Always Page 22

  It was enough to get him back out that day, and the next, and the next. Muscles he hadn’t even known he had ached. It was a good ache, though, and it gave him something to focus on every day. He had a goal again, even if it was only making it to the top of a hill.

  It got him through producing Justine’s album. Frankly, producing her album was what made him take on biking with such fervor in the first place.

  The first and only time he’d produced an album had been Outlaw Rovers’ last. He’d been under immense pressure, both to rise to the challenge and also to hold the band together as it kept falling apart. He’d buckled under the pressure and lost himself in a bottle. Or two hundred bottles. While he was excited about working on Justine’s album, he was equally terrified, maybe even more so. His wasn’t the only career on the line this time. He was desperate not to let her down.

  Then there was the persistent presence of Justine herself. He’d come to terms with losing her— or rather, never having her. But it didn’t lessen the feelings. It had settled into him like a bodily ache, one that, once he realized it wouldn’t kill him, became as expected and familiar as his own skin. It was always there. She was always there. And so was Ian.

  In all, it was the most stress he’d subjected himself to since he’d left rehab. He was determined not to fold in the face of it, so every morning for hours, he rode. Justine and the session musicians didn’t get started in the studio until close to noon, so he left the house at seven and rode until he could barely stand. When he was pushing his burning, exhausted legs up one more hill, or five more miles, he couldn’t think about anything else. No album, no rehab, no Justine. By the time he got to the studio every day, he’d left all his stress and anxiety back on the road, sweated out of him until he could breathe again, until he felt he could handle anything life threw at him.

  Gritting his teeth till his jaw hurt, he powered up the hill until the spindly fucking tree that had been mocking him for the last five minutes was finally, blessedly behind him. After the crest, he coasted down, letting the breeze blow the sweat out of his eyes and whipping his t-shirt against his chest like a sail.

  As he made his way at a slower, less brutal pace back towards Echo Park, he let real life flow back in. As always, the music came first. He had his best ideas on his cool-down rides. Problems he hadn’t been able to solve in the studio the day before fell into place with ease. He had flashes of inspiration for bridges and could hear in his head the exact effect for the stubborn chorus. He’d started carrying a tiny digital recorder in his pocket so he could hum his ideas into it before he lost them again.

  His new place in Echo Park was a whole lot more modest than the old place in Silver Lake. He’d moved out of the big house right after he’d gotten out of rehab and had no idea if he had any money left. Since then, Justine’s dad had taken a careful look at his finances and given him some solid advice on managing what was left. And now he had a steady stream of royalties from Justine’s massive hit album, so the financial picture, while not luxurious, was at least dependable, even modestly comfortable.

  In the end, he’d been glad to shed the house in Silver Lake. He’d gotten it right after the Outlaw Rovers album hit big, mostly because he felt he should. After growing up broke, sleeping on more sofas than beds, the big house on the hill came to symbolize the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, proof that he’d finally risen above his beginnings. In retrospect, it was only another place for him to hide from reality, every bit as empty and soulless as everything else in his life. He’d been on the road for most of the first year there and nearly unconscious for most of the second. When he gave it up and moved out, there was barely anything to pack.

  The new place in Echo Park, a small two-bedroom bungalow, was in a ragtag, funky artists’ area. He was one of many musicians who lived there, and not even the only formerly-famous, formerly-addicted one. The house and the neighborhood were a good fit for where he was in his life now, the person he was gradually discovering after years of struggle. It felt real, and finally, he did, too. On the whole, he couldn’t complain, in spite of the opportunities he’d had and lost through his own stupidity. As Keith always told him, looking back accomplished nothing.

  He left the bike in the garage and entered the house through the side door in the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, he drank it down in one long gulp, letting the air from the open fridge cool him down.

  His phone beeped on the counter. It was a text from Justine, asking him to remember to bring her the CD he’d promised the day before. He was in the middle of texting her back when the phone vibrated in his hand again, this time with an incoming call from an LA area code.

  “Hello?”

  “Dillon?”

  “Jon Verlaine,” he murmured, half-smiling. “Long time, no hear.”

  “How are you, Dillon?”

  “Good.” He took a deep breath, feeling his aching muscles protesting and the sweat drying on his back. “Great, honestly.”

  “I’m really glad,” Jon said, sounding equally sincere. “I’ve been hearing some of the stuff you’ve been working on with Justine for her album.”

  “You have? I didn’t realize she’d sent anything to the label yet.”

  “Just a few tracks, the ones she’s really excited about. We’re excited about them, too. I gotta tell you Dillon, it’s good. Really good.”

  “She’s talented. Always has been.”

  “She is, but I wasn’t talking about Justine. I meant the songs. Your producing.”

  “Oh… thanks.”

  “You were good on the last Outlaw Rovers album, too.”

  “The album bombed,” Dillon shrugged dismissively, grabbing the kitchen towel to run over his neck.

  “Not because of the producing, Dillon.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like Justine’s new stuff. Thanks for telling me.”

  “I didn’t call just to pay you a compliment, you idiot.”

