A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(30)

"Thank you," Grace said sincerely.

"Yeah, thanks, Mel," he said. He pressed another kiss to Emma's  forehead, and she playfully batted him away, much more interested in  everything Melody was pulling out of her box of tricks.

He also gave Melody a kiss on the side of her head, his lips barely  brushing her hair. She leaned into him slightly, offering silent  comfort. He wasn't sure how he'd ever tell her how good it felt to have  her there with him. Then Grace led him outside, closing the hospital  room door behind her. They faced each other in the hallway.

"I've never seen you with a girl before," she said finally.

He laughed incredulously. "You've seen me with a hundred girls."

"No, I've seen a hundred girls with you," Grace clarified. "I've never  seen you with anyone. And boy, are you with that girl. Thank God I think  I like her...not that I'm in any state to make that kind of a judgment  call right now."

"About that," Dylan said. "I never mind a trip to see you guys, but you  really scared the shit out of me with that middle-of-the-night phone  call."

Grace burst into tears.

"Shit, shit, shit," Dylan muttered, wrapping his arms around his  sister's heaving body. The last time he could remember her crying like  this had been after their father had left. And after she'd cried herself  out, she had never cried again. From that day onward, she had been calm  and stoic, Dylan's anchor and protector. "Hey, it's okay. Emma looks  great. She's gonna be okay."

Grace pulled away from him and angrily wiped at her eyes with the backs  of her hands. "No, Dylan, she's not." She shook her head. "You don't  understand. How could you? I barely understand."

"Then explain it to me," he said, his throat feeling tight and overused,  the way it did at the end of a tour. But this wasn't the end of the  tour; it was the middle. They still had a week left on the road. Three  days until the next concert. He suddenly realized Grace's mouth was  moving, but he wasn't listening to her. He didn't want to listen to her.

" … like a false victory. After all the treatments, her body just can't  handle it anymore. The doctor says this is a last burst of energy before  she … "

"They can't know that for sure," Dylan said. He didn't need to hear the  whole explanation-or any explanation at all-to know that all the doctors  were wrong. "Miracles happen all the time. They can't be explained and  they get written up in medical journals." He was no doctor, but he read  the news. People recovered on their deathbeds all the time.         

     



 

"I want to believe she has another miracle coming," Grace said slowly.  "But they said she was going to die when she was six. And then again  when she was eight. It was always different. Every time, I had this  feeling, I just knew she wasn't going to leave me." She shook her head,  her face crumpling. "But I don't feel that way this time. My little girl  is so tired. I can't ask her to fight anymore."

"So you're just giving up?" Dylan asked, outraged. "That's bullshit!"

"I'm not giving up," Grace replied in a harsh whisper. "I would cut my  chest open if I thought it would give her another happy day on this  earth."

"Then for God's sake, don't just write her off," he yelled.

The door to Emma's hospital room opened suddenly. Melody poked her head  out, a deceptively bright smile on her face. "Hey, guys, we're making  lanyards in here," she said loudly. Then, she added in a harsh whisper,  like the one Grace had used, "And we'd be having a really good time,  except we keep hearing screams out here. So I suggest you keep your  goddamn voices down." The door slammed shut again without another word.

Through her tears, Grace managed to choke out a laugh. "Yeah, I really like her."

**

Dylan's lanyard was bright pink.

"You're funny," he told Melody.

"What? Emma chose the color for yours, not me."

He dropped his irritated expression and smiled at her. "You were really great with her earlier."

"She's easy to be great with," Melody replied. They had spent hours with  Emma, smuggling in a cheeseburger lunch to replace the disgusting  sludge the hospital passed off as food. Melody had been especially  delighted to find she and Emma shared a love of French fries. Dylan had  enjoyed watching them together, even if they were eating mountains of  grease, because it had been so bracing to see Emma have an appetite.

In the span of four hours, Melody had made six lanyards with Emma,  located an awesome burger joint and brought in provisions for them,  finished a load of laundry for Grace, and found a place to pick up  gelato on their way back to the hospital.

Now they had retired to Grace's house, and Melody was currently  unpacking, hanging up their clothes in the small closet of the guest  room. Pictures of Emma were everywhere. Dylan watched as Melody walked  over to one and stared at it silently. It was from a concert a couple  years ago; Emma was cuddled up to Snake, hugging his arm and clutching  an oversized teddy bear with a bow on it, a present which he had  obviously given to her just before the picture had been taken.

"He's not as much of an asshole as he'd like you to think," Dylan confided, walking up behind her.

She turned and looked up at him. "I don't think he's an asshole."

Dylan watched her carefully for a moment. "But you do think something about him."

Melody sighed. "This isn't really the right time."

"There's never going to be a right time," he said. "We're not due back  at the hospital for an hour, so you might as well get it out of your  system now."

‘It's not like I'm bottling up a fountain of rage," Melody said, rolling her eyes. "It's just … I wonder if he's a bad influence."

Dylan snickered. "Babe, I hate to remind you, but I'm a fuck-up all on my own."

"Yes, that wasn't in doubt," she replied, flashing him a saucy grin.  "But I'm not talking about the little things, like, I don't know,  falling off the stage because you're too drunk."

"That only happened once," Dylan protested.

"I'm talking," she said, ignoring him, "about the kind of  self-destructiveness that can swallow you and everyone around you  whole."

"Well," Dylan argued. "He's got some demons. We all do."

"Sure, I get that. What I'm worried about though is that his demons  might be too much for him," Melody cautioned. "And you, too."

"They're not," Dylan said tightly. "I've known Snake for half my life.  He can get a little intense, sure, but he's not going to go off the deep  end. You don't even know him." His chest constricted uncomfortably; he  wanted to end this conversation. Her words made him feel like she could  see inside him to the places where he was more damaged than Snake would  ever be.

If she thinks Snake's a lost cause, what would she think about me? She'll leave when she finds out. Hell, she'll run.         

     



 

"You're right," she agreed quietly, placing a tentative hand on his  forearm. "I don't know him. And if you say that Snake is … " She wrinkled  her nose. "Isn't his real name something like William?"

"Wilson," Dylan said.

"Wilson McCreedy," Melody repeated. "Wow. He sounds like someone I'd hire to do my taxes."

Dylan laughed. "He'd actually be able to do them, too. Before we could  afford a business manager, Snake took care of our finances."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"In a parallel universe, he probably would have gotten his MBA," Dylan confirmed.

"Well, if you say he's a good guy, I guess I need to trust you," she  said. A little bubble of warmth ignited in his chest. She trusts you.  Don't fuck it up. She smirked at him, oblivious to his inner dialogue.  "And what would you be doing in this parallel universe?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Probably tending bar somewhere.  Trying to get a certain gorgeous, green-eyed girl to notice I'm alive."

Melody pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Flattery will get  you everywhere." Her mouth moved from his jaw to the hollow of his  throat. "I'm going to say something here that you're probably not going  to want to hear, but bear with me, okay?"

He sighed. "Just say it."

"If Snake is more than the sum of his parts … maybe your father is, too."

He groaned. "Not this again. Why are you so hung up on this?"

"We've talked about it twice," she noted dryly. "I'm not exactly nagging you."

"You'll notice that my father didn't ever bother to reach out to Grace,"  Dylan said. "He tried to reach out to me. Because I'm the one with the  money."

"Maybe he doesn't know how to talk to the little princess he left  behind," she said. "Maybe he's more comfortable talking man to man. Or  maybe he's exactly what you think he is, a person who has no place in  your life."