AllFreeNovel
Share Us
4
TWO DAYS LATER
SKY
Dylan’s voicecarries up the stairs as he yells at somebody on the phone.
I hesitate outside our bedroom, debating whether to talk to him now or leave this conversation until later. We’re both stressed by our first official public appearance in months, but I never expected Dylan to be as tense as he is. His occasional angry explosions at anybody in his management or PR are a part of him I haven’t missed while on our long holiday.
The call ends and Dylan stomps upstairs. I open my mouth to speak, but he walks by and into the room.
“Everything okay?” I ask. He mutters something under his breath and shoves clothes into our suitcase. “Oh. Haven’t you packed yet?”
He stops, T-shirt in hand, blue eyes dark. “I’ve spent the best part of the last day trying to get us out of this trip to Germany. So, no, I haven’t,” he snaps.
“Whoa. Calm down.” I touch his bare arm. “This is just one evening, Dylan. We arrive this afternoon, and we can fly back tomorrow.”
“Whose side are you on?” I drop my hand in surprise at his tone. “They still think they can tell me what to do even when I’m supposed to be on sabbatical. It’s bullshit, Sky.”
“Don’t take your pissy mood out on me!”
“I don’t want to go to Germany.”
“Jesus, Dylan. Don’t be such a big kid. The rest of the band will be there. It would look bad if you weren’t. I don’t want to go either, but I think we need to.”
“Fine!” He slams closed the suitcase and half kicks it across the floor.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“Dylan...?”
Stony faced, he drags a hand through his hair. “I told Tina I’m out of the building the minute the ceremony is over. I’m not hanging around for photos and celebrity bullshit.”
“That’s okay, then. Everything is fine. Don’t stress.” I switch to a gentler voice in an attempt to diffuse the situation, but Dylan’s lost in his own frustration. Whatever platitudes I offer now won’t work.
But, right now, I need my Dylan, the man who can hold me and soothe my fears, not the uptight star I thought he’d left behind. For the first time in months, he’s the guy who rear-ended my car, the one who fell apart on tour earlier this year. This tall, tattooed guy is Dylan Morgan from Blue Phoenix acting out, and not who I need right now.
“You know what? I’m over this already! Two days back in the UK, and I already have Steve in my ear about organising dates for the tour next year, and PR trying to push me into crap I don’t want to be involved in.”
I sit on the bed and watch him warily. Definitely no rationality coming from this man anytime soon.
“People still think the band have split, Sky, and apparently it’s my fault! How? Just because I left the country when we cut the tour short. Why blame me? Jem’s the one who went into fucking rehab!” He pauses. “You know what? We should just leave again. Anymore stress today, and I’m gonna lose my shit.”
Going to? My hands tremble as I bite back my words, at the conversation I want with him. He’s shut down any possibility of them coming from my mouth. “Dylan. Take a walk. We don’t need to leave for a couple of hours. You’ll feel better.”
“Yeah. Good idea.” He plants a hard kiss on my forehead and walks away.
I rub my head as the Dylan whirlwind disappears out of the room, his footsteps crashing down the stairs. My heart thumps. How can I talk to him about this now? When he’s in this mood, Dylan is hard to rationalise with. He’s unpredictable, and we always end up in a fight. I won’t put up with Dylan’s attitude if he throws it in my direction.
Wiping a hand down my face, I head back into the bathroom and pick up the white plastic stick. The result hasn’t changed in the few minutes since I walked out.
Pregnant.
Nausea and panic rise again. This could cause an argument. A big one. Not because I’m pregnant, but because I’ve taken the test alone, unable to hold off any longer after two days obsessing. Why didn’t I say something to Dylan when I suspected?
I am going to regret the decision.
I slept in this morning, and Dylan was already downstairs so I took the pregnancy test, telling myself it’s better if I know for sure before I share with him. As soon as the result appeared, the shock hit at the realisation my world was about to change yet again. I wanted Dylan’s reassurance and love, to share the news and voice my fears. Instead, I was confronted by him in full-blown self-centred mode, a man who wouldn’t be able to understand my feelings.
I don’t want Dylan angry with me. I wasn’t trying to hide from him. I wanted to be sure before I confronted the reality of what this means.
A baby. Our baby.
I swallow. If I walk downstairs now and blurt this out what would Dylan’s reaction be? Whenever I choose to tell Dylan, I’ll upset him. He’ll be angry or hurt, or both. I make some dumb decisions around our relationship still.
A door slams and I walk over to the window, positive pregnancy test still in my hand. Dylan’s tall figure strides across the lawn, beneath the grey sky, heading towards the studio he hides out in. This extreme reaction to our return to his old life, and in such a short space of time, worries me. Dylan worries me.
I chew my lip. A tiny part of me is concerned Dylan will freak out and not want another person in our relationship yet. The realistic part of me knows I have no reason to be anxious: he’s a guy who loves and wants to marry me, who I love and adore with every ounce of myself too. Dylan would move the world to keep me safe and happy. So why am I putting off sharing the news with him?
