Off the Record

by T.D. Colbert

“You pick your jaw up off the floor,” Dax whispers, leaning extra close to my ear and making my spine straighten out. Suddenly, I’m not as fixated on Dean. “And I’ll be right back,” he says.

“Shay, it’s so nice to meet you,” Dean says. I go to stick out my hand, but to my surprise, he wraps me in a hug. I inhale him, wanting to remember what he smells like for the rest of my life. I’ll tell my future children about the one time I smelled Dean Brower. We finally unlock, and I can’t stop staring at him. I’m acting like a total idiot. “Damn it, Brower,” Dax says, and I snap back to attention. “I’ve got to stop introducing girls to you. I’ll never win.”

I AM GIGGLING

“You’re not having any wine?” I ask. He shakes his head with that sly smile. “I don’t drink,” he says. My eyes widen in my head. “You don’t?” I ask. “Nope. That’s how I got started. . . using before. I drank too much, and when that wasn’t enough, I started with the drugs,” he says. I swallow and nod. I wasn’t quite ready for this when I asked the question. We sit in awkward silence for a minute before I decide it’s time for another question.

Funny that I am normlly Dax in this scenario, & I have never thought about how uncomfy raw honesty can make others.

“I’m really glad you could make time to see me,” he whispers, and I can taste his minty breath in my mouth. I bite my bottom lip, then clear my throat. He smiles, then finally opens my door.

“These boys here have worked incredibly hard over the last few years to keep their grades up. They are coming up on their last year of high school.” The younger boys in the audience all clap. “So today, boys, I’d like to make a pledge to you.” Mason appears next to Dax, handing each of the boys on the stage some type of certificate. “If you all keep your GPAs up this year and continue doing what you’re doing,” Dax says, “you’re all going to college. For free.” The boys on the stage turn to look at each other in disbelief. Then they all ambush Dax, wrapping their giant arms around him in what looks to be the most rock-solid group hug of all time. And then I see grown kids, seventeen years old, sobbing. They are thanking him, unsure of what to say. Dax spends time with each of them on that stage. I can hear him telling them how worthy of it they are. How they can do whatever they want and be who they want. Before I realize it, I’m wiping my own tears away.

“So, how long till our next interview?” he asks. I look down at my phone to check the date. “Nineteen days,” I say. His eyes sink down to the floor. “That seems so far away,” he whispers, and then he kneels down a bit, his forehead pressing against mine. I feel like I can’t breathe. What is happening right now? I finally let out a long sigh. He’s right. It feels like for-fucking-ever.

I look out the big glass door at him, his short curls blowing in the Miami wind. His eyebrows are knit together, probably due to Nancy’s horrendous voice coming through. Then he lifts his eyes, and they meet mine. He smiles, and I blush. Aunt Gerri’s term “boy” almost makes me laugh. Upon just looking at him, there’s nothing “boy” about Dax Thatcher. He’s strong and sturdy and hard in all the right places. But I have a feeling that there might be a softer side to him. Half of me is dying to dig it out. And the other half knows I should keep it buried, before I bury myself.

“I won’t forget you as long as I live, either,” he says, and I feel my body tense under his touch. Jesus.

I know I don’t have the best rack, but they’re still breasts. And he’s still a guy.

This sent me.

“What did you mean when you said Dax saved your life?” I ask him. He looks up at me again, and I can see his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I add. He sighs. “This isn’t for the article or anything?” he asks. I shake my head. “Absolutely not,” I say, holding up my hands to show him that no part of this conversation is being documented. “A little over a year ago, I was almost dead. I had OD’ed for the second time.” My eyes widen. “My cousin used to do landscaping at Dax’s place. He was telling a coworker about me, and Dax happened to overhear. He walked right up to him and asked about me, where I was, my age. And the next thing I know, I’m sent to the Bright Side Rehab Facility—on Dax’s dime. When I got clean, he told me he had a friend that owned a private security company. He put in a word for me, and I got the job. They assigned me to Dax for a year or two to help me get on my feet. And that’s exactly what he’s done. He doesn’t need someone driving him around. But he lets me do it for me.”

I don’t even know how I feel. So the best option is just to totally avoid the situation. You know, like a well-adjusted, responsible adult.

It’s possible to be a great fucking person who makes a big fucking mistake. It doesn’t make you who you are.

I glare at Todd, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dax seething in his chair. But I’m from Brooklyn. I don’t need a man to fight for my honor. “Aww, Todd. That’s none of your concern. And besides, that's just speculation. But if it were true, I’m sure he could keep me coming back more than twice,” I say. Then I lean in to whisper, “And if it were true, I highly doubt he’d cry when we were done, like some others. But that’s just a guess.” I hear Dax snort across the table, trying his hardest not to bust with laughter. Todd looks like he wants to run and hide, and I have to say, I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.

“Hey,” I say, nudging his head off my shoulder. He opens his eyes, as heavy as they are. “We’re gonna get through this,” I tell him. “I can’t believe I slipped,” he says. “It’s okay. I caught ya,” I say with a wink.

“Tell them what you wanted to do,” Dax says with a cheeky grin on his face. Shay nudges him back, rolling her eyes. “I always thought I wanted to be in news,” she says. “That was always the goal. But someone,” she says, eyeing her husband, “taught me that pop culture, the way it makes us feel, the music we love, the shows we binge watch. . . that can be really important for us, too.”