Strike: Dax

by Heather C. Leigh

  Somehow, I manage to wait until the door closes behind me before I freak out.

  I saw some of the comments on those articles, confirming everything I already knew.

  “Why would Dax Davies hook up with that girl?”

  “Who is that nobody? She’s nothing special.”

  “God! I’m better looking than that! What is he thinking?”

  “Who would cheat on Lila Griffin? She’s smoking hot!”

  Instead of hopping the bus to practice, I walk, needing the time alone to process how my life is about to change. I don’t skip footy practice, ever, but I can’t bring myself to deal with it today. The fear of encountering another mob of paparazzi is enough to keep me away. Let alone what my teammates will think about the articles.

  My mobile rings several times in a row, texts pinging every few minutes. I know it’s Dax, so I turn it off, not ready to discuss anything while it’s so raw. While I’m so raw.

  Hours later, after wandering the city, I trudge down the hall to my flat, shoving the key in and more or less collapsing inside.

  Part of me—okay, a huge part of me—expected Dax to be waiting for me at my flat, overcome with worry, wrapping me in those massive arms and letting me know he was going to fix everything. Instead, I come home to a dark, empty space.

  Why would Dax be here? He’s probably realized how embarrassing it is for him to be caught “philandering” with a nobody footy player from Hackney. I mean, he’s never even told me he loves me.

  It seems that no matter how close I get to Dax, he’ll always be just out of reach.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dax

  “This is bullshit, Ross. It’s fucking manipulative and I won’t be a part of it.” I’ve jumped up from my seat on one of the plush leather chairs in my manager’s office. “Everyone at the label, and you as well,” I point at Ross behind his massive desk, “knows that this is all fucking Lila’s doing!”

  After seeing the ridiculous lies all over the Internet, I immediately called Ross to get this mess under control.

  “Dax, we don’t know that.” Rachel Whatley, head of marketing and promotions for our band, bravely puts a kind hand on my arm in an attempt to be reassuring. And fails miserably.

  “Rachel, you’re brilliant at what you do,” I say honestly, “but that little bitch you have working for you is devious and borderline psychotic.” My voice turns into a snarl by the time I’ve spit out the last word.

  Rachel frowns, almost looking hurt, but I know her better than that. She’s beautiful and charming yet tough as nails. She has to be to put up with spoiled rock stars and pompous men in power suits all day.

  “Dax, my hands are tied.” She holds her hands together as if they’re bound in a gesture meant to prove her point. “Lila’s dad is huge at the label. Hell, he’s huge in Los Angeles. I can’t fire her and I’ve tried to reassign her. She wants your account.”

  “This is crap! She wants it because she’s trying to ruin my life!” I roar, standing up to pace the back of the room.

  Rule 2—Never let your emotions show.

  Fuck that! I don’t know if I’ve ever been this angry. I know it’s because I’ve been rendered helpless and that pisses me off more than anything. Nothing I do will stop Lila and her campaign to stalk her way into my life. Even worse, this entire thing makes me look like a whinging crybaby, which makes me want to punch something until it bleeds.

  “Calm down,” Ross says in an even tone, but his eyes betray him. Wide and fixed on my clenching hands, I can tell he’s nervous to be around me when I’m this murderously angry.

  He should be afraid. Maybe a smack to his head will get my point across?

  “Dax.” Rachel has turned in her seat to watch me as I struggle to rein in my emotions. “I’ll talk to her again, okay? I promise.”

  My fists are balled so tight that I can feel the pressure in my knuckles.

  “What about Kate?” I growl.

  “What about her?” Ross asks.

  I leap over to him, slamming my hands down on his desk with a loud bang, leaning over far enough that he scoots his chair back to get out of reach.

  “They know who she is. She was fucking surrounded by paparazzi at her school, Ross! What are you going to do to get the attention off of her and keep her safe?” I bare my teeth, breathing heavily through my nose, knowing I probably look demented. Ross’s eyes get even wider, shocked that I’d direct my fury at him. He’s never seen me in the cage, doesn’t know what I’m capable of. Now, maybe he has an idea.

