by Lisa Swallow
The curtains in the suite are drawn and the TV plays quietly. I adjust my eyes and see Sky lying on top of the unmade bed. I creep over and sit on the edge, stroking some hair from her eyes. Even in the dim light, Sky’s pale face matches mine, exhaustion pulling at her mouth and sitting below her eyes in dark rings. This isn’t all caused by me, but I haven’t helped. There’s no movement and her heavy breathing suggests she’s deeply asleep.
The other thing I saw in Sky’s eyes today was fear. I never doubted how deeply she cares for me, but always argued with myself I wasn’t worth the love she has. She once told me I pulled her into my universe, but she’s wrong. The moment I met her my world began to revolve around hers, our souls locked into the same orbit.
I carefully lay beside her, and encompass her with my arms. She’s cold beneath the air-conditioning, so I pull a blanket over us. My strawberry scented Sky is where she belongs, in my arms and as long as I have breath in my body, I’ll fight to make her mine.
****
SKY
The floor to ceiling window outside of the conference room looks across the Manhattan skyline and I stand nose practically touching the window. Scanning the tall buildings, I find what I’m looking for. The Empire State Building. One of my favourite movies is Sleepless in Seattle, and I’ve watched the film numerous times, heart melting and tears flowing. As I look out, I picture Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, while the barely contained emotions that have wrung through me the last few days threaten tears again.
“Are you okay? You’re quiet.”
I turn to Dylan. “I was just thinking how strange it is to look out at somewhere I’ve seen in movies. From behind the glass, I feel as if I’m watching a movie.”
Today Dylan looks brighter, but his eyes are still shadowed in his pale face. This morning, he woke early and padded around the room before disappearing into another part of the penthouse. I found him watching TV when I woke up. He was distant, still not a hundred percent with me, and to be honest, I felt rejected. Half an hour later we’re here, waiting for the rest of the band to meet and decide what to do. Ten am meetings aren’t very rock and roll; will Jem make it? Liam and Honey are here; Honey is carefully placed on Liam’s knee, texting. Liam has a hand on her leg, but he’s gazing out of the window too.
“We can go out later?” asks Dylan. “I know some good places.”
“I thought we were going back to England?”
“Sure, but I thought maybe you’d want to at least do a bit of the tourist thing while you’re here?”
All I feel like doing is returning to the familiar and taking Dylan with me. Spending the majority of my time either at hospital or in the quiet of my flat, I don’t feel prepared for the onslaught to my senses likely from a trip into Manhattan.
“I’m shopping this morning. You could come?” Honey asks.
“Sounds like an idea, Sky?” encourages Dylan.
I stare at him incredulously. Okay, Honey’s finally being friendly, but I don’t have the energy. For shopping. Or her.
“I’m not in the mood, sorry,” I say, giving Honey my best apologetic smile.
“You don’t like shopping?” she asks, looking up from her phone.
“Treat yourself, Sky. Spend some of my money,” says Dylan.
“I don’t want to spend your money,” I retort.
Dylan looks at me curiously. “Will you ever agree to spend any of my money? Honey’s happy to spend Liam’s.”
The undertone digging at her happily spending Liam’s money embarrasses me and I give Dylan a ‘be quiet’ look. Honey has returned to her texting and doesn’t hear, and Liam doesn’t respond, gaze still on the window. Is he worrying about the band?
“She’s allowed,” I inform Dylan in a low voice
“Why?”
“They’re getting married.” As soon as the words are out, my cheeks heat with a deep pink, terrified they could be misconstrued. “I mean, she needs to spend his money on the wedding, not that she has open access to his credit card because they’re engaged,” I add probably too hastily.
Dylan rubs his lips with his fingertips and I desperately try to gauge his reaction. His mouth tugs at the corner. “So is that what I have to do to get you to spend my money?”
My heart stutters at his hint about marriage. No. Please don’t go there, not to something we’ve never discussed and not in front of Honey. I shake my head and slide a look to Liam and Honey.
