We decided our relationship was best kept a secret—our secret for now, an intimacy that bonded us even more. Our bubble felt protected from outside opinions and judgment. But maybe it was the darkness that allowed us to believe in the illusion. The reality is, we knew we couldn’t hide for long, but neither of us wanted to talk about it either.

So we continued over the course of a month, sneaking around in dives to grab a late night drink or sticking to the security of each other’s house.

“How’s your mother doing?” I ask, lying in bed with him. Glancing at the clock it’s 5:30 in the morning.

When he turns to me, his brow is furrowed. “Really? We’re talking about my mother right now? What happened to lying here recovering after sex?”

“Recovering? Do you really want to recover from sex with me?”

Rolling over, he rests on top of me. “You wear me out, woman!”

“With all of my sex demands?” I tease.

“Yes,” he says, a short chuckle following. “You’re a very demanding lover.”

“Lover sounds so naughty and sexual.”

He gets off of me, sits up, and turns on the lamp. “Aren’t all lovers sexual? Like doesn’t the word itself say sexual?”

I blush, my eyelids growing heavy. “I’m tired. I can’t think straight at this hour.”

He starts to stand, but I take his hand and hold him. “Don’t leave.”

Settling back down next to me, he tucks his arm under my neck and holds me to him. “The boys will be up soon.”

Whispering, I say, “I know.”

He reaches for the lamp to turn it off and I smile knowing today is the day, we become real, real to the world, facing the world together. When he stops, I look over at him and see him holding the small framed photo of me and Cory. My heart clenches. I quickly reach for him, not wanting to lose everything we worked so hard for. But he stands suddenly and the frame is abandoned in the spot he found it. The playfulness is gone as he walks to the bench at the end of the bed where he left his clothes. He starts getting dressed, so I ask, “You’re going?”

“I should. I have some stuff to take care of.”

When he sits on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on, I sense the change in his mood. I sit up and rub his arm. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he replies too quick and a little snappy. Lying back, I watch him silently. His gaze is focused down and I watch the man I fell in love with disappear before my eyes. He looks back when the silence reaches him, our gazes connecting. He rubs my leg over the blanket. “I’m sorry.”

Needing him to fill me in on what he’s thinking, I ask, “For what?” My voice is meek and quieter than intended, but I can’t handle my heart being broken again. And by the thickened tension, I’m feeling like that’s close to happening.

His eyes leave mine before his hand does. “There’s so much shit, so much to think about.”

“What about the last month?”

He turns, slow and hesitant, his face one of regret. When he looks at me, I know what’s coming before he even says it. I close my eyes to hide the tears I know will appear. “Rochelle,” he starts, then pauses with a heavy sigh before continuing. “I need to sort through everything. I have legal appointments tomorrow…” He glances at his watch. “…later today technically. I’m seeing my mother for dinner. It’s a miracle she’s still here. And I still have to talk to Gage.” When he stands, he keeps his back to me. He walks to the door and stops with his hand on the knob. Keeping his eyes focused on anything but me, he says, “I’ll call you later.” Then he leaves.

Our ‘Until then…’ isn’t said. That’s the moment I know we’re over.

I roll to my side and pull the covers over my head. I thought I would cry, but the conflicting emotions I have surfacing are too confusing. Disappointment trumps anger, love, and the sadness I’m feeling. Dex is running. He’s running from me, from everything despite how he’s convinced himself he’s not.

He’s not used to being accountable to anyone, although I know he wishes he could be to me and the boys. He’s just not there yet. Maybe the pressures of the new will and his mother’s illness has stolen something from him that keeps him from being here for me. Maybe we were only as permanent as his surroundings are. Maybe our secret kept him only invested as much as he had to. What we thought was a way to protect something that was strong and growing has revealed the cracks instead. Like a side effect, the secrecy kept us fragile, something more delicate than we thought.

I look over at the frame that I know I should have put away long before now. Cory and I were only twenty-one and thought we had a lifetime to look forward to. I start to reach for the photo, thinking I can actually pack it away inside the drawer below. But I stop.

Dex leaving isn’t because of a photo.

Dex will crumble with his family and unlike the last time, I can’t save him. This would have happened if I had that photo out or not. I pull the blankets tighter around me and remember when I visited him the last time he was at rehab…

One of the nurses told me I could find him out back near the cliffs, so I walk through the open doors that lead to a large patio and expansive view of the ocean. In any other setting, this would take my breath away. But I remember where I’m at, so I avert my eyes to the surroundings—other patients reading, chatting, and or staring at me. I keep walking down a small curved set of stairs and over some gravel before I reach the grass and see Dex sitting and another patient on a bench across the lawn.

