Summer Sky (31 page)

"Hmm."

"You could come?"

Pointless asking, I know, she's taken one step into my world and I can't push her, even though I need her with me. She has no idea how much.

"I don't think so!"

"I thought I'd ask anyway."

Sky snuggles into me, tucking her head under my chin in the spot her head fits perfectly. "You don't go for a few hours, right?"

"Yep."

"And you're distractingly naked?" I shiver as she traces a finger down my six-pack towards the edge of my briefs. Fingers I'd like playing across other parts of my body. "Now I know you won't fuck me and leave me, can you show me some more of your rock star sex?"

Despite the fact I'd be a hundred percent content with sitting here and cuddling Sky for the next few hours, so I can hold the memory when I'm alone in the hotel later, there is no fucking way I'm refusing her request.

Chapter Thirty-One

Dylan

I sit in another faceless hotel, in another luxury suite and the panic seizes my chest again. This is two days away doing TV stints, not even the tour, and already the discomfort creeps in. I can't do this.

The hotel apartment is what is termed "well-appointed". Penthouse living with sweeping views across the city. Honeymoon style - enormous bed covered in white bedding that swallows you up when lying down, a huge TV, spa bath - the works. Exactly the sort of place I'd love to be with Sky, but she refuses to come.

I pull open my suitcase, burrowing through my clothes to the small bag at the bottom. The brown leather bag contains my shower gel, shampoo - scents to remind me of who I am so I don't have to use hotel soap and smell like half the other guests.

The small plastic container of pills sits alongside the shell Sky found on the beach the day the sea pulled her under. Popping the lid, I study the tiny white tablets and grit my teeth, annoyed medication is what I have to do to hold things together in public.

This is why this life has to end.

I need my space; a place to get myself sorted. Creativity won't happen when I'm being wheeled out like a puppet for stadiums and a mind calmed by benzos isn't a creative mind: everything is dull. The fans aren't stupid, and I can only put on an act for so long.

One night here, one night Germany. Did Steve deliberately not tell me? He knows about the panic attacks and how I'm turning to medication to get through this bullshit. Pills I didn't need in Broadbeach, with Sky.

Sky, my beautiful, smart-mouthed girl who won't give her whole self to me and for the same reason I can't be myself; this fucking suffocating life.

Is it wrong to hope Jem ends up in rehab and the tour is cancelled? He's my best mate. Or was. We’ve spent years fucking up our lives and each other’s; of losing control and never realising until we'd been swallowed by the false world we created.

A knock on the door intensifies the panic and I take deep breaths, regaining control before I answer.

Liam. With Honey and a brown haired version of Honey in tow - even their tight leopard print dresses match. Uh oh. I narrow my eyes at Liam and he pulls an apologetic face. Talk about pussy whipped...

"You ready, Dylan?" purrs Honey.

I turn and walk over to grab my leather jacket and Liam follows me in with his entourage.

"Who's this with Honey? Strawberry Jam?" I ask.

Liam sniggers but Honey and friend appear genuinely confused.

"This is Tania, my friend. Liam said she could come along."

"Did you?" I ask an obviously coerced Liam.

"Kind of."

"Great, so groupies get personal invites now?"

Tania, who has gawked at me the whole time she's been in the room, breaks her reverie. "I'm not a groupie. I just wanna go to the after party."

Should I be insulted or relieved? "So, you’re someone else's groupie?"

"She wants to meet some famous people," replies Honey, flashing her bright teeth at her friend. They both giggle like six-year-olds. "She was going to go with Jem, but you know, he's not great at the moment and I don't want her around him."

"She wants to tag along with us," explains Liam

"How about Bryn?" I shoot back. "Can't she ‘tag along’ with him?"

"He's currently sobering up Jem..."

I run my fingers through my hair. "Fantastic, just what I fucking need."

"If he can walk, we'll be fine. We're not playing tonight - just getting an award."

Why the fuck didn't I persuade Sky to come?

*****

I call and speak to Sky between the awards and being dragged into the VIP after party. She'd waited up to talk to me before bed and to give me a blow-by-blow account of what she thought of the performances at the awards. Hearing her smart comments is a breath of fresh air in the suffocating night. Escape is possible now I have Sky.

The dimly lit, red-carpeted room is filled with other musicians and their entourages. As usual, I bump into a stream of stars and we gush about each other's work, enthusing how awesome to meet up with each other again. I don’t have a fucking clue when or where I last saw most of them, probably when I was high.

Danni-K, the latest darling of the music scene attracts hangers-on like flies. A drunken Jem turns his full attention to her, and her security team is wary. A black-suited guy twice as broad as me and a good few inches taller sticks to her side, throwing warning looks at an oblivious Jem. If there's one thing Jem likes better than multiple groupies, it's getting into the knickers of squeaky-clean stars. Singers, actresses, heiresses... He loves them all and his reputation helps, not hinders.

Having fulfilled my smiling and socialising duties, I slump on one of the black leather benches in a corner. Blue Phoenix get whatever the fuck they want, as organised by Steve, so the metal table holds several of my choice in beer. I grab an open bottle and drink deeply.

My head pounds, as the alcohol mixes with the medication in my system. Steve's around somewhere - I need to arrange a car so I can get the fuck out of here. Fed up of a stream of girls attempting to engage their bodies with mine, I stare at my Converse and the plush carpet. Right now, I'd give anything to be snuggled on the sofa in Broadbeach with Sky.

Someone plonks onto the seat next to me. "Dylan, man, have you met the beautiful, fuckable Danni-K?" he asks, a little too loudly.

