Regrets Only (36 page)

Yeah,
I’ll bet you did. The tearful grief of a daughter who’s lost her mom is far
better TV than a rich blonde woman creating a charity to help out.
“Well, you got me instead,”
Suzanne sang in an artificially sweet tone. He shrugged and left.

Suzanne
flipped through the artwork she’d brought nervously and paced around in the
tiny green room. A flat screen TV on the wall showed the live feed from the
studio just a few yards away from where she stood. Nadia Spencer, one of the
show’s two spunky female hosts, was cooking something with an excited little
man who reminded Suzanne absurdly of a spider monkey. He jumped from station to
station in the fake kitchen, mincing and shredding, throwing things into pans,
pulling things out of the oven.
Not a spider monkey
, she decided.
An
elf. On crystal meth.

Nadia
tasted whatever the finished product was that the elf had concocted, some kind
of frittata, and looked at the camera with orgasmic happiness. “Scrumptious,”
she said. “And healthy, too! Check out the recipe on our website. And when we
come back, country superstar Dylan Burke talks to us about life on the road and
his latest charity project.”

And
there he was. They cut from the frittata elf to another part of the studio,
where Dylan sat on what looked like a barstool, looking amazing in his jeans,
crisp white Oxford shirt, and glasses. No camo hat. Behind him was a large
window full of people waving into the studio from the street, some holding up
signs or wearing silly hats. Suzanne noticed one of the signs said, “I ‘heart’
Dylan” in red duct tape.

Dylan
smiled, half-laughing, at the camera as though the entire country had just said
something endearingly funny. Suzanne smiled, too, at the TV in the green room.
She was thoroughly confused by his being here, but his bemused charm was
infectious. And she was, in fact, very happy to see him, no matter what the
reason.

“You’re
up,” said the producer suddenly, as the feed cut to a commercial for some kind
of mop, which showed a woman in a ballerina outfit gracefully mopping her
floors while classical music played in the background. “Follow me, please.”

Suzanne
trailed him numbly out to the stage, her mouth dry and her feet heavy. Dylan
had moved to an oversized sofa and was chatting easily with Nadia while the
latter had her makeup touched up and sipped water held up by an assistant.

“Suzanne
Henderson,” said the producer, bringing her forward to meet the anchor.

“Hamilton,”
Suzanne and Dylan corrected simultaneously. Then Suzanne continued, “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Ms. Spencer.”

Nadia
eyed them both for a second, and then extended her hand to Suzanne. “Nice to
meet you, too,” she said. “Thanks for being here. This should be pretty easy,
so don’t be nervous. Just answer the questions as though we’re two friends
talking in a coffee shop. Whichever camera has the red light on is the one
feeding live, but try not to pay attention to that. Act natural, be concise.
Easy on the Southern accent, though, we don’t want people to think you’re
stupid.”

“No,”
Suzanne replied. “We wouldn’t want that.” By this time, she had been seated
next to Dylan and he squeezed her hand lightly.

If
the formidable little woman caught the sarcasm in Suzanne’s response, she
ignored it. “Kevin!” she shouted and the red-haired producer jumped. “Are we
coming straight from commercial or is Anne doing the lead-in?”

“What
are you doing here?” Suzanne hissed at Dylan when it seemed no one was paying
them direct attention.

“It’s
a big day for us, Scarlett,” he whispered back. “I couldn’t let you do this
alone. Now, just smile. And easy on that Southern accent.”

She
managed to elbow him in the ribs and make it look as if she was simply shifting
to adjust her suit jacket. “Ow!” he mouthed.
You deserved that
, she
glared in response.

