by S. L. Scott
He rubs his chin. “I shouldn’t admit this, but I watched you down by the pool.”
“How long were you up there?”
“Most of the party.”
“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?”
“Actually, you’re the only one he has on his guest list, so it’s not a problem at all. He also left a key for you. Let me get it.”
Trying to remain calm, like that’s not a huge surprise is hard, but I manage to act as normal as possible. “Thank you.”
After I get the key, I’m directed to the elevators. Though dread fills my stomach, feeling like an ulcer is forming, I don’t hesitate when I exit onto his floor. I anxiously walk down the hall until I reach his suite. I’d knock, but something tells me he left a key for a reason, so I use it and walk inside.
Dex is lying on the couch, facing the window. The curtains are open with a perfect view of the Hollywood sign outside it. I set my purse and the key down on the table before sitting down in a chair next to him.
He asks, “Do you know what it’s like to have your soul stolen?” His voice is rough, like he’s been partying and smoking all night. I have a feeling he hasn’t been out, but doing that holed up inside this room.
Keeping my gaze out the window like him, I reply, “Yes, I do.” I know all too well.
Our eyes meet and he says, “Sometimes I say the stupidest shit. Ignore me.”
“I don’t want to ignore you. I want to hear everything you have to say.”
“That could take days.”
“I have a few to give if you want them.”
He smiles. It’s lazy and utterly charming. “I’d take them all if I could.”
“How long have you been staying here?”
“A week. Maybe more. I’ve lost count.”
“Why aren’t you at home?”
He chuckles to himself. “That’s a tricky question.”
“I didn’t mean it to be. Why’s it so complicated?”
“It’s strange when you’re touring. You start getting used to living in hotels. At the same time, you can’t wait to get home. But then you get home and it doesn’t always feel like it once did. So I checked in here.”
“To fill the space between?”
“To transition back.”
I nod, going to my purse. I pull the envelope out and ask, “Do you want to talk to me about the letter?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
I move to the couch, lifting his legs, sitting down, and then returning them to lie across my lap. Looking at him, he appears worn down. That makes all the wrong questions surface, but I feel I need to ask anyway. “Have you been doing drugs?”
Staring out the window again, he says, “No.”
“Have you slept with any women?”
His e
yes flash back to mine. “No, I’ve not had sex with anyone or slept with anyone.”
“When’s the last time you talked to your family, Dex?”
“A week. Maybe more.”
“So they’re the reason you’re here?”
“No, I told you why I’m here.”
“Then why the correlation in timing?” I ask, rubbing the top of his leg over his jeans.
“Everything I’m going through, you’ve been through with Cory. It’s fucked up.”
“Your feelings are your own. They’re unique. I’ve been through more than I thought I could handle, but I’m here and I’m living my life the best I can. It doesn’t mean that my heart doesn’t ache when yours does or that I don’t feel lonely or miss you. I do, all of the above.”
“Cory was your soulmate.”
“I used to be so sure,” I say, pausing to gulp. “I’m not as positive these days.”
“Don’t discount his importance for me. I know I’ll always be second best. It’s a position my family trained me for. I think I’ll be okay playing that role in your life.”
“First of all, I would never discount Cory for anyone. Secondly, I’m starting to think that maybe…” I sigh, not sure if saying the words will make them real.
“Maybe some people are like stars in the sky. They burn so much brighter than everyone else that they—”
“Burn out sooner.” I stop, resting my head on the back of the couch. Turning so I can see the blue sky outside, I add, “He’ll always be better than the rest of us. It sucks he left us behind to fumble through the world making mistakes—”
“And bad decisions.”
“Not knowing how to move on.”
“Or if you even should.”
Looking at him, I ask, “Have you ever thought about death?”
“All the time.”
“But you go on. You always go on. That’s the gift of a new day.”
“It’s not the day I live for.”
“What do you live for?” I hold my breath waiting for the answer.
“You, Rochelle.”
Arrow right to my heart. He wins with his swoony lines and broken rock star image. He’s not too far gone though. I have faith in him to pull himself out of this cycle he’s found himself in.
He lifts his legs and I stand up. Scooting over, he makes room and I slide onto the leather next to him. As I rest my cheek against his chest, I close my eyes. His arm comes over, holding me tight. His scent draws me in, making my insides twist in such an amorous way as well as calming my other senses, feeling much like home to me. I want to argue with my own logic, but he needs to know the harsh reality. Whispering, I say, “You can’t live only for me, Dex.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Wrapping my arm around him, I ask, “Where are you going?” I know he can hear my fears, the loss of him already felt deep within.
“I’m going to my grandfather’s house for a week. My mother called a meeting. My brother will be there.”
“Would you like me to go with you?”
He kisses my forehead, then says, “I wouldn’t wish that kind of trip on an enemy. Definitely never on someone I love.”
Love. My head swims in the undertow of his words. “You say things like that so easily, like you think I won’t notice.”
That makes him laugh, which is something I love. He replies, “I’m tired of hiding my feelings, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna shout it from the rooftops just yet. I have a lot of shit to deal with that I don’t think you should be dragged into.”
“I think we’re both tired of hiding. That’s why I came over.”
Maneuvering over me, with an eyebrow wiggle, he asks, “So you’ve finally fallen for my charms, huh?”
I smile. “Your charms have been working a lot longer than you know.”
Hovering over me and with a cocky head nod, he says, “I knew I’d wear you down.”
