A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(40)

Pictures of young Dylan and Grace were scattered across the surface of  the table. An empty bottle of tequila sat beside one dog-eared shot of  Dylan holding a small ukulele in front of a Christmas tree. His two  front teeth were missing, but a mischievous twinkle was already shining  in his blue eyes, the twinkle that millions of screaming fans had grown  to love. It was a single moment of happiness, frozen forever in a  photograph. And Blue had kept it-it, and many others.

Melody stared up at the man standing before her, a man who she realized  was more complicated than she'd initially thought. It had been unfair of  her to think otherwise; people weren't archetypes. They didn't fit into  neat, easily categorized boxes. They were more like songs-no villains,  no heroes, just a whirlwind of emotion.

"What did you say to him?" Melody asked again, her voice strained from the stress of the past couple of hours.

"Nothing he hasn't said to himself a thousand times before, I'm sure,"  Blue mumbled. "Course, I doubt he needed to hear it from me, too." He  shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What I said didn't make a difference.  He was looking for a reason to run, sweetheart. It's just what we do."         

     



 

Melody barely restrained herself from screaming at him. "Do you know where he might go?" was what she asked aloud.

"I haven't known a goddamn thing about that boy since that picture was  taken," Blue said, gesturing at the picture of Dylan and the ukulele.  So, that had been the last Christmas he'd spent with his father, and  he'd gotten a musical instrument. Blue couldn't have programmed him  better if he had tried.

So much of Dylan was still that little boy, clutching a ukulele,  yearning for someone who loved him enough to stay with him. Part of her  had seen that the moment they had met in person. Part of her had sensed  how damaged he was. That was why she'd guarded her heart and her body as  long as she had. She'd pushed him away until she hadn't had the  strength to push anymore.

She stared at Blue now, so similar to his son in so many ways, both  physical and otherwise...yet to Melody, they couldn't be more different.  Unlike Blue, Dylan wanted help. He had reached out to her, opened up to  her. When he'd told her he had wanted something real, she had believed  him completely. She wouldn't have been able to take the chance with him  if she hadn't trusted him one-hundred-percent. Melody didn't believe  Dylan had run from her for purely selfish reasons, the way Blue had run  from his family. She knew there was a reason behind it; he was out  there, and he needed her help now more than ever.

Please let him be okay. Please, God, I don't know how I'll survive if he isn't.

"Why did you leave, then?" she asked Blue. With Dylan missing, and possibly hurt, there was no time for tact.

"What goddamn business is that of yours?" Blue snapped.

"He's my business," she said, pointing to the picture of Dylan. "I can  see you miss them, yet you're just sitting here feeling sorry for  yourself, single-handedly keeping the county's tequila industry afloat,  instead of trying to help him."

"Get the hell out of my house," he yelled.

"What did you say to your son?" she yelled back.

"I don't know." He slammed his hand down on the table. "I don't know,  all right? I … " He actually looked ashamed. "I asked him for money. He  gave it to me." He motioned towards the table where the check was.  Melody reached for it. Dylan's signature was shaky. She felt sick, and  she pushed it away, unable to bring herself to look at it any longer.

"I can't believe I did this to him," she murmured, guilt gripping her  heart. Why had she been so sure that some kind of happy ending awaited  him here? She had pushed him to reconnect with his father so that he  could find some closure, but she'd just ended up pushing him down the  rabbit hole-hard.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Melody didn't answer Blue's question, because she felt her phone  vibrating in her pocket. She fumbled around, trying to extricate it, and  saw that Jesper's number was on the screen. She picked up at once.

"Is he okay?" she asked, her eyes once again brimming with tears.

"He's fine," Jesper said. "Boarded a flight to L.A. ten minutes ago, the  one just before the flight you guys were scheduled for. Can you make it  to the airport in an hour?"

