A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (18 page)

“Screw this,” she muttered, spearing all three pieces with her fork and shoving them in her mouth.

“Yes,” Jesper cried.

“She has to swallow,” said the owner of the establishment, a gentleman who looked like he’d walked straight out of the 1800s, complete with a ten-gallon hat and a thick handlebar mustache.

“That’s what she said,” Rip said.

“No,” Melody said, gulping loudly and throwing her fork down on the table in triumph. “Put up my picture, bitch.
That’s
what she said.”

Everyone cheered. At Melody’s behest, they took a picture with the whole band, her in the center with her empty plate prominently featured. Tank grinned wide, pleased to be on the wall, even if it was only by association. As they settled the bill—Melody’s meal was, of course, free—she pulled Dylan aside, her eyes wide and full of worry.

“It’s possible that I am about to be incredibly, violently ill,” she confessed.

Dylan laughed, because it sounded like one of her usual jokes. Then he took a closer look; he could see that her skin had a faint greenish tinge to it, and she really did look like she was seconds away from puking.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” he suggested. Her cheeks puffed out, a definite precursor to her getting sick. “Fast,” he added. “Guys. Move it or get left.”

**

“I’m dying,” Melody moaned. “Jesus, take me now. I’m sorry if I offended you by over-consuming your sweetest creature, the cow.”

Dylan laughed, pressing a wet cloth to her forehead.

Tank and Melody were tucked into the same bed, because it was easier to watch them that way. As soon as sickness had passed, he planned to take Melody back to his room and let Tank fend for himself.

“Yeah, it’s not God’s wrath,” Jesper said, re-entering the room. “It’s food poisoning. Everyone who took the seventy-two-ounce challenge at the restaurant tonight is in the same condition you are. Something about improper refrigeration on the challenge meat.”

“Don’t say challenge meat,” Melody begged, leaning into her bucket again.

Definitely love
, Dylan thought.

“I want to die,” Tank said.

“You’ve both got medicine on the way,” Jesper said. “Big Mike is picking up prescriptions for you as we speak.”

“Don’t tell Big Mike I’m sick,” Melody said.

“Too late,” Jesper shrugged.

“Now I really want to die,” Melody moaned. She grabbed the phone off the end table and attempted to wrap the cord around herself. “I’m too weak. Strangle me with it.”

Dylan untangled the phone cord from around her neck and replaced it on the cradle as Jesper walked out into the hall. “No one is dying,” he said firmly.

“Big Mike has standing orders to call my dad if anything happens to me,” Melody said. “No exceptions.”

“So he’ll call your dad, so what?” Dylan asked.

“My dad will call me,” she explained. “I’m so weak right now. I can’t lie to him when I’m weak. If he asks me how things are going, I’m probably going to blurt out that we’re, you know...whatever we are.”

Dylan couldn’t help teasing her a little. “And what are we?” he wondered.

“He’s going to kill you,” she said seriously.

Dylan opened his mouth to respond when Melody’s cell phone rang. A picture of her dad appeared on the caller ID. He seemed to be staring right at Dylan.

Melody took a deep, shuddering breath, then answered. “Hi, Daddy,” she said in the most openly manipulative tone Dylan had ever heard a woman use in his life. He was impressed, and more than a little turned on.

“Put Dylan on.” Hop’s voice was clearly audible, but Melody put him on speaker phone anyway.

“Daddy—”

“Don’t ‘Daddy’ me,” he said. “Put him on, Mel.”

“It’s not his fault I’m sick,” she said stubbornly.

“No, but it’s his fault I’m looking at a picture of him mauling you in front of a steakhouse in Texas.”

Melody’s eyes grew wide and Dylan mentally bid a sad farewell to his balls. They’d had some good times together over the years, but all good things had to come to an end eventually.

“Hop—” Dylan began.

“Shut up,” he said, his voice deadly. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on out there, but it appears that you have blatantly disregarded the
one rule
I gave you about touring with my daughter.”

“Come on, Hop, you know that—”

“Do you not like your balls where they are?” Hop wondered. “Are you actually looking forward to me removing them from your body?”

