“I guess I didn’t think…” Jenna trails off. I can’t tell if she’s contrite or secretly rolling her eyes at me in her mind.
Before I can respond, Coach Russo barks at me from down the hall. “Campbell! My office!”
Jenna slips away while I’m looking at Coach. Wonderful.
“Yes?”
“Come in. Close the door, Kate.”
I comply quietly, not meeting his stern gaze.
“Sit.”
The chair is still cleaned off from the other day, so I sink down into it.
“Why did you miss practice yesterday?”
Oh.
“Sorry, Coach.” I can’t bring myself to look up, afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes.
“Kate, I’m not mad, though I should be. Honestly, it’s good you skipped.” That gets my attention. Coach Russo doesn’t look angry, but weary, like me. “Those reporters were here again looking for you.” He lets out a big sigh. “I’m not going to ask, Kate. It’s not my business. But I need you dedicated to the team. We have a better than average chance of winning the Division I cup this year. I need all of my players focused on soccer without any distractions. Am I making myself clear?”
Nodding, my eyes drop back to my hands, which are shaking. I’m a distraction. At least, the pack of hungry paparazzi following me is.
“Go get changed. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Without saying a word, I bolt out of Coach’s office, not wanting to break down in front of him. He laid it out there in no uncertain terms—football has to come first—no distractions, no excuses. That means no paparazzi, no gossip, no private life interfering with the team.
Can I keep Dax separate from football? It would be beyond difficult but I think I can do it. Without footy, and my scholarship, I’ll be back in Hackney. Then I’ll really have nothing.
My breath hitches in my chest as I force the growing knot of anxiety out of my throat to settle uncomfortably in my stomach. I can do this. I can talk to Dax about keeping things hidden better from now on. He’ll understand that I have to have my priorities right. Without footy, I can’t afford school. Without school, I’m back in my parents’ dismal flat in Hackney. No way am I going back there.
By the time I hit the locker room, everyone’s already kitted up and down by the doors leading to the pitch. I hurry to get changed, rushing out to meet up with the rest of the team. I pretend not to notice every single head turn my way as I approach.
No distractions.
“Okay, okay,” Coach Russo claps his hands to get our attention. Better they stare at him than me.
“Ladies! This is it, the big game! Win this and we win the PAC-10 and are most likely a number one seed in the West for the tournament. Don’t let them get to you out there. I expect the best out of each one of you.”
Everyone cheers in excitement while I think about how I never turned my mobile on this morning and haven’t talked to Dax since I bolted from his flat yesterday.
“Kate!”
Crap!
I look up from my daydreaming to find the doors open and my team running onto the pitch without me. Coach is staring curiously, disappointment clear in his dark eyes.
“I’m here, Coach. One hundred percent.” I manage to project confidence while on the inside I’m wilting into a useless mess.
He pulls a face but says nothing else. I take advantage of Coach’s silence and trot out the path that leads to the pitch.
Madness.
That’s the only way to describe the scene at the stadium. Utter madness. It almost feels as if I’ve stepped onto the set of an action film. The noise alone is enough to make me want to cover my ears.
“What’s going on?” I yell into a group of my teammates.
“Not sure,” Brittany shouts back. “Some kind of commotion in the stands.” I follow her pointing finger to a section of seats. She’s right. A mob of people is surging in one area, whatever is at the center causing a near panic amongst the spectators.
“Reckon David Beckham stopped by to watch us?” I joke.
Brittany giggles, but Coach shoots me a perturbed frown.
Properly chastised, we turn our backs to the chaos as the referees start the match. Somehow, I manage to block out everything—the horrors of the tabloids, Dax blowing me off last night, the caterwauling that is still going on in the stands—and play without a single misstep.
As for the rest of my team… I can only say they aren’t doing as well ignoring the noise. Players continually lose focus, making amateur mistake after amateur mistake. Fortunately, the other team is having the same problem, letting the distraction in the stadium break their concentration.
