Falling Sky (22 page)

“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 with 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.”

I have my head down, hair falling into my face in an attempt to avoid the cameras so when Dylan spins me around I’m caught unaware. He circles an arm around my waist and pulls me to his hips. With the other hand, he holds the back of my head and digs his fingers into my hair. My mouth opens to protest and is greeted with his lips pressing firmly on mine and his tongue pushing into my mouth. I place both my hands on his chest to shove him away, embarrassed by his public display.

He feels the tension in my arms and stops, whispering in my ear. “You are exactly the girl Dylan Morgan should be seen kissing. Give them their picture and let’s go.”

Dylan rests his head on mine, and amidst the chaos and shouting round, only he exists. The darkened eyes of the man who stole my heart and soul when we hid in Broadbeach are here with me now, and we’re completely unhidden.

Giving him one of my ‘you win’ looks, I tiptoe and wrap my arms around his neck, placing my lips on his. The warmth and taste of Dylan does exactly the same as always and I spin back to the edge of his universe; the one we now belong in. I dig my fingers into his hair, holding him close, and we kiss as if we need each other to breathe. When he pulls away, the cool air fills the gap between our lips and I’m back in the world of flashing cameras and demanding voices. Dylan doesn’t need to say anymore, to the media or me. Despite my annoyance at him putting me through this, I understand.

This final step into each other’s worlds is needed, but when we get back to Bristol, he’ll find out this works both ways.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sky

Onto my third cup of coffee in half an hour, I flick through the news channels catching up on the news before I go to the hospital.

“Up already? Aren’t you tired after last night?” asks Dylan from the bedroom doorway.

I gesture at my coffee mug in response as I take in the, ‘I’ll never get fed up of taking in’, sight of Dylan in just his jeans, the muscular lines of his chest,
those abs, and that line of hair disappearing into… I blink.

“Aren’t you cold?” I throw him a discarded t-shirt from last night’s sofa sex (or was that this morning?)

“I’m tired. Are you going to the hospital already?”

“You know I am; I can’t miss visiting hours,” I say defensively.

Dylan pulls the t-shirt on, mussing his hair as he does. How can Dylan look as sexy getting dressed as he does getting undressed? “I know, sorry. Do you want me to come with you?”

I shake my head. “No way. I’ll tell the press outside to wait for you to come out later, should I?”

“Seriously? They’re still out there?”

A week back at my flat and the press presence is thinning. “Some of them have gone, I think they got bored.”

“They’re not the only ones.”

“Go back to the Morgan Mansion then!”

“Not until you’re ready.” We have this conversation daily and my answer is always the same. Of course, I want to move out of this crappy flat and take time out with Dylan to plan our next moves, but not yet.

“When Tara gets better, then I’ll go wherever you want. I’ll even let you pay.”

Dylan straightens. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.” I hope I know what I’m agreeing to.

“And do anything?”

“Within reason, Dylan.”

He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “Like I’d make you do something, you don’t want to do! Indulge me; I’ve worked years for my holiday.”

Bizarre. Most people would see being in a famous rock band one long holiday, although I’ve seen the reality. Dylan’s current holiday destination is my crappy flat in Bristol sitting around while I visit my friend in hospital. I guess I owe him.

I wander over and slide a cold hand under his t-shirt. He winces as I run a finger down his stomach. “I’m going to see Tara. Clean up the flat while I’m gone,” I say and giggle. “Then you can pick me up from the hospital later.”

“Cheeky!” He slaps my backside as I turn and leave the flat, smiling at the normality in my
world which will never be normal again.

****

Before Tara, hospitals were somewhere I rarely visited. Now the nurses, and even the cleaners, on her ward know me by my first name. Probably my connection to Dylan aids in that, but feeling ‘part of the family’ on an ICU isn’t a positive thing.

Tara woke up briefly while I was in the States, a big step in the right direction. She’s still heavily sedated and isn’t conscious often, and they haven’t been able to fully assess her brain for damage yet. This mars the huge relief I feel.

Today, our old school crowd arranged to get together and visit Tara. I promised Dylan I wouldn’t stay all day and he said he’d pick me up this afternoon, mostly because he doesn’t believe I’ll leave. Fair enough, because I do lose track of time when I’m at the hospital.

