After faltering for a moment, I find the offending device in my luggage.
“’Lo?” My voice is thick with sleep.
“Have you seen the news?”
“Abby?”
“Kate,” she huffs impatiently, “have you seen it yet?”
“Seen what?” I yawn, climbing back into bed and burrowing under the duvet. January in Sweden isn’t cold, it’s downright arctic.
“Oh my god, you haven’t!”
“Abby, it’s three in the morning,” I complain. “I’ve got a game tomorrow… sorry, today, and need to be rested.”
“It can’t wait, so get up and turn your computer on,” she demands.
Grumbling, I toss back the covers and shiver violently. “I hate you right now. It’s below freezing out and you’ve got me walking around my room nearly starkers, hunting for my laptop.”
“Put on a sweater and suck it up,” she laughs. “You’ll thank me when you see what I’m talking about.”
“Fine.” I open my laptop and boot up the computer. “What do I do?” I ask once my search engine is open.
“Go to E! Online.”
“Abby…” I warn, not liking where this conversation is headed.
“Trust me. Would I want to psychologically scar you?”
Of course she wouldn’t, she’s getting her doctorate in psychology so she can be a counselor. “No, you wouldn’t.” I type in the web address. When the front page comes up, I gasp.
“Told you. Enjoy it, Kate. You deserve to savor every single word. Love you!” She hangs up before I can respond.
Another full body shudder has me convulsing from the cold. I scoop up the laptop and climb into bed with it.
I skim the article, my mouth gaping in disbelief. I have to read it two more times before it sinks in.
Dax Davies Speaks Out
Notoriously tight-lipped guitarist for the multi-platinum Sphere or Irony, released a statement today via his public relations manager. In it, he accuses socialite Lila Griffin, of using her father’s position as producer for the band’s first three albums as a reason to In it, he alleges that she manipulated events, photographs, and film clips from her television show in order to portray them as a couple, when that has never been the case.
The statement from Rachel Whatley at Accessible P.R. read as follows.
Over the course of the last four years, Ms. Lila Griffin has subjected Mr. Davies to unwelcome advances, telling people that they were a couple and following him to various places including on tour, at recording sessions, and at public events.
In spite of being asked multiple times to cease her behavior, Ms. Griffin continued to harass Mr. Davies. Her father, Sebastian Griffin, the producer of Mr. Davies’ last three albums, used his position of power to force my client to tolerate the actions of Ms. Griffin unless he wanted to face severe financial consequences including the termination of Sphere of Irony’s contract with Underground Records.
Mr. Davies wants his fans and the public to know that despite what they see on Ms. Griffin’s television show, they are not, nor ever were together romantically. It has taken until now for Mr. Davies to speak publically because with the completion of their latest album, the band has fulfilled their contract with Underground Records and are not resigning with the label.
Mr. Davies’ legal team will be filing lawsuits in Los Angeles county superior court against Ms. Lila Griffin, Mr. Sebastian Griffin, and Underground Records for fraudulent misrepresentation, negligent misrepresentation, and coercion under threat of the loss of Mr. Davies’ record contract. Their actions in falsely portraying a relationship between Mr. Davies and Ms. Griffin has caused Mr. Davies and his friends and family to suffer duress.
Mr. Davies hopes that this statement clears up any confusion or misunderstandings anyone may have as to the nature of his relationship with Ms. Griffin. He apologizes to anyone who may have been hurt by the rumors perpetuated by Ms. Griffin. Any further questions can be directed to my office at
[email protected]. Thank you.
I swallow past the lump that has formed high up in my throat. All of it was fake. Dax was never with Lila. In fact, he’s suing her and her father for falsifying it all and forcing him to go along with it.
While my heart is soaring from this knowledge, it brings up more questions. One old question, actually.
If he wasn’t with Lila, why did Dax break up with me?