Dylan’s teasing grin widens before he spots someone behind me and nods. “Hey, Bryn.”
Bryn places an arm across Dylan’s shoulders. “How you feeling today?”
Dylan doesn’t answer, glancing at me instead. “If you’re not sightseeing, are you hanging around?”
“Might sit here and read.” I indicate the sofas near where we’re standing and the magazines on the low glass table between them.
“Jem here yet?” asks Bryn.
“I’m sure he’s not far. I’ll text him,” Dylan replies.
When Dylan kisses me and walks away, my heart bangs in my chest. We hit a subject I didn’t want to talk about yet. The worst part is I couldn’t fathom what he thought.
I turn from where Dylan walked into the nearby room and come face to face with Jem. For a moment, I think he’s about to walk straight by, but in the narrow hallway and the close proximity, if either of us did that, we’d be snubbing.
Jem regards me silently for a moment. His brown eyes are sober and he smells of hotel soap, not the lingering smell of alcohol. Nine am but that doesn’t always make a difference.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
The day I first met this man, he terrified me and I hated him. Now all I feel is sympathy, and gratitude. The similarities between Dylan and him have intensified in my mind recently, and despite the fact he still behaves like an arrogant dickhead around most women, he’s dropped the facade around me.
He moves as if to pass and I touch his arm. “Thanks.”
Jem pulls his arm away but the surprise in his face registers. “For what?”
“Helping Dylan the other night.”
“Yeah. Well, just knew something wasn’t right.” He shifts uncomfortably, looking to the door behind.
“I hope being able to talk to each other again helps you both,” I say. “Dylan cares a lot about you.”
Jem runs his tongue along his teeth. “Sure. Catch you later.”
Talking to me is evidently something he’s not entirely comfortable with.
I curl up outside the room in a soft armchair and half-wish I’d gone with Honey. Well, for a fleeting moment, then my sanity returns. There are other opportunities to do these things if I stay with Dylan, right?
“Where’s Dylan?”
I look up, pulled out of my book world by Steve’s voice. I prepare for conflict but Steve’s tired face and slumped stance suggests he’s not here to fight.
“He’s with the band,” I tell him.
“And they are where?”
I point my magazine to the closed door. “In there.”
Steve’s face is impassive. “Uh huh. Fortunate then, because I wanted to talk to them all. They hiding from me?”
“None of my business.”
“Of course not.” He sits in the armchair opposite me. “I’m not stupid; I know what’s going on. Probably about time.” I blink, not expecting this reaction. “They’re not the only ones struggling. Do you think I’d let everything fall apart after all this time?”
“So what? You’re going to loosen the leash a bit?” I ask, unable to stop the snide comment.
“I put my life into this too. They implode; I’m going down with them. They need a break, makes sense. They’ll come back.”
“How can you be sure?”
He sits back, arms behind his head. “How many farewell tours have you seen from big bands? Plenty, I’ll bet. And how many of them come back? Most of them.”
He’s right. On both counts. The messed up Dylan needs out, but he could never tur
n his back on the music. Whether that means coming back to Blue Phoenix or not, I’m not sure. Stepping away is the thing to do for all of them right now, including Steve. The spiralling descent of the band into chaos and ultimately destruction would be more damaging to Steve than allowing them time off. Time I think Steve needs too.
“Just do me a favour, Sky. Let him do what he loves, don’t try and change him.”
“Why would I try and change him?”
“Because I don’t think you really want his world.”
“I don’t think our relationship is any of your business,” I retort.
“So I keep being told.” Steve rubs his hands on his legs. “Know why I worry about you and not Honey? Honey’ll break Liam’s heart, but she won’t ever try to stop him doing what he wants. I doubt she’ll be around in a year’s time.”
I stand and place the magazine on the table. “They’re in there. Maybe knock before you go in?”
