by Lisa Swallow
“Hey, man,” says Dylan as I halt in the doorway.
He glances up and between us, nodding in greeting.
“Ruby not with you?” asks Dylan.
“Nah. Doesn’t need to be. She asked to come with me but don’t want her involved, yeah?” He sips his coffee and looks at me over the top.
I cross my arms against my chest, heart speeding up again. I need to do this. “Dylan, is it okay if I speak to Jem alone?”
I expect Jem to show alarm, but he doesn’t look up again. Dylan chews a finger and doesn’t hide his confusion. “Uh. Okay.”
“‘S’okay,” replies Jem. “Think we need to.”
I pull out a chair and sit opposite Jem as the door clicks closed behind us. “Sorry,” I say.
He frowns. “Why sorry?”
“That you were involved in all this.”
“I chose to come to the apartment that night, Sky, and I’m glad I did.”
I clasp my hands together, perspiration building along my back. “So am I.”
Silence descends, and I gaze at the small window above Jem’s head. “Do you think she would’ve hurt me?” I ask eventually.
“Not sure. That’s why I went to you.” He rubs a hand across his forehead. “I was involved from the start, wasn’t I?”
I take a breath, hating not just the day Rhys was born is in the room with us, but everything her involvement in our lives caused. “The past is done with. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Jem laughs softly. “You sound like Ruby.”
“About the birth…” I begin, tentative, gauging how far he wants the conversation to go.
He shifts in his seat. “Fucking nightmare.”
“It gave you nightmares?” I say with a tiny smile.
“I was scared,” he says in a low voice, glancing at the door. “So fucking scared I’d do something wrong and I’d have to tell Dylan his kid had died. Or both of you.”
I close my eyes. “Don’t, Jem.”
“Sorry. You asked.”
“Thank you for everything you did. Not only dealing with Lily and helping me until the ambulance came. You were strong for me. You could’ve freaked out.”
He laughs. “I was freaked out. Never expected us to share a moment like that.”
I can’t help the heat growing in my cheeks at the intimacy of him being at Rhys’s birth, how we will never be able to leave that behind. “More than that. I remember you holding my hand, talking to me, being who I needed. I saw a different Jem.”
He snorts. “And I saw a different Sky.”
I stare at my hands. “Okay, we leave the topic, right?”
“Too damn right.” He pauses. “I hope she gets what she fucking deserves.”
“Me too.”
He studies me. “Are you okay? After today. Must’ve dragged shit up.”
“No and yes,” I admit. “But it will be over soon.”
“Will it?”
“Closure.”
He sets down the cup. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding talking to you, but I didn’t know what the hell to say.”
“Me neither.”
We share a smile, the rebuilt barrier between us slipping, but we still don’t know what to say.
“I should find Dylan,” I say and stand, legs shaking again at the intruding memories, at the relief Jem’s spoken to me, and I’ve finally had a chance to thank him. For a moment, Jem watches me, rubbing his face, and I swallow down the thickness in my throat and squeeze away the tears. “I need…”
I fail to hide a sob, and I hate, hate, hate this part of me, on the edge of tears all the time. I want to be strong again, to conquer this.
“Shit, Sky.”
Through blurring vision, I see Jem stand and approach me. My racing heart speeds, then stutters in shock as he places his arms around me. I stiffen, unsure what to do as the man who once hated me, who possibly saved my life, enfolds me in a strong hug. Jem, the man who avoids physical contact with almost everybody. Do I hug him back? More memories burst through at his actions, his scent reminding me of the night that’s in the room with us now.
I can’t breakdown in front of him; he’s dealt with enough. I squeeze him too, a brief moment, then step back.
“Thank you for what you did.”
Jem nods but doesn’t speak again, sits back down, and picks up his coffee, returning to his thoughts.
The dynamic between the three of us switched that day, and I’m now bound as tightly to him as Dylan is. I doubt we’ll ever discuss this again, but the fact he opened up to me, if only for a few minutes, brought the calm I needed.
