“They’re coming for you, Jade!” I called.
As predicted, the opposing team sprinted down the left side of the field. And as Zelda said, Jade let them blow right past her. The left midfielder chipped the ball to the center of the field, but I had Marci beat to the ball by a half step, and I headed it out to the right side.
“Surprise seeing you here,” Marci snarled.
“I like to keep you on your toes,” I shot back.
“I don’t lose twice,” she spat before turning to head back to the halfway line.
As the defense pushed up to the halfway line, I took a moment to look at the parents’ side of the field. There were rows of camping chairs, some the basic foldouts, other seasoned soccer parents having sun covers and footrests. And then there was my mom. We hadn’t traveled with any sideline gear, so she’d taken one of Connor’s tour merch hoodies and had spread it on the ground, sitting on top.
I waved at her, and she enthusiastically waved back.
The first half passed by uneventfully. We didn’t score and neither did they.
“How does it feel to be back out on the field?” Coach Nicole asked me, as we broke for halftime.
“Great,” I said, guzzling down some water. “Feels like home.”
“They’re a good match for us,” Coach Nicole said to the team, once we had some water. “But we’re better, even if we’re not playing like it.”
“That’s so cliché,” Jade said.
“We’re playing hard out there,” Quinn argued. “It’s not connecting.”
Coach Nicole held up her hand to stop the girls. “Playing the blame game is only going to make things worse. That’s not team-work.”
Quinn and Jade exchanged glances, obviously both pissed.
“Let’s get back out there and kick ass,” Coach Nicole ordered.
“Because I’m tired of watching this lackluster performance.”
We hit the field again for the second half as the refs blew the whistle. This time we had kickoff, so this half didn’t start as intensely for us defenders. The ball bounced around in the offense for a few minutes before a bad pass gave it away to one of the opposite team’s defenders. I immediately readied myself, and I saw Marci tense up as well. It was down to another footrace.
The ball was chipped over our heads, just in the right place. Marci and I took off, the two of us neck and neck. I cut in front of her at the last second, passing the ball out to the right before she collided with my back at full speed. We hit the ground, and I let out a groan, my back throbbing. A hand appeared above me, and I used it to hoist myself up.
“You good?” Jade asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m good.”
Marci pushed herself up off the ground, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder blade. She gave me a death stare before jogging back to the halfway line.
“You look like you’re done,” Coach Nicole said to me, as I came to the sideline for water.
My body felt like it had been put through the wringer.
“I can take her maybe one more time,” I said.
“She’s too fast,” Angela said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Trust me, I know.”
The ref blew the whistle, and we hit the field for the last quarter.
“I’ll try to help you out,” Caroline said, as we headed back to our positions. “I’m not as fast as she is, but I might be able to trip her up a bit, enough to give you a little head start.”
“That would be a huge help.”
It was our throw-in over by the goalie box, and our striker took a shot on goal. It went straight to the goalie. My insides were churning as I anticipated what was coming next, with both Marci and me backpedaling. Caroline tracked the punt, battling Marci for it.
Caroline won control and passed it off to Quinn. I was happy to have dodged the Marci bullet.
The ball bounced around for the majority of the quarter, nobody really taking clear control.
Then, with less than one minute left, a bad pass gave the ball to the opposite team’s defense. Everybody knew the play. They chipped it over our heads, and Marci and I took off, once again side by side.
I knew what needed to be done, but it meant sacrificing my body.
But if it kept Marci from scoring, from winning, I was willing to do it. Without the time to cut in front of her again, my sprinting slowed from exhaustion. Instead, we were both going to reach the ball at the same time.
At the last second, I went for the slide tackle, taking the ball before I took her out, which made the move legal. She rolled over me as Zelda came out to clear the ball. The refs blew the whistle, signaling the end of the game, nil–nil. I didn’t want to move, and I wasn’t really sure that I could. My entire body ached. Marci was also still down on the field. Zelda offered me a hand up.
Marci’s team had already hit the sidelines, oblivious to her still lying on the field. As I thought back to the game, I realized that nobody ever took the time to help her up when she was down. I limped over to Marci, offering my hand.
She looked up at me and grimaced. Ignoring my hand, she pushed herself up off the ground.
“Good game,” I said. It felt bitter on my tongue.
“I will get you back, Jackson,” she spat.
“I’m not here to start anything.”
We lined up to shake hands with the opposite team. Marci didn’t shake a single person’s hand, and she took the time to stare at me as she passed by in line. I waved in return.
“Good game, girls,” Coach Nicole said, as we settled in. “You played hard. We have one round of sprints and then we’ll head home. Practice on Monday.”
With all of the adrenaline bouncing inside of me from the game, I couldn’t quite subject myself to the quiet night in my mom was set on having inside the tour bus. After a few strong suggestions of simmering down, I found myself with an agility ladder, running through footwork drills outside the arena.
