A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (16 page)

Melody ordered a grilled cheese, a plate of fried zucchini (“You’re right about eating more vegetables,” she’d explained when he’d given her an exasperated look), and a chocolate milkshake. She’d added a Caesar salad, though he’d rolled his eyes and muttered that she might as well just eat a burger. That had sounded like it would hit the spot, so she had ordered them a bacon cheeseburger, too.

“You’re going to die of heart disease,” he said sadly. “Who will disagree with everything I say, then?”

“I’ll haunt you,” she said cheerfully, wiggling until she was on her side, sharing Dylan’s pillow. They faced each other, covered only partially by a thin hotel sheet. He palmed her thigh beneath the sheet and hooked her leg over his hip. She liked that, so she moved even closer, until her breasts came in contact with his chest. The friction against her nipples sparked the fire within her again, but she put a lid on it. Food first, then more sex. A woman had to have priorities.

“Promise?” he asked quietly. Something vulnerable lurked behind his eyes, something Melody had only seen glimpses of in the past. Suddenly, she felt sad—and angry. Whoever had turned the sweet poetic boy with a beat-up acoustic guitar into the glib, womanizing asshole with a self-destructive streak a mile wide, was someone she wanted to meet in a dark alley. Since it was unlikely that she’d ever have that chance, she vowed that she would do everything in her power to beat the asshole down, and breathe life back into the poet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly. “I’ll haunt your ass with a vengeance. Not even the Ghostbusters will be able to get rid of me.”

His lips curled again, into that unconscious smile that was all the sweeter because it was so different from the sexy smile he had carefully cultivated for the stage and his groupies. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” he quipped.

They kissed softly for a while, hands and mouths taking their time now that the hormonal rush had simmered down. Room service came and went. Dylan ate half the grilled cheese, and even tried a bite of the bacon cheeseburger after she goaded him into it.

Then, sticky from sex and greasy from the midnight snack, Dylan reminded her that ages ago, she’d wanted to take a bath. She smiled and coyly invited him to join her, an invitation he accepted at once.

The tub was glorious, and was long enough to easily accommodate two. They sank down in opposite ends, their feet propped against each other’s shoulders. The warm water soothed places in which Melody hadn’t needed soothing for longer than she cared to admit. Dylan was impressive in more ways than one, and she let the hot water relax and rejuvenate her, because without all those pesky brain cells getting in the way, she knew she’d be needing a lot more soothing in the near future.

“You have sexy feet,” Melody decided, leaning over to nibble on one of his big toes.

“Foot fetish pervert,” he said, rendering the accusation totally ridiculous when he pressed his lips to her insole.

She pursed her own lips, debating whether she wanted to get into this or just enjoy the afterglow.
Oh, who are you kidding, Hopkins?

“Did you have a happy childhood?” she asked.

He blinked, obviously thrown by the question. “Was all that sex just an elaborate ruse to open an honesty circle?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned. “Now please reward my nefarious efforts.”

With a sigh, he leaned back against the side of the tub, looking pensive. “It was fine,” he said. “Nobody beat me up, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not,” she said gently. It was worse than she’d thought, if the idea that he hadn’t been physically abused was his indicator that it could have been worse.

He shrugged. “Your childhood, what was it like?” he asked.

Melody didn’t mind the deflection. She would crack him like a walnut in due time.

“You know Hop,” she said. “Imagine that, only less intense and more intense at the same time. He used to play Barbie with me, except we pretended the dolls were part of an all-girl band. He would negotiate higher percentages from the record company for Skipper because she was technically a minor, and they would go on tours and sign little fake contracts and everything.”

They laughed together. “So, you basically learned how to be a musician and a business woman,” he surmised. “That sounds about right.” He gazed at her with those deep blue eyes, wide open and curious. “What about your mom?”

It still hurt a little to talk about the mother she’d never known, but she had asked for this. “She died right after I was born,” Melody told him. “An undiagnosed heart defect. So, Hop had to raise me all on his own. Even though I could see that he missed her every day, he did everything he could to make sure that I wouldn’t miss not having a mother.”

“And you didn’t?” Dylan asked slowly.

