“She’s a distraction you could do without right now, we’ve too much on in the next few months. Honey trailing around after Liam is bad enough.”
“She’s in my life now,” I say through gritted teeth. “You don’t make decisions about my personal life!”
He raises a brow. “Don’t I?”
“Steve sorts your shit out, man,” pipes up Jem. “Sorts all our shit out, don’tcha Mr Steve?”
Steve smiles at him in a patronising way I spot and Jem doesn’t. “Got your back, Jem.”
The comment hits me. Jem is a fucking mess. He’s spinning like a Catherine Wheel spitting sparks around and ready to burn out, and because of Steve. He feeds Jem’s addiction, lets him have everything he wants then makes all his decisions. He keeps us all in line to maintain the Blue Phoenix brand.
Now I want something that doesn’t fit Steve’s plan and he’s not having this.
“I’m making the decisions about my relationship with Sky! Don’t even think of interfering.”
Jem mutters something under his breath and I spin around. He may not have a drink in his hand but the odour of alcohol surrounds like a grey cloud darkening by the day. How he can drink so much and stand up, I have no idea. Oh, yeah, right, I used to do the same.
“Say what you gotta say, Jem.”
“Nah, gonna say what I gotta say to her. Let her know who she’s really dealing with.”
I can’t show him I’m bothered and give him ammunition, not in front of Steve. The temptation to make his face match mine with an out-of-the-blue punch hovers.
“Jem…” Steve’s warning growl interrupts our face off and my fist.
“We’re going away at the end of the week, so more of a delay with the album because you can’t fucking play doesn’t help,” remarks Steve, pointing at Jem’s swollen knuckles.
“I thought we were getting the album finished up before leaving for the States?” I ask.
I’m planning a date with Sky this weekend, showing her she’s more important and I mean every word I tell her.
“You know we’re in Belgium this weekend, right?” asks Steve, wearily.
“What the fuck?” I ask.
“The awards night - maybe we arranged it when you were…on sabbatical. I can’t remember.”
“Someone could’ve reminded me before I made plans,” I snap.
The smirk on Jem’s face suggests I was deliberately not told; Steve keeping us in line using every trick he knows. Fuck.
“What do you think Sky will do when she sees the real Dylan Morgan?” sniggers Jem.
“Just because I’m being dragged to a shitty awards ceremony doesn’t change a thing about me and Sky.”
Jem pauses long enough to watch my irritation mounting. “I wasn’t talking about going away.”
My fist really wants to connect with this guy’s fucking face but I stand instead, and then storm out of the room. A few metres along the hallway, I rest against the wall.
Don’t do this, Jem
*****
Sky
The day after I return home, Tara insists I meet her for lunch, wanting the gory run down on my weekend in the house of debauchery. Not prepared to give the final part of myself to Dylan by announcing to anyone outside of us what’s really happening, I have to lie to her. Once I’m certain this future is real, she’ll be the first to know. Who am I kidding? Social media will be the first to know.
This time we sit in a quieter corner of the coffee shop, in a wooden booth with vintage cushioned seats and expensive fixtures. Furtive glances around the room suggest nobody is looking twice at me. I guess being ‘flavour of the month’ doesn’t last long.
Tara jumps out of her seat when I arrive, and she grabs my hand like an excited toddler. “Tell me everything! Did you meet them all? What happened?”
I extract myself and slide into the seat opposite her. “Tara, I just had my heart broken and you want to rub my nose in it?”
She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, it’s just I’ve never known a famous person before…”
“I’m not famous!” I hiss.
She jiggles for a minute then decides not to hold back. “Do you mind me asking what happened? Why did you go to his house? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him?”
I fiddle with my cup, not meeting her curious gaze. “Guess I was in denial. When I saw him it was…” Was what? How can I express this without sounding trite? “You know, he’s Dylan Morgan and I was mad thinking I couldn’t resist him.”
“Did you take pictures? Of the house I mean.”
“No. Why would I?’
“Sky! I’d die to see the inside of that house! So the band…?”
I tap my fingers and give her my ‘frowny face’ wishing she’d keep her voice down. “Yes. I met them”
“And?”
“Various levels of dickhead.” Unwanted memories of Jem re-enter my mind.
She splutters. “Various levels of hot!”
“Um, Tara? Are you listening? The weekend broke my heart?” If this were real, I’d be pissed off by her insensitivity and selfishness.
“Sorry…”
“Maybe in a few days, when I get over this I’ll feel better.”
Tara rearranges her features into concerned friend. “What happened?”
“Dylan finally understood why we don’t fit. As soon as he saw me in his world, compared to everyone around, I think he realised I wasn’t for him.”
“For someone who was so love struck, that happened fast.”
I shrug. “Not like we’d known each other long. Maybe I was just a new toy, and because he couldn’t play, he wanted me. Then when I said yes, I was no fun anymore.”
“Did you…?” Fighting back the blushing is pointless but I don’t answer. “Bastard,” mutters Tara softly.
“It’s over with,” I lie, “Time to move on.”
*****
Over the next few days, life returns to the pre-Broadbeach normality. Apart from no Grant, no real job and a relationship with a rock star conducted via Skype and text messages. If I want to see him in between, I track social media. There’s at least one new picture of him each day.
