11. Sam

Chapter 11

Sam

“ W e’re just supposed to walk into the Emergency Room and wait around to see if the guy wakes up or becomes a vegetable?” Brixton scoffs. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I have to agree.” I turn to Rex. “What’s the goal here? Is it just a publicity stunt to show us off together? Because I’m not here for that. The guy could be in bad shape and they won’t tell any of us because we’re not immediate family. If we show up with all those biker guys and something goes south with the ringleader’s health, they won’t let us go while we’re still alive. We’ll be completely blindsided and trapped. Why can’t Brixton just make an announcement apologizing for being such a fucking caveman? And that he’ll cover all the medical expenses?”

“We can’t let this wait. A public apology is necessary, as is financial compensation because in the court of public opinion, Brixton is a walking disaster. But all that has to come after you make amends with the guy you pummeled,” Ben says, his voice tight .

“Amends, my ass. He took the first punch.”

“And it wasn’t at you, dick.” I lift an eyebrow at Brixton. “Remember? By the way, do you even understand that kind of language? Making amends? Do I have to break that down for you since you clearly don’t grasp the concept of remorse?”

Brixton focuses his attention on me, his blue eyes spitting fire, his lips curling into a snarl. “Why should I feel sorry for someone who would have done the exact same thing if I hadn’t gotten to him first? Lane’s no fighter. He would’ve kicked Lane’s ass from here to fucking Timbuktu if I didn’t show up when I did.”

“He was wrong but so were you. You can’t just go around beating the shit out of people because you think you’re being right and just.”

My pulse jumps into my throat under his heated gaze and right now, I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me or choke me. It could go either way.

Not gonna lie, I feel the same way about him at this second.

Brixton leans toward me, his messy, just-fucked hair flopping over his right eye. I take in a breath, letting his cologne fill my lungs and make very bad, very twisted thoughts cycle through my mind.

“If you’re so worried about what the world thinks of me, let’s just stage a breakup so you don’t have to keep me as a noose around your neck.” His words drip with disdain, but the sparks crackling in the air between us are electric with the potential to be soul-searing.

I’ve never felt such a heady mix of disgust and desire for someone in my life. He locks onto me with those deep-set eyes, the ones that women and men alike swoon over when he’s on stage. He leans back against the leather seat, bringing his arms overhead. His muscles tense and rip, full arm sleeves of black ink flexing as he slowly grins.

“I don’t want Sam here to be dragged into my rabbit hole,” Brixton says with a sarcastic edge to his voice. “I can handle this shit on my own after I cut him loose in front of the press camped out at the hospital. I’m better on my own.”

“Fine with me. I don’t have time for your drama.” But the tiny hairs on the back of my neck shoot up as his eyes lick me up and down like he’s a predator in search of a tasty meal.

I shift on the seat, swallowing hard when my skin prickles at the thought of me flipping him face first against a wall and showing him just how deep I want to go into that damn rabbit hole with him.

“You’re not cutting anyone loose,” Rex says to him. “I just got a message from Axel Jones, the publicist for Oakland. He wants a meeting first thing in the morning, and I have to be ready to defend my client’s decision to be with the train wreck that is now Brixton Scott because he’s your only shot at redemption. So you’ll go in there, pretend to be a thing, and make it believable. And just so we’re clear, it’s not a request. Sam’s in this now. Don’t fuck him the way you’ve fucked yourself.”

Jesus, did he have to use those exact words?

The depraved thoughts loop faster.

My phone buzzes, jolting me from my sick fantasies. I tear my eyes away from Brixton and look at the text message from Chase on the screen.

What the hell is happening? Why does the whole world think you’re with Brixton?

Ben slants me a look. “May as well tell him. They’ll all need to be prepped anyway.”

I shoot off a text to him, saying that I’ll explain it all later but that as far as he knows, me and Brixton…

My finger stiffens, almost resisting what I’m about to type.

Gritting my teeth, I stab the letters on the keyboard.

That we were dating in secret and it’s just been made public.

This sounds like a story that’ll be worth me sleepwalking through my shift tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.

“People are going to question you, Sam.” Ben’s eyebrows knit together, the look on his face grave. “Why a guy like you would get involved with a guy like Brixton, who’s had his fair share of bad press over the past couple of years. Rex will have a lot of spinning to do.”

“Great,” Rex mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “People will think you got hit one too many times on the field, that it knocked the common sense right out of you.”

“Looks like I got the upside of the deal.” Brixton winks at me.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He nods. “You’d better fucking believe I am.”

“This isn’t going to be a cake walk for you, either,” Ben snaps. “The tour is ending and you need to show the world that there’s a good reason why Sam Hartley would ever want to get into a relationship with you.”

“How the hell am I gonna do that?” Brixton sits straight up in the seat.

“You’re going to be the newest volunteer at Play It Forward, the sports organization Jase Maxwell and Lucas Bentley formed. Bryce and Sam manage the Oakland location and that’s going to be your new home.” Ben points between us. “You two will be inseparable, and Brixton, you’re going to channel your inner Mr. fucking Congeniality until all of this dies down.”

I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “So I did a good thing, prevented that guy from getting brain damage from this cretin, and now I’m going to be stuck with him for the foreseeable future. How the hell did I draw the short straw in this whole thing?”

“But you love helping people,” Brixton cajoles. “Just consider me your newest charity case. That must get you all kinds of excited, trying to reform the hopeless, unredeemable asshole.”

“I’d rather gauge out my eyes with hot fire pokers,” I grumble.

“There’s definitely gonna be a place in heaven for you, choir boy.”

I fist my hair. God, I hate him. And I really try hard not to hate anyone. But this guy…fuck my life.

The truck slows and turns into a driveway. Red flashing lights make me squint, even though they’re muted through the tinted windows. Crowds of people stand outside the entrance. And as my eyes sweep the outside, I see a lot of motorcycles.

My gut clenches.

I sneak a look at Brixton as he stares out the window.

I hate him, but I still can’t help but feel that tug of guilt. Sure, he’s been completely antagonistic from the second he ran into me at the bar, but the past two years have to have been hell for him. And finding out that Chase has his brother’s heart…that must have been a pummeling blow.

Pulling him away from that bald guy was the least I could do after what he went through and what I gained. But it’s pretty damn clear that the universe doesn’t agree.

The guy is a real jackass, but he’s obviously hurting. His caustic words and nasty commentary are just shielding the devastation buried underneath. The heartbreak must be unbearable. I know it would have destroyed me. So if I have to pretend to be his boyfriend, and sacrifice my reputation as a decent human being as a result, hell, I’ll do it.

I have my brother, all because he lost his.

It kills me to say this…but I owe Brixton Scott, and I’m more than ready to pay the debt.