by RC Boldt
His low-lidded gaze dances with both amusement and arousal. “Great minds think alike.”
“Ready?” I place one soft kiss on his lips and take a step back only to stop short at his strong hold of my waist.
With so much tenderness it creates a tightness in my chest, he raises a hand to run the pad of his thumb along part of my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.” His words are hoarse. “I messed this up a bit.” Remorse fills his eyes.
“It was worth it.”
He studies me as if to determine whether I’m merely being polite or actually truthful. Finally, he must decide the latter—which is accurate—because his mouth forms a heart-stopping grin. “Yeah?”
I nod and smile. “Definitely.”
He releases me with obvious reluctance. “I’ll let you fix things.”
“It won’t take long.” I start down the hall to the bathroom.
After I’ve repaired my lip gloss, he escorts me to the limo waiting for us at the curb. Once we’re inside, he thanks the driver and presses the button to raise the tinted window separating us. Fingers laced with mine, he holds my hand, thumb lightly grazing over my skin.
I turn and admire his profile as he stares out his window. “Nervous?” I ask softly.
He looks over at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “With you by my side?” He shakes his head. “Not a chance.” He raises our joined hands to press a light kiss to mine. His eyes burn bright with an emotion I’m afraid to acknowledge. “Not sure anything could bother me as long as I’m with you.”
“Sir, we’re here.” The driver’s voice comes over the speaker, interrupting our moment, but Dax doesn’t tear his eyes from mine.
“Thank you for tonight.” His gaze is somber, affectionate, and his voice husky and low. “For being here with me. It means a lot.”
My heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by how much he’s come to mean to me. I raise my index finger and touch over the spot where his dimple isn’t prominent at the moment. He stills at the touch, eyes drifting closed as if to savor it. Then I whisper a truth that’s embroidered on my heart and soul.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Does your mama know about this?” Dax’s teammate, Tucker, moves his finger back and forth, gesturing between Dax and me with a teasing grin plastered on his face.
Tank scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like Mrs. K. thinks her little boy lets girls touch his privates.”
“That’s enough outta you two.” Dax shoots them a warning glance, but I can tell he’s restraining a smile.
It was a relief once we made it inside the theater and away from prying reporters. The NFL had made a concession to have the awards ceremony take place here this year. According to Tank, their crew had wanted to interview not only the residents of Gainesville but also those here in Jacksonville. They wanted their take on what Dax has done, not only for those devastated by the hurricane but also for the Jags’ home city.
For that reason, they’d chosen The Florida Theater as the designated location. The theater, located in the heart of downtown Jacksonville, has increased capacity since undergoing major renovations, which added additional wings for more seating.
I sigh in relief as soon as we make it inside the theater and away from prying reporters. The NFL had made a concession to have the awards ceremony take place here this year. According to Tank, their crew had wanted to interview not only the residents of Gainesville but also those here in Jacksonville. They wanted their take on what Dax has done, not only for those devastated by the hurricane but also for the Jags’ home city. For that reason, they’d chosen The Florida Theater as the designated location. The theater, located in the heart of downtown Jacksonville, has increased capacity since undergoing major renovations, which added additional wings for more seating.
I allow my eyes to travel over Dax now while he chats with Tucker. His palm lingers on my lower back as though he needs the contact. He must feel my attention because our eyes catch. His gaze darkens as though he’s recalling the last time he made me come all over his tongue, sending tsunami-like waves of heat battering through me.
Tank sighs dramatically. “Just let me know when y’all gon’ be done flashin’ sexy eyes at one another.”
Dax stares at him. “What are you talking about?”
The lineman rolls his eyes. “Son, please. Anyone with a lick of sense can see it.”
I barely hold back a laugh. Before I can offer a response, a familiar figure steps up and joins us while we mingle with drinks in hand.
“What’s this about having a lick of sense?” Kyler Watson’s eyebrows rise inquisitively.
Tank tips his head in Dax’s direction and quips, “This one here won’t stop undressing me with his eyes.” He releases a sigh filled with faux indignation and shakes his head. “I feel so objectified.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Tucker mutters.
Dax grunts and shakes his head, but his eyes are alight with amusement.
Kyler takes it in stride, waving a hand at Tank’s electric blue suit. “How could you blame the man? You’re definitely the belle of the ball.”
Tank runs a hand down his front and smiles so wide his white teeth are nearly blinding. “Dang straight, son. Best brace yourselves. All the honeys’ll be flocking to me tonight.”
After a collective groan, Tank gets jostled good-naturedly.
Dax turns to me and lowers his voice so that only I can hear him. “I’m having a great time with you.” His gaze is searching. “In fact, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off you.” A slightly callused index finger skims down the length of my bare arm, his eyes tracking the movement, eliciting goose bumps in its wake.
Our eyes lock. “Really?” My voice contains a hint of breathlessness.
He nods slowly and dips his head a fraction, bringing his lips to my ear. To anyone else not privy to what’s evolved between us, it appears as innocent whispering between friends.
