by Dean, Ali
Coco and the stranger must have communicated to one another because the next thing I know, I’m being half-carried, half-dragged through the mash-up of bodies, my disorientation growing by the second. Somehow, a security guard lets us out a side door onto a fire escape, and I’m able to breathe the not-so-fresh Los Angeles air.
“The guard recognized you,” Coco says to the burly dude with us, a little suspicion clouding her voice.
“Yeah. I’m on the team. Jack asked me to keep an eye on you girls tonight.”
Cue the heart rate picking up again. The fuck?!
I turn from the fire escape rail to look at the guy. He does have the look of a security guard. Over six feet tall with a barrel chest and black clothing. “You look a little familiar. Do you travel with the band?” I ask, trying to hide my alarm.
“Yeah,” he replies, giving nothing else. “I’m Matt.”
I glance at Coco, who’s scrutinizing the guy. Or maybe she’s checking him out, since her eyes keep trailing up and down his body.
“Why would Jack put security on us?” I ask.
“People know who you are now,” he says simply.
“What?”
“People know who you are now,” he repeats.
“Yeah, I heard you, but what do you mean?”
“The photos. They came out earlier before the show. A whole bunch of you with Jack.”
I reach into my back jeans pocket and slide out my phone, going straight to my Instagram app. My account is blowing up. Direct messages fill my inbox, and I’ve been tagged in dozens of photos by accounts I’m not familiar with, but that appear to be music fans or entertainment and celebrity sighting type accounts. There are all kinds of images of Jack and me, mostly from StageFest, though there are a few random ones of us together over the past few months. Nothing scandalous, but we’re holding hands or smiling at each other, obviously together. And my account is tagged by the photos. A few comments identify me as Lydia Spark instead of Kick.
“This is weird,” I mumble. “Why all these pictures all of a sudden?”
“Happens all the time,” Matt says. “We think a single person took all of them and was waiting for the right moment to sell them. Guess they decided it was today.”
“They’re probably worth more now than they were a couple months ago,” I muse. The person probably wanted to wait until speculation was building, until Jack became famous enough that people paid attention. It had only just gotten to that point, I guess.
With this new information, I almost forget about the fainting spell I had back there.
“Can you give us a minute?” Coco asks Matt.
“’Fraid not, ma’am. I can’t leave you out on this fire escape alone.”
“Really?” she asks dryly, giving him an annoyed glare.
“Really. Sorry, it’s my job.”
“No one’s going to accost Kick up here on the fire escape, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says.
“If you’d like some privacy, I can take you backstage,” he offers.
“Fine,” she huffs.
I don’t want to go backstage. I’d hoped to avoid it somehow. It means I’ll see Nolan after the show. Does this guy really have to shadow us? Don’t I have a choice in the matter?
“If we leave the venue, do you have to come with us?” I ask as Matt turns to knock on the door to be let in.
He stops, and when he hesitates in his response, I know we’ve got him. Leaving the venue with us wasn’t technically part of his job description.
A few minutes later, Coco and I find a high-top table at a bar a block away from the venue. It’s not too busy, but I imagine in about an hour when the show ends this place will be jam-packed.
I order water and let Coco order us two cocktails, even though I don’t plan on drinking mine.
“What happened in there?” Coco asks, the maternal tone coming out that she only uses when she’s legitimately concerned.
“Nothing. I think I’m dehydrated. We had a hard workout this morning.” I chug the glass of water to emphasize my point. Coco continues eyeing me. It’s not like me to hide anything. I’m typically very forthcoming, but right now, I don’t even know what the hell is going on, I’m just a jumbled mess. I really want to escape, but I don’t know what I’m trying to escape from.
“Maybe I’m getting too old for crowds,” I say with a shrug before turning to the cocktail. I do want a drink, I decide, which means I can’t push the dehydration theory too hard.
