Kick

by Dean, Ali

  He tries the door, finding it locked. “Fireball, are you okay?” Now concern fills his voice.

  Channeling as much indignation as possible, I unlock the door and swing it open, shooting the meanest glare I can muster at Jack.

  His shocked expression is not what I’m expecting, and causes me to pause before I attempt to rush past him. Jack grabs me around the waist, stopping me. Will and Townie look on with wide eyes as Jack pulls me to his chest and walks us back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  “What is going on, Fireball? Why are you crying? Why were you about to run away?” He sounds genuinely distressed, and now I’m just confused as hell. My lower lip starts to tremble and before I know it, the tears are streaming down my face again.

  “You and Addy?” I finally manage to choke out.

  He frowns, and keeps frowning for an uncomfortable amount of time.

  Jack’s arms remain around me but I’m growing colder and stiffer as he continues to stare at me with this look of hard concentration. Is he trying to figure out how I figured it out? Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably regretting not telling the rest of the band to keep it a secret from me. Or maybe he doesn’t understand why I’m so upset. Did he think I would be okay with this? Oh God, it’s because of the way we met, how I only wanted one night.

  Jack finally breaks the silence. “Me and Addy? What are you talking about?”

  “You were alone in a room with her. The guys were in some kind of fight with Carson about it. Cassie and Townie and Will, all of them acting all weird like it was bad timing for me to surprise you. And then, our song, you… you had to force your way through it.”

  As I stutter out what I know, how I figured it out, his expression softens and he places a finger on my lips. “No, no, no, Fireball. God, you really think that of me? I was firing Addy. We kicked Carson out of the band tonight.”

  The vise gripping my chest releases and with the emotional whiplash, my head drops to Jack’s chest. Of course. This makes much more sense.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out in relief and apology. “I thought I was dying.”

  Jack strokes my hair. “How could you even think that?”

  I just sniffle into his chest. “I’m a mess. I don’t know. I was so confused. This night has been a mindfuck.”

  “Look at me, Fireball,” Jack demands.

  I raise my head, all kinds of embarrassed now. “I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t know why I jumped to that conclusion. It was just one weird thing after the next. I had no idea you guys were kicking Carson out. You didn’t tell me.”

  “I should have mentioned what’s been going on with him. I guess I thought I had.” Jack remains contemplative, and with his admission, I realize that he doesn’t talk about band business with me at all.

  “Why don’t you talk to me about it? Tell me what’s been going on? I want to be part of your life, not just an escape from it.” And I definitely want to be aware of what the hell is going on in his life in order to avoid the scenario that just went down. That’s for certain.

  He nods, seeming to understand. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll fill you in. You hungry? I’m starved.”

  We exit the bathroom, and Will and Townie apologize profusely for the misunderstanding, having figured out from my bathroom dash what conclusion I’d reached. We order pizza to the tour bus, not wanting to risk running into any of the ten thousand people in the audience tonight by going to a nearby restaurant.

  The guys tell me about Carson’s drug use, the increasing frequency, the numerous times they’ve given him another chance over the past few months. They’d considered cutting Addy loose early on, for a number of reasons, though without saying it I get the message a big one was her possessiveness over Jack. And she’s annoying, Will and Townie said. But they never did because they didn’t want to upset Carson. They were a package deal.

  The use of the term “package deal” reminds me of the conversation with Missy, but I’m not ready to think about it yet. I still haven’t told Shay. Jack and my parents asked me about it afterward, but I played it down.

  All the hotels nearby are booked, so we’re going to be sharing the bus with the rest of the band tonight. Fortunately, Jack’s bed is in the back; the middle ones belonged to Carson, Addy, and Cassie, who took off tonight, and the ones in front are Townie’s and Will’s. We’ll have a little distance from the others, minimal privacy, but enough.

  Jack and I stand to head to bed, when Townie suggests, “Let’s give Nolan a call. He can be a douche but he’s around, looking for work, and we need someone who can pick up quick.”

  Will nods in agreement. “He’ll work for the rest of the tour. I talked to him the other day actually and he said he was looking for gigs.”

  Jack’s hand tightens around mine, or maybe that’s my hand squeezing his. “Fine. Call him,” he says, resigned. He doesn’t sound happy about it, and I’m guessing that’s because he remembers Nolan hitting on me at StageFest.

  I wish I could tell Jack they don’t need a piano player. I wish I could tell Jack that, for the second time tonight, I think I might throw up. But I can’t. It’s not my place to weigh in on my boyfriend’s decisions about his band, especially when no one’s asked for my opinion. Nolan’s a dick, but I had it coming. I just hope Jack never sees that piece of me. It will send him running.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kick

  It might be the first time in my life I’ve been excited for a Monday morning practice. I didn’t get to campus until nearly midnight on Sunday night after flying in from Austin, so I’m running on four hours’ sleep when we jump into the water at five AM. The cold shocks my still-half-asleep body, and I welcome it.

  Nolan Hobart will be touring with Kings of Sound for the next three months. Playing on stage with my boyfriend and his best friends. Sleeping beside them on the tour bus. I haven’t been able to shake the sick feeling from Saturday night. Even after hours in bed with Jack the next morning after the guys gave us privacy, then hitting up an awesome brunch spot in Austin, I haven’t been myself.

