Page 3 of Everything In Between

TWO

hayes

Any other night, my little sister’s relentless bouncing would grate on my nerves. But tonight, I can make an exception.

She’s practically buzzing with adrenaline, as if she were the one on stage doing all that crazy choreography.

“Did you see the way she came to the stage right at the beginning? That look on her face that made you feel like she was performing just for you?” Riley gushes. Her blue eyes are alight and glittering with unadulterated enthusiasm.

“I did.”

“She owned that whole stadium,” Riley says, awe sweeping through her. “And did you see how she strutted across that stage in those high-heeled boots? She made it look easy—which, let me tell you, it is most definitely not.”

“I believe you,” I say, nodding to my sister. How could I not have noticed?

“I don’t know how she does that,” Riley continues. “Those heels looked dangerous. I’d probably break an ankle.”

“She must do a lot of training and practicing to be able to do that.” I can recognize a fellow athlete when I see them, even if one of them is wearing thick heeled go-go boots. Suddenly, I’m curious about the rehearsal schedule for a world-famous pop star.

“Oh, she absolutely does,” Riley says confidently.

I find it amusing that my sister is so knowledgeable on this matter, as if she is a part of the inner workings of the singer’s training schedule.

She throws her hands up in the air, letting the excitement get to her once again.

“Ugh, I love her. Her voice is like an angel’s. ”

I shrug, nodding again. I can’t disagree.

I did notice that her voice—even with running and dancing across the stage—remained steady, unwavering, as she seemed to hit every note perfectly.

Not that I would know if she hadn’t. I really wasn’t familiar with much of her music until tonight, aside from what I’d heard secondhand from Riley.

“So, what did you think?” my sister asks, breathless. The Uber driver glances into the rearview mirror, as if waiting to hear my opinion as well.

I swallow thickly but opt for the truth. “It was incredible.”

Riley reaches over and punches my shoulder a little too hard. “See, I told you she was more than just . . . what did you call her?”

Embarrassment fills me as I admit, “An overrated pop princess.”

“Exactly!” She throws another punch, but I dodge it, not needing another bruise on my deltoid.

“Would you cut it out? I’ve gotta throw a football this weekend. I need to have a working arm.” I’m sure Coach will be super thrilled to learn I can’t throw properly in the next game due to my sister.

Her eyes glint, and she raises her fist, gearing up to toss another punch.

“All right, all right,” I concede, laughing and holding my hands up in surrender. “I was wrong.”

“You were so wrong,” she teases me before sitting back in her seat, mollified by my admission. She lets out a heavy sigh. “Gosh, that was a great show. And to think you were dreading coming along with me.”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when you asked me to come with you. I thought I’d be surrounded by fangirls and bored out of my mind.”

Riley smirks. “You should’ve seen your face when her opening sequence started. I should’ve recorded your expression.”

I narrow my eyes. “She knows how to put on a show, that’s for sure.”

“Doesn’t she? Ugh, she’s amazing.”

I fight off a smile at the way my sister talks about Jersey Matthews as if she’s a friend. I mean, she’s been listening to her music nonstop for the last eight years. I can see why she’d feel like she knows her personally.

A thought in the back of my mind comes forward with a vengeance—Wouldn’t it be something to know her?

I had tried to pull strings for my sister and get her backstage to officially meet Jersey. After all, she was playing in my home stadium. It would make sense that we’d be given special treatment. But Jersey’s security was rock solid, not budging even as I flexed my name a bit.

It isn’t every day a Super Bowl titled quarterback asks to meet a pop princess, but I have no shame when it is for my little sister’s sake.

I’d do anything for that twerp. Even put my name out there and make a show of wanting to meet the most famous woman in the world.

Unfortunately, I came up empty-handed. We were banished to my family’s suite to watch the show.

To be honest, I think that might’ve been the best seat in the house.

I couldn’t even deny it. Aside from the magnetism she exuded on stage, the number of songs I didn’t know but found incredibly endearing was off the charts.

God, what would the guys on the team think seeing me at a concert like this surrounded by the crowd singing every word and coming away a Jersey Matthews fan myself?

My sister bounces up and down in her seat, still jiving from the highs of the concert. Glancing over at her every few minutes, I smile to myself.

Riley has brought my family nothing but joy her entire life, and I’d do anything to make her happy. Even go to Jersey Matthews concerts. Hell, I’d go to a Justin Bieber concert if she asked me.

When the car pulls up to my front door, Riley is quick to slide out.

I hang back, sliding our driver an extra cash tip and patting him on his shoulder in thanks.

Riley is typing her passcode into my front door.

Once the door clicks open, I follow her inside.

She beelines straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the leftover pasta we had for lunch.

In record time, she’s got the container open and attacks it with a fork, not bothering to heat it up.

She peers up at me sheepishly with a mouthful of spaghetti. “I’m so hungry,” she mutters, mouth still full.

