The Redemption(58)

CJ holds up his green paper and shouts, “I drew our house in blue and me with the dog I want.”

My eyes go wide. “You want a dog?”

He smiles so big and says, “I want a black dog with a long tail. Can we get one?”

Dex adds, “Tell her what you want to name him, CJ.”

“Spot.”

I look closer at the drawing. “But the dog you drew doesn’t have any spots.”

He nods as if that says it all. I smile because he’s adorable. “I love your drawing. Great job.”

Neil holds up a yellow piece of paper and then starts to explain, “This is the tire swing. Dex is on this side and me on the other side.”

I point at something, then ask, “What’s this?”

“Those are the drumsticks.”

A flashback of years earlier crosses my mind and I look to Dex. I see a deeper emotion in his caramel-colored eyes. I just wish I understood the emotion better. I ask Neil, “Are those the drumsticks Dex gave you?”

“Yeah. He just gave me these too.” Neil holds up drumsticks that have his name inscribed on the side and The Resistance on the other.

CJ holds a pair up too. His look similar but are less worn. “Me got some too.”

I ask, “Wow, did you use these in a show?”

Dex leans forward. “I used CJ’s in Denver from the first leg and Neil’s are from Atlanta.”

“Chastain Park,” I say, remembering his postcard.

He nods. “The show was amazing. You should have seen the crowd.”

“Maybe that’s the difference. You could see the crowd the way the place is setup.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it. But I could feel the energy too. It was good.”

I love seeing him so excited about a show. After Cory’s death, we all went through a transition, including Dex. I was worried about the guys. “You’ve found your groove,” I say.

“When it clicks, it’s magic.”

Magic. Staring into his eyes, his words seep under my skin, filling holes that felt empty before. And for a brief moment in time, our unbreakable bond suspends us between time and memories, leaving us in the present full of peace and happiness.

“Dex show me a fill,” Neil says, our moment interrupted for the best of reasons—the kiddos.

I see Dex sigh and although I know he’s happy to work with Neil, his disappointment that the moment is gone is seen. He rubs the top of Neil’s head, and says, “Okay. Let’s get down to business.” He sends a smile my way before giving the kids his full attention.

I stand. “I’ll go unpack lunch and get it ready. Meet me in the backyard shortly.” I head to the kitchen. Marguerite is in there making fresh orange juice. “Hi,” I greet her again. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”

“No, I need to leave and pick up my grandson soon. I’ve made juice for the boys before I go.”

“Thank you.” I move over to the counter where she’s working, lean against it nonchalantly, and whisper, “About Dex. I’ve been wondering if you know anything maybe I should—”

“Dexter is a complicated man.” She stops juicing and looks at me. “People always want to put him in a box, easily categorized, and he’s fighting against it.”

“He’s complicated for sure,” I reply, turning to look out the window for a moment. When I turn back, I dig deeper. “Why is he fighting so hard?”

“Because it’s not his box.” She starts juicing again. “As for you, you’re trying to figure out something when it may not be time.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, wanting to stomp my foot and get all the answers now. “Why can’t I know? Why won’t he let me in?”

“He already has. That’s what scares him most.”

She makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is. If I give him more time, maybe he’ll give me the answers I need.





I find myself staring at Dex throughout lunch. He catches me several times and winks, but doesn’t seem to mind. I think he actually likes when I watch him.

After lunch, the boys are given the run of the house and take off before he even finishes his sentence. He leans forward on his elbows, the two of us alone outside. That’s when I feel it, just like the night before when I was on the phone with him—a little fluttering in my stomach. I stand, taking my glass of water with me, and walk to the edge of the cement patio. “How long have you lived here?”

“Six years,” his reply is relaxed, much like him.

I can tell he’s watching me now. When I check, my suspicion is verified. “It’s very homey. I like it here.”

“I like you being here.” Sitting down across from him again, I look at him, searching for signs of anything that will give me the answers I need. As soon as I look away, he says, “I didn’t have sex with her.”

My head jolts back in his direction, the flutters replaced with dread. I tuck my hands under my legs to keep from revealing how this conversation really affects me.

“I feel like shit for lying to you, Rochelle.”

“Why would you lie about it? It makes no sense why you would hurt me like that?”

His gaze drifts away and he swallows hard.