The Complete Rockstar Series

by Heather C. Leigh

  “Oi! Where are you going?”

  My back stiffens at the sound of Adam’s voice. Using an extraordinary amount of control, I school my face and turn to face him. Then, I lose my composure.

  “Fuck, Adam. Your neck.”

  Adam winces when he gently touches the dark bruises that wrap around his throat. Bruises I put there yesterday.

  “No worries, yeah? I’ll be fine.” As usual, Adam brushes off his own health, giving me a weak smile. “But you, you look like you feel worse than me, mate.”

  “I’m just brilliant,” I say sarcastically, glaring at Adam.

  “You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”

  Adam looks… tired. Twenty-one years old and he looks like he’s been to hell and back. That still doesn’t give him the right to ask me questions.

  “Can we skip the interrogation? I don’t answer to you.” I grip the keys tightly in my fist, the jagged edges digging into my palm. I have to find Kate. I need to see with my own eyes that she’s okay.

  Adam drops down into one of the hotel chairs. Both of us have been living in hotels since Gavin and Hawke each moved out and got their own places. Neither of us could bring ourselves to put down permanent roots—most likely for the same reason.

  Adam brought me to his room last night to crash since I was in no shape to be alone.

  “Go. You should,” Adam says, nodding. “I didn’t fight hard enough to win Ellie back. At least you still have a chance.”

  My mate’s eyes go vacant, the way they do when he’s thinking about having a drink. I know that the minute I step out of the room, he’ll either clean out the minibar or head straight for the nearest bar for an all day-all night piss up.

  Sighing, I drop my keys on a table in the foyer and slide onto the chair next to Adam. I can’t leave him like this. Hell, I don’t even know if Kate would want to talk to me. For all I know, I’ll make everything worse.

  What’s best for Kate? I realize I don’t have a bloody clue. Instead of barreling ahead with my own actions—actions that are purely selfish—I make a suggestion.

  “Maybe…maybe we should use this.”

  Adam looks at me warily. “Use this? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know, our…” I swallow down the revulsion that’s trying to choke me. “Our emotions and feelings and shit. We’re both raw, yeah? Let’s use that to make a fucking brilliant song.”

  Adam’s solemn expression perks up then deflates again. “But we’re only in the studio for three more days. There isn’t time for a new song.”

  I reach down and pull a stack of Adam’s notebooks from under the coffee table, dropping them loudly on top. “I guess we better get started then.”

  Adam dials Ross to let him know we need a couple of days off before we get back into the studio. Ross is angry, but with the promise of a record-breaking song coming out of the deal, he relents.

  “Two days,” Adam says. “Bloody wanker only gave us two days.” He rubs his eyes and tosses his pencil on the dining room table. We have our notebooks open and spread out all over the surface, lyrics haphazardly written here and there.

  “Relax.” I can tell Adam is back to thinking about having a drink. His eyes keep flicking towards the bar. “We’ve got this. Haven’t we done this before? Fuck, we wrote a song in two hours once.”

  He laughs, his dark mood lightening just a bit. “Yeah. That was brilliant, wasn’t it?” Adam picks up his pencil, snagging the nearest notebook and dragging it in front of him. “Reckon I can write a sadder fucking song than you in less than an hour?” He cocks his head as one eyebrow lifts with the challenge.

  It’s not funny, writing about all the shit that has crushed your soul. Yet I can’t help but chuckle. It’s Adam’s way of dealing with stuff, making a joke or putting on an ill-timed smile. It’s what makes him so damn charming.

  “I’ll have the audience blubbering in no time, Reynolds. Challenge accepted.”

  Turns out, Adam’s a bloody genius. I mean, I already knew he was a genius with music—guitars and singing and what not. But he’s some sort of back room psychiatrist or something. Letting the blackness in my heart pour out of my hand and onto paper, releasing all of that negative energy and hate and helplessness… it felt fucking great.

