A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(37)

"Hey," she said.

"Let's head into town," he suggested. "I saw a bar when we were driving in. Let's … let's go see if it's any good."         

     



 

She cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry?"

"Maybe we can get something to eat, too."

"But...I bought groceries," she said, holding up the bag in her hand.

Dylan took the bag and hung it on the knob of the front door. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the car.

"You're freaking me out a little," she warned him.

He let go of her hand and looked at her. He was wearing the most  vulnerable expression she had ever seen on his face. "I can't be here  anymore," he whispered.

"Okay. Then we'll go," she agreed at once, without thinking.

Melody got in the driver's seat again. Dylan didn't even fight her on  it. Normally she would have appreciated that, because he really was a  terrible driver, but right now it made her nervous. His silence  terrified her.

"Turn left here," he said, indicating the main road they'd taken on  their way to his father's house. She remembered the little shack of a  bar they'd passed. It had looked like somewhere bikers went to hang out.

"So...what happened back there while I was gone?" she asked quietly.

He let out a bitter laugh, a mirthless, unsteady warble. "I learned something I already knew," he answered cryptically.

A feeling of unease simmered in her belly. "That sounds ominous," she said, a poor attempt at humor.

Dylan didn't respond. The sharp cut of his jaw taunted her with a day's  worth of stubble. She wanted him to look at her, to talk to her, to tell  her what had gone so terribly wrong, so that she could begin to make it  right. But he didn't. He stared straight ahead, ignoring her comment,  and seemingly, her presence.

Soon enough, they reached the bar. Melody pulled the rental car up onto  the strip of dirt that served as a parking area. True to her memory, it  was little more than a shack in the middle of nowhere. A flickering neon  sign proclaimed the establishment was "OPE"; she figured that meant the  two of them were welcome, give or take an "N."

Again, she started to speak, but Dylan had already thrown his door open.  He jumped out before she'd even brought the car to a full stop. She  threw it into park, shut off the ignition and hurried after him, now  genuinely worried about his mental state.

Inside it was dark, poorly lit. There were only a few older men and  women seated at the bar, but that wasn't surprising, as it was before  noon on a Thursday. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, and she  spotted Dylan at the end of the bar, tossing back a shot of amber  liquid. The sight caused her heart to clench. He wasn't an alcoholic-not  really-but his behavior while drunk left much to be desired. He became  unstable when he'd had even a little too much, and she couldn't help but  begin to feel panic rising within her. He signaled the bartender for  another, and had downed it by the time she reached his side.

"Dylan, what happened?" she whispered, placing her hand on his forearm.

He shook his head and moved to the ancient looking jukebox in the  corner. He started flipping through songs. Melody wasn't sure he even  knew what he was looking for; he was just going through the motions to  have something to do, something to distract himself. He dug around in  his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He plugged whatever he  had into the coin slot and hit a few buttons.

The music started playing right away. Bob Dylan. She recognized it as  one of her favorites: Shelter From the Storm. Dylan's back was tense,  his white T-shirt pulled taut against his shoulder blades. Melody  reached out and tentatively laid her hand between them comfortingly. He  shuddered beneath her touch. She wanted so desperately to help him, to  shelter him from the storm that was brewing inside him, to keep him safe  from whatever it was they'd found in this small, dusty town in  Oklahoma.

He turned toward her and cupped her cheeks in his hands. She saw  something dark and dangerous stir in his eyes. Her emotions were all  over the place; her desire to help him was now warring with her instinct  to protect herself. Whatever he was going through, he was on the edge  of self-destruction, and Melody knew she was going to get caught in the  crossover.

She opened her mouth, still struggling to find the right words to take  away the pain he was obviously feeling, but his mouth stopped whatever  words she'd have given him as it smothered hers. He leaned into her, his  kisses long and wet and drugging. She fisted her fingers in his hair,  and held on tightly as he backed her into a very dark corner of the bar.  His hands were greedy and possessive as he clutched at her back through  the thin cotton of her shirt. It obviously wasn't enough for him. He  slid his hands beneath the fabric to roughly caress her bare skin. She  moaned against his lips as his tongue wound its way around hers.         

     



 

Then his hands dropped down and began working on the button of her jeans. She froze, the lusty haze clearing slightly.

"No, Dylan, we can't," she whispered, though her voice didn't sound very  convincing, even to her own ears. "We're not alone," she added for both  their sakes.

"I need you," he growled. "I need to stop thinking about … everything but you."

He pulled her by the waist further down the back hall, until he found an  alcove that was suitably hidden from the rest of the bar. Obviously if  someone walked by they would be seen, but that didn't seem like such a  huge risk anymore; his mouth was hot against her neck, and his fingers  had finally gotten her jeans undone. His hand plunged beneath the waist  of her underwear to play with her clit.

"Oh God," she moaned quietly. He swallowed that sound, too, nibbling  gently at her mouth as his fingers stroked and circled in just the right  way.

The bastard knew the second he'd won, the instant she was too far gone  to protest, because he removed his hand and quickly started tugging her  jeans further down her hips. She would have helped him get them all the  way off, too, if it hadn't been for the low whistle that suddenly came  from somewhere over Dylan's shoulder.

"Might wanna take her in the bathroom. Unless you like the idea of  someone watching." It was one of the old men from the bar. He chuckled  as he passed by them, heading for the restrooms at the end of the hall.

"I can't believe that just happened," Melody muttered, moving to tug her jeans back up and refasten her pants.

Dylan gave another mirthless laugh, shaking his head. "I should have  expected it. Goddamn universe can't give me one fucking thing … "

"Oh yes, you must be very disgruntled that you were caught with my pants down," Melody hissed.

"Hey, it's okay," Dylan soothed, covering her hands with his own. "We can just go out to the car."

Melody glared at him. "I'm not fucking you in the car, Dylan." It wasn't  that she necessarily objected to the idea, it was how thoughtlessly he  had propositioned her. Dylan wasn't acting like himself. Or, maybe the  problem was that he was acting too much like his old self. The one she  hadn't been willing to risk her body or her heart on because he had  seemed like such a bad bet.

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffed. "You fucked me on top of a piano in a hotel bar."

"That was different," she mumbled. It was different. You were different.  Back then I couldn't imagine not being with you another second. Right  now I barely want to look at you.

"We were alone a second ago, too," he argued.

She shook her head. "This isn't something we're debating. We got carried away. It's done. Let's just get out of here."

Dylan stiffened. "I don't want to get out of here. I like it here."

Melody narrowed her eyes at him. "You were ready to leave when sex in the car was on the table."

"And now that it isn't, I'd rather stay," he retorted.

"Why are you being such an ass?" she snapped. "I get that you're going  through something, but if you refuse to tell me what it is, I can't help  you."

"I don't need your fucking help," he muttered. "I need a bottle of  Scotch and someone to suck my dick until I can't think anymore."

Someone. The word was like a punch to Melody's gut. That was why it had  felt so wrong earlier. The connection they'd always had had vanished. It  had been absent as he had stroked and kissed and seduced her into that  little alcove.

"I want to comfort you," she said quietly, looking him in the eye so he  would be sure to understand her. "But you don't get to use me."

"Jesus, I'm not fucking using you," he growled. "If you don't want to  have sex, then we won't have sex. But I'm not up for having the  touchy-feely daytime talk show chat you want from me."

"Fine," she said. "Drink yourself into a coma. I'll wait in the car until you're done."