“What’s stressing you, girl?” Coco keeps pushing. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know. But I don’t know what’s stressing me, okay?” I don’t hide my frustration. “And I’m not in the mood to try to dissect my life and figure it out.”
She purses her lips, taking a thoughtful sip from her cocktail, and then relents. “All right. What are you in the mood for?”
I don’t have the answer to that either. What the hell am I doing with my life? I have a chance to be a pro swimmer with my sister, a brand of my own that’s growing so fast I can hardly keep up, and yet here I am at a bar, escaping a concert because my relationship with Jack is too much. Nolan Hobart beside him is too much. I don’t want to be inundated and judged by people now it’s out I’m Jack’s girlfriend. I don’t want to deal with the pressure of knowing the band’s keys player could blow this all up in my face if he wanted to. I don’t need it, don’t want it. I want the old Kick back. Where I didn’t bother dealing with making big decisions. The girl who wasn’t scared of shit.
Except I know that’s a lie. The old Kick was scared of a lot of shit, she just hid it better. Or she never faced the shit that scared her. And now I’m being forced to confront all of it head-on, and I just can’t take it.
Two guys stop at our high-top, introduce themselves. They’re in their late twenties, probably a little old for me and a little young for Coco, but a good compromise. They’re both cute. I’m not interested, but I wish I was. I wish I could escape this pressure building up like bricks on my chest, crushing me in, by flirting with these guys, making them crazy. I don’t care about them, but I do know what they could do for me for a night. Maybe I’m not cut out for relationships. Maybe I need to end things with Jack before it’s too late, and I really fuck it up.
Coco looks to me to take the lead, and I sip the rest of my cocktail dry quickly. One of the guys offers to buy us another round. “Sure,” I say easily, knowing exactly what I’ve just done.
For maybe the first time ever, Coco gives me a disapproving little frown, and it hits me like a punch in the gut. But she quickly smooths it over, smiling at the guys. “We’re drinking lemon drops,” she says, back to her light and girly voice and ditching the maternal tone she used with me a moment earlier.
I don’t know how long we’ve been there when the place starts to fill up, our little table now surrounded. The guys have closed in around us to block out the rest of the crowd, and I’m trying to push everything away as I finish my third drink, my laughter getting louder. Coco is laughing too, but she leans across the table to tell me, “We should probably get out of here, head back.”
The guys think the words are meant for them, and take the cue to usher us out of the bar, holding our elbows as they walk us down the sidewalk. They’re asking us if we want to go to one of their apartments for another drink when Matt from earlier charges toward us. He looks pissed.
“Oh, shit,” I mumble, and I hear Coco say the same thing a second later.
We glance at each other with wide eyes, and the notion that we’ve done something naughty and we’re about to be scolded by a stranger wearing all black is suddenly hysterical.
“You think we’ll get grounded?” I ask her.
She slaps my arm. “You might.”
We’re both giggling when Matt reaches us. “Come on,” he says tightly. “Jack’s cool. But that doesn’t mean he won’t fire me if something happens to you.”
Matt pulls me away from the
guys from the bar. I’d be annoyed by his insistence, except I start to realize the sidewalk is lined with people hanging out after the show, standing around smoking or deciding where to go next. And a lot of them are looking at us. Not because we’re causing a scene, although Matt isn’t helping matters, but because they recognize me. I can see it, sense it, even three drinks in and definitely well on my way to drunk. These people are Kings of Sound fans. They would be the first to see the photos if they follow the band’s social media presence.
So I let Matt pull us along, waving goodbye to the poor confused dudes from the bar.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kick
Matt takes us straight to the hotel where the band is staying, all the way up to a suite with a large living room, office, kitchenette area and doors with bedrooms off to the sides. Townie is the only person there, and Matt leaves us with him. Townie grins in amusement.
“Hello ladies. Having fun, were we?”
“Where’s the rest of the band?” I ask.
“Jack will be here in a minute. Don’t know about Will and Nolan. Their suite’s across the hall.”
