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.

As if Jack can read my mind, he says, “Kick, no matter what’s going on in that head of yours, I know that this is right. We’re right together. You’re right for me. Nothing else matters. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

I pull my head away to look up at him. He looks so damn beautiful with water dripping off his lashes, droplets streaming over his forehead and cheekbones. How can he be so sure? So sure of me… of us?

“I’m going to fuck this up,” I admit, unable to help myself. I want to tell him to stop loving me… that it scares the hell out of me.

Jack kisses me on the forehead. “So sure of yourself, Fireball, aren’t you?” His teasing words are just what I need.

“I’ve never done this, Jack. A relationship. And my first one is with a guy who needs to put security on me in case I get attacked by jealous fangirls.”

Jack grins, showing his dimples. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea to put security on you. The security team suggested it to me when they heard about the photos. It’s been getting a little crazier,” he adds sheepishly.

“I guess it was a good thing he was there,” I admit.

“Has that happened before?” Jack’s eyes search mine, and I know he wants to bombard me with questions, but I’ve got no answers. Maybe I do, but I’m not going to go there.

“No. Maybe it was the crowds, or just stress. Swim meets are about to start back up, and Shay talked to me about going pro with her last weekend. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” I’ve got to give him something, and this is the best I can do.

“I heard you on the phone with your mom. You can talk to me, Fireball, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” I swallow, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “I don’t know what I want. I mean, I think I do know what I want,” I admit, eyes on my coral-painted toenails. “But it doesn’t feel real. I don’t deserve it, you know? Shay worked so hard to have a shot at going pro. She’s so focused. Swimming is her passion. She lives and breathes it. It’s more like a constant for me. Something I do and I’m good at and it centers my life, but if I had to choose it over everything else, I don’t know if I would. If I can have it all, keep swimming competitively but have my brand and do my thing too, that would be… a dream.” I want to add that if I can have swimming, the one thing in my life that grounds me, and still have Jack, be a rock star’s girl, go to his shows and dance in his videos, that would be a dream. But I can barely admit it to myself, much less Jack.

“Fireball, you’ve got what? Eight months to decide? Don’t beat yourself up. Keep being you. I bet the decision will be easier than you think when the time comes.”

It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way. I’m not sure how much longer I can walk around with bricks piled on my shoulders, weighing on my chest. One of these days I’m going to crack.