The
commercial break felt shorter than Suzanne had anticipated. Suddenly there was
a blur of bright lights and people shouting and signaling, and then they were
on. Nadia was talking to the camera about Dylan and his career. “…In the music
business since childhood…Four multi-platinum albums…Highest number of downloads
on iTunes in a single week…Just back from one of the most successful summer
tours in the business…”

She
felt as though he was a stranger. Suzanne heard the list of achievements and
knew that she had read most of them in articles or press releases months ago,
but they felt alien to her, as did the man sitting next to her. Here was the
same feeling she’d had back in Jake and Marci’s driveway months ago—like Dylan
was two people. Only this time, instead of kissing Clark Kent in a driveway,
she was sitting next to the untouchable Superman beneath the hot white lights
of a television studio. She stole a glance as Nadia waxed on about his
greatness, and saw that he looked perfectly relaxed.
And why not?
This
was his world.

Nadia
was still talking. “…Two years ago he was described by
Entertainment Weekly
as one of country music’s wild boys, and he has not failed to live up to that
reputation, on stage at least. But today you’re here to talk about something
else.” She turned to Dylan now and flashed a brilliant smile. “Good morning,
thanks for joining us.”

“Thanks,
Nadia,” he said in his juiciest drawl. “It’s always nice to see you at
breakfast.” It would have sounded seedy coming from anyone else, but in her
peripheral vision she saw that Dylan was wearing his most charming, lopsided
grin, and that Nadia Spencer was genuinely laughing. The cameramen were also
smiling, from what Suzanne could see.

“I
mean, the frittata looks great,” Dylan went on, and then in an exaggerated
Tennessee accent he added, “’Course, where I come from, we call them skillet
taters.”

More
laughter, and Nadia reached across and jovially touched his hand. Suzanne could
hear the blood rushing in her ears. Dylan began talking about their project and
how he had always been committed to law enforcement and those who serve our
country in uniform. On a personal note, he added, Officer Daniels had been not
only a great mom and a great cop, she had helped “someone close to me” in an
hour of need. He put his hand on Suzanne’s as he said this.

Close
to him,
Suzanne
thought. Her insides thrilled at the words and at his touch, despite her
promise to herself to stay calm and emotionally detached in all their dealings.
And then Nadia was speaking to her, and Suzanne saw the camera shift in her
direction.

“I
read the report Officer Daniels filed about your horrifying experience,” Nadia
said.
Great,
Suzanne thought,
if they dug that up, they probably dug
up the thing at the High, too
. No way she could explain that in fifteen
seconds or whatever they had. “It must have been so scary.”

“Well,
yes,” Suzanne said, and then heard her father’s voice in her head.
You own
this room, darlin’. Run the conversation and you rule the world.
“But I’m
not here to talk about me or my experience. The fact is that Bonita Daniels
touched my life and many others, and that’s what law enforcement officers
around the country do every day. They have a hard, dangerous job, and often
sacrifice everything for our safety. Their families make sacrifices, too, and
this organization was founded to honor those sacrifices. Mr. Burke has been
instrumental in helping us get started, and we’ve had participation from many
other artists and musicians who have donated their time and resources.”

A
digital clock to the side of one of the cameras counted down seconds,
indicating that there were only 29 left. Suzanne was terrified there was still
enough time for them to flash a picture of her running half-naked across the
lawn of the High Museum across the screen, but Nadia turned her attention back
to Dylan.

“So,
your summer tour is over and you’re doing
meaningful
work in Atlanta.” Nadia
stressed meaningful, Suzanne supposed, to connect it with the name of the
segment. “What’s next for Dylan Burke?”

“Actually,”
he said, and cleared his throat, “I’ve decided to take a sabbatical for a while.
At least six months, maybe longer.”

“Really?”
a shocked Nadia replied. “And are you making this announcement exclusively here
on
American Breakfast
?”

“Well,
I guess I am, yeah.” Dylan did not look at Suzanne, but she saw his Adam’s
apple bob up and down as he swallowed nervously.

“Dylan
Burke,” Nadia was saying dramatically, either for emphasis or stalling for time
while she figured out what to ask next. “Taking a sabbatical in the prime of his
career. Of course, everyone will be wondering why.”

