Strike: Dax

  “Adam? Adam Reynolds? All this time, she’s been talking to Adam?” Abby is talking to me, but her gaze is far off. Almost like she’s taking apart everything Kate’s done over the past two years and fitting the pieces back together with the knowledge of the assault.

  “Yeah. Adam. They don’t chat anymore. Adam won’t tell me anything about the conversations they used to have. Made me want to scream back then . But that’s Adam. If nothing else, he’s loyal to a fault.”

  I shrug and continue watching the game while Abby processes the news. A girl passes the ball to Kate and she does an incredible fake, spinning around and kicking it right into the upper corner of the net.

  Bloody brilliant.

  She’s the best striker I’ve ever seen. Hands down. I want to stand and cheer and scream her name, but can’t risk the attention.

  “It bothers me that she wouldn’t tell Adam who the bastard is that did it,” I say casually, my eyes still on the match. “ She didn’t happen to tell you, did she?”

  Abby eyes me suspiciously. “No. She didn’t.”

  “Hmph. It’s for the best, I suppose. Because if I knew who he was …” I stop to control the rising fury. “I’d bloody well be in jail by now.”

  “We can’t have that, now, can we?” Abby chuckles. “I wanted to find him and do terrible things to him as well .”

  I bark out a laugh. “ You would too .”

  “I feel like the worst friend in the world,” Abby says sadly. “I’m a psychology PhD candidate for god’s sake! I can’t get her to talk to me. About anything. I could have helped! I could have done something .”

  Abby’s voice is rising, the sharp tone of hysteria bleeding through. I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Abby, calm down. How were you to know? It happened…” I pause, the familiar nausea welling up when I think about my role in the attack. “It happened right after Kate and I broke up. Then… that happened. It’s my fault, you know. For dumping her. She never would have been at a party drinking herself into a stupor if I hadn’t been such a stupid idiot.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous Dax. Hell, I might not be a licensed psychologist yet, but even I know that you can’t blame yourself for what some asshole did to Kate.”

  I turn away from Abby, watching Kate run down the pitch. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, knowing that this is as close as I’ll ever get to her again. I can’t answer anymore of Abby’s questions, the hurt is still too intense.

  “I have to go. Please don’t tell her I was here.”

  Without looking back or waiting for a response, I stand up and leave the stadium, my heart lying broken on a football pitch in Southern California.

  Kate

  “Abby! I’m leaving for work.”

  “Okay, Kate! See you later!” my flatmate Abby yells out from behind the bathroom door where she’s getting ready for her internship at a counseling center. It’s been a good job for her to have while she’s getting her PhD here at UCLA.

  Thank god she got in, because it means I still have my flatmate and best friend. At least for another few years.

  Smiling, which is rare for me these days, I grab my bag, locking the door behind me. Summer in Los Angeles is brutal, so I shouldn’t be so happy to be working outside, but I scored the perfect job after graduation. It’s even within walking distance of my flat, which means I don’t have to take the horrid, sweaty bus anymore.

  Ten minutes later I’m entering an air-conditioned building that serves as home to ESAC, the European Soccer Association of California, a top-notch academy that trains and develops future football stars. And I’m one of their trainers. While still at uni, I interned for their summer camps. When I received my degree in sports medicine last spring, they took me on full-time as a trainer.

  I love working with the kids and continuing to have football, I still can’t bring myself to call it soccer, in my life. In fact, I play for a local women’s premier league team as well, simply because I can’t imagine not competing in some form or another.

  “Kate, you look lovely.” Logan, one of the full-time academy coaches gives me a huge smile when I pass by his messy office.

  “Logan.” I should know better than to flirt with my sort-of boyfriend at work, yet I can’t help but grin back. The way Logan blatantly adores me is almost addictive. He’s good for my ego. “Missed me already, yeah?” We spent last night together having dinner out before he brought me home.

  That’s the other good thing about him. Logan is very patient when it comes to… sexual activities. I’m nowhere near ready for that.

  “Whenever you’re not with me I’m missing you,” he replies with a wink.

  Grinning, I head for the locker rooms to change. Logan is the first, the only, man I’ve dated since Dax and since that terrible incident with Wes.

  It took me a while to accept that Dax was gone and never coming back. Some days, my heart still aches for him. I wake up and swear that I smell him on my sheets, feel his presence in my bed. It took just as long to begin to trust men or want to be intimate again. I’m thankful I had my friends there to help me through it. Well, one friend in person and one on the phone.

  Most days, I’m able to move on with my life and be somewhat happy with Logan.

  It only took watching five minutes of watching a Lila’s television program to finally cure me of my fixation on all things Dax. At least, I tell myself I’m cured.

  Work goes well, all of the girls are focused and driven. Logan has an adult league game of his own tonight. He’s highly competitive, possibly the most competitive person I’ve ever known. Sometimes, I can’t take it he’s so bloody arrogant when it comes to footy. He actually had a tantrum once when I stripped him of the ball while we were messing around on the pitch.

  But he worships me. I can deal with a little bit of a competitive streak.

  Since Logan’s not going to be around this evening, I quickly shower after work and walk the few blocks home to the little flat I still share with Abby.

