A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(43)

For a moment, Dylan had stared at one of the four men on the planet who  had known him longer and better than even his own family. "I don't know  what to do," he'd confessed.

"I do," Snake had assured him, leading him to a leather couch. He'd  produced a bottle of premium vodka from a paper grocery bag, and had  tossed it onto a cushion beside Dylan. "That'll cure whatever ails you."

"Fuck. I thought you're sober now," Dylan had said. Snake had only  laughed, and had proceeded to open a bottle of his own and take a large  swig. He should have known better than to assume that rehab would work  on Snake McCreedy.

They'd been drinking ever since, downing vodka as if it was water. Snake  had been a little too quiet for a while, messing around with something  in the kitchen. Just as Dylan was thinking about getting up and seeing  what he was doing, he reappeared suddenly, humming a merry tune, bearing  with him a silver tray upon which cocaine was spread out like fairy  dust.

"No, thanks," Dylan said. The last thing he needed was to be more awake.

"More for me," Snake declared cheerfully.

"Hey, y'know, thanks for helping me out," Dylan said. "I know I didn't  say it before, but thanks. And also thanks for covering for me." He was  pretty sure that Snake had lied to the guys when they called, asking if  he knew Dylan's whereabouts.

Snake shrugged. "Shit man, Rip's been like a brother to me my whole  life, but you were the first real friend I ever had. You're the leader  of the band. Jesper may do the management stuff and whatever, but you're  the...you're like the guy, you know? The shit I've pulled, you could've  kicked me out years ago."

"I would never have done that," Dylan said. "You're our brother. You're one of us."

"Yeah, tell that to your little honey," Snake snickered, cutting a neat line of the powdered drug and snorting it in one go.         

     



 

"Don't talk about her," Dylan warned, real menace in his voice.

"Peace, dude," Snake said, holding up his hand. "I'm not gonna be a dick  about it. I'm out now, and everything can go back to normal. We don't  have to make a big deal out of it."

Dylan's gut clenched-yes, things would go back to the way they had been  before the tour, wouldn't they? Snake would resume his place as bassist  for Dust and Bones, and Melody would be out of his life. Forever. God,  it hurt just thinking about it. He wanted to stop remembering the last  thing she had said to him, and the last thing he'd said to her. His  chest tightened, like a vice was closing around him.

When he'd been a kid, he'd foreseen a dark-but manageable-future for  himself: it was the life he would have happily lived, had he never met  her. But Melody had come along, and she had taken a sledgehammer to the  cold world he had built for himself. The girl with the bright green  eyes, the missing melody to the songs he'd been struggling so long to  write...he'd been happy with her, for a little while. Even after  Emma-his mind still shied away from that pain, still so fresh and  sharp-he had been at peace with Melody. The music had come to him again,  not the kind born from angst and longing, but the kind that only  stemmed from pure, perfect joy.

He'd never believed that he deserved her, but he had actually convinced  himself he might be able to keep her. The joke was on him, of course;  even if they'd ever had a chance, he'd certainly blown it by now. No  matter what she claimed on the phone, not even Melody would be able to  see past how broken Dylan was. That was the real disease inside of him:  he didn't think he would cheat on Melody or leave her the way Blue had  left his family, but he knew he wasn't good enough for her. He'd always  be too weak, too lost, too emotionally damaged to make her happy.

"Dude." Snake held up the silver tray. Half a line still remained. "You've gotta try this. Epic."

"Not in the mood," Dylan said. He hadn't had too much alcohol tonight-in  fact, he felt like he was sobering up. It seemed he was so caught up in  wallowing in his misery that he couldn't even conjure the energy to  binge drink or do drugs anymore. Pathetic. "You should probably lay off,  man. You just got out of rehab."

"But I'm cuckoo for cocaine." Snake laughed at his own terrible joke.  "Don't worry about it, I know my limits. And I wasn't exactly sober in  rehab."

