CHAPTER 10
Dax
“I’m not kidding, Liam. There’s a fucking international cunt circus following around us all the time now.”
My brother’s chuckle comes through the phone, reminding me of home and family. I never thought I’d miss them, but I do—even Shaun, the mean bastard.
“Gotta be fun though, touring with such a popular band. The crowds must be amazing!”
“It is amazing, Liam. It’s unreal. Like every night is the biggest fight of your life, on a stage in front of the entire world. It’s such a fucking rush.” I catch myself, holding back on the gushing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to prattle on.”
“Dax, I’m not dad. You can be excited, yeah? Don’t hide your feelings. It’s not healthy. The old goat was wrong about a lot of stuff.”
I sigh, knowing Liam is right. “I know. It’s just hard to change, you know? I—fuck, I hate talking about this shit.” Cringing, I rub a hand over my scruffy chin. Randomly, I think about how I’ll have to shave before tonight’s show. “All those rules he forced on us, my mind and body react automatically. I can’t help it.”
“You mean shutting down into an emotionally stunted ape? Or do you mean getting a stiffy whenever you’re about to do something huge? Like going on stage, maybe?”
My mouth hangs open. “How did you know? Do you—?”
“No. Not me. Shaun. It happens to him all the time. Although, he really is an emotionally stunted ape,” Liam jokes.
A knock on my hotel room door interrupts our laughing. “Look, I gotta go.”
“Anytime, Dax.”
“Give my love to mum. Cheers.”
I open the door to a, thankfully, sober Adam. He pushes past me and flops down on my sofa.
“Why don’t you just make yourself at home?” I quip.
“Heard from Kate?”
“Huh?” I narrow my eyes. “Why are you asking about Kate?”
When Adam’s face turns bright red, I know I’m not going to like the answer.
“Adam—” I say threateningly.
“Here mate. Don’t get all puffed up. We know it’s bollocks. But, ummmm—”
He tosses me a magazine, which I snatch mid-air. “What’s this?” I growl, not sure I like whatever is going on here.
“Fuck, just remember mate… like I said, it’s complete crap.”
I open the magazine to where it’s been folded back and skim the page. What. The. Fuck.
My first instinct is to punch the hell out of something… anything, whatever will make the sharp pain in my chest go away. Adam must notice, because he jumps up from his seat and guides me to a chair, pushing me back into it.
“Don’t fuck up your hand, Dax. Not over this. It’s not worth it.”
“Not worth it?” I snarl, staring up at him. “Kate’s gonna—” I suck in a sharp breath, “She’s gonna see this and think. Oh no. Fuck no. That bitch isn’t doing this to me again. Bloody Lila Griffin!”
Leaping to my feet, I shove him out of the way and head for the door.
“Dax! Don’t!” he calls out. Adam grabs my arm and I instinctually swing, grazing his chin with the edge of my fist.
He stumbles back, stunned, while I stand there horrified.
“Jesus, mate. I’m sorry.” The blinding rage takes a backseat to the fact that I just punched my best mate.
“No worries.” Adam rubs his jaw. “Huh. Honestly, I always wondered what it was like to fight you. I thought you’d hit much harder than that, actually.”
I’m shocked into silence for a moment, then burst out laughing. “If I had actually hit you, like full-on for real hit you, you’d have a broken jaw, mate.”
“No doubt. No doubt,” he chuckles. “So. Let’s go grab a cold one before we have to be at the arena, like the good old days.”
My eyebrows fly up. “The good old days? We’re only twenty. Do we even have good old days yet?”
“Yeah. We do. Feels much older sometimes, doesn’t it?”
I take a good look at Adam, a man I’ve known for most of my life. He’s right. He does seem older, worn down by life and its never-ending bullshit. The booze doesn’t do him any favors either. Yet despite all that, his public persona is captivating. People fucking love him.
“Yeah, sometimes it does,” I admit. Growing up in Hackney won’t keep you youthful looking, that’s for damn sure. “Fine.” I chuck the magazine on the sofa. “Let’s go. But I’m not going to forget what Lila’s done.”
