Falling Sky (6 page)

“What was wrong? Nothing I did was right. I thought I did the right thing after the night at the party by checking up on her, but I just fucked things up further. I let her believe she meant something
to me; when to be honest, I was worrying about what she was going to say or do about Jem. Steve told me to be nice to her, hoping she wouldn’t take things further, but the plan backfired.”

Steve. Of course, his hand is in all this.

“Backfired?”

“Fuck. Okay. Lily was upset one time; that’s when things went too far and we had sex. At that point, she thought she meant something to me because I’d visited her a few times. Back then, I didn’t do relationships and would take everything I was offered.” He picks at his meal and his words turn my stomach away from eating. It’s as if he’s describing a different man. “
Jem was fucking obsessed with her. Like I said, when he found out, he went straight to Lily and told her I was using her to get back at him.”

“Were you?”

“Sky, I could sit and talk to you about this for hours, and I don’t think you’ll really understand everything. But please, take away this: I was a stupid, fucked up, arrogant dickhead who didn’t think how his actions would fuck up other people. I couldn’t see beyond the edge of my own ego. I deserved what I got from Lily; I put her in that position with Jem, then I used that to have sex with her myself later.”

“That sounds deliberate!”

Dylan sets his fork down and rests his head in one of his hands, elbow on the table. His lack of response sends a shiver through.

“Okay. The truth.” His voice flattens. “I still wanted to be the one she said yes to. I wanted to win against
Jem; I think part of my motivation in seeing her was that. So, in the drunken moment at her flat, when I had to decide whether to have sex with her, that was in my mind. After we’d finished, I walked away.” He inhales. “Tell me who you think was the abuser in the whole situation? Jem or me? And I fucking hate myself for who that makes me.”

I have no words. Nothing about the Dylan Morgan I know matches the actions he’s describing. This is why he couldn’t tell me. My appetite gone, I push the polystyrene container away, dizzied by the two versions of Dylan in my head. I didn’t want to believe Lily; however, when I replay the meeting with her in my head, nothing was there to suggest she lied. In the
centre of my being, the place where Dylan connects to me, I know he didn’t rape her. What I am certain of is he abused her.

Dylan takes a drink from his can. “I don’t think any of what I’m saying is helping my cause, is it?”

“You’re telling the truth.”

“As long as you believe that.”

“That’s not the kind of story you tell if you want to impress a girl,” I say softly.

“If it makes any difference, I hate myself for every decision I made from the evening of the party to how I treated her. Pretty much from the moment I saw how much damage I’d done, I thought I deserved the accusation. If she knew what was behind my actions, she’d have said no, wouldn’t she? She was eighteen years old, for fuck’s sake. Twice I abused her - once by handing her over to
Jem and then again by using her for sex in revenge against him.”

“You’re not that man,” I say to him. “Not now. If you believe you’re still him, then you’re holding yourself back.”

“I fucked up.”

“Morally, not legally. And the fact you’re cut up about your actions shows me you
realise that.” I pause and tentatively place my hand over Dylan’s. “Why did you wait four months to tell me?”

“Lots of reasons. I switched off. I didn't think you'd believe me over Lily, and that the truth I’ve told you is as bad.
I wanted to keep the memories of the Sky who looked at me as if I was special, and not have my last memories of you hating me. Instead, I switched off and ran. I was out of the country and I could pretend you didn’t exist.” I wince and Dylan curls his fingers around my hand. “I couldn’t though; you were with me every day.”

“You denied me the chance to make up my own mind,” I say, “If anything that upsets me the most.”

“More than what I told you?”

“Yes,” I say truthfully and put my hand over his.

The thread that joined our lives, that tangled us together when we crossed paths, thinned with the distance between us, but never broke. I half-understand why he couldn’t tell me, but this was years ago. If he can’t let go of his past, and he lets himself be dragged down by the man he no longer is, he’s lost. We were both stuck the day we met, both needing to grow up and move on. He needs to leave Blue Phoenix and I need to leave Bristol. My inner struggle matches his, the need to let go of everything I know

We head back toward the car. The pale grey clouds suggest snow is imminent; the temperature’s too low for hanging around by the sea. Despite the conversation, the awkwardness hasn’t left. The Dylan Effect is no less prevalent than it was, and when he slips his hand in mine, I shift so I’m closer to him as we walk.

Dylan and Sky can start again, but we need to make a lot more changes yet.

****

The snow drifts down heavier than recently and by the time we get to my place, the dark clouds bring the winter’s night on early. Dylan parks behind my snow-covered car.

“If we’re going back to the start, I should really rear-end that car?” He looks at me sideways with a grin.

I’m busy calculating my next move and trying to anticipate his because he’s turned the engine off. The snow settles on the windscreen.

“White Christmas, do you think?” I ask.

“A few days to go yet but maybe.”

“I’d better get inside before…”

“Before what?” He turns in the seat and I stiffen. If I kiss Dylan, that’s it. Over. I’m lost again.

“Before the roads get bad for you,” I say the words but I’m unaware of anything but Dylan, the leather scent of his jacket is different to the summer Dylan, a new
flavour mingling with the familiar.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, his gaze on my mouth.

