23. Sam

Chapter 23

Sam

J ack’s arm tightens around me, but I stiffen under Brixton’s pained, accusatory stare.

I won’t lie.

I like the defeatist look on his face as he stands there, trying not to gape at Jack.

Speaking of faces, I’d have liked to leave my mark on that chiseled face yesterday after he ordered me to leave his hotel room. I wanted to smash that jaw into a thousand bone chips.

But really, what was I expecting?

He made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to breach the barbed wire layering his heart and I said fuck it.

I wanted to be the one to break through.

I only ended up smashing face-first into it, the resulting scrapes and scratches feeling like tiny razor blades slicing at my own heart.

Rex sent the pictures of me leaving the hotel but didn’t need to repeat his past words because they were already branded into my brain.

I told you so .

Yeah, you fucking did.

And again, I got kicked in the teeth.

Jack just happened to pick that time to call and tell me he was in town to sign contracts with the Oakland Raptors. Asked if I was seeing anyone and if the rumors about Brixton were true.

I told him it was complicated.

He said he wanted to uncomplicate things for me.

And here we all are.

Brixton walks toward us, my insides plunging into a deep freeze at the shards of ice shooting from his gaze.

Jack gives me a little nudge. I look up at him and raise my shoulders in the tiniest shrug.

Because I’m just as surprised to see Brixton as he is.

The kids, too.

They watch him approach, open-mouthed until they all erupt in excited yells.

Brixton pauses and flashes a wide smile at the group. “I may be a little out of place here since I’m not an athlete,” he says, casting another glance at me. “But I know how to have fun and that’s what you do here, right?”

They cheer and I nod to the coaches to come over to the group. “Hey, coaches, can we divide the guys up into groups, please?”

Brixton’s hard gaze doesn’t leave my face. I can feel his anger rippling through me. Beads of sweat pop up along the back of my neck despite the chilled air blasting from the overhead vent.

My fingers tingle with the memory of sliding over his heated skin, of teasing the tip of his cock, of gripping his hips while thrusting deep inside of him.

His smile never wavers as he turns to Jack. “You’re a long way from home. ”

Jack smirks. “Not anymore. But then again, it makes sense you didn’t know. For someone who’s all over the Internet, I’d guess you would steer clear of Google.”

Brixton lets out a sharp, fake laugh. “Yeah. Well, I guess you wouldn’t know much about being all over the Internet since the Renegades have one of the shittiest records in the NHL and Google probably doesn’t even recognize your name.”

Jack’s jaw tenses and he fists my shirt. I put a hand on his chest and glare at Brixton. “That’s enough,” I hiss under my breath so only the three of us can hear. “Remember, we’re supposed to be here for the kids, not a dick measuring contest.”

Jack rubs his hand up and down my back and brushes his lips against my cheek. Then he turns to the groups of kids and says in a booming voice, “Okay, where are my hockey players?”

I follow Brixton’s narrowed eyes as they follow Jack toward the ice skating rink toward the back of the facility.

He turns back to me, his expression sullen. “I thought he was gonna pee on you next.”

I stalk toward a corner and twist around to face him, practically choking on the cloud of fury surrounding me. “It’s none of your goddamn business what he does to me, Brixton. Or did you smack your head and forget the way you kicked me out of your room and your life yesterday? You gave up the right to say a fucking word about it.”

Brixton pulls off his baseball cap, smooths back his hair, and sticks the cap on again, pulling the brim low.

It’s not typical for him to delay a response, so that tells me he doesn’t have one.

That stings even worse.

Because it tells me he did it out of self-preservation, not because he really doesn’t care about me.

And I hate that I let myself fall into his trap again .

I almost wish he’d say he never gave a shit. It’d be so much easier to hear that than to hear absolutely fucking nothing in response.

He’s jealous of Jack, but more importantly, jealous of Jack and me.

His nasty looks and scathing comments make that clear as a freshly washed window.

But he can’t admit it, not to me and probably not to himself.

And that makes him so much more dangerous than a regular fuckboy.

