by Lisa Swallow
“Look at you,” I say instead, with a laugh. “Swapping pubs for soirees. Your life is over, Liam.”
He scowls at me. “Heading home to your wife?”
This is the point we could chat about exactly this; a month married in our different worlds. I avoid the topic, too weird.
Liam eyes me as he drinks from his beer. “Heard a rumour about you, Dylan.”
“My life’s full of that shit, Liam.”
“Nah, I heard you met with Jack Kennedy”
Jack. The producer I chatted to one night when I was in St Tropez, an evening spent drunkenly hatching plans for working with him on an album. On my own. “Not officially.”
“Does Steve know you’re planning a solo career?”
“I’m not.” Liam cocks a brow, and I huff. “Even if I did want to write my own album, it wouldn’t affect the band. After the tour, we’re not recording at least until next year.”
“Sounds like this is all planned out.” Liam’s not pissed off, but curiosity lies in his face. “I’d talk to Steve before you make any real plans.”
“Maybe Steve not involved is part of my reason for this.”
“Check your contracts before he kicks your ass, Dylan.”
“Can we not get into this conversation now?”
Liam gives a small shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Who’d you reckon I should invite to the party?”
“If I were you, I’d let Cerys choose.”
“Meh.” He drops his arm, and we head across the polished wood floor to the back of the rehearsal room. Liam pulls his car keys from his pocket and pauses. “Don’t fuck up the band, Dylan.”
The doors bang closed behind Liam, cold wind blasting in as he leaves, and I stare after him. My plans to record on my own, to put myself out there as Dylan Morgan and not part of Blue Phoenix, crystallised over the last couple of weeks. I don’t intend to walk away from Phoenix; they’re my life and a part I’m more at peace with recently. But I crave to be me, to have control, even if just once. I’ve no interest in forming another band. I wouldn’t screw the boys over.
In an adjacent room, voices carry as Ruby Riot pack up too. Hell, we’re giving a new band a chance, a bloody good band who will hit the ground running once they’re out there. Isn’t giving them the opportunity to tour with us a bigger threat to our position at the top of the rock industry than I could be?
One thing I’m learning from life with Sky is everybody should live the life they want because one filled with maybes and doubts leads to angry regret.
My new life with Sky opens up a bigger world than I ever imagined a year ago and my planned project is one more step to taking my life back.
16
DYLAN
Mid-February, mid tour, and I’m surprised how I enjoy performing again. Before we cancelled the tour last year, my head was a mess, fogged with pressure and self-loathing. At each US concert, I went through the motions: a puppet for the masses. Stadiums. Faces. Lights. Hotels. Drink. Rinse and repeat. The whole band did. Exhausted from years on the road and the conflict escalating, it’s no surprise the four of us almost fell apart permanently.
The break allowed oxygen into the suffocating vacuum our lives became, each of us taking a dip back into reality and happiness. Even Jem. I’m surprised but relieved he’s forging a genuine relationship, not only with Ruby but with us too. I hold onto the hope this is Jem’s new start, and she’ll keep him away from the half existence he trapped himself inside. Jem talks to me more. He’s back to the guy who laughs and jokes around instead of spitting vitriol and pushing everybody away.
Bryn’s odd since we arrived on tour. I’m unsure if something happened to piss him off before the tour started or whether his stunning sister’s arrival on tour and the attention from the Riot boys causes the moods. Yep, Jem’s pet project, Ruby Riot, are here, as promised. At first I was dubious in case Steve had agreed to this in order to keep Jem sweet. Then I heard the band play, and I can’t deny their talent. They’re the best support act we’ve had in years.
Sky joins us, but she isn’t a fan of the tour grind and already hints she’s heading back to the UK. The disastrous US tour last year has put her off, but I selfishly don’t want Sky to leave. I worry about Lily, still, but we’ve seen or heard nothing. Private investigators tracked down Lily’s address and my legal team sent a stern warning to leave us alone. We couldn’t threaten Lily with police action, but maybe the legal attention will scare her. Sky assured me if Lily contacts her, she will tell me. I agree the same.