I lick my dry lips and his pupils dilate, even without his hands on me, Dylan’s stirring arousal. He reaches out a hand, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear the way he always used to, his fingertips grazing my cheek with heat. Hesitantly, he moves his face closer, reminding me of the first time he kissed me. I tense as his warm breath strokes my face, dragged into the charged moment before his lips touch mine.

Dylan softly presses his mouth to mine. Then waits. I push my lips to his and our mouths move together, the hesitant kiss of those just met, not of reuniting lovers. I fall into space, past the stars into his universe, pulled to the man who has never let me go. The world outside of the heating space of the car doesn't exist, our bubble transplanted to here and now. I grip the growing curls of his hair and hold his neck and he leans across the middle of the car, pulls me close and lets go of his gentleness. Dylan holds both of my cheeks, the way he did on the beach in the rain, and kisses me like a drowning man desperate for air only I can give him.

My winter coat and his jacket prevent complete closeness and I fight the urge to slip my hands inside his jacket and feel his warmth and strength. If I do that, I know he’ll reciprocate and in a car, in the street, isn’t the right place to start. Dylan switches his attention to my neck, flicking his tongue into the sensitive spot he knows turns me on and I grip his neck harder.

Slowly, Dylan unwinds my fingers from his neck and shifts his head away. We breathe in sync, rapidly, reflecting the desire to reunite that we both have. But not now, not yet.

“I’ve missed you, Sky,” he whispers, cupping my cheek.

“Life lost a lot of colour without you,” I say. “And not just the tattoos.”

“Will you see me again?”

“Yes.” I softly brush his lips and draw away. Dylan’s lips part and I place a finger on them. “But I’m not ready for the intensity again this soon.”

“I get that.”

“Which is why I’m going inside alone.”

“Unfortunately, I thought you’d say that.” He kisses my forehead and sits back.

As I open the car door, Dylan catches my hand. “Tomorrow?”

There’s a hint of the old Dylan, reaching out to the old Sky he’s just resurrected. “It’s always tomorrow with you, isn’t it?” I ask, echoing the words from the summer.

Chapter Seven

Dylan

The eerie light from snow at dusk surrounds the car as I watch Sky enter her building; I’m two seconds from running in after her. Her taste is on my lips, sweet and sexy, and I fucking ache for her. Touching Sky flooded everything back, the need for her ready to consume me again. And went straight to my dick. Shit, I can’t help that. But timing… Good thing our clothes were in the way, because if I’d managed to get her curves beneath my hands, I’d have been a wreck.

My body courses with hope and relief
; when she told me there was a chance I wanted to jump up and hug her, shout to the world ‘she’s mine’. But she isn’t yet. I need to remember how our relationship took tentative steps the few days before Lily spoke to her, and not scare her.

She believes me and forgives me. Why the fuck did I walk away in the summer presuming she wouldn’t? I need to learn not to run from shit. I could’ve saved us both so much pain. I’m a fucking idiot. But the man who did those things gnaws at me, reminding me of who Dylan Morgan is.

Before I leave, I scroll through the messages on my phone. Plenty from Myf, I return them, telling her not to worry. A couple of messages are from Steve asking me if I’ve seen Jem. Serves him right, maybe his loose cannon is about to blow. That takes the heat off me with Steve too, not just the press scum.

The engine revs and I prepare to leave when the door opens to Sky’s building. She stands on the doorstep glancing around and under the light of the porch; her wide eyes are set into a tear-streaked face.

Shit.

I kill the engine and jump out of the car, striding toward her. She has her arms wrapped around her in the protective manner that indicates stay back, and she’s still wearing her coat.

“What happened, Sky?”

She blinks at me. “Someone broke in… My flat… They trashed the place.”

Unable to help myself, I place a hand on her arm, desperate to hug her. “Are they still there? Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, lip trembling. “No. I don’t know. Dylan, my stuff… And they broke the locks. I can’t lock the doors again!” The rising hysteria in her voice panics me too, but soothing her is my job now.

“Let’s get you inside, I’ll call the police. We’ll sort this.”

The door to her flat is open, wood splintered around the lock. She hesitates at the doorway, and I step inside. Investigating each room, I’m satisfied the place is empty and return to Sky.

“No one’s here. Come on.”

Her body is tense as I guide her to the sofa and sit her down. What now? I’m not used to situations like this and I run my hands through my hair as I think about what to do.

“I’ll get you a drink? Then call the police. Have they taken much?”

Sky shakes her head mutely, staring into space. Panicking at my inability to act, having no fucking clue what I’m doing, I walk into the kitchen. The sink is full of plates and mugs, but everything else is intact. A half-empty bottle of wine rests on the bench and once I’ve located a clean glass, I fill it with wine.

“Here, I’m sure this will make you feel better.” I pass Sky the wine and sit next to her.

Sky continues staring ahead, and her quiet, pale-faced fear frightens me. This is Sky, the strong, smart-mouthed girl. Have I always overestimated that strength? I squeeze her cool hand and she laces her fingers into mine.