Melody sighed. “Hop did the best he could. And I love him for it. But it’s not the same. He was always so busy—I mean, he
always
tried to make time for me, but...I still felt that there was something missing in my life.”

“I lost my mom a couple years back,” he told her. “We weren’t close, but...it still hurt.”

“It will always hurt to lose a parent,” she said. “When I got older, it was a little easier in some ways, and a lot harder in others. I didn’t have anyone to confide in during my awkward teen years. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about boys.” Her mouth twisted. “Maybe that’s why I used to make so many stupid mistakes with them.”

“Ouch,” Dylan said, putting a hand over his heart in mock pain. She playfully kicked at his shoulder.

“I said ‘used to,’ didn’t I?” she teased, winking at him.

“That you did,” he said with a wry smile. “All right, Hopkins, fair’s fair. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Melody clapped. “I’m ready. Don’t hold back—give me all your childhood pain. Let me soak in it just as we soak in the water in this tub.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he laughed, his tone affectionate. “All right. I’m just a walking cliché, so don’t say I didn’t warn you. Born and raised in a small town in Oklahoma. My parents got married young—I’m pretty sure it was because of Grace, if you do the math around their wedding and her birth. I came along three years later. It took two kids for my old man to finally realize he was a shitty father. He left when I was four and my mom…well. Grace has a theory that he made her so miserable while they were married that mom forgot what it was like to feel any other way.”

“That’s terrible,” Melody murmured, filling with sadness for Dylan’s broken family. She hadn’t had any mother at all, but she wondered if having a bad one wasn’t worse.

“She was real strict with us,” Dylan continued. “Like, the elders in
Footloose
strict. Took a lot of her anger out on us in all these passive-aggressive ways. She was always pretty heavy into the religious stuff, and my old man walking out just made it worse.” He sighed. “He wrote me a few letters, you know.”

“Your dad?” Melody asked, surprised.

Dylan nodded. “I never answered them. What would I say to him?”

“You could let him explain himself,” Melody offered. “You could forgive him. Or tell him to fuck off.”

“I think that’s what the continued silence is for,” Dylan said pointedly. “And this honesty circle is officially closed.” His hands traced a gentle, teasing trail along her calves until they reached the backs of her knees.

Melody feigned confusion. “But if we aren’t talking honestly, whatever will we—”

One hard tug pulled her through the water and onto his lap. Her legs straddled his waist and she could feel him, hot and hard, against her thigh.

“Oh,” she whispered, a second before he kissed her.

The Texas sun was hot, the rehab center was full of Stepford counselors with creepy smiles, and Melody was so nervous she was actually contemplating picking up a cigarette for the first time in five years. She felt like she was meeting her boyfriend’s parents, or something equally ridiculous. Snake was Dylan’s brother in music, one of the members of the band, part of a family that had been together for years. She wanted him to like her.

But she knew how unlikely it was that he actually would. She had replaced him, had basically stolen his job for the duration of the tour. So, yeah, she was nervous.

“You okay?” Dylan asked quietly. He was hanging back with her, which she appreciated, but his actions were also drawing the attention of the man in question, which was what she had wanted to avoid.

Rip and Snake exchanged a manly hug, but Snake seemed to keep one eye on her the entire time. Melody wondered if she was imagining things.
Was he sizing up the competition?
If so, he shouldn’t be wasting his time—he had nothing to worry about. Melody wasn’t delusional. The life she was building was temporary, and it was only a matter of time before Dust and Bones went back to the way it had been before Snake’s bad behavior had gotten him a thirty-day rehab sentence.

And it was only a matter of time before
she
went back to the way things had been before Dylan; before the night (and morning…and following afternoon) they’d shared. Yes, she had every right to be nervous.

“I’m fine,” she said aloud to Dylan’s query, shaking her head to clear it. “Just feeling a little awkward. I probably shouldn’t be here.”

“Screw that,” Dylan said in his usual blunt manner. “You’re saving our asses. Snake knows that. I’m sure he’ll be…” He winced when she gave him a pointed look, likely realizing that Snake McCreedy being grateful to a girl for taking his job—however temporarily—was as likely as a herd of buffalo taking flight above their heads. “Well, he knows what you’ve done for the band, at least.”