High knees. Sidestep. Crossover. Centipede. In and out.
“Am I interrupting something?”
I let out a startled yelp, my foot getting caught in the ladder as I ungracefully fell to the concrete floor. I looked up to see Zach standing behind me, an amused smile on his face. He was dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a thin, white T-shirt. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing Zach Matthews.
“What are you doing?’ he asked, with genuine curiosity.
Am I sweaty? I tried to do a discreet smell test. “Agility training.
Just burning off some excess energy.”
He flashed his watch. “At midnight?”
“The best time.”
He reached his hand down. “Sorry for scaring you. Need a hand?”
I felt frozen as I stared at his hand, unsure as to what I should do. Zach Matthews offering me his hand was never a situation I’d expected to be in.
“Katelyn?”
As I hoisted myself up, I tried not to think too much about the fact that I was holding Zach’s hand. His callused but gentle hand.
As quickly as it started, it was over as Zach released his grip, letting our hands drop. “So what has caused the need to burn some excess energy in the middle of the night?”
“My mom is trying to have a peaceful night in. And I’m not quite ready to wind down yet.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I won’t bother you then.
Have a good night.”
No way was I letting this opportunity slip by. “I’d be happy to burn some excess energy with you.”
Oh shit. That didn’t come out right. And by the amused look on Zach’s face, he agreed.
“I mean . . . through conversation,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You know, just talking. Hanging out. Or not. Whatever—”
“I’d be happy to,” Zach said, interrupting my rambling. He gestured toward the arena wall. “Want to sit?”
I nodded, afraid that if I kept
talking I’d embarrass myself even further.
“All of my brothers went night swimming,” he said, as we took a seat. “I went downstairs to hang out for a bit, but I didn’t really feel like joining in. So I decided to take a walk, get some fresh air.”
“Night swimming? Is that something you guys do often?”
“It’s a Skyline tradition; every city we stay in we swim in a hotel pool after dusk.”
Having a family tradition was something I didn’t know I was jealous of until now. “That’s fun.”
He extended his legs out in front of him, glancing over toward my agility ladder. “You play soccer?”
I nodded, surprised that he remembered that.
“Which position?”
“Sweeper.”
His face went blank as he stared at me. “Riiiight.”
“The last defender before the goalie.”
“Oh! That makes more sense.”
His phone went off, and he silenced it before sliding it back into his pocket.
“What do you do aside from singing?” I asked.
“Write songs?”
Such a musician answer.
“I find it relaxing,” Zach continued, “which is ironic because everyone else I know finds it frustrating.”
“Like going out and juggling a soccer ball,” I mused.
“Juggling?” Zach asked. “You can juggle?”
How to explain this? I picked up the soccer ball, tossing it back and forth as I mulled over my explanation. “It’s juggling . . . but with your feet.”
“What?”
“Seriously? You’ve never heard of juggling a soccer ball?”
“No.”
I shook my head. “You’ve been deprived.”
“Sounds like it.”
Jesse came rounding the corner, a towel draped over his bare shoulders. His hair was still dripping water, spilling into his eyes.
“Oh, hey.”
Zach offered up a wave. Once again, I felt frozen.
“I’m headed back to the tour bus,” Jesse said, jabbing his thumb in that direction. “Wake me up if I’m asleep before you get back?”
“Will do,” Zach said.
Jesse’s eyes flickered over to me momentarily, and my heart thumped in my chest. A smirk spread across his face. “Don’t get too crazy out here, you party animals.”
“Go away,” Zach ordered.
Jesse laughed as he continued walking past. And then Zach’s phone went off again.
“I think someone is really trying to get in touch with you,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He slid his finger across the phone. “Hey, Mom.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his clear discomfort. “Yeah, Mom. I’ll let him know.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, my mom is a little
. . . overbearing sometimes.”
“Does she tour with you?”
“She said she can’t imagine following us around. She’s that kind of person that always has to be doing something. And she had four kids, so she’s used to always being busy. Plus, she can’t imagine giving up her job as a nurse to try to manage us—that’s definitely not her forte.”
It seemed odd to me. My parents had dropped everything in their lives for Connor, and they managed his career to a T.
“Don’t you have a manager then?” I asked.
“Right now it’s Jesse, but we’re looking into hiring somebody.”
That seemed like a lot on Jesse’s plate. “How does Jesse have the time to be in the band and to manage?”
“It’s actually not that hard. But it can cause arguments between us, which is why we’re looking into hiring somebody.”
It sounded . . . nice in a way. To have a mom whose life wasn’t consumed by the fame.
“What about your dad?” I asked.
Zach’s smile fell a little. “Our dad left.”
“Oh . . . I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not something we talk about much,” Zach said. “It happened when I was young, so I don’t really remember him. I guess after the fourth kid he decided it wasn’t what he wanted after all, so he high-tailed it.”
“Your mom must be one strong woman.”
“She’s a hell of a mom.”
