Never Say Never (18 page)

            And then we looked at
each other as we sang together: our voices melding together, his gaze so
intense upon my own:

            “Just tell me that
you're coming home to me.”

            As we looked into one
another's eyes, as I felt the piercing stare of his icy blue gaze, I couldn't
help but feel a connection with him. Even now, even apart, I felt close to him:
as if the music gave us a space, out of life, out of space and time, to be
together. To be in love – even when I knew that love was impossible. My whole
body ached for him – but something else ached too. My heart was broken. I felt it
now more keenly than before.

            “Just tell me that
you're coming home.”

            Tears were streaming
down my face as we packed up our instruments and headed backstage.

            “You okay, Neve?”
Steve came up to me.

            “Just an intense
show, that's all,” I said, deflecting his question.

            To our surprise, we
found backstage for us a whole table piled high with gifts – presents from fans.
A teddy bear, a few bouquets of red roses, chocolates, poems. One woman slyly
slid me an envelope. I opened it, my mouth dropping open as I saw a series of
black-and-white photographs of the woman fully unclad.

            “I've got such a
crush...” she began, blushing.

            “You want me to give
these to someone?” I asked. “Kyle...? Luc?  
Danny
?”

            The woman laughed.
“Honey – they're for
you
. My number's written on the back.”

            Before I could
respond, she winked at me and vanished. I stood holding the photographs in
utter shock. So this was what being a rock star was like.

            The manager tapped me
lightly on the shoulder. “Miss Knight?” he said.

            “Yes?”

            “We've got a bit of a
situation I was hoping you could help us resolve if you don't mind.”

            “Sure,” I said,
following him through a gorgeous corridor lined with marble and gilded mirrors,
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.       

            “Secret VIP
entrance,” said the manager, opening a hidden door in the wall and taking me
into an elevator. “We're going all the way to the penthouse suite.”

           
The penthouse
suite?
Had my mother and father decided to come see the show?

            The manager smiled at
me as we stood outside the door. “I think you'll find what you're looking for
in there,” he said. “And thanks for the show, Miss Knight. It meant a lot to me
to be able to be there to see it.”

            I tentatively opened
the door, gasping as I did so. The suite was the most beautiful room I'd ever
seen. Luxurious, with a roaring fire in the fireplace and an elaborate
four-poster bed piled high with satin curtains, this suite was more than just a
VIP suite. It was the ultimate in luxury.

            “Hello?” I called
out, walking into the living room. Upon the table I spotted a bottle of
champagne chilling in an ice bucket, lying next to a box of chocolates and a
bowl of fresh, sweet-looking strawberries. Next to them was a note – unsigned:

“Just tell me
that you're coming home to me.”

My heart began
to beat faster. “Hello?” I called out.

            And then I heard it.
A slow, sad melody from the bedroom – being strummed not on an electric guitar
but rather on the melancholy strings of an acoustic. I walked in to find Danny
sitting on the bed, dressed in black, looking up at me with soft, sweet eyes,
smiling as he played.

            “
I know so many
things/there's so much that I can do

            “I can play the
perfect fool/I can manage losing you”

           
His eyes
filled with pain as he sang.

            “
I know how to
play guitar/I know how to write a melody

            I know how to make
the girl I love fall out of love with me.

            I've been holding
on to too many ghosts/they hold me back I see

            But no-one holds
me back the way I do it all to me.”

When the song
was done, he put down his guitar and stood up, coming towards me. “I wrote it
for you, Neve. It's the first romantic song I've written for anyone since
Peyton died.” He took my face in his hands, gently kissing me. “I was so
stupid. I was so blind. What we had – it was more than just sex. You knew it. I
knew it. But I freaked out, Neve. I thought that if I just focused on the sex,
on the passion – I could protect my heart. I could stop myself from falling in
love, from getting hurt again. But now I see just the opposite. I managed to
hurt myself – and you – by being such a fool.” He kissed me passionately,
deeply. “And watching you sing these past few weeks – watching your talent grow
every day. You have so much inside of you, Neve. So much passion. So much
complexity. And you keep it bottled up. And when you let it out – either in
your music or...in bed. It's beautiful, Neve. It's absolutely beautiful.” He
sat me down with him on the bed. “Since Peyton died, it's been so hard. I've
had to deal with so much. The pain – the nightmares – the guilt. And only with
you did that pain go away.”

