With a Hitch

by RC Boldt

  It’s well past the Super Bowl and post-celebration the city of Jacksonville put on to tout the team’s win. Now I won’t overshadow any of Dax’s achievements.

  Now, we prepare for the moment when we pull back that curtain, just as they did in The Wizard of Oz. Except in this case, we’ll be revealing a monster who takes advantage of his position and rank to prey on others.

  I’ll be revealing myself in the process, which I dread, because I know I’ll be opening myself up to critics everywhere who’ll be free to pass judgment as they see fit.

  But at the end of the day, I know this is the right thing to do. If it saves just one person, if it helps one individual come forward and confess the egregious acts that were committed against them, then I’ve done my part.

  I’d be lying if I said it went smoothly. That I remained cool, calm, and collected.

  Leif had recommended I send an email to all clients—previous and ones I have scheduled—to give them a heads-up the night before. This way, they’re not completely blindsided by everything. I ran my email statement past the lawyers first, of course, and once they’d made a few revisions and gave it the okay, I sent it.

  Two new client bookings were lost because of it, and quite honestly, I don’t blame them. I likely would’ve waited things out if I were in their position, too.

  What I hadn’t expected, however, was the response from the remaining clients. An outpouring of support and mentions of how they, too, had dealt with something similar were shared. They’ll never realize or be able to grasp just how much they comforted me with their words and their confessions.

  Their stories pushed me and gave me that added boost because if these well-to-do men and women with high-powered careers were caught in a position similar to mine and were afraid to speak out about it, then I can’t imagine how many countless others are out there with a similar story.

  My request for the interview with Forbes to be in person rather than via video was granted. I’d been as forthcoming as possible, informing them of my plans to come forward regarding my experience with the Jags general manager. They had surprised me by indicating their interest in scoring an exclusive to the story within my already scheduled interview.

  With my lawyers by my side and the interviewer, Maren, sitting across from me in my newly arranged office, I’m grateful for the comfortable leather chair’s support. My nerves are already shot. After taking a few shots of me posed by the windows overlooking downtown Jacksonville, the staff photographer flits around us, the quiet shutter sound of his camera echoing in the hushed quiet of the office.

  The interview starts off easy and gives me a false sense of comfort and confidence. Discussing my business is second nature, and she guides me through a series of questions with ease.

  “…extremely impressed by your clientele. But even that is blown out of the water by your financials…”

  I dread the shift in the conversation even though I know it must happen. I wait for the gentle waves of conversation to morph into aggressive, battering ones.

  Which happens toward the very end, of course.

  “When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that you were taking some time off work to handle something of great importance in your personal life.”

  I offer the barest nod. “That’s right.”

  Maren tips her head to the side, inquisitively. “You also mentioned that it could have an impact on your business.”

  “Yes.”

  She shifts slightly in her chair and glances down at her notes. Then her eyes lift to meet mine. “Can we talk about Chad Garner? The general manager of the local NFL team here in Jacksonville? How is it that you know him?”

  “I first met him when I was fifteen years old. At the time, I was in foster care and placed with the Garner family. The elder Mr. Garner was running for re-election as mayor.”

  “And Chad? Can you tell me about him?”

  I strive to steady my breathing before I answer. “Chad was the stereotypical quarterback and captain of the football team at our school. The heartthrob who had all the girls swooning over him. Since the family had money”—I draw warning glances from my lawyers and ensure my words are careful—“it seemed like things were often overlooked.”

  “Things like?” Maren prompts.

  “Like homework not being completed or turned in. His grades would still be A’s even though he made no effort to study and often only wrote his name on test papers without actually completing them.”

  “So, we can speculate that payoffs were happening.”

  I remain quiet, allowing my silence to paint the picture.

  She continues. “Some might say that grades are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Unless there was more?”

  “There was.” I quell the shaking in my hands by carefully linking my fingers in my lap. “Chad began to touch me without my permission. He would sneak into my room and hold me down, all while making threats.” I steel myself against the urge to curl up into the fetal position. Because this needs to be done. For everyone who’s afraid or who’s been afraid. This is for them.

  “The staff employed by Mr. and Mrs. Garner refused to come forward and help me because they not only held the highest-paid cleaning jobs in the area, but they knew the Garners had numerous connections.”

  “Meaning they could ruin their reputations and chances at gaining employment elsewhere?”

  “Or,” I suggest evenly, “they could make life a living hell for their family members as well.”

  She nods, her expression somber. “How long did these sexual advances from Chad occur?”

  “For nearly six months.”

  “And what caused them to end?”

  I barely stifle the harsh laugh edging its way up my throat. “He attempted to rape me after backhanding me.”

  Maren tries hard to keep a neutral expression, but I catch the flicker of discomfort in her eyes. “And then what happened?”

  I exhale slowly, attempting to calm my nerves, before explaining the rest. By the time I bring her up to speed on what occurred the night of the NFL awards, the woman appears a bit shell-shocked.

  “Is there a reason you’re choosing to speak about this now?”