Coach motions for me to sub out and take a rest. I shake my head, not wanting to lose my momentum or break my good fortune. The uncharacteristic anger on his features sends a shiver down my spine, pooling like ice in my veins. I head for the sidelines only to notice that the screaming gets louder. That’s when I realize they’re screaming at me.
“You whore!”
“Ugly bitch!”
“You’re not good enough for Dax!”
I blanch, the blood in my body rushes to my feet. Jenna must notice me sagging, because she rushes over, shoving her shoulder under my arm and her hand around my waist to keep me from hitting the ground. She lowers me onto the bench and I can feel the eyes of the entire stadium burning into my back. Even my teammates are staring, hell… everyone from the other team is staring as well. Coach can’t stop mid-game or else he’d certainly be staring at me too.
“Do you have anything to say about your affair with Dax Davies, Kate?”
“Kate! A quote?”
“Kate! Kate! Did you know Dax was already seeing someone?”
“Is Dax here to see you play?”
“What about Lila Griffin? Do you feel bad for stealing her boyfriend?”
Shit! I forgot the band was coming to watch the game. How stupid am I to not think about how recognizable they would be! That’s what’s going on in the stands!
Naturally, the paparazzi are here for me as well, making everything ten times worse. They jostle the spectators and shove at the haters that are lined up along the edge of the pitch to hurl insults at me.
“Kate,” our assistant coach, a former player named Paige, crouches down in front of me. “You can go get showered up.”
“What?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You…you want me to go? Miss the game? I’m the only one playing out there!”
Paige gives me a look so sad it could break hearts, and it does, I can feel mine shattering in my chest. “Kate, right now you’re too much of a distraction. This…” she waves at the psychotic group of girls that are still screaming at me, “is too much. We can’t play like this and neither can the other team. They’ve asked to have you removed and Coach agreed.”
“That’s not fair!” I protest. “None of this is my fault.” I swipe at a stray tear.
“I know. We all know that. But we’re here to play and we can’t do that with all this going on. Campus security doesn’t have enough guards to contain the crowd.”
“So I have to be the one to go,” I growl, not wanting to admit defeat.
A very loud, very agitated, very familiar voice rises above the screeching crowd of women. “Kate!”
I shoot up from the bench, looking over the sea of people to find the source. “Dax?”
I should know better. I do know better. As usual, I wasn’t thinking when I called out his name. The rabid girls hear it and turn, jumping on Dax like wolves descending on a steak dinner. Our gazes meet for a brief second. I see enough in those angry, dark brown eyes to know what’s about to happen, and I watch helplessly as my life flies apart at the seams.
54
Dax
“Davies! You’re out.”
The loud clank of a bolt turning followed by the screech of metal on metal rouses me from a half-sleep. My entire body aches, my back, my face, and especially my hands.
Fuck. I look down at them, red and swollen, and pray I haven’t broken anything. The guys will have a go at me if I can’t play guitar.
“Follow me.”
As exhausted and angry as I am, I manage to restrain my emotions. Yesterday proved to me exactly what happens when I lose that precious control.
Another lock opens, this one with the whirring sound of automation. I ignore several pairs of eyes that are fixed on me. Yeah, yeah, get your fill assholes. Everything I do is a walking three-ring fucking circus these days. Why should this be any different?
Finally, we arrive in the lobby, crowded, hot, and smelling like month old tube socks.
“In there,” my escort says crisply, pointing towards a small office. “Your friend was causing a near riot in the lobby, so they put him out of sight.”
I wonder who is here to pick me up. Not Adam, certainly? Guaranteed he’s either still drunk from whatever he did last night after the incident, or frightfully hung over this morning. Plus, he’s too recognizable.
When I enter the dingy, fluorescent-lit room, I see Ross staring at a wall of accolades and awards that must belong to the occupant of this office. I expected Ross. I didn’t expect to see Gavin, but it shouldn’t surprise me. He’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever known. The one person who is noticeably absent, causing a nauseating cramp to grip my stomach, is Kate.
