19. Sam

Chapter 19

Sam

R ex leads me out of the conference room, my mind reeling from everything I just heard.

Why the fuck couldn’t Brixton just read the statement? Everything could have been over and done with, wrapped up with a nice fucking bow. I could have walked out of here with a clear conscience, without having to worry about team management taking a sledgehammer to my own career.

But no. He just had to derail the whole goddamn conference and destroy the livelihoods of pretty much the first two rows of spectators, including his own.

I was here to show support and he cut me off at the knees with one lash of his fucking tongue.

A demanding tongue that, not too long ago in the hallway, plundered my mouth with all of the unsaid needs and desires that set my insides aflame after our sexfest last night.

I rake a hand through my hair.

Fucking manipulative asshole.

Goddammit. I’m not thinking about last night anymore. We are so fucking over. I was weak. Consumed with so much fury I couldn’t control.

I won’t let him steal that control from me ever again.

Nagging thoughts chew at my gut. I keep coming back to the question of why he sabotaged that conference. Yeah, he was pissed at me for not clueing him in about Chase, but I don’t think that’s the only thing that unraveled him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dak and Aiden, two of his other bandmates, huddled together in a corner with a few influencers. I didn’t meet them last night. They were too busy with their groupies to be bothered with anyone else at the bar.

My throat tightens when I look to the elevators where Brixton and Lane face off. I can’t see Lane’s face, but his body language tells me volumes. And Brixton’s expression…shit. For the first time, I can see something beyond his typical arrogance and self-righteousness.

He actually looks remorseful, like he knows exactly how he just fucked the friend he was trying to protect.

Even from this distance, the regret in his tormented gaze is clear.

What in God’s name was he thinking by pulling that stunt? What could he possibly have to gain by pretty much flipping off the label back in that conference room? Why the hell would he outright reject his success and bite the hands that feed him?

“I don’t think I really need to say, ‘I told you so,’ do I?” Rex asks as we rush toward a stairwell ahead of the press, photographers, and influencers. There are already too many people gathered by the elevator and Rex understands the need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

Ben and some other guy named Tyler whom Rex introduced me to are glued to their phones in front of us.

I try not to listen to the shocked voices around me .

Questions pelt me like paint balls as we make a beeline for the stairs.

“Sam, how could you think it was okay to put a guy in the hospital?”

“Is that some kind of occupational hazard since you steamroll guys on the football field?”

“You were always the good guy. Why would you want to get dragged down by the infamous bad boy of rock and roll?”

“Is this just some sham relationship to rehabilitate Scott’s image? How much did they pay you to be here today?”

“Are the lies worth choking your own career?”

Oh fucking no, he didn’t just ask me that.

I stop short and twist around to glare at my interrogator. He backs up the slightest bit, like he expects me to take a punch. Rex puts a hand on my arm, his wordless warning to keep my mouth shut and my feet moving.

But let’s face it, Brixton said more than enough for both of us already. A little more exposition can’t hurt.

So I stir the pot because I’m in this now, like it or not.

“Things got out of control last night, yeah. But just so we’re clear, you don’t have the full story. You have little pieces of what people want you to believe and write about, that’s it. In the eyes of the law, Brixton didn’t do anything wrong. He defended his friend, and I stepped in before anyone got seriously hurt. Brixton tried to make amends and instead, he got stabbed by the guy’s brother at the hospital. Nobody shared that, though. Nobody posted about that guy being arrested or Brixton not pressing charges or covering all the medical expenses. Because it would make the bad guys look better, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” Rex mutters next to me.

I ignore him and give my head a shake. “Nobody is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. But for some reason, you want to crucify Brixton for his.” Stepping toward the guy, I can hear a rush of breath as his eyebrows fly upward.

Good.

I’ve got about eight inches on him and I’m shaking with anger.

“Sometimes, people do things without thinking of the consequences because they feel passionate about their motivation. And because Brixton’s a public figure, he’s being targeted. Have you ever made a mistake? Ever said or done the wrong thing and been publicly criticized for it? Ever had it splashed all over social media? No? Consider yourself lucky.”

There are more phones and cameras filming me than I dare to count but that need to protect overtakes my sensibilities.

But fuck it.

I’m not done.

“And for the record, my private life isn’t up for discussion or speculation. My choices, my relationships, my business.”

After a long hard look at the guy, I turn again and stalk toward the stairwell.

“Do you realize how much shit you just stirred up back there?” Rex hisses. “I’m your agent, not your publicist, dammit.”

“Well, then you should probably call Axel,” I grumble, pulling open the door. “I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say.”