  “There is.” I straighten my shoulders. “Because I refuse to allow him to do the same to anyone else.”

  “Are you implying he still is?”

  “I’m not implying it. I’m stating it.” I gesture to my lawyers. “They have written depositions with accounts of employees under his leadership within the Jaguars’ offices indicating he has sexually assaulted others since accepting the position of general manager.”

  “These individuals have come forward?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowns. “How many?”

  “At least two who have decided to come forward, whereas another three have indicated they prefer to remain anonymous.” Before her lips part to say what I expect her to mention, I add, “Each of their accounts has been corroborated by witnesses.”

  Maren asks a few more questions, and just when I think we’ve wrapped up the interview and I’ll escape without any mention of him, she stuns me at the last minute.

  I should’ve known better.

  “One last thing. How does Dax Kendrick factor in all of this?”

  With steeliness in my tone, my gaze clashes with hers. “Let me be clear. Dax Kendrick is an honest, hardworking, and wonderful individual. This city, and more so, the city of Gainesville, knows exactly what kind of man he is.

  “He has nothing to do with my past, and I’d appreciate it if you would omit him from this narrative entirely. His reputation should in no way be tarnished because of the egregious acts one man took toward me.”

  The interview ends with a handshake as Maren waits for her photographer to pack up his gear. She guides me off to the side and lowers her voice.

  “Thank you for this.”

  I don’t quite understand why she’s thanking me. “It’s an honor to be interviewed b
y your magazine. I—”

  “No.” She lays a hand on my arm, eyes soft. “For being brave and coming out. Not everyone has the guts to do something like this. You’ll give a great deal of women hope.”

  49

  Darcy

  Once news gets out and the interview with Forbes hit the press, it rapidly turns into a media circus. I’m unable to leave my condo for days due to the throng of press members on a stakeout in the parking lot. It’s a blessing I don’t have to head to my office.

  I’m currently holed up in my place, curled up on the couch contemplating another attempt at baking turmeric muffins. If I had kale, I think I’d even try my hand at making a nasty kale and strawberry smoothie. Pathetic attempts at feeling closer to the man I miss desperately. Hence, what I’ve taken to wearing these days, courtesy of Mrs. Kendrick herself.

  Not that I’d dare to wear it outside the comfort of my home, though. I’m not that crazy.

  Instead, I sit and stare at the glossy cover of Forbes on my lap. A photograph of me is on the front with the bold print headline, The Duchess of Dating: A force to be reckoned with. Dressed in a sleek pinstriped pencil skirt and a light gray blouse, with my blond waves draped over my shoulder with my arms crossed, I lean a hip against my office windows. In this pose, I exude femininity and power. Strength.

  Right now, with all the comments and accusations slung at me, I don’t feel the least bit powerful or strong.

  I miss Dax so much my heart physically aches. I know he probably bought those shoes before I broke things off, and he just gave them to me because, well… that’s Dax. He’s a nice guy—a great guy—even when someone hurts him. I thought about calling him, but chickened out. God knows the power of the male bravado, and what he said that day in the store about not giving up might have been just that.

  The loud knock on my door startles me, making me jump. I let out an aggravated sigh and begrudgingly stand from the couch. Once I peek through the peephole, my shoulders slump in relief that it’s not a reporter.

  I tug open the door. “Hey.”

  He stares at me, first in shock, then in disgust. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  I scowl at Kyler. “If that’s how you’re going to be, never mind.” I start shutting the door, only to have his large hand shoot out to stop the movement.

  I heave out a breath and stare up at my ceiling, praying for divine intervention. “God save me from football players.”

  He steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him. Then I’m wrapped against God only knows how many pounds of muscle. “You adore me, and you know it.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble against his shirt. Man, I really needed this hug.

  One heavy hand smooths my hair back, and he murmurs, “Uncle Kyler’s here to help.”

  I huff out a pained laugh. “You’re weird.”

  “Ah, but you still like me.” There’s a smile in his voice. “And that’s all that matters.” Then he mutters beneath his breath. “Even if you’re wearing that god-awful shirt.”

  I slowly disentangle myself and step back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you. I’m here to help.”

  I flash him a dubious look. “Unless you know how to work magic with the barracudas operating under the guise of reporters, you’re not much help to me.”

  Kyler tips his head to the side, those light blue eyes studying me. “You haven’t watched any local news lately, have you?”

  I walk over to my couch and drop myself onto it in the most unladylike sprawl. “God, no.”

  “Well…” He seems pleased. “You’ve missed a lot.” He grabs my remote, ignoring my sound of protest when he changes the channel to ESPN.

  I promptly tug a throw pillow over my face and grunt loudly into it. “Don’t make me look at that damn dimple. I can’t take it,” I say, but the words are mostly muffled by the pillow.

  “What’s that?” Amusement laces his tone. “Something about a dimple?”

  Exasperated, I toss the pillow aside and studiously keep my eyes on the ceiling, careful not to catch sight of the television.

