The Redemption (14 page)

Ten minutes of listening to the engine roar as the wind blows through the open windows of the car, and we’re there. Security waves him through. “Are you a member of this country club?” I ask.

“My family has generational privileges.”

“Makes sense and very fancy, Mr. Caggiano. I didn’t think you golfed.”

He pulls into a parking spot and says, “Actually, I do golf. I even played in high school on the team for a year before I quit.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“Because I hate golf clothes almost as much as I hate Chad Spears and he was Team Captain.”

“Why do you hate Chad so much?”

His irritation is apparent. “Spears is a spoiled asshole.” His eyes hook to his right onto mine and he says, “Listen, stay away from him. He’s shiny on the outside, all packaged up and manufactured by his producer parents and Hollywood, but he’s bad news.”

“Are you jealous?” I tease. Wrong move on my part.

Cutting the engine, he stares at me. “I’m not jealous. The girls he dates, they’re different when he’s done with him. He’s a user of drugs, people, and connections. He gets high off of building himself up by destroying others. Bad news, Rochelle. Don’t trust him. Okay?”

I’ve never seen him so serious before. “Fine.”

“Promise me?”

“Okay, I promise,” I reply.

I’m learning there’s a long history there. I mentally note that Chad Spears is another one of those hot topics for Dex.

We walk inside the main building and I follow as he begins walking faster, taking big strides to the patio on the other side. The place is busy, the ladies who lunch dressed in tennis clothes, Diane Von Furstenberg, or silk dresses. I feel out of place, definitely underdressed now.

There’s a beautiful woman, flawless skin with chestnut colored hair that is reminiscent of Jackie O. She’s laughing with three friends, martini glasses in front of each. He sets the present down in front of her and says, “Happy Birthday, Mother.” With that out of the way, he turns around and starts walking away.

She doesn’t seem surprised in the least as she calls, “Antonio. Come back here.” Her tone is not demanding, but lilted with a smile, maybe to keep up appearances.

“Dex,” I whisper, taking hold of his arm before he passes me. “Stop.” I nod behind me and add, “It can be different. Give her a chance.”

His hardened glare softens before my eyes as he looks at me. When his hand touches my face, he whispers, “You’re so damn beautiful.” He leaves me standing there in awe of his sweet words and twisted from the sad event.

Her voice reminds me of Katherine Hepburn and other women of society back East, not California at all. “Are you with my son?” she asks, fluffing the bottom of her bob hairstyle.

With big curious eyes on me, I reply, “I am.” Maybe more than I’m ready to acknowledge.

“Please send my gratitude for the gift.”

Her sentiment feels cold despite the words. “I think it would mean more coming from you.”

She’s uncomfortable in the conversation by how she shifts on her feet. “He doesn’t take my calls,” she states with one hand on her hip.

“Maybe because you stand him up. Excuse me. I need to catch up with him.” I hurry away, rushing through the clubhouse and out the doors. Dex is sitting in his car, windows down, the engine off. When I approach, he slides his sunglasses down over his eyes and looks straight ahead. Choosing to let this all die down, his emotions showing in his slumped shoulders, I lean my palms on the open window, and say, “Hey, you still owe me lunch.”

With a tilt of his head in my direction, I see a slight smile cross his face. “You’re right. Get in.”

“I didn’t know Beverly Hills had burger joints.” I take another big bite of my burger.

“It’s a little secret. Most people don’t realize that not everyone in Beverly Hills proper is wealthy. There are pockets of average working Joes.”

Related, but my thoughts veering, I state, “I’ve thought about moving.”

His head jolts and he’s facing me. “Where?”

“I’m not sure. Just somewhere else.”

Setting his burger down, he appears to have lost his appetite. He pushes his plastic basket away from him and looks out at the nearby street. “LA?”

“There are a lot of memories tied up in LA, but I feel it might be time for a change of scenery.”

When he turns back to me, there’s an earnestness found in his unwavering confession. “I don’t want you to leave.”

His honesty strikes me, causing me to take him seriously. “I have the boys, Dex.”

Leaning forward, his whispered words don’t hide his irritation, “You keep reminding me like I don’t realize you’re a package deal.”

“I remind you so you can get out before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

His words take my breath, a silent gasp held hostage while I stare into the sincerity of his comforting eyes. Two beats of my pulse and I’m revived, and reply, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Under the table, he finds my hand and holds it. “My feelings for you are real. But for you, I’ll be your Peter Pan and you can pretend to be Wendy and we’ll stay in Neverland until you’re ready to see that Neverland doesn’t have to live only in our imaginations.”

“Dex?” I say, looking down. It’s all too much and I push my burger away, feeling a lump forming in my throat. “You say these things in broad daylight—”

“I say what I feel and I feel so much for you.”

I sigh. “Please—”

“Please what?”

Sitting up, our fingers falling away from each other, I say, “Please leave the future out there in the distance for just a little longer. I have things that I need to sort through first, right here in the present.”