The woman laughs and I hear Dex return with his own laughter. It’s good to hear. It’s been too long. I just wish it had been under different circumstances. When I approach, I suddenly hesitate, suddenly questioning if I’m interrupting. She sees me first, then nods to him to give him a heads up regarding my presence. When Dex turns, I see the lightness in his eyes, a happiness he shows me before his expression changes and a look of betrayal crosses his face.

“Hi,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hate me.

The woman stands, her hand rubbing across the top of his. “I’ll see you inside.”

He nods and she leaves. When we’re alone, he rests forward, his elbows on his knees and scrubs his unshaven face a few times with his hands. Our eyes meet again and he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Can I sit?” His hand swings out over the bench as an invitation. I sit down and look ahead at the ocean, seeing white caps in the distance. I feel his gaze on me, but when I turn, he looks away. His jaw is tense, so I ask, “Am I interrupting?”

“Jealousy isn’t flattering on you, Rochelle.”

I laugh, though I don’t find his tone or words funny at all. “Jealousy? You think I’m jealous. Of what? Your friend there?”

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, to check on you.”

He stands and walks ahead a few feet away. “I’m here,” he says, turning around.

“How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I want a hit of anything and I can’t have it. But I stay because I want to stay in the band and if doing two weeks time in here will keep me doing the only thing I care about, then I’ll stay.”

“Why are you so angry with me? Because I brought you here?”

His eyes meet mine and he replies, “This shit is expected from Tommy, from Johnny. Hell, everyone, but you. I needed you, Rochelle.”

“You had me. You have me now. I’ve always been here for you when you needed me.”

“You sided with them against me. I could have worked through this at home. I had time before the tour. Instead you stabbed me in the back.”

“You had seizures, Dex, just like you did in Paris. How many times are you willing to put your life on the line for a ‘hit of anything’?”

“Fuck this. I don’t need your lecture. You know shit about what I’ve been going through.” He starts to walk away.

I stand and shout, “You’re right! I know shit because I’ve been dealing with my own shit, like Cory dying and raising kids—”

“Don’t drag him into this.”

“Drag? I didn’t drag him into this. Some days I can’t even breathe to save myself much less you. I’ve been dragged into something that’s bigger than you needing to get high to escape a life of privilege.”

I see the change in him before the hate is heard in his words. “Yes, Rochelle, my life of privilege has solved all my problems,” he says sarcastically. “Doesn’t money buy you happiness?” I can tell he wants to leave, but holds himself in place. “What we had… what we did, one day you’ll see, it was everything to me.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore when it comes to you. You’re not the man I expected to see today.”

He huffs and kicks the grass beneath his feet. When he looks back up, he says, “You’re seeing the real me for once. Oh, and yes, you were interrupting, so excuse me I have an appointment in her room in five.” Dex walks back not in any hurry, but walking away from me holding his head down and his shoulders tight.

* * *

The car door slams behind me, causing me to jump. Neil and CJ run ahead as if they’re at the park. They know exactly where to go since we’ve been here so many times before.

Thirty minutes later, Holli jogs to keep up, taking the boys by the hands and walking back to the car. Johnny stays silent, but I feel his heavy heart, like mine, weighing down the air around us. I move forward stepping directly on top of the grass. My heels dig in and I let them sink a bit into the ground. It doesn’t matter. Not really. It gets mowed and tidied, cleaned up regularly. My shoes don’t affect the dead.

But for some reason I step out of them. Maybe it’s the grass I need to feel. The cool blades against my skin. Or maybe it puts me just a little closer to what used to be Cory. I don’t know. I’ve lost my ability to reason in these types of situations. Nothing makes sense, so I don’t bother trying.

I sit down and my skirt goes out around me. Cory never wanted to be buried. I did it for Janice, giving her a ‘place’ to visit. I get it now. I realize how important this is not just for me, but for my kids. And for the fans. The anniversary of his death always brings more flowers and memorabilia, tokens of appreciation of what he gave the world surrounds the tombstone. They sneak in to pay homage and respect to the man that has become a legend before his time. But maybe that’s how legends are made.

The cemetery is private and has security, but they get in somehow without notice and leave their gifts to be found by… I’m not sure who collects all the stuff actually. One day I should ask, wondering what happens to everything they find here.

I slide guitar picks, photos, flowers, and other odds and ends to the side, and lay my head on the base of the tombstone. I close my eyes and in the serenity I hear his voice, his laugh, the last melody I ever heard him play for me.

“They’re memories, Rochelle,” Johnny says, his voice sounding as heavy as his heart. “You’ll always have them, but live in the present.”

“I want to be strong, but I’m struggling.”