“Why my flat? I don’t have anything much. Or I didn’t.” She gestures to an empty space in the corner where wires and dust are left behind.

“I don’t know; they don’t give a shit who they steal from.”

“My laptop!” She disappears into her bedroom and bangs around. “Is it in the kitchen?” she shouts back to me.

“No.”

Sky reappears in the door, her face hard. “They took my fucking laptop! Fuckers!”

I attempt not to smile, vestiges of my Sky shining through. “I’ll call the police while you make a list of what's missing?” That’s what they do on TV? I was robbed once, but it didn’t bother me, I just bought new stuff. Yep, that’s the selfish, spoilt prick I was back then.

I hold the glass of wine back to Sky and she grabs it, draining the contents before thrusting the empty glass back at me. “Thanks, I’ll have another.”

****

Sky

The policewoman who arrives spends more time gawking at Dylan, and flicking her gaze between the rock god and teary-faced girl than she does paying attention to her colleague. She’s supposed to take notes, but I bet she missed half of what’s said. There’s been a spate of robberies, apparently common leading up to Christmas. This makes me sick, stealing kids’ presents from under Christmas trees. In a tiny way, I’m pleased they targeted me rather than a place where kids would’ve lost longed-for gifts.

Dylan takes over, prompting and cajoling me into answering the questions and filling the gaps where I couldn’t and eventually they leave. They don’t say the words, but I get the impression there’s not much they can do. I rummage around in the drawer for my insurance documents. I’ll call tomorrow.

The world retreated into a weird parallel universe as soon as I walked into my trashed flat. Invaded and violated, my space isn’t my own anymore. I’ve had more nights than I’d like to admit worrying about sleeping alone here, not because the suburb is some backstreet ghetto, but because I’ve never lived alone. My move from the family home was into a place with Grant, and then this place five months ago.

The idea of sleeping in a flat with no locks on the doors turns my stomach, but this is something Dylan has thought about.

“You should call Tara?” he suggests as he closes the not-worth-closing front door behind the police officers.

“She’s not home, she’s in
Shropshire.”

“You don’t have a key to her place?”

“No.” I did for her old place, but she moved in with Tom recently.

There’s Ryan, but asking to stay with him wouldn’t be fair. He’s in a share house too; they might not welcome an impromptu guest.

I park my backside on the sofa and drain another glass of wine.

“You can’t stay here,” he says. “Do you want me to book you into a hotel?”

“I could do, I guess.”

“Or.” He pauses. “Or you can come and stay with me?”

In my befuddled state, his words eat to the insecure, scared girl with her protective man stepping in. Being alone in a hotel doesn’t appeal. If my flat wasn’t the last place I wanted to be, or if I had viable options there’s no way I’d accept his offer. We’ve seen each other twice since July, and a week ago, I thought he was a rapist.

“My place in London is big, bigger than the holiday house. You’d have privacy and…”

“Okay.”

Dylan straightens. “Really?”

“I think I’d feel safer staying with someone else, in case this was more than a robbery.”

Is this coincidence that I’ve seen Dylan, and now this? I conclude I’m paranoid. Lily never contacted me again after her bombshell, and who would know I’d seen Dylan again?

“I’m sure this is just a break-in. But I’d rather you were somewhere you feel comfortable.”

“Just tonight. I can sort something out tomorrow.”

Dylan nods. “I’ll contact Steve. Do you want me to ask him to arrange for your place to be secured until you get back?”

I wander to my bedroom, and drag my rucksack from under the bed, absent-mindedly shoving items of clothing in. The reality hits and I sit on the edge of the bed, tears spilling as I shake. I’m vulnerable and lost; the damage has spread to my confidence and I don’t want to come back here.

Dylan knocks on my half-open bedroom door, and I’m aware he’s seen me in tears. The last time he was in my bedroom, I felt alive and loved, like we could take on the world together. He hovers, unsure and the whole time he’s been around, I know he wanted to comfort me.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

I shake my head, chewing the inside of my mouth.

“Can I come in? Help out?”

Standing, I scrub my face with my sleeve and pick up my rucksack. “I’ll just get some things from the bathroom; then we can go, I think the roads will be getting bad. Is there anything you need me to bring? I could get… ”

Dylan touches my arm as I reach the doorway, alarming me out of my rambling. “Sky. It’s okay to be upset; this is a huge fucking deal.”

“I want to be able to cope with this.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

The expression in Dylan’s eyes pulls me back to the man who told me he loved me, and that’s still in his face now. He continues to rub my arm, in an attempt to soothe, and his kindness and presence switch the tears back on.

“Fuck, Sky.” Dylan wraps his arms around me, squeezing me close and I’m engulfed by the emotions that have swamped me today; seeing Dylan, admitting things could work, and then going from that euphoria to this despair. Rubbing my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell, I spend a moment in safety. I’ve fallen over the precipice, and I’m lost. Five months of clinging onto the new world I was pushed into after Grant, I’m pushed beyond what I can cope with. And Dylan is here to catch me.