  The fact that I’m here in the pool, attacking the warm-up like it’s a race, confirms I’m really losing it. Afternoon practices are usually when we go the hardest, but I’m in the mood to drown my anxiety with physical pain. We have a stroke set, and typically I’m dragging in the back of the lane, since I’m the only breaststroker in the fastest women’s lane, and breaststroke is the slowest stroke. Today, I’m determined to stay right on Beatrice’s heels as she struggles through the laps doing butterfly, a significantly faster stroke.

  “Damn girl,” Bea says when we get a short break. “You got extra energy from all that sex you had this weekend or something?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “A weekend without a meet used to mean you showed up Monday morning hungover, now it means you’ve turned into a sex-crazed maniac.”

  Shay says, “Maybe you and Daryl need to start having more sex, Bea. Kick’s practically grabbing your ankles today. Can’t have that.”

  Bea tilts her head. “Shit, you’re right. Daryl was out of town this weekend. That must be why I’m dragging.”

  The next set starts up, a freestyle one, and this time, I do grab Bea’s ankles and drag her back, passing her and shooting forward. Freestyle is the fastest of the four strokes but compared to other swimmers, it’s my slowest. This morning, I’m on fire.

  I know it won’t last though. I can’t sustain running on shitty emotions. Eventually, I’m going to break.

  * * *

  It’s Saturday night and Nolan has been playing with Kings of Sound for two weeks. I could have gone to Jack’s show, it’s only three hours away, but instead I’m on campus. I’ll be meeting Jack in L.A. in two weeks, so that’s my excuse for not going. Really, I’d be there in a heartbeat to support him, since I know the change has been rough on the band. But I hope to avoid Nolan for as long as possible.

  I cooked dinn
er for Shay, Bea, and some of the girls on the team, and everyone’s gone off to hang with boyfriends or do homework or something.

  I’m staring at my closet, rubbing my fingers over the red leather pants I wore the night I met Jack. I haven’t worn them since. The idea strikes to head to the Happy Hollow, a place I haven’t been to since… well, meeting Nolan Hobart. I have no idea where this idea is coming from, this urge to be the old me again, just for a moment. Is it weird I miss her? Or do I miss the brief comfort I got from pulling a guy in, wrapping him around my finger and sending him on his way?

  “Hey, can I talk to you?” Shay’s voice from my doorway startles me and I jump, hand on my chest.

  “Shit, sorry, thought you already left for Jett’s place.”

  “No, headed there in a minute though. I had a couple of phone calls with agents, actually.”

  “Just now?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I can’t sign with anyone until I graduate but I need to be ready to make a decision so I’m sort of in the interviewing process, getting to know the agents, who they work with, their philosophies, what kind of contracts I might have a shot at.”

  Of course, my sister would be on the ball about this, making sure she’s considering every option, doing her due diligence. “And you thought you would have trouble getting a sponsor. Silly girl,” I tease.

  She sits on my bed. “The agents are salespeople. They tell me they can get me big contracts, but who knows? And they want to know about Jett too, our relationship. I’m thinking that being with him has a lot to do with the interest in me.”

  She’s probably not wrong. Dating an Olympic track athlete, a silver medalist at that, now with his own major sponsorship deal, definitely boosts the “marketability” factor that Missy mentioned. “You’re pretty hot too, so that doesn’t hurt. Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a National champion and record holder, that you consistently race well, and that you’re the golden child in the collegiate swimming world,” I tell her, hoping she knows she’s enough to make it professionally with or without Jett Decker at her side.

  “Thanks,” she says. “But there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My stomach tightens because I think I know where this is going.

  “The agents ask about you, too. Missy told me she even talked to you. Why didn’t you tell me, Kick?”

  She sounds hurt, and she has a right to be. We used to tell each other everything. Everything important, that is. Since she met Jett, he’s her main confidant now, and I get that. We’re still close, things are good, but I never did confide in her about Nolan. “I was going to mention it, but I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about it and I still haven’t wrapped my head around it.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, curious.

  “I mean, Missy mentioned the possibility of a package deal contract. With the twin factor, my brand and blog, your consistent improvement and swimming accomplishments, we’re a good team from a marketing perspective. I get that. I want you to succeed. I want to help you. I know you can do it on your own, but I love the idea of doing it together. I just…” I look up at the ceiling. “I honestly never considered swimming professionally. I don’t know if I have it in me.”

  “You have the talent, Kick. No question about that. But you can’t do it for me or because having a sports contract means more security than going solo with the brand stuff. You gotta have the passion for swimming too, you know? It’s a huge part of our lives now but professionally, it will become the center of your life. I’m down with that, I want that. But I don’t have a million talents like you do. With everything else you’re passionate about, do you have enough left over for swimming?”

  I can always count on Shay to summarize everything I’m feeling, the ideas and thoughts bouncing around in me, and boil them down to a single question I can understand. “I don’t know yet,” I answer honestly.

  “Fair enough. Kick, I’d love to be on Team Spark with you from a professional standpoint, but you know we’re a team either way. So, think about it.”