I glance up at the starlet; I don't think she heard. Beautiful, yeah. Fuckable? He can work on that one; I'm not interested. Sleek black hair surrounds her heart-shaped face, her huge brown eyes heavily made up and the dark red lipstick contrasting her mocha tone skin. Clueless about fashion even after all these years, I suspect whoever created the tight blue dress slit to her thigh will get a few orders after tonight.

"Hey, Dylan," she says and smiles.

"Hey. Nice performance tonight."

Flicking her hair over her shoulder with a hand containing enough rings to rival mine, she sits next to me, Jem forgotten about. "Thanks. One for everyone to remember."

A theatrical show with enough semi-naked dancers to fill a strip club, and a raunchy number with The Five, the latest boy band sensation. I suspect she's trying to lose her innocent image. She’s hanging with Blue Phoenix, so she must be. The Five are here now, teen boys covered in groupies. Wait until they learn... if they last long enough before their star burns out.

I give her a noise of agreement and swig my beer, scanning the room for Steve. Where the fuck is he?

"Hey! D-K. How's about a picture with The Dylan Morgan," says Jem, pulling his phone out. "Just for us - no press."

I snap my head up. Jem has his phone pointing in our direction ready, and there's a glint in his high eyes worrying me. He's lying. Shit, let her say no.

"Sure," she says in her Southern accent and places her head on my shoulder.

"Aww, c'mon, you must wanna get closer to him than that?"

What the fuck?
In a stunned moment, Danni-K rests her skinny behind on my knee and wraps her arm across my shoulders.
No. Fuck.
Before I get a chance to move, her hair sweeps across my face as her lips meet mine. Instantaneously, Jem's phone camera flashes.

"Holy fuck!" I yell.

An alarmed Danni-K climbs off my lap, lips pursed. "Sorry, not you - that dickhead," I say to her, aware her security is watching the obnoxious Dylan Morgan who's had his hands on their star. "Give me the fucking phone, Jem!"

Jem holds his phone high in the air and laughs at me. "I told you I'd fuck things up for you."

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sky

Speaking to Dylan before I slept filled me with a giddy happiness that everything he says about loving me is true. Each day I spend with Dylan encourages me to think this is worth a shot; the further we entangle our lives the harder it will be to disentangle. Dylan's right - I can't apply logic to love; especially my skewed logic. The truth is I care about Dylan. I'm passionately addicted to him physically and see part of myself mirrored in him. I could be fatalistic and agree we were "meant to meet", perhaps we were because this situation goes beyond what I admit. If love is craving to be around someone, being soothed by his presence and not having to find the right words when alone with him, then I'm falling in love with Dylan. If I change my definition of love from living side by side in a house in Bristol, to a scary, consuming need for someone I resisted for those two weeks, then I'm not falling for Dylan - I've crashed into a scary place where I am in love again.

The one thing I can't let go of is the sneaking fear our colliding worlds will explode, taking me with them.

I switch on my laptop and I'm faced with the possibility this has happened sooner than I thought. On my favourite Blue Phoenix stalking blog are pictures of the band at the after party Dylan complained he needed to go to. The most prominent picture is of Dylan with a celebrity singer I've vaguely heard of. My stomach tightens in horror. The image is of a stunning woman in a blue dress, which exposes more of her than the material covers.

Kissing him.

I refresh the picture twenty times, studying the blurred pixels. Maybe they're not quite kissing? The refreshing doesn't wipe away the image of their lips locked or her sitting on his knee.

The alarm I set on my phone to get me out of the house on time sounds, and I rub my eyes. I can't deal with this right now. In a haze, I head for work, fighting tears all the way. I sit on the ordinary bus amongst everyday people leading monotonous lives. This is my life, not the ridiculous Dylan fantasy. I let down my defences, and was screwed over again.

Halfway through the day, my phone buzzes. A text from Dylan. The coward doesn't even have the decency to call me.

I ignore him, shaking so much afterwards that Jenny, my boss, asks if I'm okay. I nod through tears and a false smile, and then switch my brain off.

His intermittent calls and texts through the day are ignored.

Ignored.

Ignored.

At this point, I switch the phone off. Then I check my favourite Blue Phoenix stalking site once more. They're in Europe for another day, and amongst their entourage is the girl in the blue dress.

*****

Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. A bottle of wine and a family size bag of crisps. That's what I work my way through. Deja bloody vu.

I bunker down with the wine, crisps and a book. Why does this tear at me more than Grant? Grant was my life for five years; Dylan was five minutes.

I wake with my book on my face and a sore neck as the home phone rings incessantly.

"What?" I snap when I answer.

"It was Jem," Dylan says.

"I think it was pretty obviously you!"

"I meant he took the photo and leaked the picture."

"Oh, so he forced her to sit on your knee and play tonsil tennis?"

"No, Sky, she sat on my knee, gave me a friendly kiss on the mouth and he took a picture. Two seconds later, I was nowhere near her; I swear. Were my hands on her? No. Were there any other pictures? No."

Friendly kiss on the mouth? What the hell?

"Why would Jem do that?"

"You know why."

"No I fucking don't!"
Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I'm back tomorrow and I'll come over and explain everything. Not just Jem taking stupid pictures, but what's going on between me and him that’s making Jem behave like this. I'll take you out - show the world you're who I want!"

There's a desperation to his tone I haven't heard before, a panic unlike him. Is he telling the truth? He has to understand why I have a hard time believing him so soon after Grant did something similar.

"Why is she still with you in Germany if it's not true?"