The Revolution (41 page)

A meme I created went viral three years ago this month. Who knew a snarky-mouthed fruit would be the way I make my fortune. I took it though and ran with the brand, building it into a small empire I named Limelight. The company is lean and I keep my costs under control. My fortune has grown by a few million in the last year alone.

I back out onto the street and take the scenic route, one block up to the beach. Driving slowly along with my windows down, I let the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean center me. At the first stoplight, I take one deep salty air breath, roll the window back up, and leave for Vegas.

An hour into the trip, Tracy calls. I answer, but before I have a chance to speak, she asks, “Can I please tell you all about it again?” Happy laughter punctuates her question.

“Of course. Tell me everything.” I’ll indulge her wedding fantasies because that’s what friends do… and because I have four hours to kill in the car. Listening to her takes my mind off the time and the miles stretching ahead of me as she relives every last detail of the proposal. Fortunately for me, she skims over the engagement sex.

Her excitement is contagious and because I’ve known her and her fiancé, Adam, for so many years, my happiness exudes. “Congratulations again.”

“Thank you for letting me stay home this weekend. You’ll be great and don’t be nervous. It’s just a rah-rah go get’em presentation and cocktail party. The rest of the time is all yours.”

“You know how much I hate these kinds of events.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Your company’s success speaks for itself.”

“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Drive safely and squeeze in some fun.”

I laugh. “You know I’ll try. Bye.” When we hang up, I turn on some music and let the miles drift behind me.

After a stop for gas half-way and a coffee later, I enter the glistening city in the desert. Pulling up to my hotel, I valet my car and take my own luggage to my room after checking in. I like this hotel because of the amenities, but the men aren’t bad to look at either—a little edgy, a lot sexy—lucky for this single girl.

I spend a couple of hours checking emails and work on a proposal before I realize the time and need to get ready for the night. It’s Vegas, so I mix business with some sexy. I pull on a black fitted skirt that hits mid-thigh, an emerald green silk camisole with spaghetti straps, and a short black jacket. I slip on my favorite new pair of stilettos and after one last check of my makeup and hair, I head out.

The meet and greet isn’t long, but I slip out at one point to use the restroom. As I’m walking back toward the ballroom, I’m drawn to a man standing with a group of people nearby. His magnetism captures me. He might just be the best looking man I’ve ever seen—tall, dark hair, strong jaw leading me up to seductive eyes aimed at me. His head tilts and for a split second in time, everyone else disappears. I break the connection by looking away, everything feeling too intense in the moment. When he laughs, I add that to his ongoing list of great attributes.

When I pass, the feel of his gaze landing heavy on my backside warms my body. With my hand on the door, I pause, wanting to look back so badly. I resist the urge, open the door, and return to the party. The presentation portion of the evening is interesting. Despite that, my thoughts repeatedly drift back to the hot guy in the corridor—fitted jeans, black shirt, leather wristband.
Damn I’m weak to a leather wristband.

I’m mentally brought back to the presentation when my company is recognized as one to watch. The acknowledgement is nice, and it feels good to be among my peers.

The dinner becomes more of a party as everyone wanders around instead of taking their seats. I’m not hungry and need to psych myself up to mingle. Tracy is awesome in these types of situations. Me, not so much.

The ballroom is dimly lit, I’m guessing to set the ambiance, but since this is business, I can do without the romance. I head straight for the bar just like everyone else—one big cattle call to the liquor to make the rest of the night a little more bearable.

“I usually hate these things,” I hear from the guy behind me. When I look over my shoulder, he gives me a half-smile—half-friendly, half-creepy. “But they don’t usually have attractive women either.”

I roll my eyes while turning my back on him and his cheesy pick-up line.

“I’m sorry. That was bad. I know,” he says with a weird nasally laugh.

His breath hits my neck and I jerk back. “Do you mind? Ever hear of personal space?”

“Sorry. You’re just really pretty.” He shrugs as if that makes everything better. “Your beauty is making me stupid.”

“You think?”
Big mistake.

He actually takes my sarcastic comment as a conversation opener. “Yes, I do. But I can’t be the first to be dumbfounded by your beauty.”

Standing on my tiptoes to see how many more people are in front of me, I exhale, disappointed by the long line. One person in line would have been too many at this point. “Excuse me,” I say and slip out of line. I find the table with my name tag on it, set my purse down, and take off my jacket. This hotel ballroom is crowded and too warm.

Saved by a friendly face, I see Cara, a marketing strategist I know from L.A. Weaving between the tables, I sit down in a chair next to her. With her eyes focused on the paperwork in front of her, I ask, “Working during the party?”

She looks up, smiling when she sees me. Opening her arms, she leans in and hugs me. “Holli, it’s so good to see you.”

I went with a different company than hers for a campaign a while back and glad she’s not holding it against me. “Good to see you again.”

