The Redemption(69)

“Why?” I ask.

“I was sitting there in the middle of this party full of people there to celebrate my birthday and I realized I didn’t like half of them. Most of the others I didn’t even know. Then there was you.” He spins us by kicking off from the ground.

I lean my head back toward the sky and smile watching the world spin out around us. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the cool breeze as he pushes off again. “What about me?” I laugh, loving the lightness of my body and the conversation.

“You’re a tease, Rochelle.”

I open my eyes and waggle my eyebrows at him. As he pushes off again, my body sways to the left and I go with it, letting my arms straighten. “I wasn’t teasing that night. I felt lost, but when I think back, I wasn’t.” I lock eyes with him. “I was there for you.”

“You were Eve in a garden of evil that night. An angel appearing out of nowhere.” He plants his foot and we come to an abrupt stop. “You didn’t come looking for me, but you found me all the same. Tell me it meant something.”

“It meant everything to me.” He releases his intense gaze on me and smiles. I hop off the swing and walk to him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I touch him gently. “I’m not trying to inflate your ego. I’m just telling you the truth.”

He playfully pokes me in the side. “Too late. My ego is already inflated.”

Laughing, I surprise him and spin the tire, sending him spinning. “Well in that case, I’ll have to try harder.”

I walk away, leaving him whirling. To my surprise, I’m grabbed from behind just seconds later. His lips touch the shell of my ear, his arms holding me tight, and he says, “I like the sound of that.”

My body is instantly covered in goosebumps as I take a staggered breath and lean my head into the nook of his neck.

One kiss. One sweet kiss to that most hidden place behind my ear. He makes me want to ravage him, his touch always filling me with temptation and desire. One day I’m going to torture him just as sweetly. When the heat of his body leaves mine, I realize today isn’t that day. But soon.

Very soon.





The funny thing about revelations are that they hit you when you least expect it. I’d been sitting here the last week thinking Dex was choosing to work on his life, which means we get put on hold. What I hadn’t thought about is how I play into his plans, his life, or his future. I also hadn’t thought about what I want for my kids and myself. It was easy when we were together. Everything with him feels so right.

But when we’re not together, I wonder if he falls apart like I do. I wonder if this is why he doubts himself. More importantly, am I in any position to help him? He hasn’t committed some great sin that can’t be forgiven. I think he’s just caught in a cycle of destruction, one where he’s more comfortable dealing with than the change ahead.

After texting him a few times and leaving a few messages for him after calling him and getting no answer, I did exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do and I backed away. It was a hard month. He stopped calling, the letters didn’t continue, and unless I had business with him, I didn’t hear from Dex at all. It made me wonder if he’d always be damaged enough to not see the good through the bad. For his sake, I hope not.

Sometime in early November something arrived at the house, a letter of a different sort. The letterhead was labeled The Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. I opened it and read:



Rochelle,

I’m lost without you. I needed time, thinking it would get easier, but it hasn’t. My life is worse. I’ve done things I regret and I don’t know how to repent.

How do you save an unsalvageable soul that doesn’t want to be saved? I want to drown in things that will make me lose my mind, so I can live in the numbness, even if only temporarily.

There’s a void that music can’t fill, that other women won’t fix, that drugs won’t blur, and that time won’t relent.

My drug of choice these days is you…

Can you heal a damaged soul?

Love,

Dex



He’s gotten good at dropping these bombshells. But what he’s written concerns me—Barstow coming to mind. The envelope is post-dated two days ago. Today is Friday and I have three hours before the kids get out of school. I grab my keys and head out, my mission—The Roosevelt.

Walking up to the front desk, I introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Rochelle Floros, and I need to see if one of my business partners is still staying here.”

The young man, mid-twenties, blonde, brown eyes, smiling. “Good afternoon. I’m Bruce. Hey, you’re with The Resistance, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about Cory Dean. He was the most amazing guitar player.”

I should be used to his name being spoken in conversation by others and hearing Cory spoken about in the past tense, but some days are easier for me than others. Today, I’m walking a fine line. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I know he would have too.”

Bruce’s smile tightens and he leans forward to whisper, “Are you here to see Dex Caggiano?”

“I am. Is he still here?”

“He hasn’t left his room in four days.”

I sigh. “I know it’s against policy, but I need to see him, so is there any way you’ll share his room number with me?”