42. Chapter 31
Over My Head
Rain
We took a cab back to the stadium and the tour bus. I hardly noticed the entire drive because I was too distracted by the warmth of Dutch’s embrace and, okay, maybe by the way his muscles rippled under those chain-link tattoos of his. It was like being in a happy little bubble.
One that popped the second I came face-to-face with Cohen again. And even worse, I had to watch Dax’s face fall as Cohen stormed off without even so much as a goodbye.
Kitten is still in my arms as I step towards the other Kelly brother and thank him for taking care of her.
“It’s nothing,” he whispers. His shoulders are already hunching inward, and I have no idea what to say, so I glance back at Dutch, hoping he’s got some answers for me. He juts his chin towards the bedroom at the back of the bus, and mouths, Go, as he wraps his arm around his brother.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Kitten and I retreat to the small, but familiar room, and in mere minutes we are both snuggled up amidst the sheets.
I’m still in Dutch’s clothes, so his big sweater plus the duvet means that we are in comfort-city.
Only, once we’ve settled, it becomes impossible to ignore the conversation happening on the other side of the door.
“Congratulations, brother, you finally got the girl.”
It’s not only the most words I’ve heard Dallas say to his brother since this whole crazy thing started, but it’s also derisive as hell.
If I wasn’t so cozy or interested in what Dutch and I walked in on, maybe I’d go out there and give him shit.
Instead, my head drifts back on the pillow, and I listen.
“Because I told the truth, brother. I finally told Rain exactly how I feel instead of waiting for her to read my mind.”
Dallas doesn’t respond beyond a scoff.
“Seriously, you should try it sometime; the truth might just set you free. And even if you don’t like the outcome, at least maybe then you could move on.”
Move on from what? Or does he mean from who?
Eavesdropping on them like this is definitely wrong, but my circumstances and curiosity make it impossible not to.
I’ve always thought that Dallas, with his history, just wasn’t that interested in sex or romance or any of it.
Nobody could blame him, but Dutch’s words made it sound like that is not the case.
“You fuck Rain one time, and suddenly you’re some love guru?” Dax snorts. “A goddamn hypocrite is what you are, brother.”
“No.”
There’s a thud, like Dutch has bumped his hand against the table out there.
“No, little brother, what I am concerned about is all of this.”
That statement is followed by more sounds; this time it’s the faint rustling of paper.
“You’re pulling this big brother, superhero shit all because Cohen and I wrote some music together? Did you forget we’re in a band? That’s what we’re supposed to do.” Dax’s annoyance with his brother is clear as day. And in all fairness, absolutely correct.
From the moment Grams and Mr. Brady handed us instruments, Dallas and Cohen have been writing music together. It’s their thing.
“It’s not about the music, Dax, and you know that. It’s this obsession. I hate what it does to you!” Dutch insists.
“I’m not a little kid anymore; you don’t need to save me!”
“I don’t?” Dutch’s deep voice morphs into something darker. There is also an undeniable skepticism in that question, and it’s clear why, when it’s followed by plain old anger.
“Then why is there a dose of Naloxone in my truck at all times, huh? Why can I list the symptoms of withdrawal like they’re lyrics I’ve memorized? Why do I know what it looks like to watch you die?”
That last question is followed by a beat of silence, then another, before Dax’s voice strains, “You want to talk about obsession, brother? You’re the one who’s obsessed with being the hero.
For me. For Rain. When are you going to realize that we don’t need it?
Maybe if you’d have less time being a self-sacrificing bitch and more time trying to get the girl, you wouldn’t have had to wait twelve years! ”
That’s the most words I’ve heard from Dallas in a row, maybe ever. It’s also an admission that at least he, and probably Cohen too, knew exactly how Dutch felt about me the whole damn time.
“You know what, Dallas, maybe you’re right. Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m going to go get that girl.”
The drag of Dutch’s footsteps gets closer, and in an effort to pretend I wasn’t openly listening to their argument, I hike the thin comforter all the way up and over my head.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Dutch breathes, sliding the thin door closed behind him even while he acknowledges the reality of the bus’s very close quarters.
I inch the coverlet down to check he’s not pissed. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be. Though there’s a slight sheen along his brow that he wipes away without looking at me, and it dawns on me that he’s embarrassed. My man needs some reassurance.
“I’m not. Although I feel like such an idiot for not realizing how you felt, when clearly everyone else knew.”
“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Because having even a little bit of you was enough for me. Or at least I thought it was.”
He rushes for the bed with a big grin and grabs me round the waist. I choke and laugh at the unexpected move but settle just as quickly once I realize he’s not letting go and has managed to manoeuvre us into a cozy-as-hell cuddle.
