The Jagged Heart (2 page)

Caedem threw
back his head and laughed in disbelief.

"You play that
better than I ever did and I wrote the fucking thing," he said
wryly. "Talk about the apprentice outclassing the master."

Phoenix was
suddenly shy as Caedem sat down on the bed beside him.

Caedem was only
seven years older than him, but the guy was a legend. It was his
technique that Phoenix had copied, his picture that had adorned
Phoenix's teenage bedroom wall, his chords that he had learned by
heart - and his place that Phoenix had taken in Mudride.

When he'd
joined the band, it was as if Caedem had ceased to exist. Such was
Taylor's fury at his betrayal that Zed and Dylan were forbidden
even to mention his name, and on the few occasions Phoenix had
asked questions about him, Taylor's anger had burned so white-hot
that he hadn't done it again.

Phoenix glanced
sideways at him. He was even more beautiful close up than he'd
looked on stage or in photographs, his fine features and full lips
accentuated by the severity of his haircut. And as he looked deep
into Caedem's eyes, Phoenix saw himself, not only in the similarity
of their coloring, but also in the pain hidden inside them.

Phoenix had so
many questions but, as he gently leaned the guitar back against the
wall, he knew they could wait.

There was
something about Caedem's presence that filled the room and made
Phoenix gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame. He reached
out his hand and touched Caedem's arm, and there it was again: that
electricity.

Caedem covered
Phoenix's hand with his own, and for a moment, Phoenix thought he
was going to pull him towards him, but instead he removed Phoenix's
hand from his arm.

"I didn't ask
Dylan to bring you here for this," he said.

"For what?"
breathed Phoenix, moving closer, so he could see the fine lines
around Caedem's eyes and inhale the warmth of his skin.

"He's taught
you well," said Caedem bitterly, and both of them knew he meant
Taylor.

"Then why am I
here?" Phoenix pouted.

"I've got a
business proposal," said Caedem. "Or rather, Dylan has. You've just
done to Taylor exactly what I did more than two years ago - and
look where it got me. I got a one-way ticket to rehab. Taylor got
you, and made a million. If you think you can screw him over by
leaving the band mid-tour, think again. He'll regroup and replace
you, just like he did me.

"The only
people you're hurting are Zed and Dylan. And yourself. Dylan called
me up to see if I'd rejoin the band for the rest of the tour, so
they can fulfill their touring commitments and make sure the album
doesn't bomb. I can learn the chords from the songs you wrote for
the last two albums by listening to them a few times, but it'd be
quicker and more authentic if you taught me."

Phoenix laughed
incredulously.

"Why would I do
that?" he spat. "Dylan's crazy if he thinks I'd help Taylor get the
band back together."

Caedem turned
to him, and suddenly he looked older than his twenty-eight years,
misery in the almond-shaped, so-brown-they-were-almost-black eyes
that were the only ones Phoenix had ever seen that were exactly the
same color as his own.

"It's not about
Taylor," he said. "Forget Taylor. Think about Dylan and Zed and the
number of times they've been there for you."

"What's Dylan
told you?" hissed Phoenix, his face close to Caedem's.

Caedem
shrugged, and Phoenix could see the honesty there, and the
pain.

"Nothing. But I
was you, remember. You took the place I'd had for seven years and
the dynamics of the band stayed the same. I know Dylan was there
for you because he was there for me, picking up the pieces every
time Taylor..."

"So it's true
about you and Taylor," challenged Phoenix. "Taylor never talked
about it, and Dylan and Zed always changed the subject when I
talked about you."

"Yes, it's
true," sighed Caedem. "In the end, the only way I could get away
from him was by doing what you did - walking away. Just don't make
the same mistake I made and think you can hurt Taylor. The guy's
not human. He doesn't have feelings like you or me."

"How do you
know so much about me?"

Caedem's gaze
held his, and suddenly Phoenix felt as though he was in the
presence of someone who knew him more intimately than he knew
himself.

"I've been so
lonely," he said, almost to himself. "Not just the last couple of
weeks, but on tour, even when I was lying there with Taylor."

"I know," said
Caedem, and Phoenix felt his hand close over his own.

"I know,"
continued Caedem, "Because how do you think it felt for me, lying
in a clinic, sweating, desperate for the next fix, seeing you on TV
with Taylor, playing my songs, knowing that you were fucking
him?"

Phoenix felt
sick. In all the time he'd been on tour with Mudride, he hadn't
spared a thought for Caedem, and now he realized he needed to make
things right so that he could move on.

Caedem
continued, his hand still covering Phoenix's: "I know you think
you've got cash now, that something else will come along and you
don't have to worry about money. But take it from me, you'll burn
through it, and when the press lose interest, the calls from agents
and other bands will dry up.

"The only phone
calls there'll be will be from journalists waiting to sell you
drugs, waiting for you to self-destruct or to lash out at them
because it would make a great story. On the other hand, If I finish
this tour for you, with your help, the album you co-wrote will go
stratospheric, like it deserves to, and you'll earn enough
royalties from it to be able to do stuff you've always wanted to
do."

Phoenix felt
empty inside.

"I don't know
what that is any more," he said flatly. "Way I feel now, I can't
even imagine going on stage again. I thought about getting my old
band back together, but the guys don't even play music any more.
They're too busy with their regular jobs.

"I've had calls
from producers and managers, and they say, come to New York or come
to LA, but I can't face finding myself an apartment and meeting a
whole load of new people."

"You poor
baby," said Caedem, and there was such compassion in his voice that
Phoenix felt something melt inside him.