            “I'm not a band-aid,
Danny,” I said softy. His words had moved me, but I was still scared. I knew he
had the power to hurt me again – a power I didn't want to cede to him. “I can't
just fix your problems, stop your pain.”

            “No, Neve,” said
Danny. “You are so much more than that to me. I feel like when I'm with you I
understand you, and you understand me. I feel closer to you than to anyone in a
long while. It was one thing if it was just the sex. But it's more than that.
It's the energy that passes between us – this feeling that, when we're
together, we're both so overwhelmed by happiness, by those feelings. When I met
you, I admit it; it was attraction, plain and simple. But it's become so much
more than that. These past few weeks I missed you so much. All I wanted to do
was turn around, leave Chicago or New York, go home and rush into your arms
right away. This is the first time I've felt like that, Neve. For a long time.
Maybe ever.”

            I felt tears coming
to my eyes again. This was everything I'd wanted to hear for so long,
everything I'd wanted from Danny – overwhelming me all at once with its beauty.
But I couldn't go back to him – not even now. Not unless I was sure he wouldn't
hurt me like that again.

            “I want to believe
that, Danny,” I said. “But I don't want just sex anymore. I want a relationship
with you – a real one. It's that or nothing for me.”

            Before he could
respond my phone vibrated. It was a text from Kyle. The rest of the band had
gone out for drinks, and he was wondering where I was.

            I called him back.

            “Where are you?” he
said. “We're about to drink to our success.”

            “The manager took me
to a special suite. A fan wanted to give me a gift.” I flushed. After all I had
said about wanting a relationship with Danny, I knew that even if we had one,
it could never be normal. We'd always have to keep it a secret.

            “Oh,” said Kyle.
“Well, welcome to the perks of rock-star-dom I guess.”

            “I'll be busy,” I
said firmly. “Don't wait up for me.”

            As soon as I had hung
up, Danny's mouth was on mine, his hands seeking the ribbon to my bustier. He
was kissing me, overwhelming me with his caresses, feeling my breasts, the heat
of my body, its warmth, driving me crazy.  

            “So, Kyle, huh?” he teased.
“You want to make me jealous?” He laughed and kissed me. “I know he's spending
a lot of time with you, lately.” His lips brushed my nipple and made me
shudder. “But I don't want him touching you. I don't want you with anyone –
except me.”

            “Then I don't want
you
with anyone, except me. Danny...” My voice was husky with need.

            “I want you, Nev,” he
said. “Take me back – please say you'll take me back.”

            “Only if it's real,
Danny. If it's more than sex.”

            “I said it in my
song, Neve. I need you.”

            “If you need me...” I
pulled up my bustier, putting my shoes back on. “Then meet me halfway, Danny.”

            He said nothing and I
sighed. My heart sank again. All these words meant nothing, I knew, without
commitment. “Look, Kyle and the guys are downstairs – I should probably...”

            “Neve, wait!” Danny
called after me. “Don't leave me, please.” He sounded so vulnerable all of a
sudden. Lost. Confused. “Please don't go...” His eyes were wide with pain – his
face was hollow, almost empty. Tears were in his eyes. “I can't go back to it.
To life before you. To the nightmares.”

            I relented. “Don't
worry,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere. But you need to talk to me. To
explain.” I kissed his forehead. “Let me know what you're thinking.”

            He relaxed in my
arms, but I could still sense his pain. “You really want to know?”

            “I do,” I said. “If
we're going to have a relationship – we need to be honest with each other,
open.”

            Danny looked up into
my eyes, his gaze full of tears. “So you'll stay.”

