A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(34)

"Your new girlfriend is my fucking problem," Rip said, shoving back his  chair and standing as well. "My problem is that you seem to be stabbing a  brother in the back just because you're addicted to her pussy."

Dylan would have leapt across the room to attack Rip if Melody hadn't  slipped between them, putting her hands on Dylan's chest. Jesper rose  and hovered at Dylan's side, taking a hold of his arm to restrain him.

"Tank, help me out here," Jesper implored.

"No way," Tank said, still engrossed in American Idol. "He deserves to get his ass kicked for that one."

"No one is getting their ass kicked," Melody said firmly.

"You talk about her that way again, I'll break your fucking nose," Dylan yelled. "What the fuck, man?"

"You're not hitting him. Not for me," she said.

"Then I'll hit him for me," Dylan snapped.

"You can try," Rip taunted. "Fucking tragic, man. We've come to blows over a chick."

"We've come to blows over you being an asshole," Dylan yelled.

"You really are being a dick," Jesper told Rip, looking at him with the  disappointed expression that he usually reserved for Dylan.

Rip threw his hands in the air. "I'm the dick? You're the ones willing  to canonize a temporary replacement. You give her more room to improvise  than you ever gave Snake. And before you start, I'm not just talking  about tonight." Rip's eyes were wide and wounded. Dylan took a few deep  breaths, and realized that maybe Rip wasn't just being a dick. Maybe he  actually felt betrayed.

"Where is this coming from, man?" Dylan asked. "You didn't have a problem with Mel before."

"I don't have a problem with Mel," Rip said. He looked her in the eye,  an apology flashing across his face. "I don't have a problem with you,  Mel," he repeated. "It's just...you know, you're taking Snake's place.  Can't help but take his place-I mean, we need a fucking bassist. So I  don't blame you for that. I blame him," he growled, glaring daggers at  Dylan.

"I'm not trying to take anything from anyone," Melody said quietly. "I  guess I forgot my place around here with things going so well. I won't  forget it now."

"Forget it," Rip muttered. "I hope she's worth it, Dylan. You're the one  who's gonna have to live with betraying a brother over a piece of ass."  And with that, he turned his back on them and left the greenroom.

Melody stood next to Dylan, breathing unsteadily. He could see how upset she was.

"He's just acting out," Jesper told her. "Don't take it personally, Mel."

She forced out a dry laugh. "How could I possibly take anything he said personally?" she wondered, her voice full of sarcasm.

"He was out of line," Dylan told her. "And he was wrong. About  everything." He stared at her pointedly, willing her to understand that  he didn't just see her as a piece of ass, but as a talented musician, a  kind and loving person, and quite possibly the most amazing woman he'd  ever met.

Though he couldn't put all of his thoughts into words, Melody seemed to  be able to read between the lines. The hurt dissipated from her  beautiful features, replaced by the beginnings of a smile.

"Don't let him get to you," he added in a soft voice.

"I'll try, but I may need a distraction," she said, her small smile widening. "Sit."

"I think that's our cue to get out of here before we see something we  can't un-see," Jesper declared, grabbing Tank and exiting the room.

Dylan sat. He was happy to be the picture of obedience when a pretty  girl was about to sit on him. Melody straddled him again. "You need  de-stressing," she declared, practically hypnotizing him with those eyes  of hers. They were as green and vibrant as ever, but there was also a  strange gleam in them-they were suspiciously over-bright, as if shining  with unshed tears. Maybe Rip's scathing comments had bothered her more  than she'd let on?         

     



 

He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to protect her from any upset that  his bandmate had caused. Hell, he just wanted her. His grip on her  tightened and he pulled her closer, pressing her body against his chest.  He reached up, taking her head between his hands and gently pulling her  down to place a lingering kiss on her lips. She snaked her hands around  his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.

