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“I’m not talking about the band. I’m talking about you,” says Sky.
She doesn’t understand still. “I am the band.” I catch her look. “I mean, I don’t exist outside of Blue Phoenix.”
“Listen to yourself, Dylan. How weird does that sound?”
“Fucked up.”
“Exactly. And you keep avoiding this conversation. As long as you have those pills in your cupboard, you will be fucked up.”
I slide a hand around her waist and pull her closer. “I can leave them behind, but I can’t leave you behind. Come with me for the end of the tour? It’s only a few weeks.”
Sky’s arms around my waist are my anchor to reality, to love, and acceptance. Why did I let her go by leaving in the summer? In her eyes, I’m reflected again, a piece of me now part of her. She touches my face with her soft fingers.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you,” she says but under the joke is the truth.
“Fuck, I love you.”
“Can you not do that?” she mutters.
I let her go, unsure what she means. I’m not touching her in the places I’m aching to. “What?”
“Prefix the sentence ‘I love you’ with the word fuck.”
Smirking, I kiss her nose. “I fucking love you, Sky Davis.”
Sky smacks me in the chest, but she laughs too. “Yeah, I kind of like you, too.”
“Well, I’ll have to work on that, won’t I? Go. Pack.”
Snaking a hand beneath my T-shirt and across my stomach, fingers hovering above the waistband of my jeans, Sky leans in and tugs my lip between her teeth. When I move to respond, mind already racing ahead to what I’ll to do to her, she kisses me quickly on the mouth then steps back.
“Okay, I’ll pack now.”
I scrunch my face up as she throws me a smug smile. “You are in so much trouble,” I growl.
“I’ll look forward to whatever trouble that is.”
Her sexy self walks away and I summon up every ounce of self-control not to follow her.
I need to talk to Jem.
* * *
I bangon Jem’s door. He’s chosen to hole himself up at the opposite end of the house to everyone else, shut behind the old oak door of a room overlooking the hills toward the back of the house. Although I doubt he’s sitting and enjoying the view.
Five minutes of standing here and I’m pissed off. “Jem, open the fucking door!”
Still no response. Shit. The idea he may overdose too crosses my mind and I hammer loudly. We should’ve kept a closer eye on him. Jan told me she’d seen him briefly this morning, maybe I’m too paranoid.
“What the fuck, man?” yells Jem’s voice.
“Talk to me. If you want to stay in my house, open the door.”
The door creaks open and Jem stands barefoot and shirtless. The dark room behind is a haze of blue smoke and smells of weed. His hair hangs in his face, over his stoned eyes.