  Dillon chuckled. “You always were a direct son of a bitch, Jon.”

  Jon laughed, too. “Seriously, we’ve got this new band signed. Four guys, kind of punk-pop, more pop than punk. Lots of promise, but their songs are a little all over the place right now. I wondered if you wanted to take a listen and see what you think.”

  “Think about what?”

  Jon paused and laughed again. “What you’d think about maybe producing their album, maybe writing some songs for them.”

  Now it was Dillon’s turn to pause. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. Can I send you a few audio files?”

  “Uh… yeah. I mean, sure, send them over. I’ll take a listen. Jon, you really want me to do this?”

  “I think you’d be a great fit. I told you, we’ve all been very impressed with what you’ve done with Justine’s album so far. If her first album was a hit, this one’s going to explode.”

  Now at last Dillon felt confident about his answer. “Yeah, it will. Without a doubt.”

  March, 2012

  “I think she’s got mom’s nose.” Emily leaned over Justine’s shoulder to peer at the baby once more.

  Justine frowned. “How can you tell? It’s just a little button so far. It’s not anybody’s nose. She’s definitely got Ian’s eyes, though.”

  Ian smiled. “More like my mother’s eyes, I think, because I got them from her. One thing’s for sure. She’s beautiful, like her mother.”

  Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her grin.

  “You girls set for a minute? I need to go return some work calls.”

  “Go, go,” Justine waved him away. “I feel bad enough that you had to cancel the DC trip.”

  “No trip is more important than this,” Ian said. He ran his hand over the baby’s head, and Justine was stunned by the gentle awe in his face. He was truly transformed. She’d heard stories about people falling hopelessly in love as soon as they set eyes on their baby for the first time, but she’d seen it herself in
Ian.

  “Take care of my girl, Emily,” he said as he headed for the door.

  “Don’t worry, Aunt Emily came to LA with the sole purpose of spoiling them both rotten.”

  After he left, Emily fluffed the pillow behind Justine’s head and nudged her back, settling the baby more securely on her chest. “You should rest,” she admonished gently.

  “I’m fine. Well, beaten to a pulp, but fine.”

  Emily smoothed her hair back over her shoulder. “How can you deliver a baby and still look so gorgeous?”

  Justine appreciated the sentiment, but she didn’t feel gorgeous. She felt like she’d been run over by several large trucks. It was all worth it when she’d finally laid eyes on the baby in her arms, though.

  “Knock, knock.”

  They both looked towards the door to see Dillon poking his head inside.

  “Hey,” Justine lit up with happiness when she saw him. “Come in!”

  “You sure? Your security team out there is fierce. I’d have never gotten through if I didn’t see Arthur. He let me past.”

  “You know I want you here. Come meet Grace.”

  Dillon crossed the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, making his shoulders hunch forward awkwardly. He stopped by the bed and looked down at the baby sleeping against Justine’s shoulder.

  “Jesus, she’s so tiny,” he breathed.

  “Eight pounds, two ounces. She’s actually pretty good-sized for a newborn,” Emily said as she arranged the blankets across Justine’s legs.

  “Still…” Dillon sounded stunned, his eyes roving all over the baby. “Look at her little fingers. And her fingernails.”

  “You want to hold her?” Justine asked, shifting Grace in her arms.

  Dillon took a rapid step back and held up his hands in defense. “I’ve never held a baby.”

  Emily clicked her tongue and shook her head. “It’s not hard, Rock Star. You won’t break her. Here.”

  With businesslike briskness, she scooped Grace out of Justine’s arms and settled her in Dillon’s, arranging his hands and showing him how to cradle her head in the crook of his elbow. Dillon stood perfectly still, holding Grace like she was made of nitroglycerin and might explode at any moment. Justine chuckled and lay back, watching two of her favorite people meet for the first time.

  “Grace, huh?” he asked, never taking his eyes off her small, sleeping face.

  “Grace Emmeline Blackwell,” Justine murmured, watching Dillon slowly fall in love the same way Ian had. There must be something about baby girls.

  Dillon cast a quick glance at Emily. “Your name is Emmeline?”

  “Shut up, Dillon.”

  “She’s beautiful, Justine,” he said, his mouth curling up in a small stunned smile. “She looks just like you.”

  “You think? I thought she looked more like Ian.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. The shape of her face, her chin, those eyebrows… and look at those lips. That’s all you.”

  Emily looked from Dillon to her sister and back again, fascinated, but saying nothing.

  Grace sighed, flailing one tiny fist, and Dillon looked like he was witnessing a miracle. “Is she okay? Does she need something?”

  “Nope,” Emily said, “Just keep holding her.”

  “I think I could do this all day.”

  Emily laughed. “Trust me, eventually you’d be desperate to put her down, but good to know. Another set of arms is always helpful to new parents.”

  “Any time,” he murmured. His eyes still hadn’t left Grace’s face.

  When Ian came back fifteen minutes later, Dillon was still holding Grace, now comfortable enough to sway her gently to soothe her. Emily was brushing Justine’s hair back into a braid. Ian’s eyes shifted from Dillon holding his daughter, then to Justine and back again.