“Dad, stop it,” Melody snapped. “
I
like Dylan’s balls where they are, and if you don’t stop threatening him, I promise you’ll have worse pictures to worry about than one of a little kiss in front of a restaurant. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Except for right now, because I have food poisoning and the guy you’re so upset with is watching over me.” She collapsed back against the pillows, clearly spent.

“Hop,” Dylan said quietly. “We’ll talk when the tour’s over. I swear, it’s not what you think.”

“Goddamn better not be,” Hop muttered. “You could at least
attempt
to be more discreet in public.”

“Just chill out, man,” Dylan said. “Thanks to me—”

“Shut up,” Hop said. “Mel, call me if you need anything. I love you, sweetheart.”

He hung up.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Rip noted. He had entered the room at some point during the conversation and was leaning against the wall, eating takeout cheesecake from the restaurant.

Tank heaved into his bucket. Melody raised an interested eyebrow.

“Is that ricotta based, or cream cheese?” she wondered.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Jesper muttered to Dylan.

Dylan simply smiled. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “But I’m looking forward to figuring it out.”

**

Dylan propped himself up on one arm to get a better look at the girl sleeping next to him. They’d left Tank in the bed a few hours ago. Melody had responded better to the pills Big Mike had brought back from the pharmacy, and had conked out during the act of brushing her teeth. It had been all kinds of adorable, and afterward, Dylan had carried her to his bed and tucked her in. Now she was wearing nothing but his favorite gray T-Shirt, and he couldn’t help but run a finger down her bare arm, enjoying the way her skin pebbled at his touch.

Her eyes opened slowly. They were clear, finally unclouded by pain or queasiness.

“You’re feeling better,” Dylan noted.

“I just needed to sleep it off,” Melody agreed, rolling closer to him. She leaned in for a kiss, and then paused, jerking her head back quickly. “Did I brush my teeth?”

“Twice,” Dylan confirmed, closing the distance between them. Her mouth tasted like Melody and toothpaste, and nothing else, thankfully. She fit against him perfectly. His T-Shirt rode up as she moved, and he palmed the naked flesh of her hip. His hand glided up and down her back, then drifted over her ass, until he started getting carried away.

“If you’re not in the mood,” he offered, but she smiled against his mouth and ran her fingernails down his back.

“Just be gentle with me,” she murmured.

He hooked her thigh over his hip, opening her up to his fingers. They slid over her ass again, dipped between her thighs from behind, and found her already wet. She let out a little pleased moan. He touched her lazily, enjoying the texture and the feel of her aroused flesh.

A possessive thought sparked a fever in his brain, and he slid the waist on his boxers down just enough to free his cock. He pulled her thigh higher on his hip and pushed himself inside her with a single thrust. She whimpered in surprise at the suddenness of the invasion and he muttered an apology against her mouth, but didn’t stop. He didn’t think she wanted him to; the way she clutched at his back and hungrily pushed her tongue inside his mouth indicated she wanted this just as much as he did.

They rocked together for so long he lost track of everything but the way she felt against him, the taste of her mouth and her neck and her shoulders, the feel of her lips on his breastbone, his ears. He had never been so consumed with—and by—a woman before. His orgasm took him by surprise, a sweet and sudden pleasure, which he released into her welcoming body. He slid a hand between them and rubbed slow, hard circles against her clit, groaning as she tightened against him and fell, too.

They didn’t separate right away. Dylan pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“It was you, you know,” she whispered, her voice soft and honest, as if she was in a confessional.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The night we met,” she explained. “I came to see you. I knew you were playing. I didn’t think—I mean, I never dreamed…”

He kissed her gently, because she seemed embarrassed by what she was admitting, and he didn’t want her to be. The idea that she’d wanted to see him was a thrilling confirmation that she had not been as unaffected by him as she’d originally seemed.

“If I’d known you existed,” he said, running his thumb softly over her lip even as he felt a swelling in his groin again, “I would have been there to see you, too.”

That got her to smile, and his heart beat faster against his rib cage when he saw it. Her smiles made him feel like he’d done something right for once, like he had the power to give her everything she needed. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance of keeping her; like maybe things would turn out all right in the end.