  “Kate!” Abby barrels into me the minute I come through the door. “Oh my god where have you been?” she screeches, hugging me tight.

  “What the hell, Abby?” I check the time on my mobile. “I’m only a few minutes later than usual.” I patiently wait for her to let go, but it’s apparent that she isn’t moving. “Can I put down my bag and get a drink?”

  “Oh. Sure. Sorry.” She drops her arms, hopping up and down on her toes as I get a Gatorade out of the fridge, chugging half of it down in seconds.

  Abby is fidgeting excitedly while I drink, which in turn makes me incredibly nervous.

  “What? Just say it. You’re freaking me out.” I clench the bottle of blue liquid in my hand . Waiting for whatever news Abby is about to drop on my head.

  “There’s a voicemail for you!” she squeals. “Go check it!”

  “What is it?” I ask, irritated that she won’t just tell me. I despise surprises.

  “Go listen! Go, go, go!” She stays on my heels for the short walk to the table where we keep the house phone. Picking it up as if it were a bomb about to explode like in those old Mission Impossible shows on the telly, I dial the code for our mailbox.

  A recording of a British woman with a Northern accent begins.

  “This is Chelsea Lewis, coach for the 2012 Olympics women’s football team to represent the U.K. I’d like to speak to you about trying out. London is the host city and we want to make a good show of it. Call me at…”

  Dazed, I hang up the phone, staring blankly at the wall.

  “They want me for the Olympic football team.”

  “I know!” Abby is jumping up and down, looking as if she might burst from excitement.

  “England never has a women’s football team in the Olympics,” I mutter, more to myself than to Abby.

  She stops bouncing immediately. “What? They don’t? Isn’t that like, your national sport?”

  I explain to my oblivious American friend. “Women’s footy i
sn’t a big deal in the U.K. like it is here in the U.S. I don’t know why, it just isn’t. I was lucky to attend a school that had a program. It’s the reason I had to come all the way here for university.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.” Abby shakes her head.

  “I don’t really understand why they’re having a team now,” I admit.

  “Then call the woman back.” She points to the phone that’s still in my hand.

  “Right. Oh,” I glance at the time and frown, doing the math in my head. “It’s late there already. After midnight. I’ll have to ring her tomorrow.”

  Abby wraps her arms around me in a big, comforting hug. “I’m so proud of you, Kate.”

  “I haven’t made the team yet, Abby.” Even though I’m being cautious with my excitement in case it doesn’t pan out, I can’t help the grin on my face or the way my spirits have been lifted.

  “You will. I know it.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I joke.

  Abby give me a serious look. “I know so.”

  I won’t admit it to Abby, maybe not even to myself, but this is the most hope I’ve had for my future since Dax walked out of my life two years ago.

  It never occurs to me that my first thought wasn’t to ring Logan and share the good news, it was to ring Dax.

  Maybe I’m not cured after all.

  Dax

  “This is so stupid,” I mutter to myself as I stop my Ducati in a large parking lot surrounded by a half-dozen green football pitches.

  Kicking down the stand, I pull off my helmet and set it between my legs. There are players on every single field, ranging in age from primary school through young adult. The littlest children squeal in delight as they pass the ball back and forth. Wistfully, I remember wanting to play footy as a kid and my dad responding by having me hit a punching bag for an hour.

  I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I just need to make absolutely sure Kate is okay. I’ve been replaying the conversation I had with Abby at Kate’s football game over and over in my head for the last six months. Once I let the cat out of the bag about Kate’s assault, I never got around to finding out if Kate was able to find some semblance of happiness.

  For some reason I need to know.

  Reaching down, I pull a hat out from the compartment under the seat and tug it down low. Hopefully, with my sunglasses on, no one will recognize me. It tends to be fifty-fifty when I go out alone without a beard or disguise of some sort. When I’m with Adam, it’s one hundred percent guaranteed that someone will spot us. There are quite a few benefits in not being the lead singer.

  I don’t want to pass through the actual office building to get access to the pitches. There’s too much chance in being recognized and then I’d have to explain my reason for being here. I walk directly over to the fence surrounding the property that spans the length of the fields. I’m passing the second pitch when I spot her not more than twenty meters away.

  Heat spread across my skin, my heart pumping blood through my veins at a pace fast enough to feel my pulse throbbing in my neck. A lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it refuses to move.

  Unwelcome emotions flood my brain, emotions I’ve shut down every time they’ve tried to appear—longing, heartbreak, and most of all fear. Fear that Kate will turn me away, that she despises me for what I did.

  She’s speaking to a teenage girl, maybe fifteen years old. The girl is chatting animatedly, pointing down the pitch and making gestures as she speaks. Kate is smiling, her face radiant, nodding at the girl’s words. Kate kneels down and flexes the girl’s left ankle this way and that, doing some sort of clinical exam.

  Watching her, the genuine joy on her face, reminds me of a time when I was the one who made her happy. I was the one who held her when her team lost a match, the one she smiled at when she aced her latest exam. Seeing her getting along without me is heart wrenching. I’m glad that Kate has found something that makes her happy, yet I’m upset that it seems she was able to move on.