Lily Parker. Despite my refusal to be dragged into Jem’s games, the name nags at me. Jem is probably stirring something up, but why? When Jem mentioned her name, Dylan didn’t react outwardly, but he was holding my hand at the time and his grip tightened. Dylan’s words about how I can’t normally google potential boyfriends almost guilts me out of searching, but I need to know.
Taking a drink from my glass, I hold the fizzing wine in my mouth and type:
Most of the top hits are about different Lilys, who are current fans - Facebook profiles and blogs.
A mix of media reports from years ago are buried several pages into the search results. Most of the stories link her with Jem; Dylan isn’t mentioned. There’re hints at cover-ups and a refusal by Lily Parker to comment. Flicking from site to site, I come up with nothing. In many cases, I read the same press release repeated across several sites. An uncomfortable feeling something has been ‘made to go away’ creeps in. I search Lily’s full name too but draw a blank. There’s little information about her apart from she was eighteen and a student. Somehow, she’s evaded the cameras - or someone stopped any pictures being used, because I can’t find any images of her. The results are three years old, span a couple of weeks, then fade.
Why is this so bad?
I rub my face and keep digging. I can’t find or understand the Dylan connection. Something isn’t right here - why is Jem intent on linking Dylan to this? What pieces are missing?
Chapter Thirty
Dylan
I’m terrified I’m going to fuck this up, or Jem’s going to fuck this up for me. As Sky sleeps beside me, I stroke mussed hair from her face and kiss her cheek. She murmurs and buries her head in the pillow. Before Sky, waking u
p with a chick was a no-go. Dylan Morgan the rock star bastard kicked them out once he was done. But I could stay in bed with for Sky days, and never let her go.
I’m exercising massive self-control here, the scent of her strawberry hair and the lingering smell of sex from last night has me so hard it’s starting to hurt. I huff, and climb out of bed. At least we had another night to keep me going when I’m away from her, a night revealing Sky isn’t as opposed to dirty rock star sex as I thought she might be. Fuck, stop thinking about sex.
Instead, I make breakfast, the strange domestic routine I’ve adopted with Sky and want to continue. Will she continue? I’ll do anything to make this work, and escape the darkness of my life. We can help each other make sense of the world; I can go anywhere and be anything with the strength I find from Sky. Sky’s strength to walk away from her relationship with Grant and not fall in a heap amazes me. Her life is a struggle to find what she wants, exactly like mine is; but am I deluding myself if I think walking away from this life will pull me away from the darkness following?
The toast pops in the toaster and I pull it out, pouring hot water into a mug with the other hand. I know how Sky likes her tea - how many sugars. I’ve never known these small things about anyone before and this proves to me I love this woman. Stupid I know.
Sky approaches behind and wraps her arms around my naked chest, her smooth hands rubbing the muscles then sliding towards my abs as she rests her head on my back. I turn around and draw her to me, running my hands down her delicious curves, before squeezing her ass.
She’s in a pink towelling robe. I bet she’s naked under there, and I want to find out.
“No bacon?” she asks, detaching my hands from her beautiful backside.
“You don’t have any.” I slide the plate of toast along the bench towards her.
Sky runs her tongue along her teeth, and she surveys my body. “Do you often make breakfast with just your underwear on?”
I look down at my black briefs. “Want me to get dressed?”
The coy smile she gives me answers before she does. “No.”
“Want to go back to bed?” I say quietly, giving her my best seductive smile in return.
She takes a bite of toast then blows hair from her face. “More sex and still no proper date…”
“I’m taking you to London when I get back.”
“London? Why London?”
“There’s a restaurant I like that’s a bit more private than your local Italian place would be.”
“Long drive home…”
“We don’t have to come home. I have a place in London.” ‘A place’ sounds funny, not the best description for one of the most expensive addresses in the city.
“Of course you do.” She rolls her eyes. “Gold plated taps, I hope? I noticed they were lacking in your little house in the country. How many ‘places’ do you have exactly?”
I slide my hand inside the front of Sky’s robe and make contact with her naked breast. I knew it. As I try to undo her robe, she bites her lip and slaps my hand.
“Dylan Morgan, stop trying to distract me!”
Her darkened pupils indicate exactly the effect I’m having on her, the subtle pink in her cheeks turning me on because I know I’m doing the same to her. Fuck, we hardly need to touch each other and my dick gets hard.
Sky’s look drops to the hard-on filling my black briefs. “Honestly, Dylan…”
“What can I say? You fucking turn me on,” I growl and grab her ass for the third time.
“I get the feeling Jem wants to get between us. Why?”
Talk about a clever way to stop me. Shit. I release her then focus intently on taking teabags from the cups and dropping them in her kitchen bin. “Because he’s a dick.”
How long can I hide this?
“He seems a bit extreme. He scared me.”
“When?” I glance around sharply. “What did he do?”
“At your house when he was high, I thought he was going to do something to me. He said something about you trading girls.”
Fuck. “That was a long time ago, Sky. I did some stupid shit, as you’ve seen in your internet investigations.”