She felt him hardening and began moving against him, already hungry for more. Dylan leaned into her, kissing her neck and her shoulder, tracing his hands down her arm, over her hips, and—

They were rudely interrupted when his phone rang. Loath though he was to pull himself away from Melody, he glanced over at it. The caller I.D. said it was Grace. Grace calling in the middle of the night.

Emma.

It’s bad, D.

If the use of Dylan’s childhood nickname hadn’t been enough to indicate how serious Grace’s words were, the tears in her voice would have done the trick.

“She was crying,” he said to Melody, as Big Mike drove them to the airport.

“That makes sense, right?” Melody squeezed his hand, trying to keep him present with her.

He shook his head. “Grace doesn’t cry. If she does, it means she’s got something to cry about. If Emma was going to be fine, she wouldn’t…” He trailed off. The look on Melody’s face told him she understood why he was worried—her expression was full of pain and sympathy. He wanted to lose himself in those big, emerald eyes of hers, so he wouldn’t have to suffer in this awful moment.

It was a short flight to Dallas. They’d been planning to drop in on Emma after their Texas concerts anyway, so they had budgeted some extra time between shows. The guys had offered to fly out, too, as had been the original plan, but Dylan had instructed them to go on ahead to the next venue. He felt like if they accompanied him to say their goodbyes, it would be like admitting Emma wasn’t going to make it.

That superstition hadn’t stopped him from clutching Melody to his side and practically begging her to join him, though. Not that she had needed prompting; as soon as Grace’s midnight call had broken the quiet, intimate space between them, she had begun making arrangements for two. She was so thoughtful, so selfless, so...effortlessly good. He knew he didn’t deserve someone like her, but maybe, if he played all his cards right, he would have a chance at keeping her.

He prayed it would be so. He didn’t think he could survive it if he lost her, too.

They reached the airport without incident. Dylan thanked Big Mike, who solemnly grasped his hand in parting—a silent wish for the impossible, for Emma’s recovery. Then Dylan and Melody entered the terminal together and headed to their gate.

Dylan spoke to Jesper on the phone before they took off. His oldest friend told him to take all the time he needed, while at the same time gently reminding him that he had three days to make it back to their next gig. Dylan assured him that both he and Melody would be there, though his mind wandered and fixated on the most awful scenarios...what if something happened, and he
wasn’t
able to make it to the next gig? How could he possibly manage to perform in three days’ time if Emma...if she...?

No. Mustn’t think about that.

The plane touched down in Dallas a little after nine in the morning. They exited the terminal and were picked up by a private car that Melody had reserved for them. Dylan had no idea how she had managed to make all their travel arrangements so quickly—in the middle of the night, no less, and coming off a terrible case of food poisoning. She was stronger than he would ever be, and he reflected again on how lucky he was to have her by his side as they drove to the hospital.

They reached the huge, imposing building and entered. A nurse gave them directions to the children’s ward, and they set off, walking down the sterile hallway hand in hand, like prisoners headed to an execution.
If we never get there, she’ll always be alive,
he thought, hanging onto that crazy notion even though he knew, in the back of his mind, that it made no sense.

They reached the room, and Dylan almost wasn’t sure he would be able to take those last few steps...but Melody, still holding onto him, pulled him over the threshold of the door. And then he was inside.

“Uncle D.”

He blinked in shock; his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. He looked to Melody for confirmation, but she was smiling cautiously. She nudged him to get him moving. “Go on,” she whispered.

He took a couple unsteady steps forward. Grace stood to the side of the hospital bed, a tight but welcoming smile on her face. His sister looked exhausted, and guilt stabbed at him. This was his family—the only worthwhile family he had—and for the last few years he hadn’t been there for them. He’d been too busy drowning in his own bullshit. Sure, he played the part of the doting uncle when he could, but with Emma’s father gone, she didn’t need a doting uncle; she needed a father, and Grace needed someone she could lean on.

Finally, he mustered up the courage to look at Emma,
really
look at her. The smile on her face was weak, but excited. Her skin was sallow, and her cheeks were gaunt. Her hair was limp, the dark curls hanging listlessly around her head. When had her hair gotten so dark?