  What did you expect, Davies? For her to cry for two years?

  No. All I can hope for is that inside, she’s as lost without me as I am without her. That maybe some of the feelings she had for me are still there, even if it’s only a tiny sliver.

  The young player trots off towards the building and Kate begins to put her gear away.

  Now or never, Davies.

  I’m about to call out her name when a dark haired man dressed in football gear jogs up to Kate. I was wrong. Kate wasn’t radiant when she was helping the girl with her ankle. She was merely doing her job.

  When this bloke comes over, her entire face lights up in a way that makes radiant look dull. She’s stunning. She’s thrilled. She exudes happiness from every pore. The man lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her right there on the pitch.

  Fuck. She’s in love. And it’s not with me.

  CHAPTER 16

  Six months later

  Kate

  “Kate! Kate, wake up!”

  I gasp, shooting up out of bed, my heart racing in terror.

  “You were screaming. Are you okay?”

  My eyes adjust to the dim light of my bedroom, finding my poor flatmate crouched over me, looking scared to death.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. It was just a nightmare.” I fall back onto the bed, giving my trembling pulse a chance to slow down.

  “Jesus, Kate.” Abby sits down on the edge of the mattress. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I should. I really should. The nightmares have been getting worse. So bad, in fact, that I’ve stayed up late every night for a week. Maybe talking about them will help make them stop.

  It’s essential that they stop before I head overseas for the games leading up to the Olympics. That’s all I need is to terrify a teammate with my screaming nightmares. We’d both lose enough sleep to be crap on the pitch the next day.

  “Abby…” I pause, taking in a shaky breath. “ I’d like to tell you about my dreams.”

  Abby’s eyes go wide, the whites standing out in the dark room. Her hand digs under the sheets for mine, gripping it tight when she finds it. “Of course. We’re best friends. Take your time. Tell me what the nightmare was about .”

  Embarrassingly, the damn tears start welling up in my eyes. “Crap.” I use the corner of the duvet to wipe them off. How do I tell my best friend that I keep reliving the almost -rape from two and a half years ago? Only, in my dream, Dax and Lila are watching me, laughing.

  I spend the next twenty minutes giving Abby a tearful version of the different nightmares. The fact that the incident happened in this very room. In this bed. Certainly makes them worse. Abby cries with me, climbing under the covers and stroking my head while I sob.

  We lie there for a while, both of us emotionally wrung out. My stomach decides to growl quite loudly and inappropriately. Laughing, it breaks the somber mood and we decide to order takeaway.

  “Nothing helps heal the heart like a giant, fatty meal,” Abby chirps as she digs through a junk drawer for the menu to a local Chinese restaurant.

  “Ha!” I say sarcastically. “I wish. I’d be all fixed by now if that were true.”

  Abby puts down the stack of menus, walking up to where I’m plunked down on the sofa. “Stop that, Kate. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve been through some really fucked up shit, okay? You’re allowed to feel. Even if it’s not always good or happy, just feeling something means you’re alive. No one expects you to be perfect and smiling all the time.”

  I stare at my fingernails, suddenly fascinated by them. “I know that.”

  She rips my hand away from my face. “Do you really know that? It’s okay to take time to heal. It’s okay to need to figure out who you are.”

  I start to get defensive. “I know that, Abby! Why are you getting mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad, Kate. I just, I wish we talked sooner , more often . That’s all. Maybe I could have helped before it got this bad .”

  “I’m
sorry. Maybe I should have let it out and discussed everything . I just, I didn’t want you worrying for me all the time.” I start picking at the sofa cushion.

  “Well I do that anyway. Do you feel better? After getting it off your chest?”

  Do I?

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “See. At least my education wasn’t a total waste.” Abby picks up her mobile and phones in our order.

  While she does that, my own mobile buzzes from between the sofa cushions. I check it and immediately silence the call.

  “Ignoring Logan again? When are you going to realize that Logan might care about you, but he’s so jealous of your success that he can’t see straight?” Abby flops down next to me, jostling me sideways. “He’s been weird ever since you made the Olympic team.”

  “Hey! Buggar off! He’s not like that.” I say it confidently, but I know that Logan is exactly that… jealous. Since he found out I made the team, he’s been taking his annoyance out on me. Not physically. He snaps a lot, is easily frustrated. Or maybe it’s the lack of sex that’s got him all wound up since I still won’t go there with him.

  Maybe the dreams aren’t the only reason I haven’t spent time with him lately. He’s repeatedly attempted to move things forward physically, and had to deal with my rejection every time.

  “Have you talked about what’s going to happen with him when you leave the country next month?” She leans back with her arms folded across her chest.

  “Well, no. Not exactly. But—”

  “Like I said. You need to end things with him. At least have the decency to break up with him before you leave for Europe for a year.”

  I huff loudly, but don’t feel the irritation to back up the sound. “He wants to come visit. At the Olympics, Abby.”

  Abby’s mouth falls open. Her hands dart out and cover one of mine. “That’s a terrible idea, Kate. He won’t be able to deal with the attention you’ll be getting. He’ll make the proudest moment of your life miserable.”