The reports were everywhere on TV the next day. “Chad Spears has been involved in an accident. He’s currently recovering from surgery after breaking his leg on the set of his latest movie filming in Toronto. His camp has issued a statement that he is resting comfortably and claim trailer cables were the cause of his fall. They are currently considering a lawsuit…”

When I told him to break a leg, I didn’t mean to literally ‘break a leg.’ I’d like to say I feel bad, but since our lunch and the tabloid explosion it caused, I don’t. Rory found out that Chad was the one who called the paparazzi to stake us out. He’s also dating the woman he told me was stalking him. He used me as a pawn for publicity. And I totally fell for it.

Because of his douche move, I opt not to send him a Cheer Up bouquet and head over to Dex’s as promised the next day. The kids run in as soon as Marguerite opens the door. She laughs as I justify, “They’re excited to be here. Sorry for their poor manners.”

She makes it easy on me. “It’s good to have happy children.”

I take her forearm and give her a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Dex is in the gameroom if you’d like to join him.”

“I’ll put the food in the kitchen first.” I follow her into the other room and set the basket on the table along with my purse. The blue skies outside his window make his backyard paradise even that much more appealing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Marguerite asks.

“A glass of water would be great. Thank you.” I walk to the back door and stare out over the lagoon like pool and large grassy area beyond it.

A few moments later, she hands me the glass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s so lovely to see you again. How are you doing?”

I turn with a smile. “I’m well.” When her eyes soften in the corners sympathetically, I add, “I’m okay… most of the time.”

She nods. “I hope it gets better. I know Dex was really looking forward to today.”

“I was too.”

“You should join them. I’m just gonna tidy up in here.”

“Okay. See you later.” I slowly make my way through the living room and down the corridor, feeling nervous. When I approach I hear laughter. Dex’s first, then the boys. It truly is wonderful to hear all of them happy. I peek around the corner and spy on them for a few minutes, but Dex catches me and winks. With a smile, he says, “C’mon in. See what your muskrats have gotten up to.”

I walk in and find a seat, near them, but just out from the spotlight shining down on the drums. Crayons are all over the floor with loose construction paper scattered at their feet. Dex whispers, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

My gaze is drawn to him and as he strums the acoustic guitar in his hands, he says, “You doing okay?”

“Been better,” I reply so only he can hear.

He starts playing a song. Louder than he was before and I suspect he’s doing it so the boys won’t hear us. “Me too.”

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.