A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(51)

And miraculously, Melody had also knocked some sense into Blue during  their meeting. It had taken him nearly six months after Dylan's visit to  pick up the phone, but by the time he'd finally plucked up enough  courage to talk to his son and ask for help, Dylan had been ready to  listen. There were things Blue would have to get used to, also-like  sobriety, for instance-but now, he had Dylan and Melody for support.

"Just breathe," Blue advised. "It'll turn out fine, you'll see."

"Thanks, Blue," Dylan said quietly.

"Give me a call after," Blue added. "You know, just to … "

"I will," Dylan agreed. He hung up and actually heeded his father's  advice: he took a deep breath and reminded himself that everything was  going to turn out just fine.

He almost believed it, too, until he heard his sister's angry voice shouting from around the corner.

Dylan followed the noise, turning onto an adjoining hallway. There, he  found Grace and Jesper having a heated argument. Dylan was shocked; he  couldn't remember the last time Jesper had had a heated argument with  anyone-it wasn't his style. Suddenly, he felt strangely hesitant to  interrupt.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, making his presence known to them.

"Hey, D!" Grace approached with arms outstretched and caught him up in a  big bear hug. "No problem here." Though embarrassed by her greeting, he  couldn't help but grin. The only reason why he hadn't felt totally  deprived of maternal affection as a child was because his sister had  been all the mother he'd needed.

"You guys seemed a little … intense, that's all," Dylan said, looking shrewdly at Jesper over Grace's shoulder.

"We're fine," Jesper said nonchalantly. "Nothing to see here."

Grace huffed in disbelief. "I can't believe you're talking to Dad," she  said, holding Dylan at arm's length again and glaring at him. "That's  what we were arguing about. Jesper doesn't want me to give you shit  about it."

"So don't give me shit about it," Dylan said wryly.

"I'm worried. You've got something really great right now. You're  happy-happier than I've ever seen you, certainly-and I don't want … "

"You don't want me to fuck it up all over again," Dylan finished for her.

Grace winced at his phrasing, but nodded. "You do have a history of that."

"That's exactly what it is," he said. "History."

"And nothing Dad says is going to change that?" she pressed.

Dylan took her hands in a reassuring manner. "Firstly, I'm not going to  let anything he says change the way I feel anymore. Secondly, you don't  have to worry about him causing problems. He's...well, he's trying. He's  not father of the year, but he stopped drinking and started going to  meetings." Dylan smiled a little. "He never cashed the check I gave  him."

Grace's eyes widened. "Well, fuck me."

"Gross," Dylan quipped, and his sister smacked him. His mischievous  smile faded, and he grew serious again. "He'd like to see you, Grace."

She sighed. "I'll think about it. I'm not sure I can handle it yet,  after everything." She gave a helpless little shrug. It reminded him so  sharply of Emma that he had to blink back a sudden wave of stinging  tears. But Grace, strong, confident Grace, shook off her dark thoughts.  She smiled at him and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead,  the way she always had when they'd been young.

"You ready?" she asked quietly.         

     



 

Dylan thought about that. Was he ready? He felt a strange sense of peace  settle into his heart, obliterating the nerves and fear that had been  gnawing at him. Suddenly he was filled with the surety that he was  exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was supposed  to be doing.

"I'm ready," he confirmed.

**

"I don't think it's right," Melody said to her reflection as she gazed  at herself in her dressing room mirror. She held a chunk of hair between  her fingers, frowning at the green streak. This color was a mistake,  Hopkins. You look like a goddamn Christmas ornament.

Melody had always liked green, but it turned out that green did not like  her-and it looked horrid in her hair. She pursed her lips in  consideration. "Screw it. I'm done. No colors tonight, just pure,  unadulterated Melody."

A quick shampoo in the sink and a panicked blow-dry later, and Melody  was back to normal. Her hair fell in soft curls around her face, and a  little bit of hairspray ensured it would stay perfect all throughout the  show.

She admired her hair. It had been ages since she hadn't had some sort of  colored streak gracing her locks, but this felt natural...it felt good.  It turned out Dylan hadn't been the only one who needed to figure out  who he was and what he wanted before true happiness could set in.

"Hey."

She turned, startled by the unexpected voice behind her, and was  surprised to see Rip standing in her doorway. He almost looked shy, a  characteristic she had never associated with the tattooed drummer.

"Hey yourself," she said back. "You ready to rock?"

He blew out a puff of air and stepped forward, offering her a large,  flat box which he'd been hiding behind his back. She raised an eyebrow  at him, but accepted the strange-looking package. "What's this?" she  asked, holding it up to her ear.

"It's not ticking," he growled. "Smart ass."

"You never know," she teased. "You could've spent the last eight months lulling me into a false sense of security."

"I am a criminal mastermind," he agreed, "but this is legit."

She opened the box, not knowing what to expect, and froze when she saw  what was inside. It was a platinum record-the single she and Dylan had  written had sold over a million copies. Above where the sparkling record  nestled, the band picture they'd taken a few weeks before had been  carefully framed. That picture said more than words ever could. It meant  that Rip had been serious when he had finally welcomed her into the  band.

They'd had a big heart-to-heart about a week after Snake's funeral. Rip  had apologized for the way he'd been acting towards her. He had  confessed that he'd never really been angry at Melody-and in fact, that  he admired her as a musician-but he had been upset by the fact that  Dylan and Jesper had seemed all too keen to keep her on as a permanent  member of the band.

"Now that you are going to be a permanent member of the band, I just  wanted to let you know that I never had a problem with you...just the  shitty circumstances we found ourselves in," he'd admitted sheepishly to  her. "I know I was a dick to you, but...it was hard for me. Snake  was..." He trailed off and closed his eyes, suddenly overcome with  emotion.

Melody had reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He'd looked up at her, startled by the touch.

"He was your brother," she'd said quietly. "I know it was hard." He'd  offered her a smile-the first genuine smile she'd ever received from  him, perhaps-and clapped a hand on her shoulder, too.

"You do his bass lines proud," he'd told her. "You've been with us a while, but...welcome to Dust and Bones, Mel."

It had taken eight months but now she stood before him, completely  floored by the present. "Rip," she said quietly, looking up at him.

"I know we've talked about it a lot," he mumbled. "And I know it's water  under and over the bridge and whatever, but I just … " He swore, running  an agitated hand through his hair. "I hate this shit. Can you just take  it and never speak of it again?"

Tears welled in Melody's eyes. She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, but I can't."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He grumbled, "Oh, for fuck's sake,  I should have known better," but nonetheless wrapped his arms around  her awkwardly. He held her for all of half a second before pulling away.

"Thank you," she said, holding the present to her chest. "I mean it, Rip."         

     



 

"It wasn't just me," he muttered. "I mean, you know that, but … well. I wanted to be the one to give it to you, so you'd know-"

"Is he done having his little bitch moment with you?" asked another  voice from the hall. A moment later, Tank poked his head into the room.

Rip glared at Tank as he exited the room, but clapped his bandmate on  the shoulder as he strode away, a gesture of camaraderie before the  concert.

"You knew about this?" she asked, gesturing to the gift Rip had given her.

Tank shrugged. "Dylan wanted it to be a surprise."

"He does love his surprises," she murmured.

Tank snorted. "Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "It's showtime, baby."

**

The band opened to a rapturous reception. It was the first time all five  of them had played together live since Snake's death. The boys had  hosted an unofficial acoustic set at Snake's favorite bar in Hollywood,  playing Snake's favorite songs, which was the memorial he would have  wanted. But tonight was their triumphant return to the stage.