I begin to walk away and he calls after me, “You’re welcome by the way.”
I pause and look back at him. “For what?”
“The criminal damage charge I got you out of.” I frown in confusion and as the realisation hits, he smirks. “Throwing cameras around, not good. Be nice to the press.”
“Oh, thanks,” I mumble, annoyed at my pink face as I walk away.
****
Dylan
“That’s it? No dramas? Threats?” I ask Steve.
Steve doesn’t sit when he enters the room and leans against the door, arms crossed. The tired lines of his face and slackened stance indicate he’s not here for confrontation.
“I’m over this as much as you guys. Sometimes damage control means hitting the brakes. That’s what you want? Please, don’t fucking tell me you’re splitting?”
I glance at Bryn, our usual spokesperson. “Time out, Steve. That’s what we’ve decided. A year and we’ll talk again,” says Bryn.
Steve runs a hand along his stubbled cheek. “No one has any plans to go solo I hope?”
“We only want a break. Me? I’m spending a year sorting my life out,” says Liam.
“After the wedding?” asks Jem.
Liam’s gaze shifts to his feet. “The fucking wedding, yeah.”
“She’ll be popping out a baby next, old man,” sniggers Jem.
“Oh, holy fuck, Mini Honeys,” laughs Bryn.
“No way. No kids yet.” Liam’s as pale as I am now, and I don’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him.
“From what I’ve seen, Honey gets what she wants,” says Steve. “She got you.”
“Yeah, since when was this a discussion about my family plans?” he snaps.
I’m in shock at Steve’s reaction, the guy who gripped us tightly now giving us a break? I watch his banter with the other guys and realise how clever he is. Blue Phoenix was slipping through his fingers, like sand through an hourglass, and his control slips with it. He’ll ensure he’s our go to man; he’ll watch us from a distance and step in when he needs. The thumbprint on our foreheads will still be there. Am I happy? I’m too fucking tired to care. A couple of months switched off from everything, but Sky is my first plan. Then next, who knows?
“Do you all have plans? This isn’t a clever ploy to kick me out I hope?” asks Steve.
Now the wounded party act.
“Nah, as if we would,” says Jem, and stands. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Bryn and I catch each other’s eyes. He sees Steve’s game too.
“You’re dealing with the arrangements for this then?” Bryn asks dubiously. “Liaising with whoever the hell needs to know?”
“I’m still your manager. I’m still getting paid, and the team’ll get onto this. Press releases, tour changes. I’ll deal. One thing though, guys…”
Of course.
“The dates we’re cancelling now, I need agreement on a reschedule. I don’t mind dealing with pissed off people, but furious people, I don’t do well.”
“We’ll get back to you on that,” I say before anyone else can reply. “I don’t want to be held to anything right now. I can’t fucking think straight.”
“In a couple of months then?” Steve asks the others, ignoring the thorn in his side.
“A year,” I press.
Steve’s mask slips slightly as he straightens. “Then you take the risk they’ll forget you. There are a couple of bands out there ready to step into your shoes.”
“If we’re willing to take the risk, then that’s what we’ll do,” says Bryn.
“They won’t fucking forget us,” sneers Jem, and I marvel at his confidence.
Steve pauses; absorbing the information then pulls himself forward. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to chat about your next move. If I need to organise flights and such, give Tina a call. I’ll hang around and tidy this mess up.”
As Steve leaves the room, I stare after him. “What the fuck?”
“Too fucking easy,” says Jem and gets out of his seat.
“Exactly.”
“Don’t complain. Life’s easier this way,” says Liam.
“I hope, just seems too easy,” I say.
“Maybe he really has had enough too. Can’t blame him,” says Bryn.
“He’s taking a risk,” Liam replies
Bryn shakes his head. “No, he has everything bound up tightly. He’s being strategic.”
“Yeah, glad you spotted that,” I say quietly.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sky
Suitcase packed and a carry-on bag filled with everything I might need on the flight (plus a lot I probably don’t), I curl up on the sofa with a book.