Caedem raised a
hand to his cheek and stroked it, rubbing the stubble where Phoenix
hadn't bothered to shave for a few days.

Phoenix leaned
across to kiss him, but Caedem put a hand on his chest to stop
him.

"That's the
last thing you need right now," he said gently. "I'm not Taylor.
You're vulnerable and I can't take advantage of you."

Phoenix
registered the hunger in Caedem's eyes and the growing bulge in the
front of his jeans and thought about trying again. He was not used
to being rejected, and he suddenly wanted Caedem more than he had
ever wanted anyone before in his life.

But then Caedem
pulled him close and lay back on the bed, Phoenix's head on his
chest, and the floodgates opened, and Phoenix was crying all the
tears that he had kept pent up for the last two years.

He lost track
of how long he lay like that, Caedem's strong arms around him, one
hand stroking his hair.

And then,
finally, when he was all cried out, Caedem pulled him upright into
a sitting position.

"Help me do
this, Phoenix, for both of us, and for Dylan and Zed."

"I don't know
what to do any more," said Phoenix in bewilderment. "I don't even
know where to go. I don't want to go back to my apartment with the
photographers all there."

"Shhh. Don't
worry." He felt Caedem's lips against the top of his head, his warm
breath ruffling his hair, and a deep calm descended over him.

"I hadn't
planned this," said Caedem, "But I think the best thing would be
for you to come home with me. I'll take good care of you."

"I'd like
that." Phoenix smiled up at him. And then he felt a blanket being
pulled up over him as he fell into a deep sleep for the first time
in a week.

He woke to hear
voices. It sounded like they were arguing, and then he tuned in and
realized they were arguing about him.

Dylan's
voice.

"I'm not sure
it's such a good idea, dude. Poor kid just needs to put everything
behind him, not to start digging up the past again."

"Dylan, he
needs someone to take care of him. He's fragile. I'm the only one
who understands what he's going through."

"You can't
offer him impartial help. You're already falling for him. Don't
deny it. I can see it in your eyes when you look at him."

"Yeah, he's
hot. But I've already managed to keep my hands off him when he
threw himself at me. I know he's vulnerable and I'm not going to
take advantage. You've just gotta trust me."

"Hey, I'm
awake, you know," mumbled Phoenix sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "I
can hear you talking about me."

He smiled at
Caedem.

"You're still
here. I thought you were a beautiful dream."

Caedem's dark
eyes met his, and there it was again, that jolt to his heart that
told him he was about to fall head-over-heels in love, no matter
what Dylan thought about it.

Dylan looked
from one of them to the other and sighed.

"Jeez, I
thought bringing him here could be a mistake on so many levels," he
sighed. "But this is one curve ball I didn't see coming."

Then he looked
more closely at them, incredulous.

"You know, when
Murphy auditioned for us, I remember thinking to myself that he was
the spitting image of you, Cae, but seeing you in the same room is
spooky.

"Murphy, now
you're back in the land of the sentient, what do you really think?
I thought you'd be pissed that we asked you to share your musical
magic, but I wasn't expecting this."

Phoenix smiled
his most angelic smile at Dylan.

"Caedem's
offered to look after me for a while. It was a mistake coming back
to this shitty town. I'm trapped in my apartment and I've got
nowhere else to go. If he does this in return for me running
through my songs with him, I don't see the problem. You guys get
what you want, and I've got somewhere to stay while I get back on
my feet."

Dylan
sighed.

"Why do I get
the feeling I'm getting in deeper and deeper? And I've just
realized something else that's a total pain in the ass. Neither of
you dudes can drive, right? Caedem, you never learned, unbelievable
as it sounds, and Murphy lost his license after being stupid enough
rack up a DUI charge."

Caedem and
Phoenix looked at each other helplessly.

"OK, I'll do
it. It's gonna be a long road trip back to California, and fuck
knows how I'm going to explain to Taylor where I am if he's trying
to arrange auditions, but I think I can organize it. I'll go back
to the hire company, swap the Harley for a wagon and we'll get the
hell out of here.

"Murphy, you
want anything from your apartment other than your guitars? Chuck me
over the keys and I'll swing by there on my way back. If nothing
else, it'll give the vultures something to fill their rags with
this week."

Phoenix felt a
twinge of love in his heart at Dylan's sheer dependability, and a
rush of gratitude that he was so ready to forgive him for wrecking
his career and breaking up the band he loved.

"No, I don't
need anything except for my guitars," he whispered. "Thanks for
bringing me here, Dylan. I didn't know it at the time, but it was
just what I needed."

"Don't make me
regret it," growled Dylan, and Phoenix wasn't sure whether he was
addressing him or Caedem.

They heard the
roar of the Harley downstairs as Dylan took off and Caedem smiled
at Phoenix again with those mesmerizing eyes.

"Shower time,"
he said. "And before you even think about it, I mean shower time on
your own. I'm not going to join you, tempting as the thought might
be."

*****

"I don't know
why we didn't fly," complained Phoenix, stretching his legs out as
he got out of the hired vehicle, eighteen hours into the trip from
hell.

Then he felt
instantly guilty, noticing Dylan's eyes, red from lack of sleep and
concentrating on the road.

"We didn't
fly," said Dylan, his voice deadly, "Because you and Caedem
wouldn't in a million years have checked your precious guitars into
the hold, and because until Mudride hit the road again, you might
have forgotten that none of us have got cash flying into our
checking accounts, and once the record company have taken back what
the album cost, there might not be any more."

"Sorry."
Phoenix bit his lower lip. "I know I shouldn't be such a spoiled
brat when all you and Caedem are doing is helping me.

Dylan, ever
good-humored, just laughed.