34
SKY
“Mr Pouty Face!” I say.
“I don’t pout.”
“Much.”
Dylan, the rock star, in a TV studio green room, stands in a corner, arms crossed as he watches the other chat show guests on the monitors. He pokes his tongue out, and I reciprocate.
Dressed in a black shirt, T-shirt beneath, he plays with his rings, twisting them around. The only ring he wears on his left hand now is his wedding band, and doesn’t always wear the others he did when we first met. The star buried by his day-to-day life is with me; I’d forgotten the way people react to him until I watched how they behaved in his presence today. He’ll always silence any room he walks into and never lose the effect he has.
My stomach flips as I study this Dylan. Not “daddy Dylan” but full on sexy as hell, extraordinary man who chose me. The surging need for his hands on me happens more readily the last few weeks. Our trip to the past in Cornwall was the best move for our future.
I shift Rhys onto my hip. “Look, Rhys, daddy has his broody, rock-god look ready for his fans. Reckon you can do the same one day?”
Rhys struggles against me, reaching out for the toys I brought and stacked on the table, so I place him on the floor where he sits and grabs one. Dylan’s first live performance on the popular chat show, and we’re both here, a cheer squad Dylan claims he doesn’t need, but I know he secretly does.
“Did you tell them I don’t want interrogating after the performance?” he asks.
“You’re the last guest.” I point at the other guests on the monitor. “Cole Daniels always has a lot to say. He’ll take up all the time telling salacious stories, and the show will overrun if the host starts quizzing you too. All he’ll do is show your album cover and talk you up.”
Dylan rubs his arm. “Never done this without the boys. Bryn normally does all the talking.”
“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you went solo.”
“I have not gone—” He catches my eye. “Ha ha. But you told the producers, right?”
“Yes. They have strict instructions from your manager not to mention the band.”
“Manager, huh?”
We continue to joke about my new role in his musical life, and each week I’m pulled further into liaising when Dylan doesn’t want to. His earlier attempts to communicate what he wanted to people ended in frustration. I might be the forthright one, but Dylan’s refusal to accept anybody disagreeing with him isn’t helpful when he’s trying to navigate his career.
This also pulls me back into a world outside babies and battles with postnatal depression. I do things at my own pace and on the days I can.
“Yup. And you always thought you’d be the one telling me what to do.”
Dylan approaches and seizes my ass, holding me against his hips. “Is that right?” He kisses along my cheek to my neck, fingers sliding up my leg, sneaking around to my backside. “You know I can get you to do what you’re told, too.”
He knows. Dylan always bloody knows the power he has over me. I slap his hand away. “Do you want footage of this on the internet?”
“Who says there’re cameras?”
“Who says there isn’t?” I incline my head. “And there’s your son….”
Rhys sits nearby, whacking a plastic toy against the nearby sofa.
“I guess.” He strai
ghtens my skirt. “Later, Mrs Morgan.”
He leaves my blood running hot and knows me well enough to recognise he’s had the effect he’s intended. Dylan moistens his lips and rakes a leisurely gaze along my body, before his darkened eyes meet mine.
“Stop that,” I whisper.
Dylan smacks my ass with a laugh, then glances up to check the time again. “I really don’t wanna do this.”
“Jeez, I understand why your promotion company gets pissed off with you.” I smooth his shirt with both hands. “The public have been waiting for this.”
He scowls, but a hint of a smile lifts the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’m gonna be awesome, right?”
“Of course you are.” I pat his arm with mock condescension.
A studio runner pokes his head around the corner and beckons Dylan. He kisses my head, and as he strides off, I slap his ass in retaliation for earlier.
“Good luck and watch out for the exploding panties!” I call.
He pauses and looks round. “Sky Morgan, you are in a lot of trouble later.”
I blow him a kiss. “Looking forward to it,” I call after him.