            “If you tell me
what's going on. If you open up.”

            Danny rose and went
to his guitar, holding it against him like a safety blanket. We sat for a while
in silence. At last he spoke.

Chapter 20

            “
P
eyton,” Danny began. “I used to think she was
the only girl in the world who understood me. Understood what it was like to
grow up the way I did. Always in the shadow of my dad. No matter what I did,
I'd never be as clever, as attractive, as rich, as interesting as the famous
Clarence Blue. Everyone loved him. Or at least – everyone wanted favors from
him. And he gave me plenty. Summers in Switzerland. Winters in Majorca. A
Fender strat at the age of five. Everything, that is, but attention. But love.
He was so busy, so wrapped up in being Clarence Blue, in being popular and
loved and famous, that he forgot he had a son. Having a son would be bad for
his image, you see. After all, Clarence Blue is an international playboy, not a
doting dad.”

            I thought of my own
father – so willing to give up his rock star days for his family – and felt
lucky.

            “You don't know what
it's like growing up with a different stepmother every year. Some of them
barely older than me. All of them so lonely, so unhappy. They'd married my
father because they were in love with his image – only to find that he'd ignore
them, neglect them, cheat on them in turn. He didn't care about them. Some of
them turned to me, tried to seduce me in order to get revenge on my dad for
cheating on them – but I never did. I just wanted to get away, to get out. To
be free of my whole family and its crazy dysfunction. And my world really was
crazy, insane. Sometimes I wonder if my dad really is stark raving mad. All he
cares about is power – and this obsession with power consumed him. He married
my mother before he was wealthy – he was a young upstart; she was a fashion
model who worked at his company to pay the bills. She died when I was ten. Car
accident. Since then...he made his billions and decided to
buy
women
instead of falling in love with them. He just wanted to be seen with a different
woman on his arm at every function – he didn't care about his family. But when
I met Peyton...things were different. I was just eighteen and she was older,
twenty-one. I had just come up to Oxford to study music and she was in her
final year. Everyone knew she'd get the highest first-class degree in the year
– her talent was extraordinary. She studied classical voice and piano, but what
she really wanted to do was make music. Real, gritty English punk – like Joy
Division or the Clash. Not the sort of thing you expect in a posh place like
Oxford. She was from a normal, middle-class family from Chester. A warm, loving
family. They gave me attention, kindness, everything I lacked. I even spent
Christmas with them. And she taught me a lot about being a musician. And a lot
about making love. She was more experienced than I was by far, but she was a
kind and patient teacher. She taught me how wonderful it could be to make
someone you love happy in that way. She helped me overcome my insecurities; she
gave me so much confidence. She encouraged me to pursue what I wanted instead
of what my father wanted for me; she inspired me to apply to the doctoral
program at USC, to complement my love of playing music with my academic
interest in it.” He paused. “I'm sorry, Neve. I know it must be hard for you,
hearing me talk about her. But you wanted to know everything...”

            It was. But feeling
Danny open up before me – I felt that for the first time we were really getting
somewhere, getting closer. “Go on,” I said.

            “Last year we were
driving back from a gig in Manchester, where I was on summer holiday. I was
absolutely exhausted – completely shattered, overworked. I hadn't been drinking
that night, but I'd been taking energy pills – caffeine pills, Adderall,
anything legal or illegal to give me energy. I was trying to do so much at once
– be a good boyfriend, do my doctoral work, play in the band, that I started
abusing uppers. And I was so completely exhausted – but I insisted on driving
anyway. She said I was tired, to let her drive instead, but I refused. I was
arrogant. I wanted to prove to her that I was strong. That I could do it all.
That I could handle the stress – no matter what my father thought. And I
handled it, all right. Crashed from the high, fell asleep at the wheel, drove
into a tree at eighty miles an hour. Of course, I escaped without a scratch.
Fate's funny that way. But Peyton...” He began to sob. “Neve, when I woke up,
she was dead right in front of me. She was killed instantly.”