“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.”
“IOC?” Adam asks.
“International Olympic Committee,” Scott fills in for him.
“So what you’re saying is that this is a party for all of the Olympic VIPs and what not?” I ask, trying to sound less threatening this time.
Scott smiles. “Exactly.” He opens up the door to a very nice private dining room. “Your instruments are ready in the main room. You can wait here while we introduce you. It shouldn’t be long. A server will be around to see if you need anything before you go on.”
“I’m going with Scott to mingle with the ‘VIPs’,” Cole says, smiling. “Text me if you need anything, but like he said, your wait will be short. You play, there will be a few speeches, the reveal, food and drinks, then done.”
We nod and agree and the two of them are gone.
“Bloody hell.” I collapse into a nearby chair, rubbing my forehead. “I didn’t know we were playing for the entire Olympic Committee in a tiny bloody restaurant with them all crammed up close. This is a huge deal.”
Adam grins. “Yep. I can’t wait. I’d love to pick the brains of the people who make the Olympics a reality. That’s really impressive.”
Jesus. Man up, Davies. You’ve played stadiums with tens of thousands of people. You can do this.
A man brings us all water and asks if we need anything. Adam orders a PG Tips with honey. The rest of us stick with the water.
“Ready?” Scott pokes his head in, his smile somewhat nervous. I note a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Hmph. Seems I’m not the only one who’s nervous tonight. Of course, he’ll probably be made redundant if this doesn’t go well.
Adam puts down his tea and stands up. “Let’s go.”
We’re lead down a short hall into a much larger dining area. The end nearest us is set up with a fairly large stage, our instruments in their usual spots.
Adam hops right up on stage and grabs the microphone. He immediately starts working the crowd, chatting on about the games, London, and anything he can think of while we take our places. Like I’ve said, when Adam is performing, he’s bloody brilliant. The audience is eating it up.
He shrugs on his own guitar and waits for Hawke to start us off. It’s our first time playing this song in public, one Adam wrote in rehab. He hasn’t outright said, but it’s clearly written for Ellie. In my opinion, it’s the best thing he’s ever written.
Hawke signals to start and the place fills with sound. The guitars, the drums, Adam’s clear voice—it’s perfect. At the end of the first song, I’ve relaxed enough to unkink the knots in my back. After the second song, I’m starting to have a good time. By the time we finish our set I can’t stop grinning. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
We’re shuttled back to the small room to clean up and get a quick drink before Cole herds us back into the party.
“They’re doing the unveiling now,” he tells us right before ditching us to suck up to more VIPs.
The people who have surrounded us to chat turn their attention to the stage when Scott takes the mic.
“Thank you all for being here.” Scott looks out over the crowd, exuding appeal. Not in the naturally captivating way Adam works an audience. Scott is less genuine, more rehearsed. He goes on and on thanking various people and organizations, causing me to check the time more than once.
Just as people become restless, a massive screen drops behind Scott on the stage. The lights dim and Scott begins his introduction.
“I’d like to unveil our 2012 Olympic Issue, featuring Women’s Soccer, I mean Football player, Katherine Campbell of team Great Britain.”
I stagger in shock and my hand clenches around my drink. I’m frozen in place as Kate, my Kate, appears on a twelve-foot screen wearing only a teeny tiny scrap of a bikini with the Union Jack printed on it.
When the real-life Kate walks out on the stage in a low-cut, too-short red dress, waving and smiling for the cheers of the audience, I nearly lose it.
I grab the back of Adam’s neck, pressing my fingers down tight.
“Ow! Sod off!” He tries to shake me off but I hold on.
“Did you know about this?” I hiss under my breath.
“What? No! How would I know? They’ve kept the bloody cover a secret! No one knew who was on it, just that it was an Olympic athlete.”
“Fuck!” I release his neck, only to fist my hands at my sides. My eyes turn back to Kate, who is finished with her speech already and is making her way down the stairs and into the crowd.
Scott holds out a hand to keep her from tumbling in her heels. The insane urge to rip his arm off and beat him with it roars through me. Kate has always been beautiful, gorgeous even. But she’s always had a shyness about her, an insecurity that held her back from reaching her full potential.
Tonight, I see none of that. All I see is an absolutely stunning young woman, confident and successful and proud of her accomplishments. That confidence is dead sexy and every guy in here is thinking the same thing.
The thought of all these men mentally undressing her—fuck, they didn’t even have to do it mentally with a twelve foot picture of her stripped down to nothing. It makes me want to wrap her up in my coat and drag her out of here so no one else can touch what’s mine.
She’s not yours, Davies. Hasn’t been for years.
And doesn’t that just make it worse.
“She must know we’re here, mate,” Adam says, tearing me away from my gawking. “She had to have watched us perform.”
He’s right. She knows we’re here. Should I go over to her? I’m at a loss as to what to do next.
Adam shoves me forward. “Right, we’re going to chat her up. I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“But—?”
My argument is short-lived when I see that Gavin and Hawke have already approached Kate and are exchanging hugs and kisses. My body goes rigid as their hands touch her bare skin.
Adam leans in to speak quietly in my ear. “Calm down, big guy. I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears.” He pats my back and continues pushing me along.
Kate is smiling at Gavin and Hawke, but it’s strained. She’s uncomfortable. This is supposed to be one of her proudest moments, a crowning achievement in her life, and I’ve gone and messed it up by existing.
Then those clear, green eyes meet mine and I no longer care—I don’t care who’s here or what the right thing is that I’m supposed to be doing, all I care about is her.
“Dax.” My name comes out on a quick breath. That raspy voice of hers still does things to me. The memories send blood rushing south .
“Kate.” The rest of the room fades away, like one of those cheesy Hollywood films. Until, that is, a swaggering bloke comes up,
slides an arm around Kate’s waist, and introduces himself.
“Hi, I’m Blake Marshall, Miss Campbell’s date.”
That’s the last straw. I lose it. The anger, the frustration, a lifetime of denying any of my true feelings, it all comes pouring out in one lightning fast movement.
My hands find the lapels of Blake Marshall’s jacket and I have him shoved against the nearest wall, snarling in his face, before anyone can react.
“Take your hands off of her, mate. Unless you want to lose them in an incredibly painful manner.”
“Dax, stop it!” Kate is futilely trying to pull me off of her date, while Adam and Gavin successfully manage to separate me from the tall, dark-haired man.
“Calm down, Dax,” Adam growls in my ear. “You’re making a scene.”
“I don’t fucking care. He’s touching my—” The harsh untruth of my outburst stops me cold. She’s not mine. I seem to keep forgetting that bit.
My clenched fists relax, allowing Blake to stand on his own two feet. “Christ, Kate. Forget any more favors after that …” he snarls, shooting an appalled sneer my way, “disgusting display.”
“Fine, Blake. It wasn’t my idea for you to come here with me. Go.” Kate shoos Blake away with a toss of her hair over her shoulder.
“Fucking hell. It was a setup and not a real date?” I ask.
Kate turns her furious gaze onto me. “Why hello, Dax. Nice to see you. How have you been?” she hisses so sarcastically I actually flinch. “Yes it was a bloody setup. Blake is on the Men’s Football team and the committee thought it would look good for us to come together.”
“Okay, so I could have handled myself better,” I admit.
Kate’s mouth drops open but no sound emerges. Her face begins to turn an interesting shade of crimson while the four of us look on.
Blessedly, Gavin breaks the silence. “Let’s move to the back room. People are staring.” He takes Kate’s hand and nods to Adam who then grabs my shoulders. Adam spins me around, giving me a hard shove down the hall to once again end up in the smaller room.
Strike: Dax Page 23
