"It's perfect," he said quietly, staring down at her. "You're fucking perfect, you know?"
She laughed. "Dylan, I'm far from perfect. I'll probably have to get a heart transplant at thirty-five, because mine will end up corroded with bacon fat and French fry grease. I'm great at telling other people what they need to do to live their lives better, but I suck at taking the right steps for myself. And I'm a coward," she finished, her emerald eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Not true," Dylan said decisively. "You came on tour with us." He hesitated, because this next part was going to be hard to say-but nothing was harder than the idea of living without her. "You became a part of me. I don't even know how it happened. One minute you were driving me crazy, and the next I couldn't imagine my world without you in it."
"Dylan," she whispered.
"Just let me fucking get this out," he begged. As long as she let him keep talking, he could delude himself into thinking he hadn't lost her. "I know I fucked everything up. I got caught up in all this shit, and I couldn't see a way out. I thought I was trapped in a cycle, just like Blue, but the thing is … " He paused again, desperately searching for the right words. He'd practiced this speech a thousand times, but he'd never found the perfect way to phrase it. Now he'd have to wing it-as always, time was forcing his hand.
"What's the thing, Dylan?" she asked softly, her mouth pinched with worry and pain.
"I understand that I don't have to live that way anymore." He held his hands out to her in a placatory manner, entreating her to believe him. "I don't want to lie to you and say that I'm a hundred-percent healthy and well-adjusted, because I'm not."
"You'd be a piss-poor rock star if you were," she teased.
He smiled-she wouldn't be teasing him if there wasn't hope. "That's very true, Ms. Hopkins. You told me all along that when it's real, it's worth getting hurt. And I want that. I want it to be messy and hard and sometimes painful-and completely worth it. I don't want to run anymore. I don't want to be my father, Mel...I want to be the man who deserves you."
"Really?" she asked, her lower lip trembling. Tears were beginning to leak down her cheeks.
"Baby," he muttered, cupping her face between his palms. He brushed his thumbs gently under her eyes, wiping her tears away. "I hear music again. Everything's different because of you. Everything's better. And the less I drink and the more I deal with my shit, the better it will get." He held her face with gentle pressure, leaning down so their noses brushed. "I love you, Melody. I always have. Please, please say I haven't fucked this up beyond salvaging. Please tell me some part of you wants to-"
He never got a chance to finish, because she cut him off with a kiss, her mouth connecting with his, wet and warm and open.
Dylan decided to take that as a very good sign.
16
8 months later.
Dylan cracked one eye open as the alarm clock radio clicked on. A troupe of local DJs was on the air, discussing the only thing anyone had been talking about for days.
"... and if you haven't heard it before, you must have been trapped under a log-Dust and Bones' new single is tearing up the charts, coming in at number one on our countdown for the third week running."
"I thought they were over," said one of the female commentators from the morning show. "I mean, Dylan Bennett is hot, but after they lost Snake McCreedy-"
"Most bands can't survive that kind of thing," another host agreed.
"Not only are they surviving, they are thriving. If you haven't gotten tickets to their concert tonight at Madison Square Garden-well, you're screwed, because they are totally sold out."
A smile curved Dylan's mouth. They had sold out their Madison Square Garden show, a show which marked the beginning of a six week tour to promote the upcoming album. When Hop had first told them he thought they were ready to fill the Garden, the news had been bittersweet; it was an accomplishment they'd dreamed about since they had first formed the band, but now one of their members wasn't there to enjoy it with them.
The DJs wrapped up their conversation, and the number one single in question went out over the airwaves.
"Mm," Melody mumbled beside him, turning and pressing her nose against the crook of his neck. Her limbs were tangled up in his; she was enveloping him, which was precisely the way he liked it. "Our song's going to end up getting played at cheesy weddings for years."
"There are worse fates," Dylan murmured, pressing his lips against the side of her head. He breathed in her scent, content to have her close.
They had spent a long time talking about how they should handle their relationship; neither of them really knew how to do the whole "long term" thing, and they'd also wanted to be respectful of the band. They were still ironing out the details, but Dylan had a plan, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was heading toward a future he could be proud of.
"I can't wait for tonight," she said. "It's gonna be amazing."
He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by José's personalized ringtone which began blaring on her cell phone. She bolted upright and clambered over Dylan's body to grab the phone off the nightstand. He rolled his eyes; she had warned him that her relationship with Lennon was something he would have to get used to, but he'd had no idea how big of an impact the gigantic horse-dog would make on his life. Not that Dylan didn't have a soft spot for the big guy; he just didn't think it was necessary for José to call with trivial updates quite so often.
"What did the vet say?" Melody asked in concern.
Frowning, Dylan sat up and tugged at her arm. "What happened?" He'd be devastated if anything ever actually happened to Lennon.
Melody took his hand as she listened to a lengthy explanation from José. Dylan watched with baited breath as she frowned, gasped, groaned, and finally thanked him and hung up.
"Well? Is he okay?" Dylan demanded.
"He's fine," she said, heaving a sigh. "He ate part of the couch."
"Ah. That ugly couch that I hate?"
Melody glared at him. "You mean the beautiful one that was the first thing I ever bought for my apartment?"
"That's the one," Dylan confirmed, grinning. "Good boy, Lennon."
Melody let out an irritated snort and flung the sheets back, slipping out of the bed. "I'm taking a shower."
Dylan enjoyed the view as she walked away. Today was bittersweet, but he had a feeling that by the end of the night, the sweet would far outweigh the bitter, and he smiled as he visualized the finale of the concert. Then he realized Melody was wet and naked in the next room.
He delighted in her squeal of pleasure when he joined her in the shower.
**
"Would you calm the fuck down? You're gonna give me an aneurysm," Rip muttered.
Dylan flipped him off good-naturedly. "This is kind of a big deal, you know."
"We know, man, but you're gonna faint or something if you don't chill," Tank said.
"You're like a teenage girl waiting for a cute guy to call her," Rip agreed.
"Oh, leave him alone," Jesper chided. "He's finally growing up-he needs our support now more than ever.""You can all go to hell," Dylan said cheerfully. His cell phone saved him from whatever response they might have made as it began to buzz loudly. He took it out and glanced at the caller ID.
Blue.
"Give me a minute," he said to them, ducking into the hallway outside the greenroom. He answered the phone with a tentative, "Hey."
"Hey. Wasn't sure if I was calling too late." Blue's voice, though still alien, was also intrinsically familiar to Dylan. The few memories he had of his father from his early childhood were saturated with that same gruff rasp. Decades of whisky and cigarettes had increased the grit in his father's tone, but it was still good to hear it again after all this time.
"Forty-five minutes till the show," Dylan answered. "Not sure I'm gonna make it."
Blue chuckled. "Don't worry. This is the right move for you, kid. You've got a good head on your shoulders. You're ambitious...though God knows you didn't get that from me."
"Oh, I don't know. You did a great job keeping the Oklahoma alcohol industry afloat," Dylan joked. "For what, almost thirty years?"
"Forty, smart ass," Blue mumbled. "What the hell are they gonna do without me?"
"I can't wait to find out," Dylan said. It was still a little awkward to express emotion to his father, but, like many other things in his new life, he was enjoying the experience of getting used to it. Melody had been right after all-though it had nearly destroyed him, confronting Blue had given him the power to break his cycle of self-destruction.