Adam puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a brotherly squeeze. Grinning, he opens the door, waiting for me to grab my wallet. “That’s all bullshit, Dax. We’re fucking rock stars, mate. Let’s go live like it!”
I glance over at the magazine and realize I’m too tired and too angry to deal with it right now. Maybe Adam is right. I need to loosen up.
“Let’s go. Lead the way, Mr. Reynolds.”
Why I thought doing anything Adam suggested would be a good idea, I have no bloody clue. The bloke is a walking disaster of epic proportions. Yeah he’s great and brilliant musician, but Adam’s judgment, especially post-Ellie, is total crap.
One thing I have to credit him with, he knows how to have a good time. We ducked out of the hotel without telling anyone and asked the cabbie to bring us to the nearest college bar. Women and alcohol are Adam’s answer to everything.
“That’s sooooo interesting,” a too-skinny redhead says, brushing her tits up against my arm as I try to scoot away on my barstool.
“Right, Dax. Sooooo interesting, isn’t it?” Adam copies with a smirk. He’s lucky we’re in public, or I’d smack that look right off his face. Okay, so I wouldn’t. He is my best mate, after all.
“What’s it like living in Seattle?” Adam asks a gorgeous blonde that has made herself quite comfortable on his lap. Huh, I guess we’re in Seattle. It gets confusing after a while. Too many cities. Even on a piss up Adam always knows where we are. It’s a talent.
“It’s not as fun as it must be in London,” she squeals. “Oh! Have you met Prince Harry?”
The redhead chirps in. “Yeah, he’s hot!”
“Ummmm, no. I haven’t,” Adam says, hiding his impending laughter behind his pint glass, his shoulders shaking in amusement.
These girls are idiots. Pretty to look at, but dumb as doornails. Perfect for a quick shag or suck in the loo. I blink hard, wondering why that though popped into my head. I have Kate. Smart, kind, brilliant Kate. I won’t ruin what we have for a nameless shag, no matter how hard my dick is right now.
“Dax, right?” the redhead asks, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Right.” I motion to the bartender who comes over straight away. “Can I have another pint?”
The dark lager slides across the bar into my waiting hand. I need it if I’m expected to deal with Red here grinding on me and no relief anywhere in my near future.
“You’re hot,” she says, dragging her painted fingernail down my pecs.
“Thanks,” I say blandly, keeping my ever-present composure up while my cock hardens in my briefs.
“Be right back, mate,” Adam says cheerfully, pulling the blonde towards the back of the bar. Fucker. The thought of him getting sucked off while I sit here drinking is depressing. And it makes my cock even harder from frustration.
Luckily, I’m an expert in self-denial. After years of having my urges controlled by my dad’s schedule, I know how to go without sex for extended periods of time. Six weeks is rough, but I can do it. I have to do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Kate.
“Chop chop boys!” Lila’s grating voice burrows right under my skin and starts crawling around like an army of ants.
I yank up my trousers, spinning around to see her smirking.
“Fucking hell, Lila! I’ve told you to bloody knock on the fucking door before coming in.” I am so sick to death of her shit. Because I won’t speak to her most of the time, she’s taken to trying to catch me naked or semi-naked before or after sh
ows while I’m changing.
“Sorry, Daxey,” she pouts, her eyes shining with lust and her skin flushed pink.
“Lila, get out!” Adam takes her shoulders and spins her towards the door.
“No. Wait!” I walk over and put myself between Lila and the exit, giving her my best angry scowl.
“Need something, Daxey? You know what I can give you,” she purrs, sliding closer.
I hold a hand out to keep her from advancing. Over her shoulder I see Adam’s eyes widen. He knows me well enough to predict what’s about to go down, and he knows it isn’t going to be pretty.
“Gavin, hand me the magazine.” My hard gaze never leaves Lila’s. She shifts uncomfortably, the dents in her armor showing.