I close the laptop and sink under the covers. Everything I thought was true turned out to be a lie. Dax didn’t shag my horrid, disgusting flatmate. He didn’t dump me because he was screwing her on the side and preferred her to me. My mind is racing with all of the thoughts and questions I have and will probably never get answered.
The only thing I know for sure is that I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight.
Dax
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I check the bedroom of my hotel suite for a fourth time.
Nope. My book still isn’t there. I need my fucking composition book. Every single song I’ve written in the past six months is in there and it up and disappeared on me.
I have my mobile in my hand to ring up Adam when I remember that he’s been in fucking rehab for the last month.
“Bastard!”
Right, think Davies. Where were you the last time you wrote? Obviously not at Adam’s since he’s been in some posh resort where celebrities go to dry out.
Got it!
My finger swipes over the tiny screen until I bring up the correct contact. I push send and wait on edge while the phone connects. Feeling a little wobbly, I drop onto the bed as it rings.
“Dax! You calling about Lila? Crazy bitch.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “No, Hawke. I don’t want to discuss that psychotic nutter.”
Soon after the lawsuit was filed, Lila went officially mental. She was arrested after getting into an altercation in a popular L.A. club and refused to leave the premises. The police found several illegal and prescription drugs on her and in her car.
Of course, having a powerful dad, she was released within the hour. Last I heard, she was in mandatory rehab to stay out of jail. Being on loads of drugs would certainly explain a lot of her behavior, but I honestly think she was just obsessed with me. Plain and simple.
“Okay, okay. We don’t have to talk about her.” He chuckles What’s up?”
“Hawke, you haven’t seen my notebook have you? I might have left it at your place last week—”
“Hold on. Let me go down to the studio.” Muffled sounds of the phone being carried crackle in my ear. Hawke’s house has a soundproof room in the basement that we use when we’re messing around trying to get our songs right. We’ve only gotten together the one time since Adam’s been gone. It’s pretty useless without your lead singer and main songwriter.
“Is it that black and grey book you always have with you? The one with the guitar on front?” he asks, knowing damn well that’s the one. “Because it’s here.”
“Yeah. Thank god. I was going mental thinking I had lost it. A few of Adam’s lyrics are in there. We wouldn’t want anyone to get their hands on it.”
My frantic pulse begins to slow. I wipe my sweaty palms off on my jeans. Hawke doesn’t need to know that there’s a song in there that I wrote about Kate. About us actually. Our journey. Needless to say, it’s not a very uplifting song.
“Can’t have that. Wouldn’t want some other band winning a Grammy for our work,” he says in an amused tone.
“No.”
“So,” Hawke says, “We’re all going to the Olympics. Wild, isn’t it?”
I sit up straight at this piece of news.
“What? What are you talking about?” I practically shout.
“Holy… relax man. We all got the same email, or at least Zane did. I thought he would have told you about it.”
My hand grips the phone so tight that my knuckles begin to ache. “When did you get it?”
“Yesterday.”
&n
bsp; “Well fuck, Hawke. No I haven’t heard about it yet. Hell, it’s only been twelve hours. Zane doesn’t usually start work until noon and it’s only just eleven.”
“Oh, okay. See? He was going to tell you.” Hawke doesn’t elaborate which in turn, begins to make me aggravated.
“Why don’t you tell me what it said, Hawke?” I roll my eyes glad he can’t see me. I swear, sometimes I wonder what goes on in that tattooed brain of his.
“Sure. So, because the Olympics are in London this year, and I guess because you and Adam are such big stars…” I laugh at the exaggerated way he says stars. “The committee invited us to perform for some big event. I can’t remember exactly what or where we’re playing. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll check the email. Did Ross already approve it?” I think about going back so soon after I was just in London buying my parents their house. It doesn’t annoy me to go again. In fact, getting out of L.A. is probably a good thing. Away from Kate and the daily distraction of knowing she’s only a few miles away and I can’t do anything about it.
“I’m pretty sure. I mean, who wouldn’t want to perform at the Olympics?” I can hear Hawke’s doorbell ring through the phone. “Hey Dax. I gotta go. You want me to bring by the book? I’m headed out in a little while.”
