The Resistance(77)

I finally stand up, walking around to the back of the couch. I grip the edge while searching for a solution. “If the shrine can’t go, then Dalton has to. We need to get him out of here. He’s suffocating in memories and the constant reminders aren’t good for him. We can hear the fans out there at night.”

“Moving him somewhere else doesn’t change the facts.”

“But it might give him the reprieve he needs. I’m moving him. Today.” I leave Tommy sitting there and go back upstairs to the bedroom.

Dalton’s suitcase is still packed from the tour. I move it to the front door then return to get another from the top of his closet. When I turn around, he’s there, a towel wrapped around his waist. The man I met—confident and sexy—is not the man standing in front of me now. His shoulders are slumped and the week’s emotional damage has sunk into his face, darkened his eyes, and created a frown where none used to be.

I climb down from the step stool, setting the suitcase down and go to him, wrapping my arms around him so tightly that he can’t deny me any longer. I need this as much as he does. His arms wrap around me and tighten. I sigh as tears fill my eyes. When sharing the burden, all that felt heavy before feels lighter. For the few minutes we stand there, inside the large closet, the devastation of the last week lifts and momentarily, I feel our bubble form around us again.

After lunch, I drive him to my place. It was mayhem getting him off his property. The police were called to move fans, paparazzi, media, and gawkers from the premises and escort our vehicle from the street. I had to drive twenty minutes out of the way to make sure we weren’t being followed. I’m worried about security here at my townhouse. I’m able to work, which is good because I’m falling behind, but if the paparazzi or fans start showing up, we’ll have to go somewhere else.

I spend a few hours working in my office with the door closed, not wanting to disturb him with my music. I need the distraction to keep my mind focused on my project and not on him.

Wanting fresh air, I walk out onto my patio and sit on a lounger. Being home again, I realize how strangely normal sitting here is, like nothing bad has happened, like Cory is still alive and Dalton and I are still fine. I try to relish the moment because it feels precious.

Danny’s patio door opens and he walks out. I watch him as he moves around not noticing me when he clears some glasses, taking them inside then comes back out.

Feeling a little like I’m spying, I say, “Hi.”

He looks up and smiles. Coming to the patio wall that faces me, he says, “Hey there. How’s it going?”

“Okay.”Not wanting to talk about me, I turn the conversation around. “How are you? Cleaning up after another party?”

“It was small, I promise. And you were invited. Well, I came over to invite you, but you never answered.”

“I’ve been in… and out.”

“And shaking it all about.”

“Yeah, my life sort of feels like an ongoing hokey pokey these days.”

“You’ve been working a lot,” he says.

“Other stuff too, but yeah, I work a lot. Helps to keep my mind off of—”

“The other stuff?” he asks, using my words against me.

I know he’s being friendly and I’m just overly sensitive, but I stand anyway, suddenly feeling a little awkward, maybe guilty like me talking to him will upset Dalton. “Speaking of work, I should get back to it.”

“Good to see you’re alive.”

“You too.” Right before I step inside, I look back and add, “Bye.”

He waves. “See you around.”

Inside, I put my headset on and call Tracy to go over the marketing schedule for next month. She sounds good, happy, and I crave that feeling again too. I’ve been sad since Cory’s death, which is to be expected, but I want to feel good again. After we hang up, I send a few emails then my mind starts to wander, so I call it a day. Anyway, I miss Dalton, so I go and check on him. He’s napping in the bedroom. The room is dark, the blinds and drapes closed. I climb into bed next to him and curl up, resting my forehead to his back.

He rolls over and brings me closer, holding me to him. “I’m trying,” he whispers.

“I know you are,” I say, but I don’t know if I believe my own words.

“Too many memories. I want them gone. I don’t want to remember anything.”

I lean back, looking at his face, and say, “You’ll never forget and you shouldn’t try to. Cory deserves better than to be forgotten just because it eases our pain.”

“I can’t face Rochelle or the baby. I won’t be able to look Neil in the eyes. His father is fucking dead and the kid is only four. Is he coping? Does he even understand? He’ll see me and want to know where I dragged his dad off to. It was a joke we used to play. Cory blamed me for taking him away, so Neil wouldn’t get mad at him directly. I fucking love that kid and he loves me. I can’t look him in the eyes. I’m not ready to destroy him like that.”