“We all struggle. That’s life. But what’s the fun in easy?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, neither would I.” He sits down.

Lifting up, I sit up next to him as he rests his back against the tombstone. Flicking blades of grass, he says, “I miss him every day. Some days, I wake up and I’ve forgotten he’s died. I pick up my phone to call him…”

I relax back too and lean my head on his shoulder. “I used to cry every night, but never in the daylight.”

“That sounds like a song that needs to be written.”

“Maybe we’re all just lyrics waiting to happen.”

He looks over at me and one side of his mouth goes up. “Maybe.”

“I don’t want to be sad anymore.” I close my eyes.

“I don’t want you to be sad anymore either.” He sighs. “Tell me. Who are you when no one is watching?”

His question makes my heart ache for him. I straighten up again, wanting him to tell me so much more, to share with me the thoughts he’s not. “What do you mean?”

“If you could be anyone without judgment who would you be?”

Reaching my hand down I grab a handful of grass. “I don’t want to be someone else. I just want to be happy again.”

“When was the last time that happened?”

“My kids make me happy. It might sound strange but I’m still amazed I have them. I’m so fortunate.”

“Your kids are amazing, like their parents.” In another bout of quiet between us, there’s no reprieve from the obvious elephant. “Have you talked to Dex?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“Our situation is in his hands, not mine. I tried to be there and he pushed me out.”

“What would you say if you had the chance?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

The wind picks up, my hair covering my eyes.

“Look over there,” Johnny says.

I tuck my hair back and follow in the direction where Johnny points to the car.

Dex is hugging the boys and then one quick one to Holli before Tommy brings him in for a squeeze. Dex looks over at us and down, says something, then starts coming our way.

Johnny gets up. “I think I’ll go help Holliday with Neil and CJ.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“Yeah, but something tells me Dex is here to see you, so I should.”

I silently agree, thinking he’s probably right. Watching as he walks away, they greet each other and talk. They both look at me, then away again. Something else is said and Dex nods. One more handshake and a hug, then Dex heads my way.

He stops a few feet away from me and squats. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

After a quick glance over his shoulder, he looks at me again and says, “Is I’m sorry even going to work anymore?”

I keep my head down, but can’t resist peeking up at him. “I don’t know. Try it.”

“I’m sorry, Rochelle. I’m so damn sorry.”

“Why? Why are you sorry?”

“Because I pushed the good in my life away again.”

“It’s a bad pattern, Dex”

Sitting down, he stretches his legs out and taps my shoes with his. “Has it really been four years?”

I take in a deep breath and slowly exhale. “It has.” Looking into his eyes to see if I still know the man before me, I ask, “Why are you here?”

“Because I miss him and I needed to make things right with him before I tried to make them right with you.”

“Looks like you get two for one today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m tired of apologies. I’m just tired, Dex. You know nothing goes as planned when it comes to emotions. We can’t control our feelings. We can only try to control our reactions. So as much as I want to open my arms and kiss you again,” I say, “I can’t right now.”

He pulls something from his shirt pocket. When he turns it over, he shows me. It’s the photo from his bedroom and the one I packed in his duffle before shipping it to him. “You’ve seen the photo, but I should explain.”

“Is now the time?”

“I took it from Cory’s stuff years ago. I shouldn’t have. I always felt bad for stealing it, for betraying our friendship like that, for being in love with his woman. I didn’t care when it came down to it. I couldn’t give it back. I even helped him search the hotel room for it.”

“Dex—” His name comes with a warning. He’s getting too close to territory I can’t have him enter or I’ll lose it entirely.

“I came here to return it to him. I was a shitty friend to him and he never gave up on me. You never gave up on me either, so I can at least return the damn picture.”

“The picture doesn’t matter. Your honesty does. He’d understand.”

He laughs. “He’d understand that his friend and the drummer in his band is in love with the same woman as him?”

“No,” I say with a laugh. “Maybe not, but none of that matters now. Just say your peace and don’t worry about the rest.”

“Maybe one day I’ll forgive myself and you’ll find a way to forgive me again, to see the man I was when we were together.”

“Maybe,” I say, not to be cruel, but to let him know I can see he’s not ready yet. I stand up next to him, dusting off my skirt. When I’m done, I remain there without looking at him, my arm touching his. “It all starts with seeing the errors of your way. Stop punishing yourself over the petty stuff that doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of pain that comes with life. Focus on the good you’ve been given.” With my fingers grazing over his shoulders, I walk back to the car.

“Rochelle,” he calls.

I turn around and stop, wanting to hear what he says… and maybe steal one last glance at him before leaving. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you can forgive me?”

“Try me sometime.”

With a gentle smile and a nod, he says, “Until then…”

“Until then…”