  “I can’t watch it and risk seeing him,” I whisper. I miss him so much, and I have no idea if he’ll still want to be with me, let alone give me another chance.

  “Well, shore up those defenses because you need to see and hear this.”

  The musical intro for an ESPN news update sounds, and I tense before lowering my eyes to the screen.

  “The Jacksonville Jaguars have been shaken by the recent sexual assault accusations made by multiple women against General Manager Chad Garner.”

  They cut to a clip identifying the head coach and the owner of the Jags standing at a podium. The owner is the first to speak. “We have launched our own investigation into this matter, and we take these allegations to heart. Our intent is for the climate not only in our offices to be safe and unthreatening, but all-encompassing on and off the field. Chad Garner has been placed on leave at this time while our legal team makes their assessment.”

  Meaning, they plan to cut ties and need to determine the contract stipulations before they fire him outright.

  “I’ll hand things over to Coach, now, but in the meantime, rest assured, in no way does the Jaguars franchise support the actions or behavior of Chad Garner, and we apologize to our employees who have suffered during his time here.”

  He steps aside for Coach, whose features are drawn, severe. “As he’s already mentioned, we do not condone the behavior and actions, and we will all strive to move forward, using this as a teaching tool for the future, as unfortunate as it is.”

  A reporter’s voice pipes up. “Can you tell us if this has anything to do with Dax Kendrick announcing his retirement?”

  The question makes me physically jerk in shock. What?

  I gape at the television, leaning forward, anxiously awaiting Coach’s answer.

  “I think that question would be better answered by him.” He turns and gestures to someone off camera. A moment later, Dax approaches the podium, and my breath instantly catches in my throat.

  It should be illegal for him to look so devastatingly handsome. The pristine white button-down dress shirt contrasts with his dark skin. A part of me is disappointed that the fastened shirt cuffs at his wrists deny me a view of those familiar muscled forearms.

  Cameras flash in a frenzy before Dax braces his large palms on the wooden podium and speaks into the microphone. “The revelations had nothing to do with my decision to retire. I’ve always said I wanted to go out on top, and considering we brought home another Super Bowl win, I think I’ve succeeded. I’m looking forward to the next chapter when I start work with ESPN.”

  “What is your current relationship status? Last we heard, you’d hired Hitched but were spotted around town with the owner quite a bit.”

  He presses his lips together, as if carefully choosing his response. “I no longer need the services of Hitched.”

  I swear, I lean so far forward in my seat on the couch I nearly face-plant on the floor. Why is he making it like pulling teeth to get a damn answer?

  Thankfully, one of the reporters must agree with me and presses him.

  “And that means you’re currently in a relationship?”

  One edge of his mouth quirks up. “I’m not sure what to call it.” He cocks his head to the side. “It’s complicated.”

  “Has the city’s favorite wide receiver finally found love?”

  He appears thoughtful before nodding. “I have.”

  My stomach plummets to the hardwood floor as my lips part in shock. He’s in love?

  Judging from the titters that sound among the press in attendance, I’m not the only one surprised by his admission.

  “Can you tell us the name of the lucky lady who’s won your heart?”

  “Ah, well…” He flashes a bashful grin that makes that dimple of his more pronounced. “I’m not sure yet of her feelings.”

  “Can you give us a hint?”

&
nbsp; He hesitates visibly before his gaze centers on the main camera. It feels like he’s looking straight at me. “Let’s just say, I love my kale smoothies, but they’re not quite the same without my favorite Zumba partner.”

  A mixture of a laugh and sob bursts free from me. “Oh, Dax.”

  His expression turns fierce. “With regard to the Garner accusations, I think everyone needs to treat incidents like this with the utmost respect. No one should have to endure this kind of trauma.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me”—Dax offers a tight smile—“I need to say one last goodbye to the field and stadium.”

  They transition back to the studio and begin discussing the press conference, but it all fades as I attempt to process what he’s just said on national television.

  He’s made his stance evident. He believes me and the others. As inconsequential as it may be to some, it’s an immense relief for me.

  And… he loves me.

  Kyler turns off the TV. “Get your shoes on, woman.”

  I dart off the couch and slide on my shoes, grabbing my keys as he ushers me out of my condo. I’m thankful he parked close, and he herds me to his car, ignoring the cameras and questions tossed out at us.

  Only after we’re buckled in and he’s pulled out onto Highway A1A heading toward Atlantic Boulevard do I realize how fast he’s going.

  “You don’t have to get a speeding ticket just for me.” I brace a hand against the door when he passes a slow-moving car.

  Kyler ignores me. Instead, he punches a number in his phone, and the stereo gives way to ringing as his Bluetooth connects to his car.

  A man answers, and I immediately recognize the voice although it’s slightly distorted. It sounds like he’s cupping a hand over his mouth as he speaks into the phone.

  “The peacock better be in flight. Copy?”

  I rear back, and my eyes flicker to Kyler in confusion. What?

  He lets out an exasperated breath. “This isn’t some spy movie, Tank.” Then he says, “Yeah, we’re on our way.”