by L. V. Lewis
“What if that’s not what I want?”
He stops and turns his head to look directly at me. “Wait...what don’t you want? Us parting ways, or you parting ways with the band?”
“I don’t want to leave the band. George and Finn are part of the band, too, and I signed a contract to work with all of you, so that’s what I plan to do.”
He nods, as if in understanding, but still looks as if someone kicked his puppy. I look down because I know I’ll fall apart if I keep looking at him while he’s talking. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to miss someone that you see almost every day?” His voice has the same effect on me as looking at him, though.
My heart twists like a pretzel in my chest. I have missed him too, but I have no idea how this current conversation is going to go, and I’m not admitting anything at this point.
“I have an idea,” It’s the most noncommittal thing I can think to say.
When I get the courage to do so, I look back up at him, and my stomach drops like I’m riding a fucking roller coaster. He looks pale and tired, especially around his brown eyes that are usually the highlight of his face. Even the smile he conjures is worried and forced. But despite his emotional condition, he’s still Dylan. So handsome, so sexy and his dirty blond hair and body have just about filled out to their pre-cancer state. My heart flip-flops like it did the first time I met him at that Skygirl Charity Event more than a year ago now.
I sit down on the sofa, then stand up again, remembering he doesn’t want to sit because I feel foolish sitting while he’s prowling like a caged lion in my condo. This place has just begun to feel more like a home again now that Jacob is here, but having Dylan here while we are broken up and the band is continuing on, it doesn’t feel very much like home right now. When we first met and Dylan visited me here, we’d cooked, slept, and made love together here. That could likely never be again if he gets sick again, and I blink back tears at the memory and the thought.
I move around the marble island to my wine cooler beneath, then remember I have divested my home of alcohol again.
“The strongest thing I have in my cooler is Vitamin Water,” I say wryly as I reach in and pull out a beverage and twist off the top.
“None for me, thanks” he says.
I give him a strange look, because it’s a weird day when it’s as hot as it is outside and he turns down Vitamin Water. It’s his favorite drink. I take a seat at the bar and knock back the Vitamin Water, because my throat has become uncomfortably thick. He joins me in the vicinity of the bar, but continues his movement back and forth as if to gather his thoughts.
My patience is worn thin and I slam the bottle of Vitamin Water onto the bar so hard some of it sloshes from the bottle. I am angrier than I thought I’d be with him despite the olive branch or whatever the hell he’s offering here. I thought I’d prepared for this moment; that I’d steeled myself against the hurt and disappointment so I could walk away from him with dignity and embrace the band even though I know seeing him every day is going to hurt like a motherfucker for a while. Instead my emotional control has gone out the window, and I hurl a non-sensical accusation at him, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve!”
“A lot of fucking nerve about what?” Confusion dominates his face more than the pain and hurt which was there when he arrived.
“You come here trying to control the narrative when you’re the one who pushed me away, kept a secret about your health like you were somehow protecting me, lied about it, and then lied again when you had the opportunity to come clean.” My anger ticks up with every word I’ve uttered and my chest is now heaving. “Now you come here today offering me some bullshit magnanimous declaration that you’ll part company with me for good if I just give the band a chance.”
Dylan looks for all the world as if I’m about to run him over with my car, as his confusion morphs into indignation. “I meant every word I said, and I mean these words I’m about to say. Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma sounded like a death sentence to me when my doctor told me that’s what I had. What I thought would take only a few months for me to get back on my feet took the better part of a year for the treatment prescribed to put me into remission.”
I wanted to say something in response to that, but I couldn’t or I’d ruin the moment by screaming at him or kicking him out. I was enraged that he hadn’t told me the truth in the first place, but on some level I understood his apprehension. It had really not been my business when we’d been just fooling around for a couple of months. Well it was a bit more than just fooling around, if I’m honest. But, how do you tell someone you have what could be a fatal illness when you’re in a new relationship? Really? It was hard as fuck for Jacob when he learned of my mom’s ovarian cancer, and they’d been married two decades. Dylan and I had only been together two months when he got sick.
“I didn’t take my diagnosis well at all. It caught me completely off guard. I did have a breakdown of sorts when it happened. I couldn’t get a hold of my emotions. My parents were so afraid for me, they had me committed.”
“Really?” I hated that he’d gone through that, even though he’d chosen to keep it from me for more than a year, and then thought it was okay to compound the lie of omission with one of commission.
“I wish I had told you. I wish you could have been there with me through it all. Well, not the crappy stuff, but as much as would’ve been possible.”
The thought of him facing all of what he’d endured alone made my heart hurt. This is how I knew I still loved him, despite my anger over the ghosting and the lie, and the attempt to win me back with another lie.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I begin, and then pause. “I realize now it was something you had to go through on your own. Having me there with our relationship so new would’ve complicated the crap out of everything. Your focus needed to be on getting well, not trying to keep me, or being worried about how I was taking you being so sick early on.”
