Chapter Twenty-Eight

The rehabilitation was working. The therapy was going well, and complimented with a diet of good, fresh food and a lack of stress, Dax found that he was beginning to recover with speed. Over the next two weeks, he walked forward and backward, ignoring the dull ache in his spine that had become synonymous with everyday life. He lifted his right leg, and balanced, and then repeated the action with his left. His core was getting stronger.

Walking up stairs was still difficult. It meant that with every step, he had to pull up his own body weight, and his weakened spinal muscles struggled. “I can’t believe how much I used to take it for granted,” he groaned, as he slowly ascended the stairs one evening before going to bed. Cameron was right behind him, as always.

“I think we all do it,” he said. “When we’re sick, we wonder why we didn’t appreciate the times we had good health.”

“God, that’s exactly it,” Dax said. “Damn, I didn’t appreciate my limbs when they were all working perfectly.”

“You’re doing great, though,” Cameron encouraged. “Your mobility’s much better, and I’m not supporting you anywhere near as much as I was.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not getting anywhere,” Dax said, as they got to the top of the stairs and he walked slowly to the bedroom.

“Do you see the wheelchair anywhere?” Cameron asked. “You’ve not used it in nine days. You’re crazy if you think you’re not making progress.”

“Nine days? Have you been counting?”

Cameron grinned. “Do you think I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart? I track every bit of your progress. I write everything down. What you eat, what you drink, how many minutes a day we work.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’m a professional.”

They said goodnight and went into their separate rooms, as they always did. Dax lay on his bed on his back, mulling over the words. This was why he was never allowed to see Cameron as anything other than his therapist. Because their arrangement was strictly professional.

But over the last few days, ever since Dax had learned that Cameron was gay, he’d begun to battle with feelings he knew he shouldn’t have. He’d always found Cameron attractive, but he’d pushed the feelings aside because he was sure the guy was straight. Now that he knew he was gay, though, and his attraction seemed to be validated, he felt he had the permission to think about him more. It was crazy, though. Just because Cameron was gay didn’t mean he was attracted to Dax. Despite having lived together for several weeks, and having worked together through some very intense therapy, Cameron had never once overstepped the line.

It’s not like it was a secret that Dax was gay. While they never once spoke about the night of his accident, the silence said everything. Cameron had never questioned Dax in the same way his publicist, or his fans had. He seemed to accept Dax simply as a person, rather than an icon who was duty-bound to explain the deepest of thoughts inside his head.

Once a week, he called his Mom, and then he called Kelly. It was an agreement he and Cameron had come to within two weeks of his arrival in Scotland. While his therapy was the most important thing, and while it wasn’t in his interest to be burdened by anything to do with his career, he was still a commodity, still owned by a record label, and still duty-bound to report on his progress. Above all, he was still a son, and his mom was keen to check in with him whenever possible.

Now, he reached into his chest of drawers and pulled out his cell. As part of the agreement, he kept it off at all times, save for the nights he called home. Cameron had been clear about the rules from the start. “You’re still your own man, of course,” he said, “and I can’t force you to stick to it. I just think you’ll be better off without the distraction.”

And he’d been right. Dax found that other than for the calls home, there was no need for him to have his phone switched on. He didn’t miss the constant checks of social media or message boards. He didn’t think about what the latest tabloids had to say. He was enjoying the solace, and the silence, and the chance to look after his mental health.

But, Kelly was expecting him to call, so he did. The phone rang for less than a second before his assistant picked it up. “Hey!” she cried. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Dax said. “Getting better every day, apparently.”

“Great. I miss you.”

Dax laughed. “You miss me?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss going out for coffee at four in the morning, only for you to have fallen asleep by the time I get back,” Kelly joked. “But yeah, I miss you. It’s weird to be handling everything over here without hearing what you think of it.”

“Without hearing me complain all the time, right?” He sighed. “Damn, I’ve been a real pain in the ass to you, haven’t I?”

Kelly seemed a little taken aback. “Whoa, don’t go getting all mushy on me, now,” she said. “What’s this guy been feeding you? Guilt pills?”

“No, he’s been great,” Dax said, his head on the pillow, one arm across his eyes. “He really looks after me. I’m eating well, and I’m feeling better than I have for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s amazing. And are you sleeping, okay?”

