When I open the door to my house, Janice is there and stands from the couch. I thought she’d be gone, wishing she had. I swipe at my eyes, hoping she doesn’t see my tears. “Rochelle? Are you okay?”

“No,” I reply, walking past her and going to my room. I slam the door closed and lay down on the bed, wishing for this day to go away, wishing I could go away for a few hours from myself.

I’m tired of being strong. Curling into a ball on my side, I finally drop the act I’ve put on for everyone else and cry. I give myself an hour to recover, but my heart is refusing the deadline. No matter how much I remind myself that I have to get ready for the meetings, I still struggle to pull myself together. This ache in my chest makes me think I’m mourning more than just the loss of Dex. Cory is always on my mind. I used to be happy. I used to carefree. I used to have a heart full of love. Now… I miss him. I miss the ease of our life together.

I went numb while holding my newborn. I should have gotten to enjoy my sweet baby being born. But that was ripped away from me when I was told of the plane crash. A numbness took over, then anger that welled up inside of me, squeezing the life out of me, making each breath hard to take as if the world was lacking oxygen.

The anger is so easily to identify with, but I pushed it down, not wanting to upset anyone, not wanting anyone to think I didn’t love Cory. I loved him with all of my being. But he left me in a world I don’t feel equipped to live in or maybe it’s just my emotions that are hard to live with. I reach for the framed photo of me and Cory that sits on the nightstand. Taking it in hand, I run my finger over the glass. I see love when it was pure and simple. He made it so damn easy to love him. When I smile, I have a moment of clarity—Johnny, Dex, and Tommy mourned Cory’s death. His family has mourned. Mourning doesn’t mean forgetting… I will never forget him, but I need to mourn him.

Now I’m left questioning whether it was fair to start things with Dex under these conditions. Not being in the right state of mind, I’m in no mood to have to justify my reaction today. We had sex. We made out. We were coupling. That much is fact. So for him to jump into bed with someone else after a fight… I don’t know if I can forgive him for that.

Thinking about him, makes me want to call him. And wanting to call him makes me feel pathetic. I check for any messages, just in case before setting my phone back down. Now I’m even more disappointed that he hasn’t called or texted me. Ugh!

I try to convince myself that it’s because he’s on his flight, but deep down I know it’s not. What pisses me off the most is that I want to hear from him. I want him to tell me this is all a misunderstanding and that what I walked in on wasn’t what it looked like. But I know better no matter how much I try to change the image in my head. He also didn’t deny it. I need to stop being stupid and focus on business.

* * *

By the second meeting of the day, I’m bored. “These ideas are unoriginal,” I start in. “I don’t want the band doing the festival circuit. Anyway, I’m not seeing a need for them to tour next summer unless they have a new album out and right now they aren’t due to go back into the studio for three months. Give them another two months to work through the tracks that haven’t even been written and then we might have new music for them to promote. But it’s going to be a hard sell to talk them into it now without tour ideas that wow them.”

Nick is the home base assistant to Tommy. He says, “They’re tired right now. Getting burned out like all bands nearing the end of a lengthy tour. Tommy says we shouldn’t even pitch the idea to them until they’re home and rested.”

“I wouldn’t even broach the subject unless we’re solid with something original,” I say, “Johnny likes real ideas, something he can visualize. We’d need to present it on paper, through art. Also, this tour needs a better concept for the drum kit. Dex…” My heart starts beating heavy in my chest. I clear my throat while looking down. Focus. “Umm… Dex likes his platform rounded and it’s been square the last two tours.”

MaryLee, the set designer, leans forward and asks, “Why does he like a rounded platform?”

I turn my attention to her, trying to hold any personal reaction I might have. “He thinks it shows off his drum set better. The curves highlight the curve of the kit. It’s a personal thing, not something I think makes a difference to most, but he’ll want input when it comes to the drum arrangement on stage.”

She taps a pen against the table, looking to others for additional suggestions. When none come, she says, “What about we highlight Dex on the tour. He can have a sliding stage that moves front and center when he has a solo, then moves back into place?”

Nick agrees, “I like that idea.”

I add, “It can move up and down maybe.”

MaryLee sits ups. “That’s a fantastic idea. We can showcase him.”