His words vibrate from his chest, right through my back as he says, “But now that I know how it feels to hold you like this, I’m realizing I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
I won’t apologize for something I didn’t know. And truthfully, if he had told me back then, there’s a chance he is right; it might have ruined our friendship. But I can acknowledge how he makes me feel right now.
“Then hold me tighter, Dutch.”
He does as he’s asked, tugging me even closer until his body wraps around mine protectively, perfectly.
Sleep never did come easy, and though I drifted off with Dutch’s arms wrapped around me—I mean, who wouldn’t—I still wake up easily at the sound of a phone ringing.
Especially when it’s a ringtone I don’t really recognize.
Kitten whines the second I slink from the bed.
Dutch, thankfully, doesn’t wake, though he does mumble a little before rolling onto his back.
I’m halted by the sight. In the low evening light, I can still see him.
Perhaps I’m seeing him more clearly than I ever have.
He’s the solid one. The dependable one. Young Rain would’ve called those things boring.
She was an idiot. Or naive. Actually, both.
After years of living without any kind of stability, financial or emotional, adult me recognizes how much strength, persistence, and resilience it takes to maintain that.
Dutch Kelly is the one who holds us all down.
And none of us have ever given him any fucking credit for it.
But I will. First thing tomorrow morning, he’s getting the thank-you blowjob of a lifetime. But for now, I let him sleep.
I’m barely out of the room when my chest bumps against Dallas’s. Between my thin tank top and his, the heat of his chest steals my breath. Though he’s the smallest of my bandmates, I still have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes.
They’re humourless even as he jokes, “Our nighttime rendezvous are becoming a bit of a pattern, Rainy-girl.” He seizes my wrist.
Without realizing it, my right hand had snuck up his side, unconsciously reaching for the ridged scars I know are hidden beneath cotton.
“I wonder what my brother would think?”
His head tilts, and there’s the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth that brings at least a little life back to his face. As if the idea of taunting his brother amuses him. After what I overheard this afternoon, I kind of understand why.
Maybe because Dallas’s smiles are so rare or because I also get off on taunting Dutch, just a little, I’m on the verge of suggesting something I shouldn’t when the ringing starts again.
“It’s Cohen’s,” Dallas explains. He backs up towards the small living space and only then does he release his hold on me. Before I know it, he’s kneeling at my feet, his blonde hair falling across his face, making it seem like he’s bowing before me.
My breath hitches again. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the quiet or the unexpected touches, but my lungs and brain are not cooperating right now.
Dax pulls the cell out from under the sofa just in time for the ringing to stop.
The screen is locked so we can’t even see who was calling.
Though I can guess when my own phone rings from inside the bedroom.
It wakes Dutch with a start, and Kitten screams her displeasure at being disturbed.
I’m doubly spooked, because it means Lou is trying to reach us.
He’s the only person with that number, and if he’s trying this hard to reach us, my gut screams it’s with bad news.
I yank Dallas to his feet, grabbing his hand this time and pulling him behind me into the bedroom. If Dutch is surprised that I’ve hauled his brother in here with me, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, no one says anything as I clamber over the bed to accept the call.
“Lou?”
“Where the hell is Cohen, Ray-Ray? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping him busy?”
My guts roil at the suggestive way he says, “Busy.”
“He, umm…”
There is no real way to explain, and Lou Braun already holds enough dirt on us; I refuse to let him have any more. So, I opt for the simplest version of the truth.
“He left.”
“He LEFT?!” Lou bellows, “Why? To go where? When is he coming back?”
The questions are laced with equal parts frustration and suspicion.
“I don’t know,” I grit out between locked teeth.
“It better be fucking soon. Tomorrow night, specifically. Because the label is hosting a party in your honour to announce your triumphant return to Deviant Dreams. There’ll be press, a red carpet, the whole fucking thing. I expect all of you to be there.”
There’s an ominous pause. “Or else, Ray-Ray, I’ll drop you right back in the gutter I pulled you out of.”
Back to Flynn’s, back to Trey, back to nothing.
“Understood.”
The call terminates, and both Kelly brothers stare at me for answers. I, on the other hand, look to Dallas.
“Any chance you know where Cohen may have gone?”
Dutch and Dallas take turns exchanging looks before replying in unison, “We do.”
Nothing more. Dallas stalks out without another word, leaving Dutch and me alone, because sure enough, Kitten follows Dax. I’m kinda glad she does too, because the slump in his shoulders is back and I hate the idea of him sitting out there, awake and alone all night.
“We’ll get Cohen in the morning.” Dutch tugs on the hem of his sweatpants, the ones I fell asleep wearing.
“Where did he go, Dutch?” I ask as I let him pull me back into bed. I snuggle into the wall of muscle that is his chest, so I feel it when he sighs deeply and presses a kiss to my hair.
“Somewhere the rest of us don’t belong.”
And on that enigmatic note, the two of us fall into silence. Together, but lost in our own thoughts.