Gavin smiles, rising from a tattered chair to embrace me, whispering in my ear so Ross can’t hear, “Got your back, man. Don’t worry about it.”
Ross doesn’t seem as chuffed to see me. His face looks years older, even with his clean shave and expensive suit. Mouth downturned, Ross gives me a thorough, disparaging look before speaking. “Well. They’ve dropped the charges, so we can go.”
I’m stunned. “Dropped them? Completely?”
He walks over, narrowing his eyes. “Why? Do you want to stay in jail, Dax? Did you have fun in lockup overnight with the drunks and petty criminals? Make a few friends?” His voice is hostile, on the verge of a shout. But he wouldn’t do that, not here. Not in listening distance of a half-dozen coppers and another dozen random people in the lobby of the precinct.
“What’s your problem?” I keep my tone low and even, knowing it’s even more important now than ever to keep my temper.
“My problem?” Ross asks incredulously. “My problem is that you went completely batshit crazy at a college sporting event, punched three security guards hard enough that they may sue you for damages, caused a near riot, and destroyed property on the UCLA campus. And you’re asking what my problem is?”
“You weren’t arrested, so what the fuck is it to you?” I fist my hands at my sides, itching to give Ross a piece of my mind.
Gavin must feel the stress radiating off of me, because he steps between us to talk me down off from a rapidly approaching cliff.
“Not here. Let’s get going.” He looks directly in my eyes, pleading with me to listen. “Everyone is tired, Adam and Hawke are worried, and I’m fucking starving. So can we leave this shithole and deal with this later?”
The tension in my jaw aches, but I nod. He’s right. This isn’t the place to do this. Plus, I’m on the fucking edge of going mental again, and after yesterday that’s not something I’m particularly eager to repeat.
“Let’s go then,” Ross says, tamping down his own irritation. For now. From the look on his face I’m certain to be getting a proper ass reaming later.
We leave the cramped office only to be stopped by a copper in full uniform. Thankfully, it’s not the same one that helped bring me in last night. The guy was a wanker. Kept mentioning how celebrities expect special treatment or some other bollocks. I didn’t expect anything, stupid twat.
“Where are you parked?” he asks, glancing at each of us.
Ross steps forward. “We have a car waiting, why?”
“You’ll need to call your driver and have him pull up front as close as he can. The media is here and there’s a lot of them,” the cop explains.
Shit.
I can’t handle anymore of that crap today. It was bad enough that we couldn’t watch my girlfriend’s fucking football match without being spotted and swarmed with fans. Now I can’t leave a building without a police escort?
“It’s okay,” Gavin says quietly. “Your arrest is big news. It’s just the way things are.”
I drag my hand down my face, scratching at the stubble and wincing when I pass over a sore spot on my chin where I hit the ground. “Yeah, but after yesterday…”
“I know. Let’s just have the cops keep them back and jump in the car.” Gavin turns to Ross. “He doesn’t have to make a statement, does he?”
“Hell no!” Ross’ eyebrows shoot skyward. “Rachel will get a press release out later today. Don’t say a word.” Ross looks at the cop. “Can you keep the media back?” Ross eyes me cautiously. Likely considering what would happen if one of those reporters were to bump into me or got in my face. After yesterday’s outburst, I can’t say I blame him.
“We can keep them back. No problem,” he says with a wicked smile. “Let me get a few friends. Be back in two. Don’t move.”
It seems Mr. Copper dislikes the media almost as much as me.
Seconds later, six uniformed officers are at the ready, whisking us out of the office towards the front doors. I can hear the murmuring of the bystanders as recognition hits them. It’s a ripple effect, spreading outward from the center of the room to the edges until the entire police station knows we’re here.
The two cops in front open the doors and move directly in front of us, caging us in and the media out. And it’s a good thing, because outside, it is a shitstorm of epic proportions.
