The Redemption Page 3

Closing my eyes, I squeeze my lids tight, hoping to stop the inevitable. But when I release them, the tears I’ve become too acquainted with are there for their encore—night after night the memories come back.

  I see you in my dreams. I’m transported back to when we were seventeen and I taught you how to play guitar. The way you looked at me, the way you learned the notes by studying my fingers, and when I caught you stealing glances… this perfect moment in our lives has become a nightly haunting for me. In the last two years, my memories have stilted my ability to play guitar without you. My loneliness is most exposed at this dark hour.

  I miss you so much. All the time.

  XO

  Sitting up, I grab for his pillow beside me and hold it to my nose, inhaling. His scent is gone. It used to be strong and comforted me when he traveled. His smell has left me, just like he did. So I throw the pillow across the room.

  The curtains blow again, so I get up and slam the door shut before stepping over the pillow and crawling back in bed. The tightening in my chest starts to ease; the heartache of losing my soulmate lessens as I begin to drift off.

  “I’m tired, Neil. Can you please have some cereal this morning instead?” I look over at my seven-year-old and my heart momentarily stops altogether. At least once a day this happens. Neil has my eye coloring and olive skin, but his hair and the way he smiles is just like Cory. I turn back to the counter quickly before I get lost, staring at him ‘again’ as he puts it. He doesn’t even have to beg, these kids own me. “Fine, I’ll make you scrambled eggs.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” he replies, a drumstick beating against the top of his thigh.

  A sleepy little guy leans his head against my leg, one of Cory’s T-shirts in hand. It’s become a security blanket for him. With my free hand, I rub the top of his light brown hair, and say, “Good morning, buddy.”

  My three-year-old looks up and says, “Morning.” His blue eyes flash with an inner happiness.

  “Are you hungry, CJ? I’m making eggs.”

  He nods as he makes his way to the table. I finish the morning routine and take them to their schools. After drop-off, I head back home and shower. Working for the band allows me flexibility in time management and attire, so I pull on jeans, a cream colored blouse, and flats before heading out with the contracts I printed off last night.

  Twenty-minutes later, I knock on the door. Dex answers, no greeting. He just sways his arm in front of him allowing me entrance. With little eye contact, I walk past him, and say, “I see the month on the road hasn’t sullied your sparkling personality.”

  “It’s before noon,” he replies with an annoyed sigh. “It better be fucking good.”

  We’ve never quite recovered from that night. He has no patience for me, but I deserve that. Looking back, I wish I could change things, so many things.

  I walk to the kitchen and sit down on a barstool. This is what we do—we can be around each other, but we tend to pretend the other isn’t there—parallel universes. When it’s just the two of us, like it is now, that’s impossible to do. The coffee machine is started and he stares at the mug. I’m sure to keep from looking at me. “What brings you by, Rochelle?” He glances my way briefly before returning his gaze to the brewing coffee again.

  “I need you to sign off on these contracts. The other guys all signed them last week when you were in Toronto. Why didn’t you? You don’t like the deal?”

  “I don’t understand the deal—”

  “Oh. No problem. I can explain. So the video game characters will be modeled—”

  He turns suddenly, his glare burning into me. “I understand that part. What I don’t get is when we became that band.”

  “What band?”

  “The one that sells out. The one that does video games and deodorant ads.”

  Tilting my head, with a smirk I say, “You’ve never been offered a deodorant ad.”

  “Fuck that! You know what I mean.” He walks to the large window that overlooks the patio and pool. “When did it stop being about the music?”

  “It’s still about the music, Dex. The band is changing, growing, evolving. There’s a vision we all have that will set you guys up for life. So if one day you develop carpal tunnel and can’t play or Johnny has throat issues and can’t sing, you’ll not worry about money. This is about The Resistance, the brand.”

  “When you walked into that club on Sunset, you didn’t ask me if I was interested in building a brand.” With his back to me, he says, “You asked me if I would play drums for a band you put together that had a gig down on Ventura in some dive pizza parlor.” He turns around with his arms crossed over his chest. “Did I go?”

  I eye him, wondering where this is going. “You did.”

  “You’re damn right I did. I took my sticks at intermission and left a paying gig to go meet your boys. Do you know why I did that?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because I was better than a cover band drummer on a Tuesday night in Hollywood, even with the pay.”

  I nod. I’m following his train of thought as he drives his point home.

  “So stop treating me like I am. We’re The motherfucking Resistance and we’re better than this year’s video game simulation that followed some cheesy, hair-band from the 80’s in last year’s edition.”

  I gather my papers and slip off the stool. As I start to leave, he grabs my wrist as I pass, and I stop, my breath caught in my throat just from his touch. His grip loosens, and I try to steady my voice when I say, “I got the message. I’ll talk to the guys, but majority rules. You agreed to that when you left that other band.”

  He releases my wrist and my skin is left bare, his touch feeling better than I remember.