Latest stop: Paris.
I rest against the table in the Green Room with my beer, a quick catch up before I find Sky. She wasn’t at tonight’s performance, always a sign she’s about to leave the grind. I’ve promised her we’ll head out later, to somewhere exclusive where we won’t be hassled. I’ve visited Paris countless times, but there was never any romance involved back then. Now I have Sky, tapping into the real Parisian world makes sense.
My big concern: will the press follow us? So far, we’ve avoided evenings out on tour, and this will be a test. Sky won’t want to stay if people are in her face. We could be lucky. Riot guitarist, Jax, is under the spotlight more this tour, and anything that deflects attention from me is good.
Jax, the man-child, stands opposite now and talks loudly about our lack of partying. I zone out. He’s a great musician but an immature kid full of his own self-importance. He reminds me of a young Jem a little, though I doubt he went through the fucked-up childhood Jem did. Middle-class English boy versus kid abandoned by a shit single parent.
I’ve watched Jax’s swagger and laughed to myself. Sky told me I should have a quiet chat with him and her opinion amused me more. My own experience tells me he wouldn’t listen to a word I said. Sure, I’m only five years older but with ten years’ worth of living.
He’ll learn a thing or two this tour. Such as keeping his hands off Bryn’s little sister if he doesn’t want his face rearranged. I bloody hope the situation brewing between the three ends soon. The easiest solution would be for Bryn to send Tegan home, but I don’t think that’ll happen because Tegan’s as full on as Jax. She’s not very mature but knows her own mind. Jax is unaware Bryn isn’t himself at the moment, or that his well-hidden temper is closer to the surface than usual. Fist fights between the two bands would be quite a story, and one I hope this never comes to.
At least Bryn’s in a better mood after performing tonight, the time of day he loosens up. He’s back to teasing and quipping; maybe he’s over whatever happened with him and the chick in England.
“How’re you feeling now, Ruby?” Bryn asks. “Still sick?”
“Getting better,” she mumbles.
I study her pale face and skinny figure, her scarlet hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Doesn’t look any better to me. I stop listening and zone out, taking my phone from my pocket. A message from Sky. I start to reply as the banter continues around me.
“You are! You’re fucking pregnant!” I snap my head up as the conversation intrudes and stare at Jax’s reddening face. “For fuck’s sake!”
Jax grabs a new beer from the table, pushes past Bryn, who steps to one side in surprise, and storms out of the room.
“Are you?” asks Bryn. “Is she?”
“It’s okay,” she mumbles to Jem.
“Yeah. Ruby’s pregnant.”
The words smack me with enough force to push air from my lungs. Jem? The conversation continues, but all I hear are the words in my own head. Ruby’s having a baby. Jem’s having a baby.
Jem’s grinning. “The best fucking thing.”
Ruby doesn’t look at me, sinking under the weight of Jem’s arm around her shoulders and the situation.
How the fuck? Did he plan this? I cancel the message I’m typing to Sky and stare at the phone, losing track of everything around me. The door bangs closed once as Jax leaves and a second time as Ruby follows.
I watch her walk out, as shock
ed by the news as I bet Jem was, and fight the coiling pain inside. A stunned Bryn looks at Jem.
“Man, I was joking at first. Jesus, I don’t know what to say.’
“Yeah.” Jem rubs his fingers across his lips. “Don’t have to say anything, it’s cool.”
“When’s it due?” I ask. “The baby.”
“July”
The pain spreads upwards and crushes my chest. “Right.”
Jem narrows his eyes at me. “You could be fucking happy for me.”
“I am. If you are. It’s just”—I wave a hand towards the door—“you guys split. I saw the mess you were in. That was only a few months ago and now you’re having a baby together? Isn’t this too soon?”
“Wasn’t exactly planned, but, y’know sometimes these things happen for a reason.”