“I know I handled it badly, but I didn’t want to force a sick guy onto you. I was worried that you’d be obligated to stay with me even if things didn’t work out because you felt bad about the cancer. Even though I knew we were both beginning to have intense feelings for one another, our relationship was still so new.”
The reality of reconciliation dangled between us now, if only one of us was brave enough to reach out and grab it. I know he wanted it, and despite my lingering anger, I wanted it, too. But we were both too afraid in the moment, or too stubborn to utter the words.
I walked from around the bar to where he was standing still for the first time since he’d entered my condo. I reached out and took his hands in mine, too afraid to look into his eyes in case I would see something in them that was the opposite of what I was hoping for.
“For someone who’s never been in a committed relationship when we met, you certainly moved faster than I expected you would, then when you disappeared, I thought I’d driven you away in some way by reciprocating and moving a lot faster than you wanted me to.”
He smiled down at our joined hands, and I finally found the courage to look squarely into his eyes. I didn’t see a trace of the cloud of anxiety over his head that he’d entered the room with. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I wanted to be with you, but I didn’t want you to have to deal with the cancer. It was torture being away from you, unable to see you or talk to you while I was in treatment.”
“You have to promise me you’ll never do anything like that ever again,” I say.
“Does that mean we’re back together? I hate that I fractured your trust in me, and I promise I’ll never do it again. I love you too much for that, Alyssa.”
The smile that bloomed on my face threatened to break it, and I was poised to answer him with a resounding, “I love you, too,” before Dylan claimed my mouth in that overwhelmingly thorough kiss of his that had my core throbbing like my heart had taken up residence there. Within seconds my panties were wet and I needed him like a thirst
y woman in the desert needs water. Like a moth seeks a flame. Like…oh hell, you get my drift.
So lost were we in sensation and emotion, we heard no key turn in the lock, no footsteps coming toward us, no inkling that Jacob was upon us until he cleared his throat.
“Ahem!”
Our lips part with a wet popping sound, and we both eye my father through our lust and deshabille, still holding one another like our lives literally depend on it.
“Since I’m going to be here another five and a half months or so, we really need to come up with some kind of signal when either of us is indisposed, Sweetie.”
Dylan and I began to speak at the same time.
“Dad, we were just…”
“Mr. Lawrence, I just…”
Jacob laughs as he loosens his tie and sets his briefcase on the bar. “I know what a reconciliation looks like, Dylan. Or that had better be the explanation for your tongue being so far down my daughter’s throat, I’m pretty sure you’ve given her a second tonsillectomy.” Being a concerned Daddy really looks good on Jacob. My heart swells knowing that he’s got my back.
“You’re damn right it’s a reconciliation,” Dylan says. Then apologizes. “No disrespect.”
Jacob waves him off. “I’ve heard worse, and I know for a fact you travel in circles that are known for their colorful expressions, including my daughter.”
“I love your daughter, Sir, colorful expressions and all” Dylan says, holding me tighter, and looks me in my eyes to say the other most important thing, “and I’m never letting her go. Ever again.”
Much later, Dylan and I are at Brody’s condo where we’ve gone to be alone, because even with his blessing I can’t get busy with my boyfriend with my dad right down the hall. Brody’s condo is finally renovation free, and it isn’t until we’ve christened several locations and end up in the guest bedroom that I remember something very important. I am draped across Dylan’s torso, my fingers smoothing his chest hair when I sit bolt upright.
Dylan follows with a look of sheer terror on his face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“You told me and my Dad that you love me!” I exclaim.
“Yes, I did, and I do,” he clarifies with the most serious of expressions, followed by a look of uncertainty. “I mean, that’s okay right? Not too soon?”
“Never!” I say and pull him to me for a kiss, and it’s not lost on me that I’ve just quoted the title of my song, which I might need to write a bookend for, like “Forever.”
A few seconds later, I say what I forgot to repeat to him when he said it. “I love you, too, Dylan Castle. Through the revival of The Savages, through NHL, through stupid misunderstandings, and everything else life has to throw at us.”
Looking me in my eyes with so much love my heart is overwhelmed to the point of bursting with it, he simply says, “Always.”
Epilogue
Hollywood, CA
Six Months Later
ALYSSA
Moving boxes are the décor du jour at Brody’s condo, both incoming and outgoing. I don’t know how the moving guys are keeping everything straight, but they are. Sky and I are lounging on a couple of patio chairs on the balcony, drinking lattes and letting the men do the heavy thinking and lifting required to get all parties moved in and out. We’d done our share of the packing early, so it’s our moment to chill.
“You ready?” Sky asks.
I grace her with a half eye-roll. “That is such a loaded question. There are so many moving parts to my life right now. Ready for what?”
She ticks off several questions on her fingers. “The Savages tour? Jacob to move out? Dylan to move in? Life in the big time?”
“Honestly?”
She takes a sip of her coffee. “Don’t even try to bullshit me, girlfriend.”
“I try not to think past the current day much anymore.” Dylan’s prognosis has a lot to do with that. He doesn’t take the fact that he’s in remission for granted and neither do I.
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Pretty good actually.”