“I’ll wait.”

Getting up, I set my napkin on the table and walk around the booth to his side. Sliding in next to him, I take his face between my hands and ask, “Did Wendy and Peter ever kiss?”

With a smug smile in place, he says, “All the fucking time.”

My smile is unstoppable as I lift up to kiss him on the lips. His strong hands cover my sides, holding me to him, but he pulls back. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Good. Because I’m really not.”

He leans forward this time and kisses my forehead. “Let’s go. I need to get you back to the Valley before the kids are out of school.” Hearing him say that makes me think that maybe he does realize what comes along with dating me.

In the car, I want to ask him about his mother, but I’m not sure how to broach the subject. I decide direct is best. “Your Mother said to tell you thank you.”

Silence.

“Dex?”

“I haven’t seen my brother, Gage, in almost a year. He’s married and lives in Thousand Oaks. LA’s big, but it’s not that big.”

“Why haven’t you seen him?”

“He’s a lawyer, a partner at a firm with a steady job and all that, former pride of my family, but he took money from me and I found out three years ago.”

“He stole from you?”

Dex’s fingers tighten around the wheel, his knuckles going white. “He set up this account and had me sign a contract that I thought was for IRS reporting. It blew up in his face when the IRS contacted my accountant wanting their money. Like I wouldn’t find out.”

I shift my back against the door, so I can see him better. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

With a glance, he says, “You were kind of busy three years ago.”

The plane crash. The funeral. My darkest year.

“I’m sorry.” I say it because my heart aches for him and his betrayal.

With a reassuring smile, he says, “Why are you sorry? You have no reason to be.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“There was nothing anybody could do. I dealt with my shitty brother. Per her usual MO, my Mother didn’t take my side—”

“She took his?”

“No, she tried to play Switzerland, but I know deep down if the roles had been reversed, she would have sided with him. He was always her favorite. It was easy to see it. Each summer, I was shipped off to my grandfather’s. She took him to the South of France.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was all bad if you ask me. I mean, how much sun and beautiful azure-colored water can you really stare at all day?”

His laugh is heard over the wind that whistles through the car. “True.” When his hand finds mine, he says, “You have a really unique way of looking at situations, Wendy.”

“It’s a gift, I guess. I just learned that you see a situation how you want to see it, whether it’s the truth or not.”

“Your beauty shines through.”

“Well I’m also learning that you’re not just a pretty face and kickass drummer.”

Chuckling, he says, “Nope, I also have other talents.” He waggles his tongue, and at the sight of that, I clench my legs together. If he wasn’t so damn sexy, I might be offended.

Pulling up into my driveway, I say, “Can’t wait to see that in action, you big tease.”

“It’s not about seeing. It’s about feeling. And trust me, I’m struggling to wait too.” He looks past me, and says, “You’re home.”

I’m too stunned and now too turned on to think clearly, so I just sit there for a few seconds trying to collect myself from the puddle I turned into on the floorboard of his Challenger. The name of the car feels way too apropos right now. “Yeah, I should go… home, inside, the place I live,” I start rambling.

One more stunning smile in my direction, and he adds, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, um, right. Tomorrow.”

I get out and stumble a bit, left a little off balance from his words and a lot off balance by how much he affects me. And just like how the day started, I’m left impatiently waiting for Thursday to get here.

She’s become an addiction, and something I obsess over. Living the life I have, living it hard, I’ve become an expert at both addiction and obsession. I know the difference. Rochelle is the first person I’ve felt both over.

Now that she’s let me in, I never want to go. I’ve waited so long for this chance. I have to pretend to act normal, but I feel anything but that when I’m around her. I don’t want to scare her. I want… I want… I want so much with her, from her, that it scares me. But I play it cool, keeping my deepest thoughts to myself. I’m good like that, the quiet one. I’ve been called moody, but it’s not that. That’s an emotion someone wears for show. My moods aren’t for show, but to hide, to protect what I don’t want any of them to see. If they know how I really feel, rejection can follow and I’ve had too much of that in my life to survive a rejection from her.

I lie on the couch in the middle of my dark house, letting her invade my thoughts and crawl under my skin, becoming a part of me. She’s the sun when it sets and my moon when it rises. My day begins and ends with her on my mind. She asks about me but all I want to do is hear about her. Her days are mundane to her, but are envious to me. Routine. She has this amazing life, her routine as she calls it, and I just want to be there, be a staple, a part of her daily routine. Too much.

Obsessed.

I’m obsessed.

This girl, this light, walked into my life and I just had to follow it. At nineteen, she was beautiful. She had brown hair with that just come from the beach look—chin length, a little wild, a little off. Her big brown eyes reminded me of the sun tea that would sit in the window sill when I was a kid. Rochelle didn’t belong in that bar, but she owned it the minute she walked in, under-aged and full of confidence.