“I don’t understand you, Sam. You wanted to honor your word, which I don’t get at all since you don’t even know the guy. And then you show up here and open yourself up to more character debate with what you said, which was caught on about a hundred different videos, by the way.”

He tugs at the sleeve of my jacket. “Goddammit, stop for a second and tell me why. Why are you willingly putting yourself and your career on the chopping block for that guy, of all people? ”

With a shoulder shuddering sigh, I look back at Rex. “Look, there’s a reason why I’m here right now, and it goes beyond my need to stand by my word, okay?”

Rex stares at me expectantly, his arms folded over his chest. “Okay…”

I drop my eyes to the concrete floor and drag the tip of my shoe through a hairline crack. That’s how this whole thing started. A tiny, innocuous crack that opened up like the ground during an earthquake. And now I’m at risk for falling into the abyss.

Fucking fantastic.

“Two years ago, I met Brixton in the chapel at Mercy Hospital, same hospital we were at last night. His brother had been in a car accident but just came out of a successful surgery. Chase was at the hospital that night, too, in heart failure. If he didn’t get a heart, he was going to die within hours.” I lean back against the cold cinderblock wall. “We talked for a little while and parted ways. Later that night, Chase got a heart. Saved his life. I only just found out yesterday that Brixton’s brother died at the hospital. And two years later, last night to be exact, I ran into Brixton outside the men’s room at the bar and he was pissed as hell to see me. He told me that Chase had gotten his brother’s heart. I had no idea about that part. If you ask me, that’s what snapped in him last night, why he went off the deep end.”

“Shit,” Rex breathes, stroking his chin.

“It gets worse. This morning, he woke up at my place after I’d left for practice and Chase was there. I didn’t tell him Chase lives with me. He came face to face with something he’d struggled with for years — and without warning. The guy is in pain. And I feel responsible. That’s why I offered to help. It’s why I jumped in last night. His head isn’t right, and I get the feeling that nobody else gives a damn except Lane Maxwell. ”

“Sam, I’m sorry for everything he’s going through. It sucks to suffer that kind of loss, but are you really going to let guilt chip away at everything you’ve built for yourself? Can’t you just get another volunteering job and deal with your guilt that way?”

My spine stiffens and I push off the wall. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? I try to give back because I’m grateful for what I have. I don’t volunteer out of guilt. I do it because there are people who need help, and I’m fortunate enough to be able to give it. Period. So don’t ever say that shit again.”

Rex recoils, surprise alive in hie eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. I-I didn’t mean anything by it.”

My lips twitch with anger. “A couple of years ago, the tables were turned and I almost lost Chase. I can’t imagine what my life might have become if it was my brother who died. So yeah, I’m sensitive to what he’s going through. Because of his brother, I didn’t lose mine. I feel like I owe him. And I don’t give a damn what you or anyone else has to say about it.”

Rex puts up his hands. “I get it. I understand. I don’t agree, but this is your life, and my job is to make sure you have plenty of money and endorsement deals that pay for your life. I appreciate you telling me the truth.”

“I expect you’ll keep that between us. It’s not for anyone else’s ears, are we clear?”

“Yeah, of course. I appreciate you putting that trust in me.” Rex sighs. “Okay, so we have to be prepared with whatever is going to pop up on social media next, and there will be plenty. I have to get with Axel to come up with a damage control plan.”

“Whatever you need to do.” I walk down to the lobby without saying another word, but there are plenty bouncing across my mind in the form of questions I don’t have answers to .

Questions I’m afraid to ask.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone in the lobby. My focus is on the glass revolving door at the front of the hotel. I walk quickly across the marble tiled floor, the soles of my shoes clicking hard against it. I squint, the lights blinding me on all sides.

My pulse throbs hard against my throat, my legs picking up speed. An overwhelming urge to pummel the shit out of Brixton threatens to take over, battling viciously with the twisted desires that snake through my insides at the memory of his demanding lips, his devilish fingers, and his superhuman control over me.

This is not pity.

It’s not guilt.

It’s fucking insanity, plain and simple.

“No questions,” Rex calls out over the din of voices that follow me out the door.

A blacked-out Ford Expedition is parked out front. Brixton’s security guys stand in front of it with menacing looks on their faces, I guess to ward off any nosy ass people who are aching for a look at the broken Sin City front man.

He destroyed everything and just walked away without a second thought.

Blood rushes between my ears, rage and frustration blasting through me like an inferno.

He can’t be more than ten minutes ahead of me…wherever the hell he’s going.

“Take me to him.” I step toward them, my voice tight. “ Now. ”