The Resistance(82)

My heart splinters, hurt from seeing him so broken. I touch his cheek and try to find enough strength within me to share. “You have to choose to live your life.” The weight of this tragedy is destroying him on the inside, he’s being dragged under. “Don’t let the dark win.”

He kisses me, holding his mouth hard against mine. When he releases me, he says, “You can’t go. You see what I’m going through.”

I pull my hands back from him, surprised by his manipulative tactic. “I want to be here for you. I do—”

He raises his voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Dalton, it’s early. I’m tired. You’re tired. Go back to bed. I’ll check on you late—”

“No! You have to make a decision—you stay or go, but you don’t get both.”

“Please don’t do this. It’s just one day. I’ll be back tonight. I promise.”

His hands jerk back like my touch now burns. “You don’t have to say it. I can tell you’ve made your choice. Go. Get out.”

“Dalt—”

The sincerity he held minutes before disappears, engulfed by anger. “Fucking go, Holli!” He turns abruptly, runs up the stairs, and slams the bedroom door shut.

I’m left with my mouth agape, caught between pain and my own anger. Picking my heart up off the floor, I try to collect myself, fighting back the tears until I reach my car. There is no traffic at this hour, but the burden of the baggage I brought with me from Dalton’s weighs me down.

Holli.

He’s messing with me, pushing buttons, picking a fight. I take a deep breath, trying to put it in perspective. He’s in so much pain, giving into the dark when I’m fighting to keep him in the light. Cory dying just might be the death of Dalton. That scares me. As much as I want to save him, I might not be the angel he thinks I am. I might not be strong enough to pull him through this. He might have to save himself this time.





Showing up on time doesn’t win me the brownie points I thought it would. Tracy is already at the convention center and has set up most of the Limelight products. “I’m surprised to see you,” she says.

“I said I’d be here,” I reply, too curt, which I hate. Taking a deep breath, I add, “This is important.”

“It is. It’s your baby. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m here, but I’m useless.” I sit down in a chair, my body heavy with worry. Dropping my head into my hands, I say, “He told me to leave this morning.”

“What? What do you mean he told you to leave?” she asks, standing there with a box in her hands.

With a sniffle, I say, “We had a fight.”

“Oh no, Holli. I’m sorry.” She sets the box down and sits in the chair next to me.

I huff. “I feel like I haven’t stopped crying since Paris.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“If I talk about it, I’ll lose it again and I don’t feel like crying anymore. Can we concentrate on work?”

“Okay.” She turns around and points. “There’s a box somewhefre over there that’s labeled brochures. We need to put those out and I think we’re set up.”

She starts straightening the T-shirts on the rack out front and I walk behind the display and move boxes around until I find the right one. When I bring it back, I set it down on a chair, and start unpacking while this morning’s fight runs through my head and guilt weighs down my heart. I give into my emotions and say, “He wanted me to stay.” I peek up at her, expecting judgment.

She stops what she’s doing and says, “But you decided to come anyway. Is that why he told you to leave?”

I nod, my throat tightening too much to speak.

“I’m sorry, Holli.”

Holli. He called me Holli in his anger. Breathe. One breath at a time, I breathe deeply.

“It’s just a fight,” she adds. “You’ve been through a lot of heavy stuff lately, both of you, not just him.”

“These last few weeks, I feel like I’m losing myself. His life is big, his depression even bigger. And I can’t stop thinking about Rochelle and the kids. The baby will never know his father.”

She comes and hugs me. “You care about them and they know that. It’s not going to be easy for them, but from what you’ve told me about her, she’s a fighter and she’ll fight for the kids to have the life they deserve. She’s fortunate to have so many around who love her.”

My head drops down and I close my eyes, trying not to cry. I should be out of tears—Cory’s death, Rochelle’s heartbreak, and Dalton lost in the middle of a tragedy. I’ve had to be strong when I felt weak and now that I’m away from him, I feel like my emotions will cave in on me if I’m not careful. “I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for—”