she answered teasingly.

A few moments and notes later, she took a stab at it. He lobbed her an  easy one: I Want to Hold Your Hand. Grinning, she played the bass part  easily. Dylan responded by trying out another: I Can't Get No  Satisfaction. Again, she played the bass, though this time she smirked  at him while she did. When he stopped playing, she stopped as well.

"Try this one," he said.

She recognized it immediately. Bob Dylan: Lay Lady Lay. It was the kind  of song that got hard wired into the brain. It conjured images of big  brass beds and long afternoons full of lazy love. She caught his eye and  slowly, determinedly, started playing the bass line. This time, he  didn't stop. He waited until the rest of the band joined in, Tank  riffing wildly on the melody.

It sounded amazing. And that was before Dylan opened his mouth.

"I'd like to send this one out to a special girl tonight. Now, you all  know I love parties, drugs, sex, rock ‘n' roll, the whole nine. But  every now and then you meet that special someone that challenges the way  you see the world. And tonight I'd like to dedicate this song to her,"  he told the crowd. Melody's heart beat faster, but her hands didn't  falter. This suddenly seemed too important for a stupid mistake. And as  he started to sing-his gaze never wavering from hers, his intent in  every phrase that spilled from that wicked mouth-Melody, for the first  time began to embrace those feelings she had been denying for so long.         

     



 

**

As soon as the final encore was over, Melody bolted. Her palms were  sweaty, and she felt like she wanted to throw up in a dark corner. This  was exactly what she had sworn she wouldn't let happen. Even though he  was sexy and compelling and talented, she was supposed to remember that  he didn't have any layers-except he did-and that he was a bad idea for  her already damaged heart-except maybe he wasn't-and that he would never  love anything more than he loved himself-she was still pretty worried  about that one.