"Just barely," Melody confirmed. Blue said something else to her, but  she was done talking to him. That man had destroyed Dylan's psyche not  once, but twice-first when he'd been a little boy, then again just a few  hours ago. He was toxic.

"He's going to be okay, Mel," Jesper reassured her, though he didn't sound confident himself.

"He has to be," she agreed.

**

She made the flight. They held the doors for her. Jesper had dropped the  Dust and Bones name in order to get her a little preferential  treatment. She called Grace right before takeoff to update her on the  situation, but an overly-polite stewardess arrived to tell her to turn  off all her portable electronics. Though she had been loath to do so,  Melody knew that arguing would only delay their departure, and she  needed to get to L.A. as quickly as she could.

That plane ride was the longest of her life. Without access to her  phone, she had no idea if the guys had managed to track Dylan down, or  if his exact whereabouts were still unknown. She imagined him sleeping  things off at Tank's loft; she imagined him drinking himself sick at the  bar where they had first met; she even imagined him fucking some  nameless, faceless girl, her heart withering every time she thought of  it.

Even if he were doing that, at least he'd be alive.

This level of worry wasn't rational; Dylan was a grown man who could  take care of himself, irresponsible and immature though he might  sometimes be. But still...there was something about this time, about  this hit, that felt like it had been one blow too many for him. Melody  kept remembering the way he'd flung the car door open, the total  disregard he'd had for his own safety. If he was still in that dangerous  mindset, he might get himself into the kind of trouble she couldn't  save him from.         

     



 

Melody turned her phone on as soon as the plane touched down. Jesper had  sent her a text fifteen minutes prior. Her heart sank as she read it:  No update.

The next text, which was from her father, caused her heart to plummet:  You okay? Call soon, we need to talk. It would be nice to know you  aren't dead in a ditch somewhere.

Her father still didn't know about the situation with Dylan, but she  couldn't avoid him forever. Melody took a deep breath for strength and  mentally composed a letter:

Dear God,

Enough already.

No love,

Melody

She practically ran off the plane and through the terminal. She skidded  to a halt when she reached the baggage claim area and saw a chauffeur  holding up a sign that read, in big, bold letters, "Ms. Hopkins."  Obviously Jesper had arranged a car service for her while she'd been in  the air.

She ran over to the driver, who escorted her outside to where a black  sedan was waiting. She settled down into the backseat and took a moment  to try to compose herself; then she decided that her top priority at the  moment should be handling her father. Feeling apprehension writhing in  her gut, she dialed his number.

As usual, Hop picked up on the second ring. "You're not dead, I see," he said dryly.

"Sorry, Dad," she said. "It's been a crazy few days."

"Am I going to have to hurt someone?" he wondered.

"Of course not," she lied. "Dylan and I just took a little break after the last gig. It's been rough."

Hop's voice softened. "I know, Mel. I'm proud of you kids. Not everyone would have been able to keep the commitment."

"The show must go on," she declared blandly.

"I'm glad you took some time," he continued. "Bottling everything up  isn't healthy. And, though I'm still horrified by the idea...I'm glad  Dylan has you there to look out for him. He needs someone sane on his  side."

Truer words had never been spoken. "Thanks, Dad," she sniffled, tears  once again blurring her vision. Was she ever going to be done crying?

"Hey, don't blubber," he muttered. He had always hated to see, hear, or otherwise be aware of her crying.

"It's okay. I've just got something in my eye," she told him, like she always did.

"Talk to me, ladybug," he urged. "Tell me about the new songs."

She gulped. Technically, Dylan had only finalized one. "They're great,"  she declared. "Some of them are better than great. My favorite one is  probably the best song Dust and Bones has ever put out." That, at least,  wasn't a lie; the single song Dylan had managed to complete was beyond  amazing, and from what she'd heard, the remaining unfinished  pieces-including the piano melody they'd developed together-were  beautiful in a way most rock songs had forgotten how to be. Dylan was  finally living up to his namesake.