  Once again, Rachel plays with fire by touching me while I’m a hair’s breadth from exploding. She pulls on my arm until I sit back down in my chair.

  “Let’s come up with a plan, okay?” she says calmly. “I’ll call a team together and we’ll meet in the conference room.”

  Mashing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest to keep my fists under control. “Fine. You better not think I’ll be placated by some pathetic, hollow words and a pat on my back.”

  She smiles. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  Six and a half hours of ‘emergency meetings’ later and I’m so shattered my eyes are blurry. Who knew how much complete bullshit was involved in publicity? It’s all fucking smoke and mirrors with paparazzi set up to ‘catch’ you doing all sorts of things, from holding specific products to promote or being seen with specific people in specific places.

  The only thing we could actually agree on was leaving Kate out of everything—refusing to acknowledge her, any of the rumors, or draw attention to her by association. No way am I going to let this mess affect her anymore than it has already.

  While waiting for the lift, I pull out my mobile to call Kate only to realize it’s after midnight. Fuck. Kate’s big game is tomorrow. I can’t wake her up only to upset her with this load of bollocks. Frustrated, I shove the phone back in my pocket. Kate ducked out of my flat earlier without telling me, and when I tried to follow, Gavin said to give her time. I hadn’t meant to wait this long.

  “Hey, you can catch a ride home with me,” Rachel says as she reaches the bank of lifts and stops next to me. “I have a driver outside.” There’s a quiet ding and a set of doors slide open.

  “Thanks.” I let Rachel enter first before I follow, sagging against the wall with my eyes closed.

  “It gets easier to ignore.”

  I keep my eyes closed. “What gets easier to ignore, Rachel?”

  “The lies, the stories, the made up crap… it’s meant to sell magazines or to sell you. It’s not personal. You’re a product, a commodity. Eventually you’ll stop caring.”

  The lift stops on the ground floor. I don’t say anything until we’re settled in the back seat of a comfortable sedan, shrouded by darkness. My features are carefully blank, more out of habit than anything else since Rachel certainly can’t see my face.

  “Rachel, let me be perfectly clear.” I let the calm, even, yet very threatening tone of my voice say more than my actual words. “Anything, and I mean bloody anything, that upsets Kate isn’t something I’ll ever stop caring about. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, Dax. I understand. Unfortunately, the media doesn’t.”

  “Then they can fucking deal with me.”

  I leave it at that, too tired to think anymore tonight.

  Kate

  “Kate!” I cringe at the sound of my name, worried that the media bloodhounds have found me again. Footsteps pound the ground behind me and as much as I don’t want to face them again, I can’t let them sneak up on me. I turn around and exhale in relief.

  “Bloody hell, Jenna!” It’s only my teammate and soon to be kicked to death midfielder. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry, Kate. So, is it true?” She slings a friendly arm around my shoulders. I know she doesn’t understand that I don’t want to talk about Dax. That doesn’t stop the urge to tell her and everyone else on earth to piss off from catching in my throat.

  Sighing, I gently extract myself fro
m her embrace, using the excuse of opening the athletic center doors. “I’m not discussing it, Jenna. I’m sorry, but it’s not something I talk about.”

  “What?” she shrieks. “You’re dating Dax from Sphere of Irony and you don’t want to talk about it? Hell, I’d be wearing a t-shirt or take out an ad describing everything I’ve done to his hot body! Yummy!”

  I must be scowling, because Jenna’s eyes widen and her mouth drops. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Kate. You should be proud if it’s true, that’s all.”

  At least Jenna left out the bit where I’m too homely and poor for someone as perfect as Dax.

  We reach the locker room and I hesitate, not wanting everyone else to overhear and think they’re welcome to join the conversation. “That’s the problem, Jenna. I’m a real person. Dax is a real person. He’s not an object to brag about. I have actual feelings that shouldn’t be laid out just to be trod upon by everyone and anyone.”

  “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 goin
g 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.

  CHAPTER 12

  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.