“Someone special once told me to dare to dream. For without dreams, we have nothing to look forward to. I’m starting to believe her.” ~Johnny Outlaw
Dalton aptly named the ranch he bought for us, Peaceful Resistance. The name just as contradictory as the man. The air is cleaner, the real world far away… or at least over an hour away. I love it out here. It’s earthy and the grounds are beautiful. But there are plenty of luxuries as well, like the huge infinity tub I’m currently soaking in.
“Are you gonna be in there much longer?” he asks, leaning against the arched doorway that leads to the bedroom.
With my back to him, I lift my leg up, and tempt. “You sure you don’t want to join me? There’s plenty of room in here.”
“You know we have people arriving soon, right?”
I hear him move closer, taking the bait. “I do, but they know us,” I say, shrugging.
His footsteps are heavy against the wood floor as he comes closer. Grabbing the stool, he moves it front and center to the bathtub, eyeing my body through the sudsy water. I’ve been in here long enough for most of the bubbles to disappear, leaving me exposed.
He licks his lips and releases an exasperated sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
Leaning my head back, I rest it on the edge, close my eyes and smile. “Just love me.”
“Done.” He dips his hand beneath the water’s surface and drags a finger down my body until he’s between my legs.
Soft circles gain momentum and the pressure increases. My smile falls away as pleasure takes over. Water splashes over the edge as he maneuvers closer, covering my mouth with his. Our tongues meet and a mutual moan harmonizes between us.
Deft fingers slip inside as one remains on the spot he knows will send me under… underwater, under bliss, the undertow as he once labeled emotions that overwhelm. He lifts up, his hand still skillful in the action, bringing me closer, coaxing me to the edge. I open my eyes, a heaviness surrounding my lids, so I close them again and feel, listen, then sink.
His persistence pays off and I embrace the ecstasy. After kissing me on the shoulder, he leaves, leaving me to piece myself together as I come to. I use the time, relaxing in the bath, then get out and get dressed.
Joining him in the kitchen, I rest my head on his arm as he pours me a glass of wine. “You spoil me,” I say lazily.
“I give you what you deserve. You spoil me.”
“I do, but I like to,” I reply with a gentle laugh.
His arm stretches around my waist, and he says, “I think I’m ready to play live again.”
Surprised, I move between him and the kitchen island. With my hands on his chest, I ask, “What?”
“Nothing big. I was thinking a small club or something to get my feet wet.”
“Solo?”
“I don’t know. Is there a band without Cory?” Looking down, he seems to disappear into his own thoughts momentarily. When he looks back up, he says, “I need to figure out who I am on stage without him before I can go back. I’m thinking maybe a few solo shows. But even with all the shit with Dex, I still think I want to play together again one day.”
“As Johnny Outlaw?”
That makes him smile. “I dunno,” he replies with a shrug, looking amused. “Maybe as Jack Dalton. I’m not sure what I want yet.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say, smiling.
“For what?”
“For not giving up on something you love so much.”
“If I did that, you wouldn’t be here.”
“You say the sweetest things,” I say, resting my cheek on his chest.
The sound of cars pulling up to the front of the house, the tires crunching against the gravel driveway draws his focus over my head. “They’re here. You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
Two hours later, everyone is sitting around the large fire pit. Neil is running around the lawn chasing bubbles while Rochelle holds baby CJ, who has fallen asleep from the excitement of the visit. Tommy has his feet kicked up on a tree stump that’s currently serving as his ottoman, and telling Adam about this ‘one time’ in Amsterdam. Dalton is listening, content sitting on the sidelines when Tracy and I walk out with another bottle of wine and two beers—one for Adam and one for Tommy. As I refill Rochelle’s glass, she looks up at me and smiles. “We need to get together for lunch soon, no kids. Or better yet, a girl’s night out.”
“Yes, we do.” I sit down next to her, once again admiring the engagement ring on her finger, always reminded of the first time I saw it in Paris when Cory showed it to me. I don’t say anything, but a lump forms in my throat.
Her hand covers mine, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright.”
When I look into her eyes, I see a peace has settled there, similar to the one she used to carry with her, but not quite the same. The carefree days before Cory’s death have disappeared altogether, but I’ll take the peace that today offers. I nod and we don’t talk about it, moving back into the greater conversation of the group.
“Dex gets out of rehab next week,” Tommy says. “I told him we’re gonna be talking about things when I pick him up.”
“What’d he say to that?” Dalton asks, picking at the label on his bottle.
“He said he’ll do whatever he has to do to get the band going again.”
Dalton’s eyes flash to Rochelle, but she remains looking down at the baby. He stands up and downs the beer, then tosses it into a bucket nearby. Walking into the grass a few feet away, he leans against an old Oak tree and stares out toward the sunset.
We’ve had the band conversation many times over the last six months. Dalton feels The Resistance died when Cory did, but he also feels a responsibility to Dex. He’s torn.
“Johnny?”
All of us, including Dalton, turn to Rochelle when she calls his name, not expecting to hear her, not expecting her to call him Johnny. None of them do anymore. It’s been Jack for months now.
She stands and walks with the baby to the stroller under the pergola, then sets him down to sleep. When she rejoins us at the fire, she takes her wine in hand, and says, “The Resistance is one of the greatest bands that has ever lived. You have three gun tattoos to prove it. Cory may never get another, but you still can.” Raising her glass, we follow suit as she looks Dalton straight in the eyes—a look of determination on her face that captures all of our attention. “Cory may be gone, but Johnny Outlaw lives on.”
A year later, the lights go down and the chanting begins. Eighteen-thousand people are crowded into this arena in the City of Lost Angels to watch the return of a living legend, one that could have disappeared, but chose to rise again.
A spotlight hits Dex, drumming, as he kicks off the beats of the first song. I know it well, Dalton playing it over and over again when he wrote it for the new album. The audience goes wild, and the chanting begins, “Outlaw! Outlaw! Outlaw!”
As the energy from the room starts to spread throughout my body, I look around until I see two people that seem entirely out of place—his parents. They wave and I wave back. They want to surprise him. They’ve done a good job of surprising us all by showing up this afternoon to support Dalton to see their son do what he does best—entertain.
Two guitarists walk out—one a bassist, Cory’s replacement on stage. The other needed to round out the sound for the new direction of the band. Rochelle filled in on the studio recordings for the CD. Dalton thought it was only right since she taught Cory how to play and knew every song. She opted not to join the band on tour, choosing to stay with her kids instead.
Although I’ve seen a few rehearsals, as soon as the band stops playing and the lights go down, my heart starts thumping heavily. Like everyone else who came to see The Resistance reunite, my excitement builds.
I know it’s coming, but when a single spotlight hits the Rock God standing center stage—the music kicks in and I know he’s right where he was always meant to be. His destiny.
Throwing my hands into the air, I scream in exhilaration, knowing the world may own Johnny Outlaw, but Jack Dalton is all mine.