“He seems to be making the best of his sentence,” Jesper noted dryly.

Snake was gesturing them to follow him to an open area by a pool. He was also flirting rather outrageously with one of the female counselors who, from what Melody could see, wasn’t exactly discouraging him. She frowned; rehab wasn’t supposed to be about relaxing and having fun. Rehab was supposed to be about taking stock of your life, reflecting on the decisions that had brought you to your low point, and ideally, plotting a better course for your future.

But of course, Snake was under the impression that he didn’t need rehab. Melody could almost understand why he thought that way—the rock star lifestyle could be hedonistic. Most of the guys Snake partied with likely equaled or exceeded his level of intoxication. Hell, she’d been a kitchen fire away from suggesting they send Dylan in to keep Snake company.

They all sat down by the pool to catch up. Snake looked different in person than he did in pictures or on television. He was larger than life, tattoos covering every inch of his torso. His face, covered in a thick auburn beard, was thinner than she’d imagined it was, and seemed almost gaunt in places. She wondered how much of that was from the drug use, and how much was just the camera adding ten pounds. He also reminded her, in the strangest way, of her father. She knew Hop hadn’t exactly been a saint in his youth; if he hadn’t had a little girl to take care of, would he have ended up in rehab at some point?

Dylan casually let his hand rest over Melody’s jean-clad knee and squeezed gently, as if he could sense the nature of her thoughts. It was ninety degrees outside, and somehow his touch still managed to burn a little. Melody noted that Snake’s gaze flicked down to observe the gesture before focusing on Rip again.

“I need a drink so fucking bad,” he complained. “Or something. Some kind of pick-me-up. One of the guys got some coke, but they busted him before he could share.” Snake made a sound of disgust. “Couldn’t even handle a line without freaking out.”

“That’s probably why he ended up in rehab,” Melody pointed out.
With you
, she wanted to add, though she refrained from doing so.

“Then it’s good
he’s
here,” Snake agreed. Clearly, he thought addicts should be in rehab; he just didn’t think he should be in rehab.

“So, who the fuck goes to rehab in Texas?” Tank asked, staring around.

Snake laughed. “It was part of the deal with Mayor Douchebag,” he explained.

“Who?” Melody asked.

“The honorable politician whose home Snake crashed into during his finest hour,” Rip chuckled.

“No shit? You picked a Texas politician who has strings to pull when you flamed out? Worst luck ever.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Snake muttered, lighting a cigarette.

“Well, even if you haven’t been able to drink, it looks like you’ve still got lung cancer to look forward to,” Jesper teased.

“Shit, I’d lose my mind without these things,” Snake said, taking a deep drag.

“The e-cigs aren’t bad,” Melody said. She held up a hand to forestall Snake’s protests. “I know, they’re not completely the same, and I won’t pretend they are. But they’re a better, healthier alternative. Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

Dylan eyed her. “Speaking from experience, Big Red?”

Melody rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re not the only one with a somewhat misspent youth. I kicked the habit when I started coughing up black junk.
So
not attractive,” she confided. She offered Snake a friendly smile. “If you want, I’ll smuggle one in here for you to try.”

Snake nodded slowly. “Yeah, why not? I mean, I like trying new things, right?” He waggled his eyebrows and almost looked friendly.

“That’s an understatement,” Rip muttered. He jerked his thumb in Snake’s direction. “He got me into tons of trouble with that YOLO bullshit before it was popular.”

“YOLO ?” Dylan asked.

They all looked at him with various expressions of shock on their faces. “Have you really been that out of it?” Melody demanded.

“Dude,” Snake said. “And I thought
I’d
been high for most of the last two years.”

“YO-LO,” Tank said, enunciating each syllable carefully.

“Slowing it down doesn’t explain anything, asshole,” Dylan said.

“It’s an acronym that stands for the saying, ‘You Only Live Once’,” Jesper explained, grinning.

Dylan slumped down in his chair. “That’s fucking stupid,” he grumbled, pretending to be disgruntled. Melody wasn’t buying the act; he was happy to be around his brothers. No amount of their teasing would change that.