“I’m in bed before midnight every night, and I sleep until eight,” Dax said, with a laugh. “I’m like a baby on a schedule. It’s insane.”

“I’m really happy that it’s working,” Kelly said. “It was always a big risk and I didn’t like the idea of it at first, but it seems it was definitely the right choice for you.”

“I owe it all to Cameron,” Dax said. “There isn’t a chance I could have done it without him. He has my meals ready, he has my workout planned, and even does my laundry. I couldn’t ask for better treatment.”

“Wow, it sounds like you really like him,” Kelly said, and Dax wasn’t sure whether there was a hint of teasing in her voice. He was about to ignore it, before she added, “is he single?”

“I guess, but I haven’t even given it a second thought,” Dax said, and he hurriedly changed the subject. “Anyway, hit me with the latest. I can take it.”

She sighed. “The press are going crazy with the most recent rumors of your death. They’re convinced that you didn’t survive the crash, and that you’re never coming back.”

“And how’s Grant managing it?”

“He’s denying everything, of course, and the story is that you’ve now left the hospital, that you’re back in LA, and you’re recovering at home. Hang on, I’ve got a newspaper clipping here. It’s online, too, but my laptop’s just doing an update so I need to find the paper. Wait a second and I’ll read it out loud to you.”

She was silent for a few moments, and Dax imagined her rummaging through a pile of papers on her desk. Then she returned, and began to read. “While the whole globe was in shock at the news of the world’s most eligible bachelor’s car accident, fans were cheered by the daily updates on his health. There’s been barely a peep for weeks now, though, and Dax Monroe’s representatives are declining to comment further, save for the usual ‘no comment’ comments. While we’re all wondering whether we’ll ever see him perform again, the most pressing concern is that he’s alive and breathing. This reporter, for one, isn’t too convinced.”

Dax snorted. “That’s from an actual newspaper?” he asked. “Jesus, and here I was thinking that the tabloids still had a shred of integrity. That reads like the shittiest online gossip column.”

“Well, admittedly it’s not from the most high-brow of papers, but it’s basically encapsulating what everyone’s thinking,” Kelly said. “The phone never stops ringing. Grant never stops worrying. I’ve given up taking his calls because I don’t have any news for him. He just gets mad at me and yells until I hang up.”

“He’s an asshole,” Dax said. “Look, Kelly, I don’t want you to have to keep dealing with this shit. Do you want to leave? Want me to fire you with severance pay?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she said, honestly. “But I miss you. I miss working for you. I guess I’m like most people. I just want to see you back.”

“I’ll be back, I promise,” Dax said. “In the meantime, I’ll get a statement together and I’ll stop being quite so distant. All right? I’ll up my calls and I’ll drop Grant a line.”

“That’s amazing,” Kelly breathed. “There’s a lot of publicity we can’t handle without you, Dax. You know, about… about that night.”

“Yep, got it,” Dax said, quickly. He didn’t want to go into it over the phone. Didn’t want to think about that night, and what it meant when the paparazzi’s photos of him sprawled across the bonnet of a stranger’s car were still doing the rounds, complete with an interview with said stranger, an interview that revealed everything from the scent of Dax’s cologne to the size of his dick and how many times they’d fucked.

He was going to have to reappear, to emerge from the shadows once more. He didn’t want to tell Kelly that while he was physically able to come home and carry on his treatment in LA, he wasn’t ready to leave yet. He wasn’t ready to leave Scotland, and its wild beauty and comforting quiet.

He wasn’t ready to leave Cameron just yet.

Speaking for a few more moments with Kelly, he soon said goodbye and then called his mom. She’d been outside, mowing the lawn. She told him the reporters had slowly left, and were no longer camping outside. There was another celebrity crisis somewhere else, someone else’s life collapsing in front of cameras and phones, another media circus documenting every second of their demise.

Dax Monroe was becoming old news, but this worried him, too. The conversation with his mom was short, and he ended the call, saying he was tired. Afterward, he lay looking at the ceiling, confused by his frustrations. In one call, Kelly was saying she needed him there. In the other, his mom was assuring him that people were moving on and forgetting about him.

He didn’t know which troubled him more.