“Here you are,” Gavin says gleefully, smacking the rolled up magazine into my outstretched hand.
“Daxey, I really need to get going,” Lila cries in that whingy voice of hers.
“You’re not going anywhere until you explain this.” I hold out the magazine article from the club in Chicago. “Girlfriend, Lila? Really?”
She blanches, but holds her ground. “They put whatever they want in those things, Dax. That’s not my fault.”
It doesn’t escape me that she didn’t call me Daxey. “This shit is going to stop, Lila. I’m not your boyfriend. You’re not my girlfriend. I don’t want the media thinking it, photographing it, or reporting on it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Lila’s face twists into a sneer so powerful that it would be intimidating to most people. I’m not most people.
“This is the game, Dax. I’m in promotions and getting you and the others recognized and talked about is my job. Tell Kate to get over her jealous whining and that this is the way it is in the big show. You too Daxey. Public perception is everything. Your fans don’t want to see a hot stud like you hanging out with boring Miss Nobody. You’ll thank me when you see your album sales increase.”
Lila pushes past me and stalks out of the room leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.
Kate
Three weeks later
“Good job everyone!” Coach Russo high fives us as we leave the pitch, giddy after another win at home.
“Thanks Coach,” I say as I slap his hand.
“Great game, Campbell. Great game.”
Smiling, I hit the locker room to change out of my kit and grab a shower. Dax is back from his tour and supposed to come over later. I took Abby’s advice and gave in, finally speaking to Dax on the phone. He confirmed that Lila set the pictures and article up for promotional reasons. He claims he had no idea she was standing next to him when the photos were taken.
I have no reason not to believe him, but my low self-esteem rears it’s ugly head. Why wouldn’t he prefer Lila to me? She’s rich and blonde and drop-dead gorgeous, with a famous father to boot. Even I was convinced that the photographs were real. They look perfect together.
Then there were pictures of Dax and some ginger slag cozying up in a pub in Seattle. After getting hysterical, eating an entire sleeve of Oreos, and getting ready to call Dax screaming, Abby talked me down by pointing out that there are going to be loads of similar photos in the future, and I’d either have to trust Dax to be faithful, or break up with him now.
Once again, Abby was right. I don’t have to like the photos, but they are going to happen. Plus, Dax promising he’d try harder not to be caught unawares by the paparazzi helped soothe things over.
Reaching into my locker for my mobile, I bring up a picture I took of Dax and me before he left for the tour. He’s as handsome as ever, gorgeous smile, angled jaw, and rugged good looks. Then there’s me, plain, no makeup, wearing athletic gear and a ponytail.
I drag my finger down the picture of Dax’s face.
“What’s got you all mooney-eyed?” my teammate Brittany asks as she tosses her filthy cleats into her bag. I quickly lock the screen and toss the mobile onto the bench.
“I am most certainly not mooney-eyed!”
Brittany rolls her eyes. “You are so mooney-eyed I’m surprised that you aren’t humming cheesy love songs, Kate.” She chuckles at herself.
“Ok fine. I might be in a good mood,” I admit, pulling my hair up into my customary high ponytail, which, in light of my recent thoughts, makes me frown. I’m so predictable.
“So…?”
I look at Brittany, confused. “So… what?”
“Who’s got you so giddy? A man? You’ve never mentioned anyone.” She hikes her bag on her shoulder and we walk out of the locker room together. I shoot her a look to which she responds, “Please. I can tell it’s a man. No one gets like that unless love is involved.”
Trying to act casual, I play it off like no big deal. I haven’t mentioned Dax to my teammates because we only started dating this summer and by the time school started, the band was on tour. Plus, I’m not sure I want to share my semi-famous boyfriend with anyone else yet.
“Just a bloke I know.” I shrug casually as if it’s no big deal that I’m finally in a relationship with a man I’ve been in love with for the last fourteen years.
Brittany laughs loudly, following me out of the locker room. “Yeah right. ‘Just a bloke’,” she says in the worst British accent I’ve ever heard.