Like Sky’s pregnancy. Like losing our baby. I can’t look Jem in the eyes in case he can read me again now he’s sober and see the shattered emotion. Most of all, I couldn’t stand to see the excitement I held a few months ago reflected in his eyes.
These things happen for a reason. I blink. The word congratulations would choke me, and if I stay here, we’ll fight. “I guess they do. Sorry, have to go. Meeting Sky.”
I stumble into the hallway, the old wound pulled open by Jem’s news. My reaction to him was shit, but the shock rippled through and pulled apart the healing wound in my heart. Our baby was due in July.
This isn’t fucking fair.
Sky’s in the hotel suite, sitting on the huge bed with her laptop open. She looks up, eyes shining as she sees me. Her unruly hair is piled on her head, and she’s dressed in her slouchy blue pants and my grey Henley she likes to borrow. My heart aches further. I need her in my arms, and selfishly want Sky to take away my pain that’s heading her way too.
“You’re early. I thought you were having a drink with the guys first.”
“I did.” I sit on the bed next to her and close the laptop lid.
“Quick even for you.” She leans over and places her lips on mine before pulling her head back when I don’t respond. “What’s wrong, Dylan?”
“Nothing.”
She arches a brow. “Liar.”
If Sky touches me or attempts to hold me, the levy will break. I’m stupid. I shouldn’t react like this. The miscarriage was over two months ago. But however much I repeat this in my head, my grief lingers.
Sky will hear the news soon, and this needs to come from me, but I can’t talk about this yet.
I cup her cheek in my hand. “I’ll take a shower, and then we can leave. You ready to head out?”
Sky gestures at her clothes. “Sure, I’ll go like this. I can pretend it’s a new designer look?”
“Funny. Get changed. I want to go out as soon as I’m ready.”
She straightens at my gruff tone. “Uh? What the hell is wrong with you? A few days on the road with Blue Phoenix and you’re back to your rock god attitude?”
She’s teasing, but my head hurts too much for this. I rub my temples to prevent a snappy retort. “Please. We should leave soon.”
I close the door to the ensuite softly even though I itch to slam the hell out of it.
Get a grip, Dylan.
SKY
As usual, the staff hide us towards the rear of the restaurant. The one Dylan chose is hidden at the back of an exclusive hotel, overlooking the lit gardens. Parisian elegance features in all the decor, from the glass chandeliers dripping from the ceiling above select diners to the upholstered chairs arranged around perfectly white-clothed tables. Dylan isn’t looking elegant tonight. The mood he’s in, I didn’t prompt him to dress more suitably and left him to walk out the hotel in jeans. At least he has a shirt on and not a tee, even if it’s partially unbuttoned with no tie. I’m always amused when, despite the disparaging looks, places like this wouldn’t dare refuse him entry. He didn’t comment on the short, black dress I changed into, or touch me.
Something’s wrong.
Dylan focuses hard on the open menu, and his face slips back into the sadness from before. I reach across and take the menu from his hand.
“Speak to me, Dylan. Did something happen tonight? You were pissed off about the sound in Madrid. Is that still happening?”
“No.”
I curl my fingers around his and squeeze. “Is one of the guys pissing you off? Or Steve? This isn’t like you. You’ve been happier recently, and now it’s as if you’ve been hit by the misery train.”
He bites his lip and doesn’t reply. I’m running out of possibilities here. Did he tell somebody about his solo album plans and cause another band meltdown?
“I know you’re over touring, but this is the last few dates. Then you can decide what to do about your solo project, about your future.”
He looks up, meeting my eyes properly for the first time since we arrived. “We can’t plan a future.”
The recent, bright Dylan isn’t in those eyes. “What? Of course we can.”
“Things happen out of our control. Our whole life together has been crazy and uncontrollable.”
A cold fear trickles along my spine and a million scenarios crash into my head. “That’s very doom laden and not true, Dylan. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Jem.”
