you know it's
something you can do for the band, to stop the whole thing going
down the toilet, is that enough? I know you'd like that to happen
to Taylor, but think about it: do you really want to hurt me and
Zed, too?"
Phoenix stared
at Dylan, trying to second-guess him. If it wasn't Taylor, who in
hell was it? And what could it possibly have to do with him?
"OK," he said
reluctantly. "I've been climbing the walls in here. And you're
right: I owe you and Zed. But if you're taking me to see Taylor,
then I'll never speak to you again."
Dylan put his
arms around Phoenix, and Phoenix relaxed against his chest, briefly
tempted to kiss Dylan on the lips and see what happened, then
remembering about Sam. Moving in on Dylan like that would be a
manipulative move worthy of Taylor, and Phoenix didn't want to be
anything like Taylor any more.
"I wouldn't do
that to you, Murphy," said Dylan, ruffling Phoenix's hair.
"Taylor's my buddy, asshole that he is, but he doesn't know that
I'm here. You gotta believe me."
Phoenix was
already up off the bed, eager to leave his prison.
"We gotta get
past this lot first. How fast did you say your bike was?"
The hired
Harley proved itself more than capable of outrunning the pack, and
Phoenix was almost sorry when the ride ended outside an anonymous
motel just outside the city limits. It was good to have the wind in
his hair again, leaning into Dylan's leather-jacketed back and
forgetting his troubles.
His curiosity
was piqued now. Who the hell stayed in a place like this? And what
was Dylan up to that was unsanctioned by Taylor? If it was to do
with the band, then going behind Taylor's back like this was
seriously risky.
As they walked
up the single flight of rickety stairs, Dylan had a spring in his
step, Phoenix noted, like he was excited about something.
He tapped hard
on a door, and a guy, wearing only a faded pair of jeans, opened it
and pulled Dylan into a tight hug, smiling over Dylan's shoulder at
Phoenix.
Phoenix
recognized him instantly, and a shock wave ran through him.
Caedem Hardy.
More than two years since Phoenix had last seen him in the flesh,
even if that had been at a distance of fifty feet, Caedem on stage
with Mudride, and Phoenix in the audience, a nineteen-year-old
fan.
He'd have known
Caedem anywhere, even without the curly dark hair that was now
transformed into a severe buzz-cut. When Phoenix had replaced
Caedem as Mudride's guitarist, everyone had commented on the
similarity, but Phoenix had never seen it himself. Until now.
Caedem released
Dylan and stretched his hand out to Phoenix, who looked at Dylan,
bewildered.
"What's going
on?"
Dylan smiled
enigmatically.
"I'll leave you
guys to it. Best if I don't interfere. Murphy, call me if you need
a ride back. I'm in town for the next twenty-four hours, and I'm
booked into a room on the top floor here - 304."
And before
Phoenix, open-mouthed, could protest, Dylan was slipping down the
stairs, revving up the Harley, and then the engine faded into the
distance, and he was standing in the entrance of a cheap motel
room, faced with a guy he never thought he'd meet.
"I shouldn't be
here," muttered Phoenix. "It's too weird, and I'm not in a good
place right now."
But Caedem
reached out his hand and put it on his arm, and suddenly the force
between them became something unbreakable, and a shiver went
through Phoenix's whole body as he saw into his future.
"Please. Just
let me explain."
And so Phoenix
followed him into the room, heart in his mouth, feeling that his
life was going to be turned upside down all over again, and hating
Dylan for doing this to him.
The room was
empty and as bare as a monk's cell, except for the four beautiful
guitars lined up against the wall. Phoenix never let anyone else
touch his own guitars, but he couldn't resist, heading for the
vintage Strat and picking it up, strumming the first chords
something you can do for the band, to stop the whole thing going
down the toilet, is that enough? I know you'd like that to happen
to Taylor, but think about it: do you really want to hurt me and
Zed, too?"
Phoenix stared
at Dylan, trying to second-guess him. If it wasn't Taylor, who in
hell was it? And what could it possibly have to do with him?
"OK," he said
reluctantly. "I've been climbing the walls in here. And you're
right: I owe you and Zed. But if you're taking me to see Taylor,
then I'll never speak to you again."
Dylan put his
arms around Phoenix, and Phoenix relaxed against his chest, briefly
tempted to kiss Dylan on the lips and see what happened, then
remembering about Sam. Moving in on Dylan like that would be a
manipulative move worthy of Taylor, and Phoenix didn't want to be
anything like Taylor any more.
"I wouldn't do
that to you, Murphy," said Dylan, ruffling Phoenix's hair.
"Taylor's my buddy, asshole that he is, but he doesn't know that
I'm here. You gotta believe me."
Phoenix was
already up off the bed, eager to leave his prison.
"We gotta get
past this lot first. How fast did you say your bike was?"
The hired
Harley proved itself more than capable of outrunning the pack, and
Phoenix was almost sorry when the ride ended outside an anonymous
motel just outside the city limits. It was good to have the wind in
his hair again, leaning into Dylan's leather-jacketed back and
forgetting his troubles.
His curiosity
was piqued now. Who the hell stayed in a place like this? And what
was Dylan up to that was unsanctioned by Taylor? If it was to do
with the band, then going behind Taylor's back like this was
seriously risky.
As they walked
up the single flight of rickety stairs, Dylan had a spring in his
step, Phoenix noted, like he was excited about something.
He tapped hard
on a door, and a guy, wearing only a faded pair of jeans, opened it
and pulled Dylan into a tight hug, smiling over Dylan's shoulder at
Phoenix.
Phoenix
recognized him instantly, and a shock wave ran through him.
Caedem Hardy.
More than two years since Phoenix had last seen him in the flesh,
even if that had been at a distance of fifty feet, Caedem on stage
with Mudride, and Phoenix in the audience, a nineteen-year-old
fan.
He'd have known
Caedem anywhere, even without the curly dark hair that was now
transformed into a severe buzz-cut. When Phoenix had replaced
Caedem as Mudride's guitarist, everyone had commented on the
similarity, but Phoenix had never seen it himself. Until now.
Caedem released
Dylan and stretched his hand out to Phoenix, who looked at Dylan,
bewildered.
"What's going
on?"
Dylan smiled
enigmatically.
"I'll leave you
guys to it. Best if I don't interfere. Murphy, call me if you need
a ride back. I'm in town for the next twenty-four hours, and I'm
booked into a room on the top floor here - 304."
And before
Phoenix, open-mouthed, could protest, Dylan was slipping down the
stairs, revving up the Harley, and then the engine faded into the
distance, and he was standing in the entrance of a cheap motel
room, faced with a guy he never thought he'd meet.
"I shouldn't be
here," muttered Phoenix. "It's too weird, and I'm not in a good
place right now."
But Caedem
reached out his hand and put it on his arm, and suddenly the force
between them became something unbreakable, and a shiver went
through Phoenix's whole body as he saw into his future.
"Please. Just
let me explain."
And so Phoenix
followed him into the room, heart in his mouth, feeling that his
life was going to be turned upside down all over again, and hating
Dylan for doing this to him.
The room was
empty and as bare as a monk's cell, except for the four beautiful
guitars lined up against the wall. Phoenix never let anyone else
touch his own guitars, but he couldn't resist, heading for the
vintage Strat and picking it up, strumming the first chords
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