Dylan
inclined his head as if to acknowledge the truth of this and said, “Well, to be
honest with you Nadia, I’m in love.”

The
perky host looked taken aback, but quickly recovered her wit enough to say,
“Wait a minute, you aren’t going to go all Tom Cruise on me, are you? Because
Oprah can afford sturdier couches than we have.” She looked at the camera with
a significant frown and raised eyebrow.

Suzanne
thought she might faint. Only curiosity about what would happen next was
keeping her upright, as though her own life were keeping her on the edge of her
seat.

“Nah,”
said Dylan with his usual charm. “That’s not really my style. But I think Tom
could agree with me that love will do strange things to a man. Anyway, I don’t
know if the woman I love really loves me, or if she was just saying it because
she got caught up in…a moment.”

This
last part had just enough innuendo to be endearing and funny all at once. Dylan
was playing to the audience, per usual. Only Suzanne—whose heart was now
pounding so audibly she was sure the microphones must be picking it up—knew
that the moment in question had been a lonely sunrise on Dylan’s mountain deck
during which they had not so much as touched hands. “But I do know that my job
scares her, and I’m willing to set that aside for a little while so she can
figure out if she likes the real me enough to put up with…the me that everyone
else knows.”

And
then he turned to her, still grinning. Suzanne realized he had taken her hand in
his. She was too shocked to move. Her face felt frozen, like her mother’s did
immediately after Botox. She glanced at Nadia, who seemed to be wearing the
same lack of expression herself.

This
seemed to bring the TV host’s attention to the fact that they had a few long
seconds left and were stuck in dead air. “Well, there you have it, America.
Sounds like, unless Ms. Suzanne Henderson—er,
Hamilton
—is completely out
of her mind, country music’s hottest bad boy Dylan Burke may be off the market.
And off the stage, at least for a while. We wish them luck with that, and of
course with their wonderful charity. Next up, workout secrets of a former
supermodel.”

When
the red camera light went off, Nadia got up and huffed away without a word to
either Dylan or Suzanne. “She doesn’t like surprises,” said Kevin the producer,
by way of explanation. He smiled uncomfortably and raced after her, presumably
to fix whatever harm Dylan’s surprise had caused.

But
Suzanne had no room in her flooded brain for concern about the fragile ego of a
morning show personality. She was staring into the familiar, yet surreal, face
of Dylan Burke. The man she loved, who until this moment, had never told her
that he loved her back. Words failed her. So he spoke, gingerly. “Sorry if that
caught you off guard. I figured publicly humiliating each other was kind of our
thing, right? Anyway, I heard somewhere that girls like grand romantic
gestures.”

She
was hearing the words, but they weren’t sinking in to her addled brain. “Dylan,
I’m… your career—”

“Hey,
let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

“The
hotel?” Suzanne had checked out of her hotel this morning, and her carryon bag
was waiting in the green room for her to take to the airport as soon as she
left the studio.

“Yeah.
There’s a lot to say, I think, so I hope you won’t be offended that I got us a
room. Push back your flight. You can hear me out, make a list or something, and
then go home tonight.” Now it was his turn to blush. “Or we can stay.”

We
can stay.
There’s a
we
?
We
have a room? Try as she might, she could not get
her tired brain to process what had just happened. So she nodded numbly and
followed a chipper production assistant back to the green room to collect her
bag, rescheduled her flight for later that evening, and followed Dylan out of
the studio to the waiting town car.

He
held the door for her. “What? No limo?” she said, grasping for a joke to break
the tension between them.

“I
hate limos,” he said, not seeming to notice her anxiety. “If I’m going to be in
a room on wheels, I’d just as soon it was an RV or a tour bus, so I could at
least go to the fridge and make a sandwich. Or to the bathroom. Just one of
many things you’ll have to learn about me.”

She
laughed nervously, and he slid in next to her. The car pulled into New York traffic
and drove just a few blocks before letting them back out again.