“Really. It’s killing me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you”—his mouth dusts ever so softly against the shell of my ear—“everywhere.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” His answer is immediate. “I’ve been—” He breaks off suddenly, backing away with an apologetic look. “Sorry.” He withdraws his phone from his pocket, his lips forming an affectionate smile before his eyes lock with mine. “Mom and Dad are clearly excited.”
He turns the phone to show me the screen, and I can’t help but laugh at his parents’ poorly executed selfie. The two of them are smiling with Violet between them, each wearing a Jags jersey with Dax’s number on the front.
I’d been surprised to discover his parents weren’t planning to join us tonight, but he told me they’re uncomfortable being in the spotlight and will be much more at ease watching the televised live broadcast of the awards ceremony at home.
His husky laugh joins mine. “You should see Mom try to FaceTime.” He shakes his head, eyes alight with humor. “Half the time, I see a close-up of her eye or nostril because she feels the need to lean in closer.”
“They’re awesome,” I murmur.
His eyes rest on me. “They think you’re pretty awesome, too.”
“Yeah?” I ask softly.
He nods slowly. “So do I.”
I cup my hand to the side of my mouth like I’m about to share a secret. “It’s because they’ve heard about my amazing Zumba skills, right?”
He throws his head back on a deep laugh, and I join him. God knows I suck at Zumba, but he’s actually converted me, so regardless of my lack of rhythm, I enjoy it.
Laughing eyes meet mine, and his expression sobers. “Darcy, I—”
“Attention, please.” The speaker system booms with an announcement. “Ushers are prepared to assist you to your designated seats at this time.”
We’re led to our seats only a couple of rows away from the center of the stage. As I stare at the set of stairs leading to where a large podium sits, a
coil of nervousness swirls in the pit of my stomach. It hits me just how much of a milestone this is for Dax and that I’m the person he’s chosen to have by his side.
Settled in the well-cushioned seats, Dax exhales slowly. I loop my arm through his. “Nervous?”
He lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug, his attention on the stage. “A little.”
“Hey,” I say softly, waiting for him to turn and look at me. Once he does, I reach my other hand up and settle my palm on the side of his face. “You’re amazing. Everyone watching at home and those here will recognize it even more tonight. I consider myself a lucky woman to be here with you for this.”
His eyes soften, and the deep rasp of his voice sends heat searing through me. “Trust me, Duchess. I’m the lucky one.”
39
Dax
The NFL commissioner stands at the podium, his voice booming through the microphone. “The individuals standing behind me are the previous recipients of the NFL Sportsperson of the Year.” He gestures with his hand to each side of the stage. “Now, for our final award of the night. It is with great pleasure and pride that I announce this year’s recipient.
“As many of you know, Jacksonville Jaguars wide receiver Dax Kendrick graduated from the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida, where he played the position of wide receiver.” A few male voices shout from somewhere amid the audience, “Go Gators!” garnering a warning look from the commissioner. A smattering of laughter follows, and I work hard to stifle mine since I have a cameraman focused on me.
“Last August, a category-five hurricane was projected to sweep through the Gulf of Mexico and hit coastal Texas. Citizens prepared for the worst. Then the unexpected happened, and Texas rejoiced. But their rejoice soon became another state’s horror.”
The video footage begins playing on all the large monitors placed throughout the theater and the enormous screen above the center of the stage.
“Updated weather reports indicate Hurricane Faye has taken an unexpected turn and is headed back toward Florida. Cedar Key, Florida, located here on the Gulf side of the Florida peninsula, is bracing for the worst,” a weatherman indicates an area on a map.
A narrator’s voice takes over. “Cedar Key somehow came out of this mostly unscathed with no lives lost once the storm made landfall. Approximately sixty miles inland, however, the unthinkable happened.”
An image of a Weather Channel newscaster being battered by wind and rain and struggling to remain standing flashes on the screen. “Hurricane Faye has decreased in speed but seems to be hanging over the city of Gainesville, inundating the area with rainfall amounts surpassing previous records. It’s already causing catastrophic flooding…”
The narrator’s voice begins again as post-hurricane images display on the screen. “Four days later, the storm finally dissipated and moved on. But it left Gainesville in complete and utter devastation.”
Rapid-fire images of concrete slabs and shredded debris where houses once stood flash across the screen. Scenes of individuals weeping outright or barely holding back tears as they survey the remnants of their homes. You can hear a pin drop in the theater, the emotional portrayal so gut-wrenching.
“Out of the disparity and devastation, though, someone rose up. Dax Kendrick chose to start a hurricane relief fund. The first round NFL draft pick from Gainesville’s University of Florida went to the social media to initially offer five hundred thousand dollars of his own money toward assisting the city of Gainesville in recovery efforts. He asked for prayers, positive thoughts, and donations from anyone able and willing.”
My face appears on the screen, and I recall the moment I decided to make the video and post it. “I’m calling out to everyone. Whether you’re a football fan isn’t important right now. The city of Gainesville needs us. The people of Gainesville need us. I’m putting five hundred thousand dollars toward this hurricane relief fund, and Pepsi and RedBull are committed to donating food supplies and stocking what will serve as mobile pantries.