“Nah. Just pop it in your letterbox and I’ll come round on the Ducati. I’m going to go out. I need a long ride to clear my head.”
“Whatever you want. I’ll stick it in there now.” I hear a giggling female voice and muffled talking. “Catch ya later.”
The call disconnects. I drop back on the bed, putting my arms behind my head. That’s a big deal, singing at the Olympics in my hometown. The urge to ring Adam strikes me again before I remember he’s tucked away.
Fuck that. He has visiting hours. I’ll go there and see him. Ross told us to leave him be and let him get better but I need my best mate.
I grab the keys to the Ducati, shrug on my leather jacket, and pull the door shut behind me.
Kate
Being back in London feels weird. It’s as if I never really lived here and my entire childhood was only a fuzzy dream. Thankfully, I don’t have to go back to Hackney. Too many memories, good and bad.
My mum and dad came to the flat I share with two other teammates so we can go out to dinner. Opening ceremonies are in a little over two weeks, so we won’t see much of each other unless I catch them at one of my games. They wanted tickets to every single one.
“Kate, we have to get going. Traffic is terrible. There’s been an accident on the A406 and it will take all night if we don’t leave now.” My dad is fiddling with his car keys while watching the traffic on the news.
“Dad, we just got back from dinner, are you sure you don’t want to stay a while?” My mum and I exchange worried glances. She mouths “your father is nervous about your thing tomorrow” while dad’s gaze is firmly fixed on the telly.
Ahhhh, that explains his odd behavior all night. I walk over and put a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Dad, I’ll be fine. I know it’s scary. Hell, I’ll admit I’m scared out of my wits. I haven’t a clue why they chose me, but they did and Coach said it’s not only good exposure for the team but that it’s a chance of a lifetime. Plus, it’s just… it’s something I need to do for myself, yeah?”
My dad turns and pulls me into a hug. I sink into it, missing the warm, comforting scent of him, the loving contact, missing my family. When he pulls back, there are tears shimmering in his green eyes. “I’m so proud of you, love. So very proud. This is more than I ever dreamed of when you were just a tyke in wee little footy boots running around the pitch.”
He smiles, his face older than the last time I saw him, the creases a little deeper, the grey on his temples a little more pronounced, but my dad is still the same man I remember. Caring, handsome but a little rough around the edges, and the best man I’ve ever known.
“Thanks dad.” My voice catches and even I have to wipe away a tear or two.
“Love, we really should go,” my mum says, pulling me in for her own embrace. After a moment, she releases me, patting my cheeks gently as she smiles. “Good luck. We’ll see you at your first game.”
“I love you both. Thanks for helping me get here. I know it’s been hard with me in the States—”
“Nonsense, love. We missed you, yes, but it was worth the sacrifice to see the woman you’ve become.” Mum squeezes my hand. “Come Charles,” she says to my dad. “Kate needs her beauty sleep for her big day.”
A few more quick goodbyes and they’re gone, leaving me in the quiet flat alone. Both of my flatmates are out for the evening. They aren’t the ones with a terrifying photo shoot tomorrow. One that might change everything. It’s scary, but I have to do it for me.
It takes forever to fall asleep, what with me worrying about bags under my eyes and the possibility of waking up with an enormous spot on my chin or some other ridiculous ailment. Yet at some point, I must drift off, because the next thing I know, it’s morning and I’m climbing into the backseat of a posh car sent over by Sports Illustrated to pick me up at the flat.
* * *
“How was it?” Rose, one of our keepers asks as we stretch on the pitch the next day.
“Odd.” I bend at the waist, wrapping my hands around my ankles as I press my nose into my knees. “Lots and lots of standing around. Honestly,” I sit on the grass to stretch each hamstring individually, “I felt ridiculous. Posing and what not. At this point, I’m hoping they make me look less stupid than I felt.”