As he reached up to smooth back his hair, I noticed the faded rest sign below his thumb.
“Has it helped?” I asked, pointing toward the temporary tattoo.
He let his hand drop, his leg brushing against mine as he leaned back, his head tipping toward the sky.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, forcing myself to keep calm. It’s just two legs touching. Chill out. “My memory can be spotty at best,” he said. “It gets a little frustrating.”
The plan needed tweaking. “Still have that marker?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket, coming back empty-handed.
“Somewhere?”
“I can draw one on my hand for moral support. But we’ll need a marker beforehand.”
“I’ll see you before the show, then?”
The question was simple enough, but there was an underlying eagerness, desire almost.
“Maybe we could . . . hang out?” I suggested.
He shifted so that he was facing me, leaning in a bit closer.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I want to get out and see San Francisco while we’re here. If you want, before mic check tomorrow, we could go out and explore?”
“I’d like that.”
The air escaped from my lungs in a giant whoosh. “I’ll do some research, see where the hot spots in town are.”
“I’ll whip up a disguise,” Zach said. “And by that, I mean find a hat and some sunglasses.”
“You do realize it would have to be an early morning?” I asked, leaning over to knock shoulders with him.
“You may have to drag me out of bed,” Zach said, with a sheepish smile. “But I’ll be there.”
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
CHAPTER 8
The next morning, I knocked three times before taking a step back from Zach’s door. I waved at Paul, Zach’s bodyguard, who was standing outside of the door. A full minute passed by until Jesse opened the door. And it was clear I’d woken him up.
“Sorry,” Jesse said, with a yawn. “We’re not morning people.
Zach’s in the bathroom.” He pushed the door open, flipping on the light. “Is that coffee for me?”
I took a sip of my to-go coffee and grinned. “No, but there’s some downstairs.”
When he came out of the bathroom, Zach was dressed in a button-up flannel shirt, dark jeans, and his shoes in hand. “Hey, Jess, have you seen my black—”
“Katelyn’s here,” Jesse interrupted. “And it’s in your suitcase, front zipper.”
Jesse ushered me inside. “Where are you two crazy kids off to today?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Zach called over his shoulder.
“Don’t have too much fun. Make sure you’re back at one for sound check.”
Zach stepped past me, and I was hit by a whiff of cologne. It was a musky smell, mixed with a hint of citrus. It was close to the Old Spice smell he’d been sporting yesterday, but somehow better. He opened the bedroom door. “Go back to bed,” he said to Jesse. “Bye.”
Jesse waved us out the door, flipping off the lights as we left.
“I really do need some coffee,” Zach said. “Did you get that downstairs?”
I took another sip as we waited for the elevator. “There’s a whole breakfast spread down there.”
“Not a breakfast fan.”
“Then you haven’t had the right breakfast.”
We stepped into the elevator. “Banana and I’m good to go.”
“Have you ever had cold pizza for breakfast? It will change your life.”
He laughed. “I don’t think that’s the answer.”
The e
levator came to a stop, and it felt like I left my stomach behind on the upper floors. We stopped by the breakfast bar, where Zach grabbed a banana and a coffee.
“What did you find in your research last night?” Zach asked, as we stepped outside.
I led us over to our taxi, the two of us sliding into the backseat, along with Zach’s bodyguard. And I somehow ended up in the middle. I tried not to think about the fact that Zach’s thigh was firmly pressed against mine, his jeans rubbing against my bare leg.
And I tried not to think too much about how much he smelled like cologne and a fresh shower, when all I really wanted to do was lean in and—
“Where are we headed?” Zach asked.
I grabbed my phone, trying to clear my thoughts as I pulled up the website. “We’re going to Fisherman’s Wharf.” I handed him my phone, trying not to glance over his shoulder as he scrolled through.
“I see a Beans,” he said, as he zoomed in on the map. “First stop is definitely a shot of espresso.”
“You’re definitely not a morning person.”
Zach shook his head. “I’m a sleep-until-noon kind of person.”
“My body is naturally up by eight a.m., I have no control.”
“That sounds like literal hell to me.”
The conversation came easy between the two of us on the drive.
Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to be going on a day excursion in California with Zach Matthews. And the moment felt surreal.
The taxi driver dropped us off at Beans, per Zach’s request, and picked up some Zach-approved coffee.
“Are we off to anywhere in particular?” Zach asked, as we started down the sidewalk. Zach’s bodyguard stayed a couple of steps behind us.
I shrugged. “There’s a lot to Fisherman’s Wharf. But the Internet said we had to go here.”
“You’re the tour guide, so lead us.”
We walked over to the water, glancing over at the fish down below.
“It kind of smells like bird poop,” I said, looking over at Zach for confirmation.
He nodded. “Definite bird poop vibes.”
We ended up falling off the main path, taking small, brick roads as we explored the different avenues.
Along for the Ride Page 7