I laugh with her and push open the door to exit the athletic building. We must walk through a black hole that takes us to hell, because no sooner have we stepped foot outside than we are completely surrounded by screaming, pushing, loud reporters. Men with enormous cameras jostle for position amongst the journalists that shove microphones and recorders under my nose.
“Jesus! What the hell?” Brittany shouts as an overzealous paparazzo shoves her aside.
Brittany, being a brilliant defender for our team, kicks the man in the shin, eliciting a loud complaint.
“Kate, what the fuck is going on?” she asks, threading our arms together so we won’t get separated again.
I don’t want to explain it to her, and don’t get a chance. The questions have already begun.
“Kate! Is it true you’re dating Dax Davies from Sphere of Irony?”
“Kate! Kate! Did you cause a break up between Dax and Lila?”
“Kate! What’s it like being the other woman?”
“Kate! Are you dropping out of school to join Dax on his next tour?”
Holy hell.
The pack gets closer and closer until Brittany and I can no longer move. I resort to being polite so I won’t break down crying in front of them.
“Please. Let us through. We just want to get home.”
It doesn’t help. The extremely personal, and mostly untrue, questions keep hitting me rapid-fire like bullets sprayed from a machine gun. It’s been less than two minutes since we’ve stepped out of the building and I’m nearly in tears from the stress. The blood pulsing behind my ears is so loud I can barely hear Brittany threatening the reporters with bodily harm if they don’t let us through.
“Get out of here!” A thunderous voice booms across the quad. “This is completely out of line!” Muffled curses erupt from the direction of the bellowing. Coach Russo pushes his way into the tight inner circle amid a sea of protests.
He stands directly in front of Brittany and me and addresses the reporters in his loudest ‘don’t fuck with me’ voice. “You are harassing my players and causing a disturbance on campus. I will call the police if you don’t allow us through!” He puts one hand on the back of each of our necks, guiding us through the crowd towards the safety of the athletic building.
Once the door is shut and the frenzy locked out, Coach turns to speak. “They’re not allowed inside the buildings on campus without permission, but the public areas are fair game.” He gives me a strange look and turns to Brittany. “Miss Cavanaugh, you may go out the back entrance. Miss Campbell,” his piercing gaze hits me again, “come with me to my office.”
Brittany stares at me as if silently asking if I’m okay.
Nodding, I let her know it’s
fine. “Go ahead, Brit. I’ll talk to you later.”
She’s hesitant, I can see dozens of questions in her eyes, but eventually she turns and goes down the hallway in the opposite direction. Inhaling deep, I follow Coach Russo to his cramped, messy office.
“Sit.” He points at a chair covered with equipment. I move each item to the other one, now overflowing, and drop down heavily once it’s clear. He is a terrible slob.
Coach sits behind his desk, clasping his fingers in front of his mouth in a steeple. “So. Want to explain whatever that was I just saved you from?”
I stare at my hands, so not wanting to discuss Dax or my private life with my coach.
“Kate,” he says in a softer tone. “What is going on? Are you in trouble or something?”
My head snaps up to meet his concerned face, his dark eyes shining transparently with his desire to help.
“I’m not in trouble, Coach.”
He sighs, sitting back in his chair, which emits a loud squeak as it bears more of his weight. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears.
“Alright. But I can’t have reporters accosting my players. If you need something, ask.”
“Right, Coach.”
“I’ll walk you out the back to make sure there’s no one there waiting for you.” He stands up and joins me on the other side of his desk. Coach Russo isn’t a large man, just an inch or so taller than me. His skin is a dark olive and his hair jet black and curly, giving away his Italian heritage almost as much as his last name.
“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
He nods, opening the door to his office so I can exit first. We walk to the back of the building in silence and I relax my tense muscles when I see that the only people outside are a few members of the track and field team, warming up for practice.
“It’s clear. Go home, rest, and remember, Kate, you can talk to me about anything. You girls are my responsibility.” His dark eyes shine with concern.