Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)
Dax
“Dax? What are you doing here?”
I jump up from my seat on the concrete steps of the training facility at UCLA. I’ve been here for over an hour, waiting for the girls’ footy practice to end. “Kate!”
Kate lets her hurt show for a brief moment before her face hardens. “I’m late for class.” She slings a large duffel up on her shoulder, brushing past me.
“Wait! Don’t do this again. Talk to me, Kate.”
“Do what, exactly!” She whirls around so fast I stumble over my own feet. “Protect myself from getting my heart broken? Or distance myself from a highly dysfunctional group of slutty, immature men?” Her voice cracks on the last word, her full lower lip quivering.
My heart flinches from Kate’s verbal slap down, but I manage to keep my face calm. She’s right. We are a highly dysfunctional group of slutty, immature men. And I probably will break her heart. But the sadness behind her anger makes me even more determined to win her trust back.
“Nothing happened with Lila. You know I can’t stand her. If you had stayed after talking to Adam yesterday at our flat—”
Kate cuts me off, her cheeks flushed red. “If nothing happened why have you been meeting up with Lila backstage after your gigs?”
How in the hell…?
“I don’t meet her backstage.”
“She’s my flatmate, Dax! She showed me the bloody photo from the other night! Don’t treat me like I’m stupid!”
“You’re not stupid. She accosted me after our gig. Literally grabbed me, Kate. She took the photo before I could shove her off. I turned her down… blatantly. I know how much Lila upsets you, the way she’s always chatting me up. We’re fighting over nothing. You know I despise her.”
“It’s too hard, Dax.” She shakes her head, her eyes glimmering with tears. I should let her go, let her think I’m the bastard that I am, but instead I push forward.
“Why don’t you trust me? I told you I want to be with only you and that’s not good enough. So what is it then?”
Kate harrumphs, crossing her arms over her chest to shield her heart from my perceived betrayal. “You were snogging her
in the hallway at that stupid bloody party Saturday night? As if it isn’t bad enough what Adam did to Ellie…” a pained sob escapes.
And there it is, right there. She’s afraid that what she saw happen between Ellie and Adam will happen to us. Kate’s seen Adam and his parade of tarts and thinks I’ll chuck her and do the same. The Lila situation has only made it worse.
“Kate…” I step forward, pulling her into my arms. “I would never do that to you. Ever.” My body awakens at the contact, electrified sensations zipping through my veins.
“I don’t know if I can believe that, Dax.” Her body is stiff in my arms.
“Please. Give us a go. I’m not like that. Your flatmate is a total nutter, you know this. Once the term is over, you’ll move and won’t have to deal with her anymore. I told her off good this time, so hopefully I won’t have to deal with her anymore either.”
I can’t believe I’m begging a girl to be with me, yet here I am.
Kate steps back, leaving a cold space where her warm body was pressed against me. “Why me? Huh, Dax? I’m nothing special, so tell me why?”
Reaching out, I take one of her hands in mine, threading our fingers together. I’m torn between keeping everything bottled up and hidden, and telling Kate everything I know to be true.
“You… you’re different.” I struggle to explain how I feel without giving away too much. How it felt knowing that we may have never gotten a chance to see how great we could be because of my past. My inability to let my emotions show, my belief that the post-fight rewards were not only deserved but that they were owed to me, those bloody rules—they fucked up everything.
Kate arches an eyebrow. “Different?” Her beautiful, full lips turn down in the corners. When she tries to tug her hand away, I hold on tight, refusing to lose the contact.
“Different is good, Kate. Bollocks. I’m not saying it right.” Sighing, I rub my free hand over my unkempt hair. “I respect you. That—well, it means something to me. You’re better than some random shag in the backroom of my dad’s club or Lila or a groupie.” My dad’s rules come roaring back to the forefront of my mind again, never far enough away to ignore.
Rule 4—Women who act like slags can be treated like slags.
Kate was never a slag and never will be.
I see her wince at the reminder of the women in my past and her stupid flatmate as I drag the knife over her wounds, bringing fresh blood to the surface. But there’s something else shining there—behind the pain. Hope? Desire? Hate?