20. Brixton

Chapter 20

Brixton

T he driver pulls around the back of the hotel where I was booked to stay after the show last night. It’s a little bit outside of Oakland and sits on the San Francisco Bay, away from all the shit hanging over me.

Of course, I’m the one who hung the shit there in the first place so I really can’t complain about it.

The whole ride here, I’ve been ignoring calls. Ben, Tyler, Dak, Aiden, and of course, the record execs. Our bread and butter. The money hungry assholes who made me play last night in the same place my life started to crumble and hasn’t stopped since, no matter how many hits or gold records we collect.

Fuck all of them.

Hotel security meets me at the back entrance and hustles me into a private elevator to my penthouse suite. Neither one of my escorts says a damn word, which is great because the last thing I want to do is make small talk. I step off the elevator behind them when the doors open on my floor. They stand in the hallway, waiting for my lock to click and the door to open.

Then they’re gone, as quietly as they came.

Fuck, this silence is killing my ears.

I pull open the door to my balcony and breathe in the air. Being close to the water is usually the only thing that brings me peace anymore.

I strip out of the suit Ben brought me, grab a beer from the minibar, and collapse on one of the sofas overlooking the soft waves of the Bay. Reclining, I put my feet up on the coffee table and let out a deep sigh.

Whenever my father would be his typical dickhead self while we were growing up, Davis would always hustle me off to the nearest beach to surf. We’d ride the swirling curls for hours until our skin was pruney and our throats hurt from laughing and yelling.

It was one good thing about living in LA. We were a stone’s throw away from any beach in the area. We didn’t surf for the love of the sport, either. It was just a way for us to unwind and reset. Well, for me to unwind and reset.

Davis was the golden boy. He didn’t kill my mom, so he had that going for him.

And I think he took me surfing because he felt guilty about me being the family scapegoat and he knew it was the only way to distract me, other than music.

My phone rings again, jolting me. I grit my teeth and grab it off the coffee table where I’d tossed it a few minutes ago, ready to decline whoever the fuck’s call.

Except this time, I can’t.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before hitting the Accept button on the video call.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Brix, what the heck is going on with you? How could you have done so much damage to your freaking life in less than twenty-four hours?” The alarm in Allie’s voice makes my chest tight.

She’s one of two people I don’t ever want to disappoint.

And right now, the expression on her face tells me I’m toeing that very fine line.

I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “Al, I know the social media crap looks bad but?—”

“But what?” she says in an exasperated voice. “Look, I get that what happened here yesterday wasn’t the ideal way for you to start your last show. I know it was a lot, between your dad and the letter, and I feel horrible that I couldn’t stop any of it.” She puts a hand to her forehead. “Jesus, dude. You went completely off the rails. Beating some guy beyond belief, that shit show of a press conference, you practically biting off a piece of Sam Hartley’s face on camera after you basically outed yourself…”

A chill snakes down my back.

Oooh. Yes. Me, my fake boyfriend, and the kiss that’s burned into my memory forever.

I told him not to kiss me and I ended up doing the very thing I warned him against. I told myself it was all for the cameras, but deep down, my reason was bullshit.

I wanted to taste those lips after all the venom they’d spewed.

Venom that I one-hundred-and-fifty percent deserved.

When I saw him in that suit with his dark hair slicked back, his jaw tight and eyes spitting fire, I couldn’t help myself.

I needed to taste.

And fuck, it was so much more than I was prepared to handle.

I rest my head back against the cushion. “It was bad. I know. I lost it last night. But you didn’t see everything, okay? It wasn’t just me wreaking havoc all over the damn city, but that’s what all those videos want you to believe.”

“Are you okay now?” she asks.

Grabbing the bottle, I take a long gulp of the icy cold beer then I slam it down on the glass top table. “No Al, I’m not okay. I am fucking far from okay. That letter fucked with my head so bad, but it wasn’t only the letter. It was who the letter was from that twisted my fucking head inside out.”

Pausing, I pick at the edge of the label on the bottle. “And because I’d met Chase Hartley’s brother the night Davis died.”

Allie gives her head a shake. “Wait, Hartley…? And you were with Sam Hartley last night…are you telling me he’s Chase’s brother?”

“Yeah.” My shoulders slump forward. “I met him in the chapel that night. He thought his brother Chase was going to die. And I’d just heard that Davis was gonna be fine. I stopped in the chapel before going up to see you and Jules, you know, to say thanks to God and all that, and we talked for a little while. I obviously didn’t pray nearly as hard as I should have because when I left, I got the call about Davis. Never saw Sam again until last night after the show. Seeing him again blew me the fuck away. I snapped, Al. Couldn’t handle it. And after Sam jumped in to pull me away from the guy at the bar, all those social media posts started flying around. People got it in their heads that Sam and I were a thing. Our publicists said we should go with it.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why?

“Because my image is crap and his is gold. Since I need some reputation rehab, he’s gonna be my boyfriend until all this crap dies down.”

