3. Jase

"Get the fuck out of here, Bentley," I growl, the barrel of the baseball bat caught in the corner of my eye. "Walk away now."

"Fuck that." His eyes flash fire. "That's exactly what they want, me to show them I'm afraid, that I'm weak."

The guy I knocked down struggles to his feet, but the other guys don't slow down. They walk past him, anger and hatred in their menacing gazes.

"Shit, Maxwell," one of them says. "What the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn't you be practicing how to catch a fucking football instead of dicking your teammate?"

Rage bubbles in my chest, my fists clenched tight at my sides. I can hear so many voices in my head right now—Dad's, Bryce's, Lucas's, my agent Rex Ashton"s. All of them are screaming at me to blow the hell out of here now before I can do any more damage. I already knocked one guy on his ass and started a battle.

And I have the power to end it, too.

But all I can see is a red-tinged face spewing the kind of hate he'd have unleashed on my brother Kyle… if he were still alive to hear it.

I couldn't help him back then. I couldn't save him from the disgust and disappointment that spouted from my father's mouth and heart that night. I couldn't do anything to keep him safe and out of harm's way.

Now he's gone, and fuck me if I'll let someone else's ignorance hurt another person.

I'd gladly take on a Louisville Slugger for that.

He rushes me with the bat, running as he prepares to take a swing at me. But Dipshit is not only angry, but drunk, and so all I need to do is jerk my body around, stick out my foot, and watch him face-plant on the concrete. He lets out a yell, slams the bat against the edge of the sidewalk, and rolls to a standing position.

"You motherfucker," he yells. "You suck. The Crusaders should get rid of you, asshole."

His screams don't mute the footsteps pounding on the sidewalk behind me. I swerve out of the way of another beefy guy before he can make contact with his punch. I give him a hard shove. He flies into a nearby mailbox with a groan.

A trash can crashes to the ground on my left. I turn to see Lucas standing over the third guy on the road, who is now covered in a pile of literal crap judging by the way it stinks.

He turns his head to look at me and gives me a shrug.

Two other guys run at him out of nowhere.

"Behind you," I manage to yell as a strong force pulls me backward by the shirt. I stumble as the first guy I knocked down twists me around. He's got the baseball bat in his hand, and he waves it around like it's a fucking baton.

I raise an eyebrow. "I'll crush you like a goddamn roach, with or without that bat in your hand."

He lets out a sharp laugh. "Do I look scared of you? You suck at football, but I'm betting you're a hell of a lot better at sucking cock. That's why you're here tonight. No wonder why you can't do your job on the field. You're too busy fantasizing about fucking your teammate, ain't that right?"

Speaking of my teammate, out of the corner of my eye, I see Lucas brawling with the two guys. His arms never stop moving and the guys are no match for his punching power. Looks like he's the only one who's gonna walk away from that beatdown. Maybe those assholes will think twice before spewing their damn hate.

I turn back to the guy with the bat. My breaths still, my pulse punching a hole in my throat. Electricity crackles throughout my insides like I just gripped a live wire with a wet hand. It rushes through me, shooting out to my limbs, flaring in my fists.

I blink, but my vision bleeds blood red. The guy swings the bat at my head, and I catch it with the side of my arm, ignoring the scorching pain that follows. He obviously never played baseball because his swing is shit. I grit my teeth, balling my other fist before cracking it against his nose. Then I pound him in the gut a few times before smashing my fist against his jaw and sending him airborne. He flies backward and crashes against a parked car first, setting off the alarm on impact.

An ear-splitting bleeping sound pierces the air. I squint and recoil at the red flashing lights. Lucas grabs my uninjured arm and pulls me away from the guys lying on the ground.

Police sirens roar in the distance.

"Fuck," Lucas mutters, leading me back toward the bar. "You need to get that arm checked out."

"I need my phone," I grunt, pulling my arm out of Lucas's grip. I stop before we get to the bar and dig it out of my pocket, wincing from the pain making my opposite arm throb.

"Who the hell do you need to talk to right now?" Lucas cranes his neck to get a look behind us, but those guys are pretty much smoked right now. I doubt they'll be coming back for more.

"My agent." I grit my teeth and dial Rex's number. He answers on the third ring, his voice tense.

"What the hell did you do now, Jase?"

"I mighta knocked a guy out." I narrow my eyes at Lucas. "Twice."

"Jesus Christ," Rex mutters. "Did the cops show up?"

"Nah. But they're close."

"You need to get away from there now. Get in your damn car and drive, do you hear me?"

"They know who I am. It's not gonna matter." I cradle my arm against my side, the pain shooting out to my fingertips. What an ass I am. Did all that whiskey make me think I was suddenly bionic, for fuck's sake?

"Who started the fight? Do I even need to ask?"

Rex sounds ready to kick my ass and I can't blame him. I haven't exactly been his star client since he signed me. All the static between me and Gabe has been a nightmare for him since Gabe is so loved by the fans, and I'm pretty much seen by everyone as an outspoken prick.

"I took the first punch. He made some comments about a teammate."

"Which teammate?"

I take in a sharp breath. "Why the fuck does it matter? I'm the one who caused it."

"Because I need to be prepared for the fallout, Jase." He talks to me like I'm six, like I don't know what the hell I just did. "Do you realize what this means for you? You've been struggling lately as it is. The Crusaders don't need any more bad press because of you."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I've always been one hit away from retirement because of my leg.

Now I may be looking at forced retirement because I couldn't control all the anger that festers deep inside of me every damn day.

"I hear police sirens. Are you fucking nuts? You need to get out of there now. I can do damage control as long as you didn't seriously hurt anyone."

"Maybe a broken nose. Nothing crazy."

"I need to get in touch with Coach Greaves and Mack Anderson as soon as possible. We need to get ahead of this. Now tell me who you're with."

"It doesn't matter. This is all on me."

"Fine," Rex snaps. "But if someone shows up with video footage of you and whoever is with you, you could both be fucked way worse than if you're straight with me now. It might be easier to have you both claim the blame, might cushion the blow with Anderson since you're not exactly the poster boy for the kind of Crusader he wants on his roster."

"It's my fault. I'm the only one here. The only one taking the blame. The only one to suffer the consequences."

"Fine. I'll call you when I hear something. In the meantime, get the hell home."

Click.

Police sirens get louder. I stare at the street as the car nears the bar. For some reason, I can't tear my eyes away or move my feet.

Lucas points and nods toward the door to the bar, but I shake my head.

I can't go back in there. I knew coming here tonight was a big mistake. Going back in, especially with Lucas, would make things way worse for me. Somehow jail time seems like a better option than running the risk of him seeing right through me like I'm a freshly washed window.

No, thank you. I'll keep my closeted ass out here where even with cops scouring the streets looking for me, it's safer.

With a frustrated huff, Lucas grabs me again by my good arm and pulls me around the side of the building as the lights get brighter and the car slows. The phone dangles from my hand. My jaw drops, but I'm too shocked to say a word.

Lucas cups the sides of my face and pulls me toward him as the blue and red lights illuminate the front of the bar. Sparks fire in my groin when his lips crush against mine, my heart leaping into my throat where it catches, nearly choking me with lust.

Was I really stupid enough to think I'd be safer outside the bar?

Because with Lucas next to me, I'm walking a damn minefield, and one misstep has the power to shred me to pieces.