The Redemption Read Online Free Page B

makes his way to the table. I finish the morning routine and take them to their schools. After drop-off, I head back home and shower. Working for the band allows me flexibility in time management and attire, so I pull on jeans, a cream colored blouse, and flats before heading out with the contracts I printed off last night.
    Twenty-minutes later, I knock on the door. Dex answers, no greeting. He just sways his arm in front of him allowing me entrance. With little eye contact, I walk past him, and say, “I see the month on the road hasn’t sullied your sparkling personality.”
    “It’s before noon,” he replies with an annoyed sigh. “It better be fucking good.”
    We’ve never quite recovered from that night. He has no patience for me, but I deserve that. Looking back, I wish I could change things, so many things.
    I walk to the kitchen and sit down on a barstool. This is what we do—we can be around each other, but we tend to pretend the other isn’t there—parallel universes. When it’s just the two of us, like it is now, that’s impossible to do. The coffee machine is started and he stares at the mug. I’m sure to keep from looking at me. “What brings you by, Rochelle?” He glances my way briefly before returning his gaze to the brewing coffee again.
    “I need you to sign off on these contracts. The other guys all signed them last week when you were in Toronto. Why didn’t you? You don’t like the deal?”
    “I don’t understand the deal—”
    “Oh. No problem. I can explain. So the video game characters will be modeled—”
    He turns suddenly, his glare burning into me. “I understand that part. What I don’t get is when we became that band.”
    “What band?”
    “The one that sells out. The one that does video games and deodorant ads.”
    Tilting my head, with a smirk I say, “You’ve never been offered a deodorant ad.”
    “Fuck that! You know what I mean.” He walks to the large window that overlooks the patio and pool. “When did it stop being about the music?”
    “It’s still about the music, Dex. The band is changing, growing, evolving. There’s a vision we all have that will set you guys up for life. So if one day you develop carpal tunnel and can’t play or Johnny has throat issues and can’t sing, you’ll not worry about money. This is about The Resistance, the brand.”
    “When you walked into that club on Sunset, you didn’t ask me if I was interested in building a brand.” With his back to me, he says, “You asked me if I would play drums for a band you put together that had a gig down on Ventura in some dive pizza parlor.” He turns around with his arms crossed over his chest. “Did I go?”
    I eye him, wondering where this is going. “You did.”
    “You’re damn right I did. I took my sticks at intermission and left a paying gig to go meet your boys. Do you know why I did that?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Because I was better than a cover band drummer on a Tuesday night in Hollywood, even with the pay.”
    I nod. I’m following his train of thought as he drives his point home.
    “So stop treating me like I am. We’re The motherfucking Resistance and we’re better than this year’s video game simulation that followed some cheesy, hair-band from the 80’s in last year’s edition.”
    I gather my papers and slip off the stool. As I start to leave, he grabs my wrist as I pass, and I stop, my breath caught in my throat just from his touch. His grip loosens, and I try to steady my voice when I say, “I got the message. I’ll talk to the guys, but majority rules. You agreed to that when you left that other band.”
    He releases my wrist and my skin is left bare, his touch feeling better than I remember.
    I open the door, and step out, but stop. Looking over my shoulder, I add, “I like the shorter hair on you. You look good.” Closing the door behind me, I don’t wait for a response. The boy I convinced to leave a dead-end band on Sunset way back then has