Rose shushes me. “Don’t be daft. You’re bloody gorgeous. Of course you’re not going to look stupid. If anything, you’ll have hordes of blokes following you around drooling like dogs once that issue is released.” She pulls back a leg, stretching her quad. “Come to think of it, when does it come out?”
I have to shade my eyes to look up at Rose. The bright sunlight behind her makes her blonde hair glow like a halo around her cherubic face. “Three days before the opening ceremony.” The thought of it gnaws at my stomach, making me a little queasy. “For,” I make air quotes, “Maximum impact they said at the shoot. There’s even a big reveal party I have to go to.”
Rose giggles, “What they meant by maximum impact was maximum money lining their pockets.”
I laugh with her. “Exactly.”
Coach calls us over for our pre-practice pep talk.
Before I get up, Rose leans in. “Hey. I want you to know, if anyone gives you any trouble over the magazine, we all have your back. The whole team.”
It takes a lot to keep from choking up, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Thanks, Rose. That means a lot to me.”
She nods and we trot over to meet up with our teammates. Once Coach Lewis starts discussing strategies and formations, any worries I had are gone. I’m part of a team. My burden is everyone’s burden, that’s how it works. We’re a family.
I catch my teammates’ eyes while we huddle and I see it in each of their steady gazes—they’re behind me one hundred percent.
For the first time in a long time, I feel as if I’ve accomplished something to be proud of. I’m no longer Kate Campbell, insecure nobody. I’m Kate Campbell, member of the Great Britain Olympic Football team and I deserve to be here.
Coach wraps up her speech, high fiving everyone as we run out onto the pitch. I look up at the bright summer sky, blue as the Caribbean Sea without a single cloud in sight, and smile.
Dax
“What kind of bloody party is this, anyway?” I grumble from the back seat of the hire car that is bringing us to our gig.
“Who cares?” Adam says. “We got free tickets to the Olympics for doing this. Does it matter what it is?”
Christ. I almost like pre-rehab Adam better. Now that he’s sober, he’s all enlightened or some shit. It’s irritating. Especially when I’m in a crap mood. Which I am all the time now that I’ve found out Kate is competing for the women’s football team. Plus, he won’t
admit it, but Adam had to have known that before we agreed to perform. Which has me even more aggravated—if that’s even possible.
“I’m excited,” Gavin says cheerily. For once, the haunted look he’s been sporting for the past few months has faded. He looks healthier since we landed at Heathrow a few days ago. “I love Sports Illustrated. They do great features on surfing all the time.”
“Shut up,” Hawke snaps playfully. “You read it for all the pictures of half-naked men. We’re not stupid.”
Gavin laughs. “Well, there is that.” He bumps Hawkes shoulder. “You read it for the swimsuit issue, so you’re not any better than me.”
I roll my eyes as they have a laugh. Whatever. The three of them are too much for me to take right now. They’re all excited to be here and I’m the pissy bloke who wants to put his boot up someone’s arse.
The car glides to a stop in the back of some posh new restaurant near King’s Cross. Rachel had to stay back in Los Angeles, so she has one of her coworkers traveling with us. He hops out of the front and meets with the rep for SI at the back door.
“Okay guys. Let’s go in.” Cole, Rachel’s replacement, opens our car door, herding us inside the building.
The SI rep introduces himself. “I’m Scott Kramer, one of the public relations liaisons for the Olympics. We’re really glad you guys agreed to play tonight.”
“What exactly is this party?” I ask. When Scott’s face registers fear and he takes a step back, I realize I may have sounded a bit more intimidating than I intended.
“Ummmm,” he stammers a second trying to squelch his reaction to my intimidating demeanor. “Well, we’re unveiling our 2012 Olympic Issue tonight. The cover model is from London and is competing for the U.K. in the games, so we wanted a performance from a band that has roots in the area.” He gestures towards Adam and myself.
“And,” Cole interjects, “most of the IOC will in attendance, as will the London organizers of the games, and the mayor.”