School friends, unfortunately, include Grant. Chloe and Simon hang around longer and we head to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. We sit and chat like we were back in the school cafe, rewinding our lives to back then. Reminiscing about teachers and teenage parties brought the old world closer as we passed a couple of hours, lost in memories. I rarely see them now I’m not with Grant. We used to go out with Chloe and Simon to pub quizzes, and spent a couple of holidays together in Ibiza. She’s cut her long hair into a bob, and Simon has put weight on. Despite the past being with us, we’re clearly different people now. The gap left by Tara is felt.

Time passes quicker than we realise, and my phone beeps alerting me to a message from Dylan. This is the cue for others to check their phones and the goodbyes follow. There’s something bittersweet in the fact we’ll catch up again next weekend, sit together with Tara if we manage to sneak past the nurses who only allow two of us at a time by her bed. We’re already organising a party for when she comes home because she will come home. She’s out of danger and time will tell what happens next.

Chloe kisses me goodbye, her bob sweeping my cheek as she does. Simon grins, hands in his pockets, unsure whether physical contact is appropriate, as usual. I hesitate. If I hug him, will Grant expect me to touch him too?
Hugs for both guys? When Chloe wraps her arms around each of them with a peck on the cheek, I remain seated, suddenly aware we’re not school friends and life is a hell of a lot different.

When Grant doesn’t stand and waves them off, I groan inwardly and text Dylan, asking him to meet me outside. Left alone with Grant in a quiet corner of the hospital cafeteria, I brace myself for whatever is coming.

“Do you need a lift home?” he asks, as I put my phone down.

“No, Dylan’s coming for me.”

A muscle in Grant’s cheek twitches. “It’s true then? You and him still together?”

“Yes. Why? What’s it to you?”

When you’ve spent the majority of your teenage life, and then most of your adult life with someone, they’re not difficult to read. Apart from when they’re having affairs with mystery blondes apparently, but anyway. I know exactly what is whirring in Grant’s brain from the soft and sorry expression in his face.

“Don’t even say the words,” I mutter.

“I made a mistake, Sky.”

“You’re damn right you did! But thank you for stopping me making an even bigger one!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We weren’t happy really, were we? Our relationship was just a habit like wearing a comfortable pair of jeans that we couldn’t bother replacing. Better this happened now than later.”

Grant twists his empty coffee cup in his hands. “I miss you. Seeing Tara, it made me realise what I’d lost too.”

I sink back in my seat. “Didn’t we have this conversation in August? Can you remember what I said then?”

Grant gives a small smile. “I think it was along the lines of ‘go fuck yourself’.”

“Well, there you go. Why ask again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought you might feel the same. You could’ve changed your mind.”

I can’t decide whether he’s arrogant or stupid or both even to contemplate that I’d want him back. “I’m with Dylan now.”

“How long for? You don’t really think the fantasy will last?” he eyes me warily.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“Sky, people get through stuff like what happened with us. Maybe I had to do what I did to realise what I had was better.”

“Oh, my God! Are you saying you screwed a girl to make our relationship stronger? You’re an idiot!” There are a few different words I could use, but I bite them back.

Grant reaches across the table and touches my hand. “Five years is a long time, Sky. I can’t switch off how I feel.”

I snatch my hand back. “You were doing a good job when I saw you in our bed with someone else!”

“I made a mistake!” He drags his hand through his short brown hair. “As soon as you left, I knew that.”

“And as soon as I left, I knew we were over long before this happened. Be honest, Grant.”

Grant’s green eyes have looked into mine over the years, but never in the same way Dylan’s do, and hold something different to Dylan even now. What does Grant really feel? Loss? Frustration? Jealousy? Because I don’t see love in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I never showed you how much I cared about you. We just got a bit… stuck.”

My phone beeps, jolting me out of the conversation. Dylan. I text him back, ignoring the rising irritation with Grant. “Grant, I don’t want to dig this up. I’ve moved on.”

“Really? You’re still in Bristol. You can’t let go of your life here. I don’t think you have moved on yet.”

“I have to go.” I stand, scraping the chair across the tiled floor. Grant stands too.

“I’ll be there for you, when he dumps you.”