Sky picks at her toast with her delicate fingers. “I know. Is there anything I need to know about?”
This is my opportunity. But am I going to take it? I spoon Sky’s two sugars into her tea and pass her the yellow mug. Picking up mine, I tip my head to the lounge and she follows me through.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, perching on the sofa.
“I know you’ve had sex with a lot of girls…”
I cringe. “I’m clean. I got tested a few months back and haven’t been with anyone since then.” I look her in the eyes. “Apart from you.”
The cute Sky pink spread across her cheeks and I resist the urge to take hold of her and do things I know will stop her asking questions.
“There are a lot of stories out there, and I know the media makes stuff up, but is there anything not ‘out there’ you should tell me?”
“Like what?”
She sips her tea. “I don’t know, a love child, secret wife, something like that.”
My heart fights its way out of my chest. Now. Tell her now. “No.”
Sky’s shoulders relax. “So in Broadbeach all you were running from was your life?”
“Pretty much.”
I need to blank the memories of the past, and lose myself in Sky’s world. If she won’t live in my world, I’m going to live in hers. A wave of her fragrant hair hangs in her eyes and I take hold of the strand, twirling it around my finger.
Sky touches my bruised face with her soft fingers. “Will you tell me what happened? Was this Jem?”
“Possibly.” Since I arrived last night, she’s nagged me about the result of Jem’s punch covering my face, I thought she’d dropped the subject.
“Or your manager?”
“Why Steve?”
“Because of the way he treats you, Dylan. Like a naughty kid. Was he the reason you left for Broadbeach?”
“No, because of everything, I had no control. I told you.” I can’t help the hardness in my tone; I’m not ready to face this. I need to choose my time.
“And who has control of your life, Dylan?” she asks pointedly. “Not you at the moment.”
“Yes, I know, nothing’s changed. Can we leave this topic of conversation?”
Silence comes between us, not the usual comfortable silence but one filled with suspicion and unanswered insecurities.
“Has anybody tried to contact you since you came back?” I ask.
“Like who?”
“The media. Fans. Things got a bit crazy back there…”
“Not really, it’s you they’re looking for; I don’t think I’m very interesting on my own.”
“Yeah, one thing about Steve, he does a good job redirecting people to where he wants them to go.”
Sky sucks her lips together. “Evidently. Like awards nights?”
I stroke her face. “At least the press will follow me to Belgium.”
“Hmm.”
“You could come?”
Pointless asking, I know, she’s taken one step into my world and I can’t push her, even though I need her with me. She has no idea how much.
“I don’t think so!”
“I thought I’d ask anyway.”
Sky snuggles into me, tucking her head under my chin in the spot her head fits perfectly. “You don’t go for a few hours, right?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re distractingly naked?” I shiver as she traces a finger down my six-pack towards the edge of my briefs. Fingers I’d like playing across other parts of my body. “Now I know you won’t fuck me and leave me, can you show me some more of your rock star sex?”
Despite the fact I’d be a hundred percent content with sitting here and cuddling Sky for the next few hours, so I can hold the memory when I’m alone in the hotel later, there is no fucking way I’m
refusing her request.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dylan
I sit in another faceless hotel, in another luxury suite and the panic seizes my chest again. This is two days away doing TV stints, not even the tour, and already the discomfort creeps in. I can’t do this.
The hotel apartment is what is termed “well-appointed”. Penthouse living with sweeping views across the city. Honeymoon style - enormous bed covered in white bedding that swallows you up when lying down, a huge TV, spa bath - the works. Exactly the sort of place I’d love to be with Sky, but she refuses to come.
I pull open my suitcase, burrowing through my clothes to the small bag at the bottom. The brown leather bag contains my shower gel, shampoo - scents to remind me of who I am so I don’t have to use hotel soap and smell like half the other guests.
The small plastic container of pills sits alongside the shell Sky found on the beach the day the sea pulled her under. Popping the lid, I study the tiny white tablets and grit my teeth, annoyed medication is what I have to do to hold things together in public.
This is why this life has to end.
I need my space; a place to get myself sorted. Creativity won’t happen when I’m being wheeled out like a puppet for stadiums and a mind calmed by benzos isn’t a creative mind: everything is dull. The fans aren’t stupid, and I can only put on an act for so long.
One night here, one night Germany. Did Steve deliberately not tell me? He knows about the panic attacks and how I’m turning to medication to get through this bullshit. Pills I didn’t need in Broadbeach, with Sky.
Sky, my beautiful, smart-mouthed girl who won’t give her whole self to me and for the same reason I can’t be myself; this fucking suffocating life.
Is it wrong to hope Jem ends up in rehab and the tour is cancelled? He’s my best mate. Or was. We’ve spent years fucking up our lives and each other’s; of losing control and never realising until we’d been swallowed by the false world we created.
A knock on the door intensifies the panic and I take deep breaths, regaining control before I answer.
Liam. With Honey and a brown haired version of Honey in tow - even their tight leopard print dresses match. Uh oh. I narrow my eyes at Liam and he pulls an apologetic face. Talk about pussy whipped…
Summer Sky: A Blue Phoenix Book Page 22