Dylan roams around the room, inelegantly stuffing everything into his black rucksack. He turns to me, pushing a stray curl from his forehead. I’ve decided I like his hair longer - how much longer he’ll grow it? “There’s something I want to do with you before we leave,” he says.
“We just did that several times,” I say with a knowing smile. The rejection I felt this morning was wiped away when we got back to the suite and I shift as the memory trips the switch to arousal again. We fly back to England today; otherwise, we could stay in bed reconnecting all day. Doesn’t even have to be the bed, anywhere will do.
“Sky, am I corrupting you at last?” he moves over and kisses my nose.
I run my hands under his black t-shirt and scrape my nails along each, lickable muscle. His stomach is at my eye level and I nip his side with my teeth.
Dylan steps back and smoothes down his shirt. “Don’t tempt me. I mean something else. Something I want to do before we leave.”
I sit back against the chair and pout. “I don’t want to go out anywhere. I just want to get back to England. We are still okay to get back?”
“All good. Nobody’s being arrested. Not even you.”
“What?”
“I heard about your little act of vandalism, by the way.” The smirk annoys me; the situation wasn’t funny at the time.
“I wasn’t having a good time, Dylan. I almost punched one of them.”
Dylan’s smirk turns into a laugh. “Do you know how to punch?”
“Do you want me to demonstrate?”
He straightens to his full height and looks down at me. “Sure.”
Knowing that if I lash out at him, he’ll have me pinned to the bed naked in minutes; I look away. “What did you want to do?”
“Stand up.” I eye him warily. “Stand up, come on!”
I place my hand in his strong palm and he pulls me up. “You’re quite happy with what you’re wearing if we go out for a few minutes?”
“Out where?”
“Yes or no?”
“Fine. Yes. I’m wearing this on the plane.”
“Great. Come on.”
A few minutes later, the elevator doors open onto the polished grey marble floor of the hotel lobby. Bellhops stand with luggage racks, their red uniforms and gold buttons shining and matching. One of them, a young guy wi
th close-cropped black hair watches us curiously. An elderly couple waits to use our elevator and the grey-haired man in the immaculate suit sweeps Dylan’s figure with disdain.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Dylan grins and winks at his wife. The designer dressed, perfectly coifed blonde woman straightens and fixes him with an unimpressed look. I shove Dylan out of the elevator.
The windows at the entrance to the hotel sparkle beneath the crystal chandeliers, and the dark Manhattan day looks cool judging by the number of people wrapped up against the weather. If we go outside, the peace of the hotel will be replaced with the sound of traffic and car horns, a throng of people I don’t feel like joining.
“Where are we going? I don’t have a coat,” I ask as Dylan strides to the entrance.
As we reach the door, the concierge stares straight ahead, with only a brief nod of acknowledgement. I halt. “What the hell? There’s press out there.”
“Trust me,” he whispers against my ear.
Pleased he’s full of the old Dylan life and happiness, and hoping to hell he’s not about to do something stupid, I follow him through the revolving doors.
Instantly, my happiness fades. Cameras flash in my face, anxiety flying into my body as I grip Dylan’s hand. I attempt to duck my head and walk past but Dylan doesn’t move.
“Dylan!” I look to him, but he wraps an arm round my shoulders and grins down at the press.
Journalists shout questions about him, us, the overdose, and more; I can’t keep track. I blink at the camera flashes wishing that I was used to this or that Dylan would tell me what the hell was going on.
“Okay, everyone. Write this down.” The questions stop but the cameras don’t. “As you can clearly see, I’m alive; I intend to stay that way. I’m with Sky, and I intend to stay that way, too. We’re flying back to England tomorrow together and that’s the story. If you want any more news about Blue Phoenix, I’m sure Tina will fill you in.” He pauses a moment, ignoring new questions flying his way. “Here’s your photo.”