“What the fuck? Are you deaf? Haven’t you listened?” I walk across the cafeteria, digging my nails into the strap of my bag.

The cafeteria is at the front of the hospital. I’m relieved I don’t have far to go to get out and away from him.

Grant strides alongside me. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I stop suddenly and he nearly crashes into me. “Don’t be such a fucking hypocrite!”

“I mean it. I still love you,” he says softly.

“Shut up!” I half yell at him. An orderly with a metal trolley eyes us suspiciously.

Weirdly, I think I believed Dylan the first day he drunkenly told me he loved me more than I believe Grant now.

I don’t dignify his words with an answer and we stand opposite each other, silence hanging as I attempt to form a response that will get him never to broach the subject again.

And of course, Dylan appears, his tall frame moving through the corridor and presence catching the attention of everyone around. People are magnetically drawn to him, stopping what they’re doing to look - even those I’m sure don’t know who he is. They don’t need to be aware of his name to be caught in his pull.

Grant’s body language shifts and he edges toward me, putting his hand on my arm. Dylan stops and looks between us before fixing Grant with an impassive look.

Awesome. Perfect addition to the afternoon.

“You ready, Sky?” he asks, not taking his eyes off Grant.

My ex, who had his fair share of girls at school crushing on him as captain of the football team and one of the hottest guys at school, is eclipsed by Dylan. Grant has the looks and the charms, but next to Dylan Morgan, he’s as average as they come.

I slip my hand into Dylan’s and his fingers crush around mine. I squeeze his in warning. “This is Grant. Grant - Dylan.”

Neither of them moves; no hand shaking here I guess.

“I thought so.” Dylan finally looks at me and leans in to kiss me softly on the lips. “How’s Tara?”

“She wasn’t awake today.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, but it was nice to catch up with everyone?” puts in Grant. “I enjoyed having lunch with you.”

Again with the hand crushing.
I move closer to Dylan and glare at Grant. “You and the others, yes.”

Dylan as usual is gathering some attention and a couple of nurses are at the edge of the corridor whispering. If we stay much longer, he’ll be descended on for autographs.

“You’re not what I expected,” says Grant.

I tense. Grant and Dylan speaking wasn’t something I wanted. “Oh?” asks Dylan.

“You look different in pictures.” The innocent comment is loaded. “But I hear things have been tricky for you recently, with the rape allegation and everything.”

Dylan’s finger crunching extends to an increasingly stiff stance. He’s spoken to Steve recently about Lily, but not communicated to me. Lily hasn’t been in touch and I get the impression I’m being squeezed out of any involvement. I don’t believe everything is laid to rest yet and I’ll get the truth somehow.

“Grant, don’t be a dickhead,” I say.

“Leave him. It’s okay,” says Dylan.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” says Grant to me, ignoring Dylan.

“I think Sky makes wise decisions,” Dylan says, “She knows her own mind.”

Apparently lost for anything else in his arsenal, Grant leans in and kisses my cheek. I freeze, hoping to hell Dylan isn’t one for testosterone-fuelled displays. The last thing we need is an assault charge. “I’m here when you need me again,” he says and steps back. “Good to meet you, Dylan Morgan.”

Grant strides away before either of us can react. Warily, I look to Dylan who’s watching Grant go with a hard-set mouth. Eventually, he blinks and looks back to me. “Let’s go home.”

****

Dylan

The moment Sky closes the door to her flat; I turn her around and cage her with my arms, pressing myself my hips against hers. The little gasp she makes when I surprise her stirs arousal. I crush my mouth against hers and take her head in my hands, pushing her face to mine.

She tastes fucking amazing, of Sky, of love, of everything that’s good in my world.

“Dylan,” she breathes as she pulls her head away, disentangling my fingers from her hair.

“You’re mine, Sky. Tell me you’re mine.” My tone is harsh, head filled with images of her and Grant.

Her eyes soften in
realisation and she runs a finger down my face. “Of course I am, jeez, Dylan.”

“What was he doing?” I ask hoarsely.

“Being Grant,” she says. “Forget him.”

“I can’t. He’s part of you.”

“No!” Sky pushes me. “How can you say that? He stopped being part of me the day I saw him with that girl. No. Before then, months ago.”

“
Here. Being here in Bristol makes him part of your life.”