“Oh, Mr. Caggiano, you’ve worn me out… I mean down, several times.”
Pressing his hips and his very apparent erection between my legs, he says, “And I look forward to doing it again.”
“Who knew the wild, bad boy drummer of The Resistance had the willpower of a saint? Not me.”
With a deep laugh, he says, “Me either. Just know when we’re together again, it won’t be just sex. It’ll be an unwritten contract. A promise from my heart to yours.”
My heart starts thudding in my chest and I pull him down, bringing his lips to mine and kiss him, making my own promise to him. When I fall back on the cushion, I open my eyes and smile when I see the happiness in his. “Go do what you need to do,” I say, rubbing his back. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“I like when you hold me.” Dex smirks and I return the favor before pushing up against him and adding, “Also, I want you to check out and go home. If it’s not feeling like home these days, let me know, and I’ll help you find what you’re looking for.”
“Bossy and sexy. You’re turning me on. You should probably leave before I pillage your body for the remainder of the day.”
“I like pillaging and plundering.”
“Yep, plundering is good too.”
Reluctantly, I stand and look at my watch. After taking LA traffic into account, I say, “As tempting as plundering sounds, I should go.” He stands up as well and I can see his mood has changed for the better. “Walk me to the door.”
I tug him by the end of his belt until my back is pressed against the door and he’s pressed against me. He says, “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for the letter.”
His eyes steady on mine, our mouths just a few mere inches apart. Leaning in, he says, “You’re my constant. My north. The only compass worth following.”
Taking his face in my hands, the scruff is rough against my skin, his temperament gentle as I caress him. “I know you, the real you, Dex. You don’t ever have to hide from me.”
He leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. As soon as I close mine, he whispers, “I love you, Rochelle Floros.” Then he backs away, releasing me and adds, “Go before this turns embarrassing and I start telling you everything else you make me feel.”
Gah! This man. I just want him in so many ways… Smiling, I open the door and step over the threshold. But I stop, turn around and run into his arms, hugging him tightly. With my cheek against his chest, I say, “One day, I want to hear about them. Every side, every emotion, every thought you have.” And like before at Disney, I leave him with, “Until then,” but as I walk away, I add, “You have my number if you need me. Use it sometime.”
He nods, taking hold of the door before it swings shut. “Until then…”
I vowed never to come back to Diablo. At thirty, it finally seemed like the right time to sort my family life out once and for all. I sit in the Challenger for a good five minutes staring at the mansion before me and listening to Alice in Chains. “Rooster” somehow fitting right now.
I had so many good times and so many bad times here. It was where I learned my grandfather was not the overbearing monster my mom had sold him as, but later discovered he was worse.
My life seemed to develop and fall apart inside that stucco exterior. I was going one direction and then… and then everything changed. I sucked as a son and everything that my mother had wanted. I excelled at rebellion, so that’s what I did to save my sanity. Now I’m back sixteen years later to face the demons that plague me.
Gage walks out, his head down as if he’s already disappointed in me. Leaning his hand against the door of my car, I hear his wedding ring scrape against the metal, messing up my paint job. No fucking respect at all.
“Dexter. You’re two hours late.”
I pop the door open, hitting him, and step out. “I was given a day, not a time, so fuck off about some schedule you created in your head.”
“Nice attitude,” he says sarcastically.
“And here I thought this week was about making amends.”
Walking to my trunk, I open it and grab my leather duffle bag out. “So did I, so why are you out here busting my balls?”
Following a heavy sigh, he says, “There’s an additional will that is to be read when the youngest Caggiano hits his thirties.”
“I’ve been thirty for months.”
My brother shrugs. “We’ve been busy.”
Busy stealing I assume, but keep the thought to myself, figuring it’s less confrontational that way. I walk past him and into the house. “Same room?”
Overtaking me, he goes to the bar. “Yep, same room you always had.” I hear the ice dropping into the crystal glass. “Dinner’s in twenty. Dress for it.”
I stop on the stairs wanting to say something, wanting to give him a piece of my mind, but I keep my eyes forward and start back up. This week’s gonna be hell.
I dump my bag on the bed and take a minute to look around. The room is exactly the same, like I never left. Being inside these four walls again makes me feel fourteen in the worst ways. I was abandoned here in the summer, feeling like I’d been forgotten. Anger builds inside.
Unzipping my bag, I choose a long sleeve, button up, but refuse to give in fully to their whims on decorum. Not wearing a tie is the only ammo they have on me when I have a luggage set of issues with them. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I put on the clean shirt then head downstairs.
My mother is standing in front of the wrought iron doors that lead to the large lawn. Croquet is set up and I can only assume per my mom’s request. She turns just as I enter the sitting room. With her token martini in hand, she smiles. It’s small, rigid, but it’s good to see she can form an emotion on her overly botoxed face. She was once a beauty queen. Sometimes I can see the girl who resides inside the bitterness of the woman. Sometimes I can’t.
She stares at me. She always did say I was the spitting image of my father. I took it as a compliment to spite her inference. When she doesn’t say anything, I tend to think she’s lost in a memory of him. Finally, she relaxes and says, “Antonio, it’s so good to see you.”
I go to her and give her a hug because no matter what hurt she’s caused me, I like to think her embraces are genuine. She hugs me back, careful not to spill her drink. “Hi, Mom.” I take the spot next to her, looking out the window. “How are you?”