  Twenty-one years worth of our hatred, frustration, love, and loss mash together to create some of the most brilliant songs we’ve ever written. When we finish two days later, we don’t have a record-breaking song for Sphere of Irony. We have an entire bloody album of award winning songs and a two lifetimes worth of suffering set free.

  57

  Dax

  Two years later

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  I flinch from the sudden closeness of a voice. Someone sneaking up on me has caused me to splash some of my drink onto my jeans.

  “Bollocks.” I turn to see who spotted me, wiping my hand on my sweatshirt.

  Bloody hell, it’s Kate’s flatmate.

  “Abby. Didn’t think anyone would know who I was.”

  The oversized hoodie I have pulled up over a cap and sunglasses would fool most people. Not having shaved in two weeks and sporting a fairly decent beard, that’s the bit that lets me walk around L.A. without being recognized at all.

  “I didn’t recognize you. A little bird may have told me you’d be here.” She holds up her mobile, as if that’s supposed to answer my question.

  “Who—? Hawke? You still chat with Hawke?”

  I didn’t know she kept in touch with him, but it seems obvious now that I see Abby smirking. Hawke, that little shit. I’ll have to have a chat with Hawke. Something about learning to mind his own business and not tell people where I’ll be.

  “We haven’t been speaking, per se.” Abby blushes. “Only recently. Anyway,” she waves her hand dismissively. “Enough about that. Why are you here, Dax?”

  She’s quite beautiful, Kate’s friend. Reminds me a lot of Ellie. Blonde, blue eyes, sweet—but Abby doesn’t have the same naiveté that was so endearing on Ellie. I can’t explain it except to say Abby seems to realize the world isn’t all butterflies and unicorns. Something that Ellie, who used to think the best of everyone, has certainly found to be untrue by now.

  “I heard about her joining the team.” My eyes are focused on the football pitch. I chose a seat all the way at the top of the outdoor stadium. I didn’t want Kate to spot me and definitely didn’t want to be seen by any fans. Not after what happened the last time I went to one of Kate’s games.

  I shudder just thinking about it.

  Kate graduated university a year and a half ago. I know this because I went to the ceremony courtesy of the Dean. He let me sit in a private box at the school’s massive indoor sports pavilion where the ceremony took place without even asking a single question as to why I wanted to be there. Sometimes it pays to be famous. You can get away with things that other people can’t.

  “You just happened to hear about her joining the team?” Abby asks incredulously. “Do you normally follow professional women’s soccer?”

  Abby has a gleam in her eye that lets me know she’s torturing me on purpose. “I just,” I drop my head and rub a hand through my hair. “I wanted to make sure she was alright. You know, that she was doing okay. I’ve been checking up on her here and there ever since she was assaulted.”

  “What?”

  Abby’s sharp tone makes me whip my head away from the game to find her shocked expression.

  Okaaay. I’m confused by her reaction. “What do you mean, what? That bastard who sexually assaulted Kate two years ago. I’ve been looking out—”

  “Oh my god.” Abby goes pale, her mouth hanging open. “You know?”

  I suck in a sharp breath and a knot forms in my stomach.

  Oh shit.

  “Fuck. I’m not supposed to know.” Christ, I’m such a fucking prick. “I’m sorry. I… shit.”

  Abby glares at me, which loses some of its potency due to the fa
ct that she’s still gaping like a fish. “Come to think of it, how did you find out? I sure as hell know she didn’t call you up to talk about it.”

  Fuck me, again! I’m really putting my foot in it today.

  The referee’s whistle catches my attention. I spot Kate running onto the pitch. Number eight. Same as it’s been since we lived in Hackney.

  “Dax.” Abby pesters. “Who told you about Kate? I mean, she didn’t even want to tell me. Oh my god, don’t tell me that Hawke knows. I’ll kill him if he does.”

  “No. Stop, Abby. Hawke doesn’t know anything. Shit. I’m not supposed to know. Kate called Adam, if you can believe that.” I huff in annoyance.

  It still stings that Kate turned to Adam instead of me. But hell, why would she turn to me? I’m the bloke who had just broken her heart.

  “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.<
br />
  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 isn’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.