  “Hey,” Dillon said. “Congratulations, Ian. She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, she is. Here, I can take her.” Ian reached for Grace and Dillon reluctantly let her go.

  “Everything okay?” Justine asked Ian as he came to stand next to her at the head of the bed.

  “Fine. I rescheduled everything.”

  “Yeah, this one threw a wrench in our plans,” Justine said to Dillon as she tucked Grace’s hand back into the blanket. “Ian was supposed to fly to DC today to interview Senator McVickley about the online piracy bill. It took him forever to schedule that meeting. And of course, I’m supposed to be going over those last changes on the album with you.”

  Dillon shook his head. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll take care of it and email you stuff to listen to. Relax and enjoy her.”

  Grace made a tiny gurgling coo and Ian and Justine both lit up, their smiles radiant as they bent over her. Dillon watched them together, Justine so beautiful, glowing in spite of what she’d gone through, and Ian, proud and adoring, and of course, perfect little Grace. More than ever he felt the loss of what he let get away.

  “Hey, I’ll leave you to do your family thing,” he said, backing towards the door. “Justine, get some rest. You deserve it.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “Thank you for coming, Dillon.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Hey, I’ll walk you out,” Emily said, scrambling off the bed. “My butt’s asleep and I’d kill for some coffee, even the swill that passes for it in this place.”

  They walked in silence down the hall, past Justine’s security guards and the nurse’s station.

  “You doing okay?” Emily finally asked.

  “Me? Sure. Why?”

  She shrugged. “Just checking. I know my dad is your new best friend and—”

  “Hey,” he laughed. “Tom gives me financial advice.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know about the Fantasy Football. And the action movies. He talks about you all the time. His big cool buddy Dillon.”

  “I like him!”

  “He likes you, too. And that’s my point. I know her having a family changes things for you. Your place in her life. Just…” Emily exhaled hard and stuffed her hands into her back pockets. “I wasn’t always your biggest fan, Dillon.”

  “You don’t say,” he deadpanned, wondering where she was going with all this.

  “Hush. You’ve won me over. This past year, seeing you working with Juss, talking to my dad… you’re a good guy.”

  “Why, thank you, Emily. I’m touched.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just… know you’re part of the family now. Not just Justine’s BFF, or whatever. You matter to us. All of us.”

  “Damn,” he mumbled. “Now I really am touched.”

  She let out an awkward laugh. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Trust me, I don’t let anything go to my head these days. My therapist won’t let me.”

  “Maybe that’s why I like you now. Anyway, I’m here to help her out for the rest of the week, but keep an eye on her for me when I’m gone, okay?”

  He scoffed. “She’s got a staff of twelve. And Ian. She doesn’t need me.”

  Emily gave him a long, hard stare. “She’ll always need you. Don’t forget it.”

  May, 2012

  “How much longer do I need to stay, do you think?”

  Dillon was taking a sip of his water and choked on a laugh. “Um… it’s your record release party and you’ve been here for half an hour. A little longer, I think.”

  Justine sighed and faced front again. She felt uncomfortable and all wrong, even though the mirror at home told a different story. She’d been worried about shimmying back into a tiny black dress for the first time since Grace had been born, but thanks to the brutal daily visits from her personal trainer, she was almost back to pre-baby weight. Some things would never be the same, but all in all, she looked pretty good.The size of her thighs and the shape of her boobs didn’t really matter, though. The tight dress, the high heels, the hair, the makeup— she hadn’t done any of it in months and it all felt extremely foreign. With the
release of the album, she’d officially pressed “play” on her career after the pause she’d taken to have Grace. She still wasn’t sure she was ready.

  Two months at home, beholden to nothing but the sleep schedule of a newborn, changed her perspective on a lot of things. She felt her basic hardwiring had been changed, and all her priorities reordered overnight. Now she was plagued with flashes of panic every few minutes, this desperate feeling something was missing, there was someplace she was supposed to be, things were not right, because she was out in this club and Grace was home without her. How was she supposed to go out on tour? Even taking Grace with her, which was the plan, it still seemed she’d always be worried about where she was and how she was doing. She wasn’t ready to leave the safe cocoon of her life at home, but it was time to, nonetheless.

  She smiled brightly at the next label exec coming to shake her hand. He was delighted with the album and the positive advance industry buzz. That assuaged at least one of her fears a little. It had been two years since her first album was released, an eternity in her world. Everything had been pushed back because of Grace and she’d been worried it had been too long, maybe she’d been forgotten. But not if what she was hearing was true. Justine smiled and nodded as he praised the album. It was reassuring to hear, but seemed like a ridiculous conversation to be having while her baby was miles away sleeping under the watch of someone else. When the executive left, she turned back to Dillon, dropping her game face. “This feels so weird. Being in a club. I’ve been home in baby-mode since Gracie was born. I feel so strange being here.”

  “Are you okay with the babysitter?”

  “Oh, I trust Meggie completely. She’s fantastic. It’s me. I have to get back to work now and I’m starting to freak out about it a little.”