Nodding, I say, “Get more ideas going. The album will set the theme, but we need these new concepts to really pull it off and get them enthused to sign on.”

MaryLee asks, “When do you want the concepts?”

“We have time. Two months. I want a model made to see how the platform will work and to show the guys. Thanks for your time. We’ll talk soon.” I get up and leave, restraining myself from rushing to the elevators. As I ride down, I begin to wonder if I’ve screwed up my job now as well by sleeping with Dex. Any idiot would know this outcome was predictable, but I still fell for his act. That’s just it. He said it himself—He was trying to prove how good he was. It doesn’t come second nature to him. That’s why he has to prove it. Good people don’t have to prove it because they show through their every day behavior.

As soon as I’m in my car, I think about the time under the stars—big and little pictures—the details, and the kiss before we were caught.

I was a fool for going to his place. The second he had a chance, he dropped the good guy act and slipped right back into his wolfish self. He’s probably breathing easier now that he’s taken off the sheep’s clothing.

Needing gas, I pull off to a gas station on La Cienega Boulevard. After it begins pumping, my thoughts drift back to the gathering at my house after the funeral. So vividly, I remember how he felt wrapped around me, and the smell of his breath against my neck as I cried, when he gave Neil the drumsticks, and how he replanted the lettuce knowing it was more about the metaphor than the vegetable.

Firenza invades the good—her arrogant smile, tearing me apart as she stood there mostly naked and called him by his first name like she has a right to. I almost prefer he fuck a nameless stranger, a groupie, instead of her. She knew I was a passing fancy and nothing more than a challenge he’d taken. Everything about her tone, words, and body language knew she would be with him again.

“Come here often?”

I look up and see Chad Spears standing on the other side of the pump getting gas. “Hi.” He repeats himself, “Hi. Sorry to interrupt the deep conversation you seem to be having with yourself.”

I laugh, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah, deeps thoughts and all while getting gas. You know how that goes.”

“Sure. I always come up with my best ideas while waiting at the gas pump.” He smiles. “You’re causing quite the stir these days.”

Sighing, I ask, “Online?”

“Seems so. The girl who fought so hard to stay out of the headlines is now making them.”

Glancing at the meter, I have a few more gallons to go before it’s full. “LA sucks like that. I guess I’m not sure why there’s interest in me at all.”

“A beautiful widow, a tragic tale, and a bad boy. Makes for good gossip.”

“Tragic is right.”

“You still seeing Dex?”

My shoulders tense, my answer clipped. “Nope.”

His pump clicks off before mine. He locks up his tank, then comes around to my side and leans his back against my Escalade. “How about that raincheck?”

It’s the most sincere I’ve ever seen him. No guard or pretenses, no audience to perform for or like he’s trying to impress me. Just a genuine smile and a gentle tone. He reminds me of teenage guys who haven’t been defeated by rejection and not tasted enough success to have an attitude yet.

My pump clicks loudly and I reach for it, but he takes the handle before I can and puts it back in place. As I put the gas cap back on, I waiver, thinking I may have judged him because of Dex and maybe that’s not fair. “I do owe you a drink.”

Looking down at his watch, he says, “I’m late for a meeting, but how’s Friday around three for you?”

I’m tired of trying to please everyone else. Chad Spears is not my future, but he may be fun with no commitment, maybe exactly what I need. Wondering if I’m trading one bad boy for another, I decide I don’t care anymore. “That works.”

“Cool.” He hands me his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you.”

“Here. I’ll do it.” I take the phone and program my number into it.

“So,” he says all flirty and looking better than he ever has on a red carpet. “Friday?”

“Yeah, Friday.”

With a little wave, he walks back to his sports car and I walk around mine to get in. One more glance in his direction and I smile before he drives off. I follow behind but turn the opposite way on Le Cienega. I immediately turn on music so I don’t have the quiet to over think what I just agreed to. It’s a drink at three, basically the same as a business meeting. The music gets louder, so I let the date and all the heavy thoughts stop and try to enjoy someone else’s rhythm for a while.

* * *

Spending time with my boys renews me. There are no other beings on earth that bring me more happiness or make me more proud. As Neil reads to his little brother, I hold them on either side of me, loving the sound of their voices and giggles. After ‘The End’ is read, I give them a bath, letting them play in my jetted tub, which they love. My mind occasionally wanders to Dex, wondering if he’s thinking of me, like I have him. Wondering if he cares how much he hurt me.