“Dax! Dax! Are you going to jail?”
“Dax! Has Lila dumped you for your cheating?”
“Dax! Care to comment on the destruction of property at UCLA?”
“Dax! Is it true that you attacked security because Kate was pulled from the game?”
What? I try to turn to whoever asked the last question, but Gavin is right behind me, shoving me into the backseat of the waiting limo.
“Don’t even think about it,” he hisses. Gavin’s harsh tone shocks me right out of my fury. He’s never angry. Never. Gavin is the epitome of the laid back, California surfer. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s more like me than one would think at first glance—burying his emotions under a thick layer of stereotypical ‘whatever dude’ instead of the stone façade I prefer to use.
Our eyes stay locked for a moment longer before I relent, deflating back into the leather seat.
“Fine. You’re right. I’d be proper fucked if I punched someone outside the police precinct.”
Ross glares at me from the seat opposite us. “That would be an impossible sell, Dax. I can see it now.” He holds his hands up as if highlighting a glowing marquee, “Rock star jailed for assault as he’s released from jail…for assault.”
Gavin’s lips twitch. Then Ross’s do the same. I can’t help it. As shitty as the last twenty-four hours have been, the laughter bubbles out of me, my sour face broken by a grin. Soon enough, we’re all choking from our demented senses of humor.
As I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes, I pray that this won’t be the last bit of enjoyment I get for a while. Even with the confusion and Gavin’s distraction, that jouno’s words are stuck in my head, hanging over me like a guillotine ready to fall.
“Dax! Is it true that you attacked everyone because Kate was pulled from the game?”
If she was kicked out of one of the most important games she’s ever played in because of me? The shitstorm has only just begun.
Kate
“Hullo.”
Dax’s quiet greeting when I open the door to my flat isn’t what I expected. It’s not even close. He’s wearing baggy cargos and a pullover with the hood up, partially obscuring his face.
“Hey,” I respond stupidly, thrown off by his cold demeanor and his strange choice of c
lothing.
What did I expect? For Dax to come in here ranting and pissed off? For him to sweep me into his arms and crush his mouth down onto mine letting me know everything will be all right? For Dax to stand stony and silent like he does with everyone else? I don’t know. All I know is that this… subdued, defeated Dax isn’t someone I recognize at all.
Dax says nothing, so I fill the awkward silence. “I called Gavin. He said it was better for me to stay home. I wanted to come to see you at the jail, Dax. I did. The media… well, you know.”
He nods, his dark eyes evading mine, landing on everything in the room except for me. A trickle of fear slithers down my neck, making the fine hairs stand up. Something is very wrong.
“Your face—” I move to touch the swollen skin of his jaw, stunned when Dax steps out of reach.
I swallow thickly. The tiny thread of fear has now blossomed into a huge knot of pure panic. My heart races in my chest, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears.
“Dax?”
“We can’t do this anymore,” he says harshly, still looking everywhere but at my face.
My mouth is dry, my tongue thick. “Can’t do what?”
No, no, no, no. He can’t. He wouldn’t. He promised!
“This.” He points back and forth between us. “I can’t do this. Us. A relationship. Whatever.”
My entire body burns from the sting of his words, my gut cramping with anxiety. “Why?” I whisper, already knowing the answer. He’s famous, gorgeous, and going to be massively successful. I’m me. A student. A tomboy. A nobody footy player from Hackney.
“You know why,” he growls. “Don’t make me say it.”
A flood of anger temporarily replaces the feeling that I’m worthless and inadequate. It rushes in like a freight train, giving me the strength to pretend I’m not affected by his words.
“Fucking say it, Dax! Don’t be shy. Spit it out,” I hiss. “Is it so you can fuck Lila? Or revert back to your whoring ways? Or maybe you never stopped whoring and I’m the fool who believed you?”
He turns away and I can see his jaw clenching, the muscles in his cheek pulsing under the bruised skin.