  “I don’t even really know what these contracts look like. Is anyone telling you numbers? What’s the difference for you between going in on your own or going in with me?”

  Shay watches her finger as it traces the design on my bedding, and I know she doesn’t want to answer. “I’m not sure exactly, it will depend on a lot of factors. They can’t tell me anything for certain. I definitely need to get through the college season, see how it all goes, before I get more information.”

  “Okay, then, just ballpark.”

  Shay rattles off the numbers agents have been suggesting for contracts. If she enters a contract by herself, it will start as a very low salary, hardly enough to live on, but with bonus potential that would put her at a real solid income right out of college. That’s a huge relief. I know Shay’s been concerned she won’t make enough as a professional swimmer to support herself, that she’d need to get a job to make ends meet, and that Jett would want to help, which would be complicated.

  But then she tells me what it would look like if she signed a contract including me. Three to five times the salary, less reliant on performance-based bonuses, though they would be available as well.

  “You think the agents are bullshitting you? That’s crazy. That’s more than you would’ve made doing the banking jobs Mom wanted you to do. And then if you get bonuses, we’d be making like, I don’t know, maybe as much as Mom and Dad.”

  “Like I said, that’s only ballpark estimates, and the agents are also really trying to sell themselves to me so are probably exaggerating. But yeah, as a package deal, we’d do well. Maybe even insanely well, though it’s hard to say for sure.”

  A strange feeling takes ahold of me then, like I’m floating away from the conversation, like it’s all a dream. Getting paid real money, having a legitimate contract, to do all the things I love doing? That can’t actually be on the table. I mean, it’s not, it’s just a concept right now. I’d never imagined that posting pictures about the things I like, my opinions about shit like food and music, would help with the possibility of swimming professionally. It almost feels like cheating. I’m not good enough on my own to land a contract for swimming alone, it takes my sister and a handful of unrelated “achievements” based totally on luck for me to have this potential opportunity. Now that—that I can wrap my head around.

  “I guess I’ll have to see if summer nationals was a fluke,” I say, knowing Shay understands I’m serious.

  “It wasn’t a fluke,” she says, also without any humor. “You’ve got more talent than me in the pool, Kick. You keep training like you are, the results will keep coming. It’s really only about whether you want it.”

  Want it? Of course I want it. No, that’s not right. Not exactly. I need to give myself permission to want it. Permission that, once again, I feel unworthy to grant myself. Somehow, it’s easier knowing that going for it will help Shay too. It allows me to grant limited permission to dream, if only for Shay’s sake. So I’ll keep going for it in the pool this season, and see what happens. But I can’t let it be my dream. I’ll do it for Shay, but not for myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kick

  I’m back in the front of the crowd and Jack Kingston’s center stage. It’s the same spot I was in just over a year ago, when I saw him live for the first time. Only this time, I’m a different person, and I’ve seen a hell of a lot more than Jack’s rocker side. Coco is at my side, and we’re not at the Happy Hollow but in L.A. She’s never seen of Kings of Sound at a live show, and she’s whipping her head around, shaking her booty. Coco looks wild and carefree, and I have a strange rush of nostalgia watching her. I haven’t felt free like that in a long time. There’s been a heaviness coating me, and I don’t even remember when it started. It makes my chest tight, and sometimes I feel like I might be suffocating. Is it this relationship with Jack? It’s a lot. Long distance wit
h a rock star. The intensity of it, his declaration of love and commitment, it’s a hell of a lot.

  But no, this tightness in my chest started before StageFest. It started with Nolan Hobart. And now he’s up there on stage, standing feet away from my boyfriend, jamming away like he’s part of the team, like he belongs at Jack’s side.

  “You okay, sweetie?” Coco has to shout the question in my ear.

  I nod, but she doesn’t buy it. She takes my arms and tries to pull me through the crowd, but I shake my head. It’s jam-packed up here, and it will be next to impossible to get out. The energy from the bodies mashed together should make me feel alive, but instead it heightens the pressure weighing me down, making it hard to breathe.

  We’re at a venue I’ve been to before, even stood in the front like this at a concert with just as many people around. I’m cool with crowds. It gets my heart racing, makes me feel alive. Right now? My heart is racing all right, but it’s going to pound right out of my chest. I’m dizzy, and the lights around me are flashing and blurring together, the sound of Jack’s voice growing mushy and distant.

  My legs wobble and I start to go down, but I’m stopped by a body behind me, arms going around me.

  “Easy there,” a gravelly voice pierces through the fuzziness.

  “Kick!” I hear Coco exclaim.

  “I think she’s had a little too much to drink,” gravelly-voice says.

  “She hasn’t been drinking,” Coco says, or rather shouts, over the music.

  My body remains slumped against the stranger’s chest, his arms holding me up. I mean, I’m fine, I can stand now. I must have had a fainting spell. I’m not really sure, since I’ve never fainted in my life. But I feel like I do need the support for just a few seconds longer as I gather my bearings. I’m shaky. A little scared, really, to have lost control of my body like that, even if just for a few seconds. Maybe I’m dehydrated.