I sneak around to the back of the TV studio and slide onto a chair in the audience, with Rhys on my knee. The last time I saw Dylan play, he was with the band in Europe, and his heart still wasn’t in the music. This time he’s different.
Rhys looks in the direction of the music, quiet, already recognising his dad’s voice. The session musicians fade into the background, Dylan beneath the lights with his guitar, the distinctive voice holding the excited audience in rapture.
I’d hoped the first track Dylan played me, “Evermore”, would be his first release and it is. The emotional ride he takes the listener on in this song, carried by Dylan’s distinctive voice, ends with exploding vocals, which can’t fail to move people.
This is the song people will ask about. What do the lyrics mean? Who did he lose? I choke back proud tears I promised myself I wouldn’t spill as he sings his heartache and hope, from our lost baby to his fear and joy over our second pregnancy. The song, written before Rhys arrived, quashes any industry doubts he’s fooling himself he can produce the same musical quality alone.
Something injects the song with a different beat and rhythm to Blue Phoenix. Dylan confided in me one reason he chose this track is because Jem liked it, and the pair worked on chords together. Even when Dylan goes alone, he still returns to his beginnings, to Jem.
We don’t see the band members often. Quinn, five months older than Rhys, already has a personality to rival that of her parents. Rhys’s relaxed nature changes with his frustrated determination to stand and move, or communicate. Quinn and Rhys will grow together. It’s inevitable, and we joke one day they’ll be as close as Dylan and Jem. One thing’s sure, they’ll bond through the privileged life they’re bound to have. Ella’s protectiveness over the two children she sees as her own siblings also grows.
Despite Dylan’s decision to step away, the Blue Phoenix family of misfits move forward together, rather than apart.
35
DYLAN
Summer.
We promised a celebration for family and friends, for the disgruntled relatives and disappointed acquaintances. Sky and Dylan never had their wedding of the year; but Sky and Dylan had the wedding they wanted.
Following endless discussions and attempts to talk ourselves out of the situation, we agree to shift the focus from just our marriage to a celebration of love, life, and success. The band members’ lives diverge more and more as the months pass. Jem and Ruby remain closed off or busy with Ruby Riot, Bryn’s crazy change of pace sees him in Australia a lot, and Liam’s the only one we see much of. Sky and Cerys are friendly and spend a lot of time together when we’re in London, which is great for Sky.
The music industry lauded my album, but every interviewer who’s game enough to ask wants to know if this is it, Dylan Morgan now a solo artist. I tell them all the same thing: I needed this out of my system, to prove to myself I could. Next year, I’ll take what I’ve learned back to the band, and we can work on blending our creativity again.
This album meant a fuck load to me, but the band means more. There is, and always will be, something special that comes from my collaboration with Jem. The world always saw it, and some in the industry put Morgan and Jones up there with Page and Plant, Jagger and Richards. Never in my eighteen-year-old’s dreams would I’ve predicted that. On the last album, the friction destroyed some of the synergy. The band is now back on track as people, and this will show in the next recording. Blue Phoenix are—and always will be—fucking awesome.
Sky arranges glasses and bottles in the kitchen, insistent she’s involved in overseeing everything rather than the caterers. Invites were extended to close friends and family only, but add in partners and others who’ve talked their way into the event, and more attend than we originally planned.
I study her for a moment, at the blue summer dress moulding the curves I can never keep my hands off. I hope this is one with buttons down the front. Rhys sits on the floor next to her in a seat, watching his mum. How can I have enough love in my heart to give them both the amount they deserve? I don’t know, but I do. Sky was once everything I needed, but now without either of them, I’d be lost.
I did lose her, for the short time she was lost to life in her confusion and despair. She apologises for dragging me down too, but all the pressure came from within myself. I hated I couldn’t fix the situation, that everything was out of my control. My unwavering love for Sky—and watching her strength in the battle she fought and won, seeing my love reflected in her eyes—gave me the strength I needed.