I shake my head and don’t bother fighting off the amused twitch of my lips. “Help yourself but make sure to hit the lights when you’re done. I’m going upstairs to shower.”

She gives me a halfhearted wave as I disappear around the corner, climbing the stairs and going straight to my room.

As soon as I walk in, I go straight to the dog bed by my dresser, leaning down and giving my little dog, Periwinkle, a few scratches behind her ears.

She looks up at me with round dark eyes and gives a pleased snort.

After saying hello to my furry companion, I close my bedroom door and lock it—a habit I developed when I was a teenager with a little sister—wander into my en suite bathroom and strip out of my jeans and polo shirt.

My home in Milwaukee is on the lower end of luxury.

With my salary, I could afford to buy something nicer, but I’ve chosen to invest my money in other places, donating way more than necessary to some of my favorite charitable organizations, contributing to my own personal interests, business ventures, and stocks, and sliding some into an account to pay for the rest of Riley’s college since my parents don’t really have the means for that.

But with that being said, I live comfortably.

My walk-in shower steams up in less than no time and I step in, closing the stall door behind me and immersing myself under the hot stream. I close my eyes, immediately hit with the onslaught of memories from the show tonight.

It ended only an hour ago and I’m itching to see her perform again. How could I not? She was made for the stage, made for the limelight.

I shower quickly, washing my hair and scrubbing down with my pine-scented body wash.

When I get out, I towel myself off and find my favorite pair of sweatpants before settling in bed.

I reach for my phone and start scrolling, searching for some recaps from tonight’s show, itching for a chance to relive it once more.

Some of the headlines fly in my face:

Jersey Matthews slays at Majestics home stadium

Jersey Matthews holds everyone under her spell, and here’s why

Want to know everything about Jersey Matthews? Click here

I know it’s clickbait, but I tap the last link with little hesitation. I don’t know much about the pop princess, but after tonight’s show, I need to know more.

The article is a quick overview of Jersey’s career, relationships, and how she rose to fame and brought her twin brother with her.

I’m surprised to see Roman Hendrix standing next to her in the picture that labels them twins.

I recently watched a movie he starred in, and I wouldn’t have guessed he was her twin.

But now that I see them standing side-by-side, I see it.

He has the same dark hair as her, the same facial features.

Though, her eyes glitter with unmatched energy and spirit, even through the picture.

There are a few other candid pictures of her performing on stage, recording in the studio, and a few fan-taken photos from meet-and-greets. There’re a few paragraphs mentioning her recent split from her longtime boyfriend, Corey Shrader—accompanied by another headline:

The juicy details behind Matthews-Shrader messy breakup.

I find myself curious about what she’s like in real life, away from the prestige and the stage lights. Is she as friendly as she appears with fans she meets on the streets? Does she appreciate all the words and the stories about what her work means to them?

I know for me, when I run into fans, my favorite part is getting to know them and how they came to be fans in the first place.

Especially when I find out they used to be fans of different teams but then switched their loyalties to the Majestics.

Nothing makes my heart soar like knowing that I’ve contributed to building a fan base.

By the look on her face in the pictures with her fans, I can deduce that she appreciates them greatly.

Something I noticed at the show tonight too. There was something alluring about the way her face lit up as she waved at her fans in the crowd as if they were long-lost friends. I wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of that kind of attention from her.

Scrolling through pictures of Jersey from the show tonight and some of her other shows from her cross-country tour, I somehow stumble onto one of the music videos from her most recent album. I click on it, tilting my phone so it’s in landscape view to see the video better.

This song was the opening act she played at her concert tonight, and I find myself humming along with the melody.

I don’t know the words yet, but the tune is easy to follow.

In the back of my mind, I can picture her stage set up, and certain aspects of her choreography as she greeted everyone and kicked off the show.

When the video ends, I scroll down to the comments reading what some of her fans have to say about her. There’s the usual praise, but also many comments saying she deserves to win Song of the Year.

I blink a few times and run a hand over the stubble on my jaw, all the while registering what that means. Then, a quick Google search later, I find out that Jersey Matthews will be attending the VMAs next week.

What a fortunate turn of events, I think to myself.

Anticipation bubbles in my chest, knowing that we’ll be in each other’s vicinity again soon. I can’t explain it, but I need to meet her, talk to her, tell her how much I admire her.

It’s stupid, reckless, a distraction when all I should do is focus on the upcoming season and prep my new team for another successful year. But even with all that in mind, the urgency is becoming too much to push to the side.

It’s late, but I don’t hesitate to reach out to my personal assistant to see if she’s awake and available to chat. She sends me a quick message back. I waste no time and press the call button.

“Hey, I need you to get me a new suit, and make sure it really makes a statement.”

I had already planned on wearing a traditional black coat and tie, but suddenly, I have the sense that I need to up my game.

If Jersey Matthews will be at the VMAs, I want to look my best. A deep-seated eagerness amplifies this, convincing me that this might be the only opportunity I get to talk to her. I’m not about to waste it.