I’m so relieved to hear that Nolan’s bedroom is at least separated by a hallway that I let out a long, shaky breath. I don’t have much time to collect myself before Jack bursts in. He looks right at me, stalks forward, grabs my elbow and pulls me straight into one of the bedrooms. He shuts the door with finality, not quite a slam, but pretty darn close.
“Everyone’s hauling me around tonight. Sheesh,” I say, trying to defuse the situation a little.
It doesn’t work. Jack’s eyes are blazing as he stands there, hands on hips.
I’ve never seen Jack angry before. And is it weird that I find it really hot even though it’s directed at me?
“Kick,” he says my name and the one word is filled with so much I have to take a step back. Anger yes, but relief, longing, concern, frustration, I don’t even know. “Fireball,” he breathes my nickname, his voice breaking again.
And then I see it. Stripped of anger, Jack is pure vulnerability in front of me. In a flash, the rocker on stage is just this guy who is in love with a girl, a hot mess of a girl, and maybe he’s just as scared as I am.
I go to him, knowing that we both need the physical more than anything else right now.
“Jack.” I pour as much of my own emotion into his name as I can, and then I lift on my toes to kiss him. My hand goes to his jawline, and I feel the hardness melt as he opens to me.
He takes over the tender kiss, pulling me against him, hitching my leg around his waist and then pushing my body against the wall to press into me. His lips travel along my neck, hands tug up my tank top, push down my strapless bra, exposing me so he can feast on me. A moment later, my jeans are tugged off along with my panties and his fingers are on me as his ragged breaths fill my ear and heat my neck.
I’m lost in a haze of lust when I finally hear the sound of him unfastening his pants. Jack lines himself right where I need him, and just as he crashes inside me, he whispers, “I love you,” so tenderly, so sweetly, completely in contrast to the anger I saw in him, that I almost say it back.
* * *
I wake up when I feel someone watching me. Jack’s lying beside me, his cheek resting on his hands, lined up like a pillow under his head.
“Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey,” I whisper back, noticing immediately that my mouth is too dry and reminding me that I got a little drunk last night. It all floods back, and as it does, I remember Jack’s anger and vulnerability right before we made crazy love against the wall. The bricks weighing on my chest are still there. This time, along with guilt. It’s not just for leaving the show and letting some guys at a bar buy me drinks and flirt with me. It’s because I know I’m not the girl Jack thinks I am, the woman he wants me to be. I didn’t mean to trick him like I’ve done so many times with so many guys, but I must have fucked up and done it anyway. I thought maybe he saw the real me and wanted me anyway, but he hasn’t. Eventually, he will. Last night was only a taste of how destructive I can be.
“You fainted last night, Fireball. You fainted while I was on stage and I couldn’t do shit to help you.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair.
“I saw it happen. I try not to look at you too much when I’m up there so I stay focused, but I can’t help it. You didn’t look right all night. And I saw you falling back. Watched Matt hold you. It took all my restraint not to stop singing and jump into the crowd.” He bites his lower lip and looks away. “I got through the set only to find out you disappeared and ditched security after finding out our relationship went public. That fucking hurts, Kick.”
I suck in a harsh breath at the simple truth he delivers me. This guy can express his emotions, his pain, everything so easily. He’s not scared to do it either. With words, with his body. I thought guys were supposed to be less emotionally mature than women, but it’s the opposite with the two of us.
“I’m sorry.” I try for a simple truthful response in return, but it’s wholly inadequate. He deserves an explanation, one that I don’t have for him.
Jack looks at me for a long time. I know he’s seeing more of me than I want him to, and I try desperately to put up some shields, keep him away from the ugly inside. I’d rather walk away than let him see that. But this isn’t a one-nighter, a two-nighter, or any kind of stand at all. I don’t know if I could walk away even if I wanted to.