  I open the door, and step out, but stop. Looking over my shoulder, I add, “I like the shorter hair on you. You look good.” Closing the door behind me, I don’t wait for a response. The boy I convinced to leave a dead-end band on Sunset way back then has turned into a man and a force to be reckoned with—mentally and physically. Memories of our night together before I screwed up come flashing back, but the humiliation of my mistake overtakes the warmth I’m feeling.

  I should have gone with my gut. I convinced myself that we were wrong before I even gave the alternative a chance. My instincts told me to stay with him despite my mistake of calling him Cory. My head said to run. My more logical side seems to always get in the way.

  “Wait up, Rochelle.” I hear him behind me.

  When I look back, he’s leaning against the door opening, his eyes set on me. Even at rest, his muscles are defined. His arms carved from strength and power. Despite being hidden under the cotton of his T-shirt, his abs tease me as I remember how I once licked them. “What’s up?” I turn the focus back on business, trying to sound indifferent.

  “It’s been a long time, a couple months since I saw you.” He pauses. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to be seen again,” I joke, trying to cover my nervous excitement.

  He nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stands upright. “You should come to the show in New York. The band always has fun there.”

  I open my car door and step up on the running board, looking at him over the top of my SUV. “Yeah, I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  With a small smile of my own, I give a little wave. “See ya around.”

  I start to step into the vehicle, but I stop when I hear him say, “See ya around. Oh, and Rochelle?”

  Popping back up, I answer, “Yes?”

  “You look good, too.”

  My smile isn’t little anymore. It’s full on ridiculous. “Thanks.”

  If I wasn’t so aware of every nerve in my body and beat of my heart when I get inside the Escalade, I might have missed how my heart just leaped.

  While pulling out of Dex’s gated community, I call Johnny. It’s only ten-thirty, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t answer. I leave a message, warni
ng him that Dex may not sign and I might just agree with him.

  I call my nanny, Beth, and let her know that she’ll need to pick up the boys today. With all the thoughts crowding my head, I need therapy. So I call one of my best friends, Lara, to meet me. I met her in yoga years before it became trendy. We quit after two weeks, preferring to cocktail together rather than work out. We’ve been great friends ever since. “Shopping?” I ask, when she answers.

  “Beverly Center, Melrose, or the boutiques down near the beach.”

  Today is about shopping for me, so I reply, “Suru on Melrose?”

  “Suru. For sure. They just got in their new collection.”

  “I’ll see you there in twenty.”

  “It will take me thirty.”

  “Cool.” We disconnect, and I smile, excited to see her. She’s always up to go out and I like that.

  Just over an hour later, I’m standing near the far wall of Suru in front of newly altered frocks, and I say, “I think I like Dex.” I peek over at her.

  Her head remains down, focused on finding her size in a stack of jeans. “I like him too. He’s always been cool. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He got his hair cut.”

  She looks up, so I look down. “Really? I liked the medium length on him. He could pull it off.”

  “It’s shorter. Short now.”

  When I look up again, she’s staring at me. “Why are we having a full-blown conversation about Dex’s hair?”

  I shrug it off. “No reason. I just saw him this morning about some contracts. Just making chitchat.”

  “Oookaay,” she replies like I’m crazy before returning her attention to the clothes in front of her. “The boys are good?”

  “They’re great. Dating much?”

  “Too much. It sucks. Be glad you’ve decided to stay single.”

  My hand stops on a blue dress. “I didn’t decide to stay single.”

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that since… well, you know his death—”

  “You can say his name. Cory.”

  There’s an awkward pause that I would rather avoid. I’m glad she doesn’t leave it to build. “Since Cory’s death, you’ve remained unattached. You’re strong like that.”

  “We’re all tested in life. I just got tested in the worst of ways. Anyway, I haven’t chosen to stay single. I just haven’t dated.”

  “Do you think you’re ready?”

  “I’m not sure. How will I know?”

  “Maybe if you start getting that feeling, the tingly one deep inside when you meet someone.” She comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “If you are ready, I’ll help anyway I can. If you’re not, that’s fine too. You know what’s best for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m just…” I sigh. “I don’t know what I want.”

  She nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s cut the shopping short and get a drink.”

  While sitting at the café inside Fred Segal, I smile. “We should have just started here.”

  She laughs. “I thought you actually wanted to go shopping. Next time just say you want a drink.”

  We order salads and a bottle of white wine before sitting back and easing into talk of our lives. After taking two sips, her hands go into the air, and she continues the story she’s been retelling, “So I told them, ‘Honey, the 90’s have to leave before they can make a comeback.’ I got the job and she burned the valances that afternoon.”

  “Beverly Hills is a lot different from Hollywood style-wise.”

  Lara is an interior decorator and has a huge celebrity clientele. I’ve watched her grow from working out of her spare bedroom to buying a large house with an entire floor dedicated to her business and five employees. She’s very animated when she talks, passionate about what she does. “Totally. In Hollywood, they like clean and modern. The celebrities I’ve worked for all give me carte blanche. They’re adventurous. Not so much in Beverly Hills. This new project will be fun though, something different for me to tackle.”

  “Let’s toast to that. To your new project.”

  Our glasses clink right as our salads are served.

