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“Not exactly. We just hang out sometimes.” He swats my hand away.
“Hang out? Friends with benefits? You’re funny. It’s about time.”
“About time what? I settled down? Fell into a serious relationship like you guys?” he snaps.
“Whoa, okay, Bryn. I didn’t say that.”
He grabs his drumsticks again and starts tapping a low rhythm. “Really, man. Don’t wanna talk about this shit.”
Liam appears in the doorway, red curls free of the ponytail he normally wears his hair in, holding up his phone. “Think I’m gonna have a party at my place.”
Bryn snorts. “Dinner party at Liam’s. How refined.”
He throws a guitar pick with a perfect shot as it bounces off Bryn’s forehead. “You don’t need to come.”
“Good. The Riot boys heading out?” Liam nods, and Bryn drops the sticks to grab his jacket. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun!” I call after him.
“I intend to.”
I scratch my head as he walks out. “What’s with him? Doesn’t he want to tour again?” Liam shrugs at me. I’m pissed off because I wanted to chat to Bryn about the Lily issue for his understanding and wisdom. No way can I mention this to Jem and drag shit up, and Liam will play things down. He always does.
“Look at you,” I say instead, with a laugh. “Swapping pubs for soirees. Your life is over, Liam.”
He scowls at me. “Heading home to your wife?”
This is the point we could chat about exactly this; a month married in our different worlds. I avoid the topic, too weird.
Liam eyes me as he drinks from his beer. “Heard a rumour about you, Dylan.”
“My life’s full of that shit, Liam.”
“Nah, I heard you met with Jack Kennedy”
Jack. The producer I chatted to one night when I was in St Tropez, an evening spent drunkenly hatching plans for working with him on an album. On my own. “Not officially.”
“Does Steve know you’re planning a solo career?”
“I’m not.” Liam cocks a brow, and I huff. “Even if I did want to write my own album, it wouldn’t affect the band. After the tour, we’re not recording at least until next year.”
“Sounds like this is all planned out.” Liam’s not pissed off, but curiosity lies in his face. “I’d talk to Steve before you make any real plans.”
“Maybe Steve not involved is part of my reason for this.”
“Check your contracts before he kicks your ass, Dylan.”
“Can we not get into this conversation now?”
Liam gives a small shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Who’d you reckon I should invite to the party?”
“If I were you, I’d let Cerys choose.”
“Meh.” He drops his arm, and we head across the polished wood floor to the back of the rehearsal room. Liam pulls his car keys from his pocket and pauses. “Don’t fuck up the band, Dylan.”
The doors bang closed behind Liam, cold wind blasting in as he leaves, and I stare after him. My plans to record on my own, to put myself out there as Dylan Morgan and not part of Blue Phoenix, crystallised over the last couple of weeks. I don’t intend to walk away from Phoenix; they’re my life and a part I’m more at peace with recently. But I crave to be me, to have control, even if just once. I’ve no interest in forming another band. I wouldn’t screw the boys over.
In an adjacent room, voices carry as Ruby Riot pack up too. Hell, we’re giving a new band a chance, a bloody good band who will hit the ground running once they’re out there. Isn’t giving them the opportunity to tour with us a bigger threat to our position at the top of the rock industry than I could be?
One thing I’m learning from life with Sky is everybody should live the life they want because one filled with maybes and doubts leads to angry regret.
My new life with Sky opens up a bigger world than I ever imagined a year ago and my planned project is one more step to taking my life back.