Dylan shook his head. "Of course you weren't."

Finishing off the last line, Snake collapsed on the couch beside him.  "This is just like the good old days, huh? Remember the night we found  out we got signed?"

"Not really," Dylan admitted. "I remember...body glitter. And a girl with a tarantula?"

"Fuck. That was so hot," Snake said.

"Mm," Dylan said in a noncommittal tone. The huge, ugly spider had  actually freaked him out, but he could understand why a guy who called  himself ‘Snake' would be into that sort of thing.

"God, I wish we could go back to that," Snake continued. "Everything was  new and exciting. We were young and wild, about to hit the most magical  transformation of our musical lives."

"I remember when Jesper didn't believe that two years later we'd be playing in stadiums," Dylan agreed.

"We were babies," Snake said. "Fuckin' wet behind the ears, desperate to  get some easy action. Not that that's changed," he added with a dry  chuckle.

Dylan tried to imagine it now: the debauchery, the girls, the random  hookups with groupies who were all too willing. He felt ill at the  prospect. That was all that remained for him.

Would this be his punishment for being so weak? He hadn't stayed away  from Melody, like he should have; now he would be doomed to want her for  the rest of his life. No one else would ever be able to compare to her.  She'd warned him that it would hurt, but he hadn't been prepared for it  to hurt this much. This was beyond pain. This was like his rib cage had  been ripped open, and his heart, still feebly beating, had been left  exposed and vulnerable to the world.

While it might make for a cool album cover graphic, it was a shitty way to live the rest of your life.

"What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life?" Dylan muttered, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Snake slapped him on the back. "Let's start by worrying about the rest  of your night," he decided. "Fucking sweet, man, I think I just found  some Vicodin in the couch cushions. That'll keep you from whining like a  thirteen-year-old girl on her period."         

     



 

Dylan eyed the pills for a moment, seriously considering it. They would  certainly take the edge off his agony. Then he sighed and shook his  head.

This was the reason he had known he shouldn't call Snake-and it was also  the reason he had called Snake. Because Snake was weak, too. All the  others, even Rip, would have called Melody and asked her to take Dylan's  sorry ass off their hands. And if that had happened, he would have  forgotten that he was doing this for her own good. Because he was weak.  As weak as his father, just in a slightly different way.

Snake was the only one who was as lost as Dylan. That deep-seated pain  was what they had initially bonded over. Jesper always worried that  Snake got Dylan into trouble, but it was really a symbiotic  relationship. They were a co-dependent pair of dumb fucks and  this-sitting around with Snake, watching him do whatever drugs he could  get his hands on-was going to be the rest of Dylan's life.

The thought alone was enough to drive a man to drink.

**

The early evening sun beat down on them as they languished on the golden  beach. Sunset was Melody's favorite time of day. Her limbs felt heavy  and warm, particularly with Dylan's body pressed against the length of  her back as he cradled her in the sand. His mouth touched her ear, his  breath tickled her skin.

"Best Beatles era?"

"Easy," she said, stretching against him like a cat. "Help! It's got  Yesterday, Ticket to Ride, and I've Just Seen a Face. It's all hope and  want and bright, sunny tomorrows."

He started humming You've Got to Hide Your Love Away in her ear. "I don't know. I like Let it Be."

"That was their last album," she said.

"There's something magical about that. The end of something beautiful."

"Okay, Donnie Darko," she muttered.

He kissed her shoulder, deftly untying the bikini string around her  neck. "You like me this way," he teased confidently. "You like the  darkness in me; you like that I drive you crazy by disagreeing with  everything you say."

"Clever boy," she said approvingly.

They were on her favorite beach, the one she'd wanted to show him  because it was hidden from all but a very select few. The Internet  didn't know about it yet, which made it her favorite spot in California.  Waves lapped gently against the shore as the sun sank slowly into the  water. Everything around them was at peace. A clean sea breeze swept up  from the open water to caress them.