Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

dry throat, I manage to croak out a few words. “So… I’m the other woman.”

Dax stiffens, sitting up straight from where he’s hunched in front of his laptop. “Fuck no. We know it’s not true. I don’t give a rat’s arse what these shit for brains write.”

Only, I know that’s not true. He cares. And even if he didn’t, I care. I don’t want to be involved in this part of Dax’s life, the part that is getting more and more famous with each passing day. Especially not painted as the villain in this scenario—vs. that cow Lila of all people!

Dax continues flicking through the articles, grumbling under his breath the entire time. The front door of the flat opens. “Hey guys!” Gavin calls out. He’s got his surfboard under his arm, deftly swinging the long board into the room and leaning it on the wall. His hair is all mussed from the ocean, stiff in places from the dried salt. He takes one look at my face and frowns. “So I take it you heard?”

I glance at Dax’s back, coiled with tension, muscles ready to strike out at anyone who so much as looks at him wrong, then flick my gaze back to Gavin. The sympathetic look he gives me is so heartfelt and honest the tears I had been holding back fill my eyes.

I move away quickly, not letting Dax see how upset I am. He’s on edge enough to act first and think later—not a good combination with someone as volatile as Dax. Add in seeing me cry? Well, you may as well roll out the hearse for whoever pisses him off and happens to be within striking distance.

“I-I have to go. Practice starts soon.” I nearly trip on my own feet, stumbling towards the door. Gavin catches me before I end up smacking my head on the wall.

“Careful, Kate.” One blonde eyebrow goes up, asking a silent question. Are you all right?

I’m far from all right, but I can’t let Dax know. Looking over my shoulder, I see that Dax has rung someone and is busy shouting into his mobile.

“I’ll see you later,” I mumble. Gavin doesn’t look happy, but he lets me go.

Somehow, I manage to wait until the door closes behind me before I freak out.

I saw some of the comments on those articles, confirming everything I already knew.

“Why would Dax Davies hook up with that girl?”

“Who is that nobody? She’s nothing special.”

“God! I’m better looking than that! What is he thinking?”

“Who would cheat on Lila Griffin? She’s smoking hot!”

Instead of hopping the bus to practice, I walk, needing the time alone to process how my life is about to change. I don’t skip footy practice, ever, but I can’t bring myself to deal with it today. The fear of encountering another mob of paparazzi is enough to keep me away. Let alone what my teammates will think about the articles.

My mobile rings several times in a row, texts pinging every few minutes. I know it’s Dax, so I turn it off, not ready to discuss anything while it’s so raw. While I’m so raw.

Hours later, after wandering the city, I trudge down the hall to my flat, shoving the key in and more or less collapsing inside.

Part of me—okay, a huge part of me—expected Dax to be waiting for me at my flat, overcome with worry, wrapping me in those massive arms and letting me know he was going to fix everything. Instead, I come home to a dark, empty space.

Why would Dax be here? He’s probably realized how embarrassing it is for him to be caught “philandering” with a nobody footy player from Hackney. I mean, he’s never even told me he loves me.

It seems that no matter how close I get to Dax, he’ll always be just out of reach.

CHAPTER 11

Dax

“This is bullshit, Ross. It’s fucking manipulative and I won’t be a part of it.” I’ve jumped up from my seat on one of the plush leather chairs in my manager’s office. “Everyone at the label, and you as well,” I point at Ross behind his massive desk, “knows that this is all fucking Lila’s doing!”

After seeing the ridiculous lies all over the Internet, I immediately called Ross to get this mess under control.

“Dax, we don’t know that.” Rachel Whatley, head of marketing and promotions for our band, bravely puts a kind hand on my arm in an attempt to be reassuring. And fails miserably.

“Rachel, you’re brilliant at what you do,” I say honestly, “but that little bitch you have working for you is devious and borderline psychotic.” My voice turns into a snarl by the time I’ve spit out the last word.

Rachel frowns, almost looking hurt, but I know her better than that. She’s beautiful and charming yet tough as nails. She has to be to put up with spoiled rock stars and pompous men in power suits all day.

“Dax, my hands are tied.” She holds her hands together as if they’re bound in a gesture meant to prove her point. “Lila’s dad is huge at the label. Hell, he’s huge in Los Angeles. I can’t fire her and I’ve tried to reassign her. She wants your account.”