“Congratulations on your success. Well deserved.”

“I’m not sure if a smartass lime deserves the success it’s gotten, but I’ll take it.”

She taps my leg. “You deserve it. It’s funny and quite catchy. Just take the accolades.”

“Thanks.”

Looking over my shoulder, she leans in and whispers, “I’m skipping out of here early, but I’m meeting a few people for dinner tomorrow. If you’re still in Vegas, you should join us.”

“I’d love that. Thanks.”

She stands up and grabs the papers in front of her. “Fantastic. I’ll text you the details tomorrow. I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

“Me too. See you tomorrow.”

I’m left sitting alone. When I look around the room, like Cara, I’m thinking that skipping out early might be the way to go. If I do, I know Tracy will kick my ass, so I decide to suffer and give this party one last chance. But I definitely need a drink and the line for the bar in here is still way too long.

I head for the doors to buy a drink in one of the many hotel bars—any bar without a line. Guy from the bar line jumps in front of me as I try to exit, startling me. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Since my glare and earlier hints didn’t work, I reply, “I’ll be back, no need to worry yourself.”

His head starts bobbing up and down, confidently, and a big Cheshire cat grin covers his face. I start walking again as he keeps talking… again. “Cool. I’ll see you later then.”

I feel no need to respond to the come on, and will try to avoid him when I return. Following the wide-tiled path through the casino, which reminds me of the Yellow Brick Road, guiding me to what feels like Oz, a bar in all its gloriousness with no lines in site. Inside the darkened room, the sounds of the casino fade away as current hits play overhead. Still on a mission for a cocktail, I step up to the bar and wait.

The Resistance
is available now!

SADNESS SURROUNDS ME
and I feel bad for not feeling worse.

I stand at the back, near a tree, separate from the families and friends that have gathered. I stay back here, away from the crowd, and watch her. She tries to hide her devastation and tears behind big sunglasses that she slipped down over her eyes minutes before.

Her hair is down, hanging over her shoulders and longer than I remember from the last time I saw her. It’s been too long since then. But even in the middle of a sea of black, she still stands out, strikingly beautiful and I’m drawn to her, wanting to be with her in ways I can’t.

With all of these people around, I’m finding it hard to swallow despite being outdoors. A lump formed in my throat earlier this week, making me wonder what caused it.
Maybe guilt.
Squeezing my hand tightly around the coin, I realize a tragedy has given me hope where none existed before. And despite one of my closest friends dying, an uncertain future, and the realization that with his death, my life has been forever changed, I can’t stop thinking about the woman he left behind.

THE FUNERAL WAS…
it was what it was. Johnny and Holli drove me and the kids home. There were too many people staring at me, waiting for my breakdown. I needed the silence of the ride to be able to face the waiting mourners at my house, and they gave that to me. Just after we park, Johnny turns to me and says, “The Resistance is a family. We take care of one another. I’ll always be here for you, Rochelle.”

I nod, not sure I can speak under the weight of my emotions. I want today to become a distant memory sooner than I should. I don’t want to remember Cory’s death. I want to remember his life, his life with me, his life with our four-year-old. It’s a life that our newborn will never get to experience and the significance of that drags me under. I rush out of the car right before the first tear slips down, but I wipe it away before anybody can see.

But he sees.

Antonio Dexter Caggiano sees right through the facade I put on for everyone else, but doesn’t move from Neil’s side. He knows where he’s needed without me saying. They sit on the tire swing together, spinning slowly, talking, bonding in a way that seems almost abnormal for the man I’ve always known Dex to be. A magic trick reveals a pair of drumsticks and Dex hands them to Neil. My oldest son starts banging on the tire and up the chains, happily distracted from the sadness of the day.

Staring across the lawn—faded black jeans, long, shaggy hair, bandana back in place after we left the cemetery—I find the most unlikely ally on such a depressing day. He’s just here, silently supportive without asking anything of me.

Dex is kind to spend time with the boys. He has a playful smile on his face, and assuming from Neil’s laughter, which I hear echoing across the yard, Dex is also funny. He left his ego at home, an anomaly from every other day. He’s fascinating to watch. Kids are genuine in their emotions and Neil seems to like Dex.

Neil deserves laughter and fun, but he also deserves his father. I get up and move to the side of the yard where I plant my small garden each year. My tears water the lettuce that is just starting to grow. Cory planted that. I wanted strawberries.

I stomp on it. With both feet, I jump up and land down on the plant because he didn’t live to see it grow. “Damn you!” Picking it up, I rip it from the ground and throw it against the fence. “Damn you, Cory!”

A burning regret coats my insides as I panic and rush to pick it up. Through watery-vision, I drop to my knees and take it in hand, holding it to my chest. Suddenly strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into his lap. Dex’s body against mine feels so foreign and yet, like the only place safe for me to grieve.