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“No.” There’s a pause as she clears her throat. “But she sent me a letter, Dylan.”
“A letter about what?”
“One you wrote to her at the time everything happened. She’s taking it to the police.”
Shit. I’d forgotten about the letter. I can’t remember everything I wrote but if she’s held onto it, there’s a reason. Not a good one.
“Can I read the letter to you, Dylan?” Her voice cracks.
“Okay.” I swallow against my tightening throat. This isn’t good. Can’t be good.
And as I listen to Sky, the words are worse than I fucking imagined.
“‘Lily. About what happened the other night, I’m sorry. Sex with you was a mistake and I wish I’d controlled myself. I know how much this has hurt you, and I never meant to. If I could turn back the clock, I would. I don’t know what else to say, apart from, please don’t do something stupid and drag us both into a bad situation. Dylan’”
The sound of Sky inhaling sharply travels down the line. “Why send that? This reads as if you’re admitting everything—the part about not controlling yourself, Dylan!”
“I didn’t mean I forced her. I meant I should’ve controlled my decision to have sex with her. Why is she doing this?”
“Do you realise how incriminating this letter sounds?”
This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening. I play with the switch on the lamp by the bed, clicking it on and off. “Yes. Shit. I’ll sort this.” How? I don’t fucking know. And I’m selfish. Again. “How’s Tara?”
“No change. Visiting her will be difficult, won’t it? There’s already press outside the door.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Sky. Want me to get someone to come and get you—you can go back to my house? Or the London place?”
“No. I need to be in Bristol for Tara.”
I’ve fucked this up, the past screwing over my present. Firstly, I couldn’t support Sky by going back to England with her, now she’s trying to cope with the stress of her best friend in hospital with my past adding more problems for her. Just as Sky begins to accept she could be part of my crazy life, the crazy grows a thousand times worse. “What can I do to help? I have to do something.”
“Sometimes I think the amount of crap that’s happened in my life recently is punishment for having such a tame, uneventful life.”
“Or for dating a dickhead rock star?”
“All the crap started before you.” She pauses then says in a quiet voice, “I wish you were here. I need to see you. We need to be together to get through this.”
“I can’t come back, Sky,” I say hoarsely.
“What? Why? Did Steve—?”
“I’ll be arrested if I do,” I interrupt. “There’s a warrant now plus a shitload of gleeful paparazzi. The courts are trying to get me extradited from here. Such a fucking mess.”
The line goes silent, and I know she’s crying partly because of what I’ve done, which punches me in the chest. What if this is the final straw for her? I know she believes I didn’t commit a crime, but the situation again shows how life with me is totally screwed.
“Dylan.” Her voice is thick with tears and I control the desire to pick up the lamp and throw it against the fucking wall.
Instead, I inhale and close my eyes. “I’ll wait—listen to what Steve says later today—but we need to sort this.” I pause, willing her tears to stop. “The most important thing to me right now is that you still believe me.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.” The speed she replies and the softness of her tone reassures me.
“Are you okay right now? Do you need anything?” I ask, uselessly.
“I’m leaving to see Tara now.” There’s a distance to her voice and I hope this is shock and not her shutting down. Please don’t shut me out.
“I’ll call later? I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