Dylan looks down again, and I long to reach out and stroke his face, hating Jem could be about to drag everything down again. Their bond never loosens, even in the toughest times. They hate as much as they love each other; the pair are brothers but not by blood. If Jem’s killing himself again, Dylan won’t cope.
The low voices of the restaurant fill the silence as I grapple with what to say next. “Is he using again?”
“No. Something else.”
“Then what did you fight about? Must be something big, you’ve been good the last few months.”
Dylan leans back in his chair and grabs his wine glass. “Yeah.” He drains the glass in two mouthfuls and picks up the bottle to pour more.
“Dylan, you’re worrying me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“We don’t hide anything. Ever. We promised.”
Deep inside, I agree. I don’t want our happy, married bubble bursting with reality. Life has been kinder to us the last couple of months, and I hoped we’d turned a corner. But what can Jem do that would upset me enough Dylan won’t tell me?
“Has he been in touch with Lily and caused problems again?” I ask, mouth drying.
Dylan shakes his head and opens his mouth to reply. Then stops. He swears and drinks more of his wine.
This is screwing with my head. “Dylan?”
“Jem and Ruby are having a baby.”
“Oh. Right.” His words don’t register at first; my brain won’t allow them into the closed corner. “I thought you were going to tell me something terrible.”
Dylan stares up at me. “In July.”
I swallow. “Dylan… We need to move on. The date will be hard when it comes but don’t focus on this.”
“I know. I had. Or tried to. But this is a punch in the guts, right? Ruby’s due the same time as our baby was.”
“Don’t be shitty about this with him.” I can’t go here; do this. Not again. Not now. I fight a smile and struggle with the growing emotions waiting to curl around my heart. I push them firmly away. “Jem, a dad? No way.”
Dylan watches me warily. “I know, right?”
“I can see why it was a shock. I can’t picture it, to be honest. Those two with a baby…” I bite my lip. “Sorry, judgemental of me.”
Dylan’s mouth tips into a wry smile. “Yeah. Reckon he won’t know which way up to hold it.”
I snort. “I bet baby’s first word will be ‘fuck’.”
Dylan laughs and kicks me under the table. “Sky!”
“What?”
“You’re hilariously inappropriate sometimes.” His smile is weak, eyes hiding the truth. This is hard. Dylan slouches back into his seat again. “I knew I
should’ve spoken to you straightaway.”
“Yes. You should. Holding things inside is bad, you know that.”
“I can’t help how it made me feel, Sky.”
“It hurts my heart too,” I whisper, “but we can’t change the past.” I take a long drink. “Besides, Ruby’s skinny. I think I’d notice fairly soon.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
We hold hands across the table and hold onto our defence against the past sneaking in to spoil things again.
“Jem’s mini-me lost his shit when Ruby told us,” says Dylan.
“Jax?”
“Yeah. I kinda understand why. The baby’s not a great move for the band.”
I laugh. “You know what? Rock stars are worse than a bunch of schoolgirls. Always misunderstandings, bitching, and full on flouncing.”
“I do not flounce!”
“No, maybe not now, but I bet you were a Jax once-over.”
Dylan’s grip on my hand tightens. “I love you. How do you do that?”
“What? Make you love me?”
“No, make me forget shit. Bring me down to earth.”
I lean across the table and touch his lips. “I’m a ‘rock star whisperer.’”
“You’re fucking awesome.” The table shifts as Dylan stands and reaches across the table to grab my face. Before I get a chance to respond, he overwhelms me with the kind of kiss Dylan is a master of. Passionate and loving, with the right amount of toe curling.
In front of a very decorous, designer-dressed fellow clientele partaking in a refined evening out.
A glass clinks and something wet seeps against where I’m steadying myself on the table.
“You spilled my wine.” I wipe at the mess, dark red staining my napkin. “Crap.”
A waiter appears with the pretence of clearing up the spill, but underlying his presence is the implication we should stop what we’re doing, or leave.
Dylan releases me and winks at an open-mouthed woman at the next table. He grabs his jacket from the chair and holds out his hand. “Screw this. Let’s get room service instead.”