You aren't temporary, he wanted to say. You're so far under my skin that  I'll never be rid of you. He couldn't offer her words like that yet,  not even to take the sting out of Rip's biting comments, but maybe he  could offer her something else. Something she wanted for him, maybe more  than he wanted it for himself. But if he had a hope of getting his head  on straight, this was the only way. He pulled away from the kiss and  looked into her eyes again.

"You know, I've been thinking … " he started.

"Thinking of?"

"I think I want to go see my dad," he said quickly, the words rushing together. He felt her body tense in his arms.

"Are you sure?" she asked. That was a funny thing to ask, considering  she'd been dropping not-so-subtle hints of encouragement for weeks.

"Hell no," he said. "But I know you're right. It's holding me back."  It's why I can't tell you I love you. I need to be able to tell you,  even if you don't say it back.

There was a chance she might, though. And he'd never know unless he did  something to cauterize the open wound in his chest that had been  infected and festering since his dad had walked out all those years ago.

"So when do we leave?" she asked, with that small, sweet smile she seemed to reserve for only him.

While he'd hoped she would agree to go with him, he hadn't imagined she  would volunteer so easily. "We?" he asked, surprise evident in his  voice.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I assumed-wow, clingy  girlfriend much?" She started to pull away from him, which he found  totally unacceptable. He tightened his arms around her until her chest  was flush against his, her knees touching the back of the couch. His  mouth sought and found hers, open and waiting, and his tongue took a few  brief, longing strokes inside her to soothe them both.

He had to give her something, even if he couldn't give her the words in  his heart, the ones he was still too afraid to say. She had given him  far more than he deserved, and even though she projected a tough  exterior, Dylan knew that Rip's comments must still be eating at her.

"Come along." He breathed the words against her lips, so quiet that she  would be the only person to ever hear them. "I need you, Mel. You are  not, and never have been, just a piece of ass to me. There's no one else  I'd rather have by my side for this. Please come." Please don't give up  on me.

"I'm here," she breathed back, her expression trying to tell him  something that he was obviously too stupid to get. "I've always been  here."

**

Oklahoma was exactly the same as he remembered it.

Dylan's leg bounced against the seat of the rental car. Melody was  driving because she had pronounced him too jittery to be trusted behind  the wheel.

"I can't believe he only went twenty miles away," Dylan muttered. It  wasn't the first time he'd made that observation, but Melody didn't seem  to be upset by his endless repetition.

"Maybe part of him wanted to be close by," she offered.

"Maybe," Dylan said.

"What do you remember about him?" she asked. He knew she was trying to  distract him from what he was about to do. It wasn't working, but he  appreciated the effort.

"Not much," he admitted. "I was too young to remember much. So I really  only remember the bad, traumatic shit. I remember that he never wanted  to go to church with my mother. They fought about that. They fought  about everything. He drank. My mom hated it."

"Well, you've inspired your fair share of motherly pride over the years," Melody observed dryly.

Dylan grinned. "Yeah. I'm tragically unoriginal. Never quite grew out of my teen rebellion phase."

"At least you're honest with yourself," she pointed out. "Denial is what gets you into trouble."

Denial had been getting Dylan into trouble for over a decade. Probably  longer, if he was being honest with himself. Which he wasn't,  because … well, denial had always worked so well for him. Instead of  dealing with his problems, he could just ignore them until they faded  away, or drown them in a bottle of bourbon.         

     



 

"You might pull off the hat trick yet, Hopkins," he murmured softly.

She glanced in his direction. "What hat trick?"

"The one where you save the album, the tour, and my immortal soul," he quipped. Except he wasn't really kidding.

"That's a lot of pressure," she warned. "You might scare me off."

"You mean I haven't yet?" Dylan looked at her seriously. "Because no one  would blame you if you bailed." He didn't know why he kept giving her  outs. The last thing he wanted was for her to take him up on one. It was  perverse, sadistic. He needed her with him, but he knew it was only a  matter of time before he lost her.