Heading over, I’m about to place a sneaky hand on her ass when she reaches behind to stop me.
“Hello, Dylan.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Uh huh.” She turns and wraps her arms around my neck, planting a swift kiss on my lips before turning back to her task.
I wrap my arms around her waist, and place my chin on her shoulder. “You don’t need to do this. We have caterers.”
“I like to keep busy.”
I spy the open bottle and wine glass. “Sky…?”
“What?” She turns and gives me an innocent look before reaching for and drinking from her glass.
“Don’t drink too much before the party even starts.”
“I’ve had one glass!” she protests. I raise a brow. “Maybe two.”
“Tara’s arrived.”
“Oh, awesome!” She sets down the glass. “Where are they?”
“She’s on her own.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Sky, all these people started arriving, and I can’t do the host thing without my hostess.”
“Hostess.” She pulls a face.
I lean down, pull Rhys from his seat, and laugh at my son’s T-shirt. “Since when did Blue Phoenix clothes come in baby size?”
“Since the band started procreating. I think he looks cute.”
“Most mums would’ve dressed him up for the occasion. You’re funny.”
She reaches her arms out, and I pass Rhys to her. “He’ll spill drinks over and possibly be sick on himself before collapsing and falling asleep. A Blue Phoenix T-shirt suits those activities.”
“You hinting at something?”
“Like father like son.”
“I don’t behave like that anymore!”
“Yeah, tame dad.”
I grab the ass I’m itching to get my hands on. “Stop being cheeky.”
Rhys reaches out to me, babbling. Seven months old and he’s sitting and interacting a lot more, which I think Sky finds easier. Like he became a person, his strong personality difficult, but counteracted by smiles wrapping us around his little finger.
Sky’s mum appears in the doorway, dressed in a long skirt and smart shirt, accompanied by an unimpressed look. Sometimes I see expressions on her face that match Sky’s, and occasionally I’m subject to her matching fo
rthrightness. Good thing I’m used to that particular family trait.
“Sky, leave that.”
“I told her, but she won’t listen.” We don’t want a lot of people in the house, but Sky’s family and the band members stay with us. Ella rushes into the room shrieking Rhys’s name. He turns his head and reaches out to her.
“Can I play with him?” she asks. “Quinn is in the garden. Can he come?”
Just turned seven years old isn’t quite grown-up enough for me to feel happy handing him over, so I follow Ella into the garden. Quinn and Ruby sit on a blanket stretched out in the quieter lawned area.
Ruby’s long, scarlet hair is clipped from her face, shoes kicked off next to her. As ever she’s dressed in her own style, a black dress with roses matching the colour of her hair and lips.
I place Rhys next to Quinn who leans over and hugs him. Ruby laughs. “She’s a bit over-affectionate with people. I think she missed seeing him.”
“I heard she’s walking now.”
“Yeah. First birthday next month and she’s already on the move. Handful.”
Quinn’s dark curls and brown eyes make her the image of Jem, and she already gravitates towards music. If their personalities are similar, I’d hate to imagine what he’s facing in the future.
Ella sits and drags Rhys onto her lap, her hair falling forward as she grabs nearby toys and attempts to persuade him to play. Rhys throws a plastic block at Quinn’s head whose shocked look turns to tears.
“Rhys!” I call. “Sorry.”
Ruby shakes her head. “All good. They’ll hug and make up soon, usually do.”
“Hmm.” I cross my arms. Yeah, I can do the kids thing, but only with mine. Others? Not comfortable.
“Jem around?” I ask.
“With Liam.” She points in the direction of the large room at the back of the house, where we’ve spent year after year together kicking back watching TV or listening to music. “Cool. You okay to watch them?”
“Sure. Karen wants to come cuddle them all so I’ll be with you soon.”
Chatter from inside the house drifts towards us, and I can understand why Ruby’s happy where she is. “This is bigger than I thought,” I say.