“Keep that attitude. Then the odds of tearing your hair out will be minimal.”
“I think I will. It’s not easy, but it’s the way I choose to go about it.”
“You’re going to need that calm in the middle of the storm you’re about to see around The Savages.”
“I know it’s going to be wild, and I’m okay with wild as long as it doesn’t touch what Dylan and I have.”
“Let him set the precedent and fans will fall into place. Most of them will honor his respect for you.”
“I’m all Zen about it now, but let some trick push up on Dylan and I will cut a bitch.”
“On the real!” Sky lifts her hand for a high five, and I slap it.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I go back to our previous topic. “I know the tour and everything else in my life requires planning, months and months ahead, but once we’ve got the big picture down on paper, I just go about living from day to day. Does that make any sense?”
“You’re savoring your days with your dad and your boyfriend. I get that. I wish someone had told me how to do that before I asked my mother for artistic and operational control of my career.” She says with a wry smile.
“It might not have been that bad if she hadn’t gone all psycho and shit about it.”
“Don’t remind me. She still makes moves to try and get back in with me. The most recent being when we invited her over for Christmas.”
I shake my head. “What did Elaine do this time?”
“She proposed that we allow her to manage me temporarily since we are newlyweds so we can concentrate on our relationship.” Sky does air quotes to demonstrate which words were Elaine’s.
“As if you need any help doing that shit. I hope you told her where she could get off.”
“Brody is so much better at that than I am, which is why he’s my manager,” she grins. “I never wanted to run shit even though it’s my career, and he knows exactly how to compartmentalize so things won’t get overwhelming for either of us.”
“Hey, we all appreciate Brody and his skill for management. I think it keeps him close enough to what he loves without getting so immersed in it that it takes over his life.” We both know that Brody avoids performing because it can lead to a downward spiral into his other addiction.
“Doing tandem tours will keep him involved with my tour and The Savages.” Sky says.
“That was a brilliant idea. This way we won’t miss each other half as much as we would if we had two wholly separate tours.”
“It makes perfect sense, because we’re targeting different markets, so a Skylar concert and The Savages bookending a week will draw primarily different crowds with just a tiny bit of crossover.”
“You know what though,” I say.
“What?” Sky asks.
“Elaine’s next move will be to suggest she manages you while Brody manages The Savages, because it’s just too much for him to do alone.”
“Already got that covered. Amber’s been promoted and will be co-managing with Brody, and we’re already advertising for a new PA.”
“Now that’s what I call a pre-emptive strike. Work that shit out before Elaine sees a fucking loophole.”
We don’t get another word in before we hear a crash and then a string of expletives that can only be coming from my man. Sky and I rush into the living room where Dylan and Jacob are standing over the broken pieces of a huge vase in the foyer.
“What happened?” Sky and I ask almost at the same time.
“That bitch was heavy is what happened,” Dylan says. “Pops and I were trying to get it to the door so the movers could take it from there, but it slipped.”
Brody comes running from one of the bedrooms. “You guys okay in here?”
“We’re good,” Jacob says. “But your vase is decidedly not.”
“Hope this monstrosity wasn’t too expensive,” Dylan says.
Brody eyes the pieces. “Nah, I got that shit from a wholesale pottery shop in the valley.”
“Good,” Jacob says. “Dylan’s pockets may be long enough to replace an expensive piece of objet d’art, but not mine.”
“Just to be safe, though, don’t you guys move any other heavy breakable pieces,” I say.
“This is why we hired movers, guys. They’ve got equipment for it,” Brody says. “We’ve got plenty of boxes we need to move in the other rooms.”
“I’m happy to be demoted to moving boxes of the non-heavy variety,” Jacob says. “I’m pushing fifty.” Brody heads back into the room from whence he came, and Sky follows him, while Dylan begins to remove the broken shards of the vase into an empty box.
“Yeah, yeah, old man,” I say with a grin. “You’re pushing something, but fifty isn’t it.”
“Do I need to show you my birth certificate? I was born in 1970.” Jacob says.
“I always thought you were born the same year as Mom, but I stand corrected.”
“Camille was so smart she skipped a couple of grades. I was always two years older.” Getting all this history about my parents that I missed is everything. I listen as Jacob stacks a few of his boxes in a corner, and Dylan gets a broom and dustpan to remove the last bits of the broken vase from the foyer floor.
When The Savages fought over who would get to buy Brody’s condo, he solved that issue by gifting the condo to Jacob. Although Jacob had done well and saved a nice chunk of money since he left Naveah, he didn’t have near enough to afford a place in a desirable area of town, and he refused to take any money from me. He said, “I took too much from you when I wasn’t in my right mind. I just can’t do it sober, sweetie.”
We had gone back and forth over the places he’d been able to afford, which were too close to the more unsavory areas of LA for my tastes. Sky had gone to Brody with the idea just before Christmas, and next thing you know, my dad has a condo in Hollywood. For tax purposes and to make sure he’s on solid footing before it happens, Dad will get the deed when he’s been sober a couple of years.