“Gerber is donating diapers, formula, and baby clothes. I’m asking all of you to please, please consider helping in any way you can. Whether it’s a prayer, a positive thought, a dollar—whatever you’re willing and able to give is appreciated and will be put to good use. Let us use this opportunity to show the people of Gainesville that there is hope.”
The narrator continues. “Following his initial passionate plea, the fund blossomed to two million dollars within a week. Dax then posted another video on his social media accounts. He thanked everyone and also posted photos of truckloads of supplies delivered to the area, including brief videos of himself and a few teammates unloading the large crates.
“One of those videos received more views than the others, and it serves as an inside look at the friendship, camaraderie, and solid support of Dax’s teammates and friends.”
Tank comes into view, wearing his trademark wide grin with sweat glistening on his face. He eyes me and focuses on my equally sweaty appearance. “Boy, you gon’ be all up in that shower tonight, scrubbing yo’self”—he pretends he’s lathering up—“with that body wash you be peddlin’ all the time.”
The other guys burst out laughing. I shake my head with a tired laugh and mutter good-naturedly, “Buncha clowns.”
Becket stands off to the side and raises the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead. “You’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for that beautiful cocoa skin of yours.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle. I mirror my friend’s actions and lift my shirt to wipe my sweaty forehead. At the brief view of my cut abs, a few catcalls and hoots erupt from other guys in the theater’s audience. Typical, I laugh to myself.
The scene changes to one where I’m stopped while unloading cases of water. Residents shake my hand, many in tears, thanking me for my help. A dark-haired woman who appears to be somewhere in her late fifties comes on the screen.
“When I contacted FEMA, they were so inundated that they told me I’d have a better chance at waiting to see what Dax Kendrick was able to do with his funding.”
She mashes her lips together as her eyes fill with tears. “My home was washed away. Everything gone. He”—she breaks off, averting her eyes, as though attempting to regain composure—“came by our neighborhood. No cameras, no press. Nothing. He just came to ask us what he could do to help. To better serve us.” Tears begin streaming down her face. “That was when I first let myself have hope. That someone out there was going to try to help.”
The interviewer speaks off camera. “And did he help?”
The woman covers her mouth, tears continuing to trail down her cheeks. “Oh, dear Lord, yes.” She nods. “That young man is an angel. An angel sent from heaven above.”
The narrator begins again. “Two weeks later, while continuing to post images of all the ways the funding was being utilized, Dax Kendrick’s hurricane relief fund surpassed six million dollars. This spurred his most heartfelt video.”
They transition to show the video I distinctly recall. I’d wavered about posting it simply because of how emotional I’d been. Finally, I decided my critics could say what they wanted, but it was honest and from the heart.
“It seems that the wide receiver, overcome with emotion and gratitude, tugged not only at heartstrings but also pocketbooks. Within forty-eight hours, the fund shot up to ten million dollars. What many didn’t realize, however, was that Dax matched that amount with his own money. He didn’t make a public announcement, but records indicated the former Florida Gator, who clearly looks back on his Gainesville college days fondly, deposited the large amount, bringing the total to twenty million dollars. In the days following, he also secured a sizeable donation from General Mills Foods.”
The video ends with a dozen images of me handing out bottles of water and sandwiches donated by Jimmy John’s, and me shaking hands and getting hugs from countless citizens with tears in their eyes before the view fades to black. The dimmed lighting gradually brightens to focus on t
he commissioner once again.
“He’s the kind of individual the NFL is proud to have on board. It is with immense pride on this day that I present the Sportsperson of the Year award to Dax Kendrick.”
Applause erupts. I stand, and Darcy follows suit. I wrap my arms around her and press a quick kiss to her cheek. The rest of the audience rises, continuing with their applause. I approach the stage, and at one of the cameras tracking me, I look into it and mouth, “Love you, Mom.” She loves when I do that, so I know it’ll make her night.
I climb the steps up to the stage and shake the commissioner’s hand before accepting my place behind the podium.
“I first want to thank all these incredible men standing on this stage who have earned this award.” I shift to address them. “Each of you have paved the way and have shown the world that being a good athlete doesn’t mean we can’t also be good humans.” I return to face the audience.
“First, I have to thank my family, friends, and teammates for their unending support. Without all of you, none of this would’ve been possible. I love you guys. Thank you.”
“Love you, too, pumpkin!” A shout that can only be one man—Tank—reverberates through the theater. Laughter follows.
“This is called the Sportsperson of the Year award, but I have to be honest with you. It’s more than that. The one word, sportsperson, is misleading. This award isn’t limited to a single person. Instead, I believe it’s a testament to the compassion and kindness within humanity. Gainesville was able to overcome adversity and devastation because of the outpouring of compassion from strangers who gave the people of Gainesville hope.
“Individuals who may never have visited the city, or who may have only heard the name of the city in passing but took this opportunity to help someone in need. They may never meet those they’ve assisted through their donation, but they felt compelled to reach out in some way.
“Humans helping humans. That’s what this award represents. Those who rise to the occasion when help is needed. Like the Cajun Navy volunteers who used their own boats to rescue individuals caught in flooded waters. Like the individuals in nearby Branford who donated their own fishing boats to the Gainesville firemen and policemen to assist in rescue attempts.