By eight o’clock, I’m wiped out just like the boys. My mind even more tired than my body. My heart still bruised. I crawl under my covers and check my phone on my nightstand. There’s a text from Tommy: We need to talk. Call me after the show.

Crap.

I look at the time again. The band is playing in Florida, so they’re on Eastern Standard. They should be halfway through the show if they started on time. I text back: I’ll call you in two hours.

I can only imagine what he needs to talk about at this time of night. I’m sure Dex has told his side of the tale by now and I’m probably the bad guy for breaking his heart. I cringe thinking I might have to talk about this, but they should hear my side before their judgments settle in.

Grabbing my files from the end of the bed, I open them wide, then spread out the contracts for the new offers that were sent over from the main office. Action figures. No. Wine… um, No. Not their style at all. Private jet company. Too flashy. Watches. Maybe. A tour book. Maybe. A documentary. Maybe. A line of athletic wear. No. I gather the maybes and stack the rest back up and place them in the No folder. I’m gonna have to present these in the next two weeks to the guys, which means traveling to see them. As much as I think I can be professional around Dex, I also know my heart isn’t ready to see him.

His betrayal has tainted our past and all of the things that made us special together. Everything has changed for the worse. We weren’t special. I wasn’t special. I was used like so many before me. He had no intention of love, but I believed his words. Now I believe his actions. They speak louder. I just hope I can bear to be in the same room as him.

Logging onto the tour schedule, I look at the dates and cities. Miami in nine days. Nine days to wean my heart away from him. Nine days to mentally prepare myself to see him after our fight. Nine days to forget the past and try to move forward like we never happened. Nine days.

Ready or not, I’ll go because I have to. I’m damn good at what I do and I’m not gonna let little things like broken hearts and hurt feelings get in my way.

* * *

My phone rings just after ten-thirty. “Hello?”

Tommy’s voice is gruff. “Hey Rochelle, I need talk to you about Dex.”

Bracing myself to the mattress the best I can, I wearily reply, “Okay, but I think it’s only fair that I get to share my side of it.”

“Your side of what?”

“What happened betw—Wait, what were you going to say?”

“His kit got damaged in transport. He got through the show by using a floor model from Guitar Center. It’s not gonna work for the tour. It’s not made for that kind of stress. I’m sending over the contact information for the set maker. Call them first thing in the morning and see if they can rush the frame, bass, tom-tom, and snare out overnight to the next city. Philly. Philly’s next.”

“What happened? And what about the rest of the equipment?”

“The hi-hat and other symbols are fine. A local stagehand put the set down on the dock and a backloader didn’t see it. Bent it to shit. Dex is pissed.”

“He should be pissed. Will the current set work if the other won’t make it?”

“For the next show, yeah. But he was hitting pretty hard tonight. I don’t know if it will make it for two shows. It’s not as heavy as his usual. Oh and maybe give him a call tomorrow. He seemed out of sorts today. Left his clothes because he was late for the plane. Said he didn’t have time to pack. Maybe you can send some clothes too.”

“Geez, Tommy, let me just drop everything and go shopping for Dex,” I reply sarcastically. “He forgot his clothes? What happened to you managing him during the tour?”

“C’mon, Ro. Do me the favors. I can only do so much from here and keeping a tight leash on the guys is doing me in already and it’s only the first show of this leg.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dex is wasted because he’s upset about the drums. Johnny left after the show. Derrick and Kaz are dragging me out with them. I’m thinking I need to go to keep an eye on them. You know how those two are when they party.”

“Partying with the guys sounds like real torture, Tommy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But don’t worry. I’ll handle everything in the morning.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“No need to suck up. I already said yes. Don’t you have some bars to get to?”

He laughs. “Yup, getting right on that. Thanks for the help.”

As soon as the phone disconnects, I lay in bed and turn on the TV, trying to distract myself from the fact that I have to return to Dex’s house in the morning. Damn him. There’s just no escaping. As soon as I decide to get out, I’m dragged right back into the lion’s den… or tiger and lair in his case, according to Firenza.