“He agreed to that?” Allie lifts an eyebrow. “Why?”

“The guy’s a saint. Classic do-gooder. And since people are questioning him for hanging out with me, he kinda needs to hold on for a little while, too. Prove to everyone how much of a savior he is, on the football field and off.”

I drop my eyes to the beer bottle again.

“What are you not telling me?”

I ball up the pieces of the label in my hand. “I stayed with him last night. Just in case anyone was watching us and to keep up with the sham. Then this morning, the fucking worst thing happened.”

Allie covers her face with her hand. “Do I want to know?”

I raise the bottle to my lips again and down the rest of it like I’m trying to drown the toxic memory of coming face to face with Chase. “I met Chase Hartley. And I was completely unprepared for it. All of the anger came flooding back. The shit with my dad, the band, the label, the goddamn noose around my neck. So that’s why I blew the press conference. I fucked over Lane, bolted away from Hartley…”

“And was his outburst at the press after the conference all part of the fake relationship?”

My brows furrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to check it out online. Mr. Good As Gold had quite a mouthful for one of the influencers.”

“I don’t really want to Google my name right now. I’m sure you understand.” I sit back and scrape my hand down the front of my face, regret nipping at my gut. “And, oh yeah, I need to do community service, too. With my fake boyfriend. More rehab for my reputation.”

“B, fixing your reputation isn’t going to fix your heart. I know that and so do you. I want you to be so successful and to be able to enjoy that success. Davis would be incredibly proud of you. But you’re messing it up more and more every day and unless you get a handle on your emotions, you’ll completely destroy everything you built with the guys. ”

“Fuck the guys. I mean, other than Lane. Those assholes didn’t show up for me once. All they give a shit about is themselves and their bank accounts.”

“People will always disappoint you. But you’re projecting all of your rage on everyone around you and I don’t think you understand the root cause of it.”

A frustrated sigh escapes my lips. “I don’t need a ten-cent therapy session, Doc.”

“You feel abandoned by your father. And after Davis died, there was no one to cushion the blow of that pain. You’re on your own and making sure everyone around you suffers just as much as you are.”

“They deserve it,” I grumble.

“Who deserves it? Aiden? Dak? Okay, fine. They’re self-centered people. The record execs? They’re in business to make money and you’re contracted to command it for them. But everyone else? Are they all targets, too? Stop trying to push everyone away. You have so much, why don’t you feel like you deserve it?”

“Because I don’t!” I jump up from the couch and hurl a throw pillow at the wall. “I fucking don’t, Al.”

Tears fill her green eyes. “You have to stop blaming yourself. I’m so scared for you, B. You’re on this self-destructive road, and I’m scared to death to find out where it leads. You need to pick up the pieces and find a way to move on. We can do it together. And if I ever hear you say your life isn’t worth it, then think of the little girl you were with yesterday. Think about how she lights up like a Christmas tree whenever she sees you, how she never stops talking about Unca Bee. She’s a precious gift your brother gave to us.”

Her voice cracks and she swipes at a tear. “We’re all hurting, B. Try to stop shutting everyone out and maybe it will start to hurt a little bit less. Please. ”

A hard knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

“Someone is here,” I mutter.

“Just think about what I said,” she says. “I love you, B. And so does Jules.”

“I love you guys, too. I’ll talk to you later.”

I click to end the call and toss my phone onto the couch.

It has to be Lane. He’s the only one who gives a shit enough to check on me, even after I pulled that stunt at the press conference.

I slowly move toward the door, my chest aching like I just took a lightning round of sucker punches. Peering through the peephole, my breath hitches.

Sam.

Looking hot as fuck with his tie loosened and shirt unbuttoned.

I pull open the door and he eyes me in my boxer briefs. I don’t miss the flicker of hunger in his hard gaze.

“How’d you get up here? Only security knows I’m staying here.”

“Mike and Steve brought me.”

“Why would they do that? I figured I made it pretty clear with my statement at the press conference that I didn’t want to be around any of you.”

“Such a self-centered bastard,” he growls as he steps into the room, eyeing me like I’m dinner. “You singlehandedly steamrolled everyone who wants to help you during that conference. You’re really a fucking head case.”

The door slams shut behind him.

I cock my head to the side. “What was that? You want me to give you head?”

Sam’s eyes flash and he pushes me into a wall, his hand resting over my nipple piercing. A shiver slips down my spine, goosebumps covering my skin .

“I came to tell you that you’re fucking with my career. I was there to help you and you blew the whole plan to shit because you’re a self-righteous prick.” His other hand comes to rest around my neck and he gives it a little squeeze.

My dick immediately gets hard.

“I don’t think you came here to tell me that,” I rasp, closing my hand over his. “I think you came here to punish me, Sammy. So do it. Show me how pissed off you are that I’m fucking up your life. Make me feel how much you hate me. I dare you.”