Fuckboys want sex, nothing more. No emotions, no strings, no commitment. That’s the deal.

But this chemistry lingering in the air is explosive enough to capture us both in a fireball and incinerate us. At some point within the past twenty-four hours, our fake relationship got very fucking scary real. Something binds us, forcing us to keep coming back to each other, and it’s well beyond great sex.

Great, mind-scrambling, bone-melting sex.

Even now, I should walk away, tell him to handle his PR mess on his own.

I can’t.

The pull is too strong, even with all of my rage battling against it.

“So you’re back together with your ex.” It’s a statement more than a question, but it lands like a lead brick against my chest. “How’s that going to look to your precious fans?”

“Well, they loved us together the first time, so…” My voice trails off and I love the stricken look he shoots back at me.

“I meant since we’re supposed to be together,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m sure you saw the pictures online of me leaving your hotel. Pretty damn convincing. Looks like we’re Donesville.” I fold my arms over my chest. “People may have things to say for a while but I’m sure our publicists will sweep up all the broken pieces.”

He nods stiffly. “Guess so.”

“Why did you even come here today?” I ask in a gruff voice. “Did you finally decide to give a shit about your future after you almost destroyed it yesterday?”

My chest tightens at the word future .

Once upon a time, not too long ago, I’d foolishly thought his future might actually entwine with mine.

What a dumbass I was for even giving that thought airtime.

Instead we collided into one devastating crash after another.

At some point, it’s time to put on a damn seat belt to avoid more carnage.

The guarded look is back in force.

“Let’s just say I had a wake-up call or two. Finally figured out what I needed to do.” He shifts in his sneakers and rubs the back of his neck the way I’ve noticed he does when he’s searching for words but can’t seem to find them.

I nod, casting a quick glance over Brixton’s shoulder in time to see Jack eyeing us through the Plexiglass surrounding the ice rink. “Well, don’t be intimidated about the sports thing. They’re excited because it’s you, not because of what you can teach them on a football field or basketball court.”

Brixton clears his throat. “Well, I, ah, ran into this kid outside. His dad dropped him off, seemed like a real douche canoe. The kid’s not into sports. He likes music but his dad can’t afford lessons. Said his mom died when he was younger. She used to play and was teaching him until she got sick.” He toys with the hem of his t-shirt. “Kid thinks his dad takes out a lot of shit on him because his playing reminds him of his dead wife.”

I swallow hard at the dark shadow seeping into his features, almost as if his own words haunt him.

Then he looks up at me with a shrug, his lips lifting the slightest bit.

My heart hammers at the sight.

I’ll be a son of a gun.

The first real smile I think I’ve ever seen on Brixton Scott’s face.

“I’m gonna teach him how to play.”

Shit. Now my heart is doing goddamn pirouettes.

The guy is worse than manipulative.

He’s unknowingly fucking manipulative.

He’s toying with my heart strings like I’m a freaking puppet.

All because I was right…there is more to him than just a cocky arrogance and pole-up-his-ass attitude.

“I think that’s great,” I say slowly. “But how long can you keep that up? You don’t live here. You’ll have another record, another tour, then one after that?—”

“At this point, who the hell knows? Will there be another record? Another tour?” He sighs. “Or did I dig my own grave this time for real? Time will tell. And I’ve got lots of it on my hands.”

I want to pull him against me, to hold him tight, to breathe in his spicy scent.

And my God, I hate myself for it.

“I’m sure Ben will help you navigate the mess you made.” I force a smile. “Things will work out. People have short memories. You should forget about it, too.”

“Yeah…” he says in a soft voice before he backs away and slides the sunglasses back on his face. “I should. But I don’t kn ow if I can this time. Sometimes trying to forget is useless, even if you know it’s for the best.”

He turns and waves at a kid standing at the front desk with Sofia, a kid I take to be the aspiring musician. Then he walks out the door, his head down as he disappears into the crowd of people suddenly swarming the sidewalk.

I lean back against the column and blow out an unsteady breath.

Fuck me.

For the first time, Brixton and I might actually agree on something.

The end of us.