  She smothers the lettuce in dressing, very un-L.A. like, and asks, “I have a job in New York next week. Want to come with me. We can move our ‘shopping’ to the other coast.”

  Dex’s words replay in my mind. “You’re the second one to mention going to New York next week.”

  “Oh really? Who was the other?”

  “Dex. They’re playing there. He said I should come.”

  Dragging her fork through the vegetables on her plate, she lowers her gaze. “Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Oh nothing.” Her eyebrows go up and her eyes go wide, her expression hopeful. “So is that a yes?”

  “It might be fun. Maybe I can get Cory’s mom, Janice, to watch the boys for a few days. They’d love that. She spoils them rotten.”

  “That’s what Grandma’s are supposed to do.”

  “Yeah, we’re lucky to have her living so close by.”

  “So that settles it. They get Grammie and we paint the Big Apple red. Yay! It will be awesome,” she adds with another tap of her glass against mine.

  My thoughts wander to Dex a lot over the next few days, but why? It’s Dex, after all. He sleeps with everyone he can and has a temper to rival the titans. He smokes too much and drinks heavily. He lives off junk food and is moody. He swears too much but has a wicked sense of humor. His new haircut emphasizes a strong jaw that sometimes looks a little too sexy when it has a day or two’s growth on it. His eyes are the most unique color, so close to caramel, but more soulful. Wait…

  What? Why am I thinking of him? When did I start thinking of him? Or like the little sweet nothings we’ve been sharing? This is something that’s crept up on me when I wasn’t looking.

  I drop my head to the mattress and cover myself under the pillow. No. I refuse to think of him that way. But I can’t help it. Somehow over the last week, things have changed, shifted into something different, something new, something exciting.

  And then the tingles began…

  I know what it is, recognizing the feeling that’s sneaking in without my permission. And now I wonder if these small gestures and occurrences aren’t so random. I felt safe in his arms. The warmth between us is new, but I felt safe and wanted. It’s the wanted that scares me most. Liking the thought that Dex might want me leaves me restless and I roll over, hiding beneath the covers

  Dear Cory,

  It never bothered me before, but now I hate flying. My therapist… I know. I know. Yes, I have a therapist. I think that officially makes me an Angeleno now. Anyway, she once told me that it was a natural fear since you died in a plane crash. But she also gave me the statistics of car crashes, death by mosquitoes, and lightning to help put it in perspective. Not sure if it worked since I shudder just thinking about mosquitoes and hide under my covers during storms. I’m in my car too much and have a false sense of safety there.

  I have a flight to see the band in NYC tomorrow, so I should get some sleep. I miss you.

  XO.

  My hands are sweating and my knee is bouncing, anxiety getting the best of me. I wish I had something to take to calm me, but for now, the shot of whiskey will have to do. Staring out the window, I try to think of happy things like my kids, the beautiful weather California has been having, and try not think about plane crashes, mosquitoes, or cars. Adjusting my neck pillow, I move to lean back in my chair and turn up my music. I close my eyes and lose myself in the music.

  Once I arrive at the hotel, the same one where the guys are staying, I shut the door to my room and flop back on the bed. Not even five minutes later, a light knock on the door makes me sit up and go. Expecting the bellhop, I open the door wide, then walk back inside, signaling for him to come in. “Just put the suitcases there please.”

  “Sorry, no luggage. Just a shit ton of baggage.”

  S
urprised, I turn back to find Dex standing in the middle of the doorway. I quirk a grin and reply, “Well, get your ass and all your baggage in here anyway.”

  As he walks by, he says, “I wanted to see how you’re doing?” I’m sure my face is showing my confusion, his unexpected concern taking me by surprise. He laughs. “I know. I know. I have this tough exterior, but believe it or not, I have a heart buried deep down in here somewhere. I just haven’t felt it in a while.”

  “Well, I hope you do soon because I’d hate to think of you going through life without a heartbeat.”

  “A lifeline.”

  I nod.

  He asks, “So how are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  His eyes lock with mine, holding me steady just through a look. “No, how are you really?”

  Tilting my head, I remark, “I appreciate it, but I’m not sure where all the concern is coming from.”

  “Just a friend checking on a friend.”

  I sit in a chair by the window and start swiveling back and forth. “Are we friends?”

  “Are we not?” With his eyebrows up, he seems genuinely surprised.

  “Sometimes, I’m not sure.”

  “We’re friends, Rochelle. I’m sorry if I gave the impression we weren’t.”

  With all of this apologizing going on, I take a chance. “I’m sorry for the past stuff.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  “I am though.” This is the most we’ve ever broached the topic and the whole conversation catches me off-guard. I used to have planned rebuttals, but today, with our defenses down, I don’t worry about those and just go with it.

  He looks around as if searching for an escape in case he needs one, but it’s just us here in this hotel room with one door in and the same door out. No other escapes, not even the luxury of an interruption.

  “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out after the show… with the band?”

  “Yeah, that will be fun. My friend Lara will be with me tonight.”

  “Cool.” He nervously shoves his hands in his pockets like a seventeen-year-old. The vulnerability on his face is quite charming. “I should go.”