18. Brixton

Chapter 18

Brixton

M y smile spreads wider when the anger flickers into Sam’s expression.

He doesn’t like to be caught off-guard.

And now he’s about to find out exactly what he signed up for when he agreed to be my sham of a boyfriend.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he growls under his breath. “Are you trying to turn this into a goddamn circus act?”

“I’m just the puppet.” I shrug. “The label execs are pulling all the strings and I doubt they’d want to be part of a circus.”

“You’d better not screw this up. It isn’t just about you.” Sam’s brows furrow, his hands wrapped into tight balls at his side, and it’s pretty clear what he wants to do with them.

“You wanna deck me? That would be hella fucking juicy, yeah? A lover’s spat, caught on video with all the other bullshit they want me to spew.”

“You’d love the drama too much. That alone is reason enough for me to do the exact opposite of what you want.”

“And I think you’d love it if I kissed you again.” I run my hand over his heart. “Don’t lie to me, either. I can feel your truth, Sammy.”

With a quick glance over my shoulder, his eyes widen and he looks back at me, his lips lifting reluctantly.

“I’d rather have an enema,” he says through his fake ass smile.

I laugh.

Fuck him if he wants to deny he felt anything from that kiss.

Because I sure as hell did. Every thick, hard inch of it.

It takes every ounce of restraint I have to not reach down and rub my hand over it again and again until he screams that I’m right.

But before I can challenge him, Ben and Tyler flank me on both sides and lead me into the conference room. They lock me between them, making sure I have no chance to escape, and march me to the front of the room where there’s a table set up with a microphone.

When I drop into the chair, I catch the glares of my bandmates now sitting in the audience.

Well, two of them.

Lane looks at me like…

I swallow hard and drag my eyes away.

Like he feels sorry for me.

And that pisses me off to no end because I don’t need anyone’s goddamn pity.

My family is gone. Nobody can ever replace him. And every time I’ve seen my father since the funeral, that fact haunts the shit out of me.

My own fucking father couldn’t give a crap less about me.

His flesh and blood.

All because of a situation I had zero control over.

And it’s hung around my neck like a goddamn rotting albatross ever since.

All the success in the world can’t give me what I lost.

Loyalty, compassion, love, trust, faith.

Things nobody else on Earth has ever shown me since Davis died.

Maybe nobody thinks I’m worthy of them.

My dad sure as shit doesn’t.

I sometimes wonder what my mom would think if she could see the way he treats me, the way he looks right through me.

Any other parent would be here, front and center, for their kid in this situation.

Instead, I have a fake boyfriend in the front row, praying I don’t do any more damage to his life.

Rage gathers force deep inside of me, flowing like magma racing to the crater of a volcano.

He tore open the wounds this morning when he disappeared without a warning.

I flex my ringed fingers.

Prayers won’t help you this time.

Ben places a piece of paper on the table in front of me and covers the microphone with his hand. “This is the statement. Don’t go off script. Read it and then we can get out of here and put it all behind us.”

My eyes drop to the typed-up page. I skim the words and stifle a sharp laugh.

Is he fucking kidding me?

A quick glance at Sam confirms he’s shitting a brick right now.

He must know it’s about to get real.

Smart fucking cookie.

I avoid looking at Lane. Instead, I stare at Dak and Aiden .

Where the fuck were they last night after we left the bar?

Lane reached out to make sure I was okay.

Did they give a shit enough to ask?

No.

They never fucking once asked me how I was doing after Davis died. It was Lane who showed up at the hospital that night, not them.

All they were worried about was their precious fame and what a damaged and broken front man would do to their careers.

Lane was there for me.

They weren’t.

Not for any of it.

Lane is a great musician, the best I know.

Guilt knots my gut.

Unfortunately this time, he’s gonna be collateral damage.

Because it’s time for the rest of them to pay.

Ben leans down and speaks into the microphone. “Thanks for joining us today. Brixton Scott will be reading his statement. He will not be taking any questions from the audience.”

With a quick nod, he backs away and sits between Sam and Tyler in the front row.

I flash a million-dollar smile at the sea of curious faces in front of me. “This feels really formal to me. I like to connect with my audience, you know?” I push back my chair and stand up, plucking the microphone from the stand. I walk around to the front of the table and sit on the edge. Ben clutches the sides of his chair, his face a million shades of purple right now.

It’s only gonna get worse, buddy. Hold on tight.

He won’t stop me. Stifling me would be bad for business.

So I keep going because they need the truth.

“I’m sure a lot of you had things to say about me on all your blogs and social media platforms last night.” I shake my head in mock disappointment. “But what you don’t know is what really happened at that bar. And I know that because not one account actually got the story right.”

I stand up and pace in front of the desk, holding onto the microphone.

“My record label made me come here today to apologize for my behavior.” I pause. “But let me tell you about that behavior . I defended a close friend, my best friend these days. He was innocent in this whole thing and about to be assaulted by a guy so I stepped in to protect him. The record execs think I was wrong, but the state of California is on my side. By law, I didn’t do anything wrong except help a friend. The guy ended up in the hospital and I went there to settle his medical bill. He should have thought twice about trying to attack a guy for smiling at his girlfriend.”

I grab the piece of paper from the table and wave it in the air. “But that’s not what this statement says. You deserve the truth and it doesn’t state the truth. At all. It makes me the bad guy. And guess what? The real bad guy is the one who started this in the first place. He’s not a victim. He just picked the wrong guy to mess with. That just makes him dumb.”

I crumple the paper into a ball and toss it into a trash can next to the table. It sails through the air and lands cleanly in the can. With a shit-eating grin on my face, I point to Sam.

“And my boyfriend, Sam Hartley, stands by me on everything I just said.” I lean forward with a knowing smile. “I know none of you would ever question his moral compass. So thanks for coming. I feel better knowing we’re all on the same page now.”

There is silence for a hair of a second before mayhem ensues.

I drop the mic on the table and walk out the door without a look back .

I barely make it into the hallway before Mike and Steve are by my side, escorting me to the elevator. That’s when I make the mistake of looking back at the horde of people following me. The paparazzi crowds around, shouting questions and snapping pictures.

My shoulders relax for the first time in a long damn time, and I don’t give a shit about the consequences of my impromptu speech.

It was a long ass climb to get to the top of the world. And when that world shattered, the fall was fucking bone crushing.

It’s nice to feel like I can finally pick myself up again.

And fuck all of the people who want to keep me down in the shit, including my father.

Just before I make it into the elevator, a strong hand grabs my arm and yanks me backward.

I slowly turn, my gut tightening when I see the fury in Lane’s dark eyes.

“You backstabbing motherfucker. I was always there for you and you just killed us. You killed everything. ”