My cell rings then, from my jeans pocket on the floor by the door. I’m grateful to escape the intensity of Jack’s gaze when I slip out of bed. It’s Mom, and it says a lot about how fucked up I am in the head right now that I actually answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Lydia, hello.”
“Hi,” I say again, when she doesn’t immediately start with a question or declaration.
“I didn’t know that sports agents have been trying to recruit you, Lydia. That is, wow, great news.” Her voice is all breathy and, dare I say, pleased?
“How did you know that? And they aren’t recruiting me.” I lean against the wall, the same one Jack banged me against a few hours ago. When I glance over at the bed, I’m not surprised to find him watching me, thoughtful as ever.
I wish I could tell him to stop trying to figure me out.
“Your father mentioned an agent approached you at summer nationals. And then Shay mentioned to him the agents she’d been speaking with were asking about you and talking about package deal contracts.” Yes, there’s no doubt now. She’s pleased. I only ever heard her talk that way when she’s speaking about Shay to someone other than Shay.
It’s weird to hear it in her voice now. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean anything, Mom. It’s just talk. I still have a season to get through. And I’m not even sure what I want yet.”
“Not sure what you want?” Mom exclaims with something more forceful than surprise, perhaps a little outrage. “Kick, this could be the best opportunity you get. You shouldn’t shrug it off like it’s nothing. Sports agents don’t knock on anyone’s door for long. You need to be capitalizing on this. Get those agents’ contact information from your sister and start talking with them, developing relationships.” She continues on for a few minutes about how I should be capitalizing on the sports agents’ interest in me, and as she does I reflect on how swimming professionally was a step down for Shay in my mom’s eyes, but it would be a step up for me, based on her current level of enthusiasm. She doesn’t think I can do any better.
Now, the thing I thought I really wanted, and was trying to allow myself to want, to go for, seems tainted. “Mom, I have to go,” I cut her off. “I’m in L.A. with Coco, Jack, and the band.” See? I’m still a fuck-up, don’t get your hopes up.
“Oh, Lydia,” she says, disappointment thick in her tone. “I thought you were really starting to focus on swimming now. You can’t be out following your boyfriend around at concerts if you want to get one of these contracts.” She’s got that fake-sweet thing going on
, where she sounds like she genuinely cares about me, yet cuts me deep with every word, causing me only pain.
We hang up a moment later and the suffocating cloak around me is tighter than ever. I want to scream. I need to escape Jack’s gaze, his scrutiny, his love. Going into the bathroom, I turn on the shower and brush my teeth with Jack’s toothbrush. We dropped our overnight bags backstage before the show, and they’re probably still there. Not sure what I’ll wear this morning, but I don’t really care as I step in the shower and let the water attempt to cleanse me. Why do I feel so dirty? I haven’t felt this gross since… Nolan Hobart.
I let out a brief shudder as Jack walks in. When he strips out of his boxer briefs and opens the glass shower door, he asks, “Can I come in?”
For a moment, it feels like he’s asking something else entirely, and it’s not about sharing a shower. He’s already naked, and coming in anyway, so I nod.
I step out from under the shower to allow him under, and as we stand there inches apart and naked, there’s an awkwardness between us that makes my chest hurt so bad I have to close the gap and put my arms around him. He lets me bury my face in his chest as the water streams over our bodies.
Jack rests his chin on my head, and I wonder what he’s thinking. We should be talking about our relationship being public, my fainting at the show, my disappearing act, where this relationship is going. He’s told me where he stands, but I haven’t responded. Does it even matter that I feel home right now, wrapped in his arms? Safe, protected, like maybe I won’t fuck up my life. Or if I do, it’s going to be okay?
Looking ahead, it all seems crazy, and my mom’s words only validated the same thoughts that linger in my mind. Jack’s a rock star with little free time and rare spurts in the same town as me. Those times at home should be with his mom and sister, not me. Even if we make it through my last year of college, what’s next? If I go pro, I’ll be training all the time, traveling to meets. We’ll never see each other.