32. Brixton

Chapter 32

Brixton

I drop kisses onto Sam’s shoulder the next morning, hoping that whatever was eating him last night isn’t gonna wake up with him. We fucked around for the better part of the night but something felt off. It’s like a wall crashed down between us. I can’t figure it out. The first time was so hot and intimate and after that? It was like he just wasn’t into it anymore.

I don’t understand how.

He rocked my fucking world.

Didn’t I do the same to him?

We had dinner, watched Netflix. He didn’t say much, which definitely isn’t like him.

I asked if maybe his leg was bothering him. He said it was a little sore.

So maybe that was the problem?

I hate thinking that I might have hurt him.

His eyes open. When I kiss him, he turns away.

“Sorry, my knee. I just need to get up and…move around…” He struggles to get out of the bed .

“You need help?” I ask, jumping up after him.

“No,” he says without even looking at me. “I have to get ready.”

I furrow my brow. “For what?”

“Rehab,” he says shortly. Not that he so much as turns his head toward me.

I follow him and grab his arm. “Hey.”

He stops but doesn’t turn around.

“Sam, what the hell is up? I thought we had a great night. What changed? Did I do something?”

That’s when he looks at me. His dark eyes harden, and I recoil because I’ve never seen such disgust in his gaze.

Not even when I was being a complete prick a couple of weeks ago. There was frustration and anger, yeah. But nothing like this kind of disdain. It stings, I’m not gonna lie.

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” I ask.

“Look, Brixton. I know yesterday was really hard for you. And I’m glad I could be there for you .”

His scathing tone makes me take a step back.

“But I’m not in this. I can’t be. I just…” He lets out a frustrated sigh.

My back stiffens. “You’re not in this? Are you fucking kidding me? When did you decide this? After which fucking orgasm last night?”

“This isn’t about sex. You need to work on yourself. I can’t help you with that. I can’t be…” He sweeps a hand through his hair, biting off his last words. “I’m sorry.”

My jaw drops but I can’t even think of the words to say.

And before I can speak a single syllable, he disappears into the bathroom and closes the door.

If that wasn’t an exit cue, then I don’t know what fucking is .

I stand there for a long minute and push back my hair.

What fucking alternate reality did I just step into?

How the fuck?—?

I drop my hands and glare at the bathroom door.

No.

Hell to the fucking no .

I’m Brixton goddamn Scott. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

Rage gathers force in my gut, rushing to my chest. My shoulders shake, fists clench tight.

“You know what, Sam? You’re not so goddamn perfect, either. Running back to your pretty puckhead boyfriend because you’re afraid of what might happen if you took a risk. Listening to your parents because you’re too much of a pussy to make your own choices. You’re pathetic. At least I owned up to my shit. How about you? Or maybe Jackie boy will be there to make excuses so you don’t have to. Fucking pathetic,” I roar.

I stalk into the foyer and pull on my clothes. I grab my keys and then the door handle. I turn, my lips trembling with anger.

“And just so you know, you can’t hold a candle to Travis fucking Kelce as the best tight end in the league, you assbag.”

That was low, but fuck it.

I feel a tiny bit better after saying it.

I pull open the apartment door and slam it so hard behind me that the walls shake.

Something shatters inside the apartment and I let out a breath.

I hope it was something he loved.

Bastard.

When I’m in my truck, I sit still for a long minute and grip the steering wheel like I’d like to grip Sam’s throat. I swallow hard, startled when my phone pings with a text.

I pull the phone from my pocket, my pulse thundering .

Could it be?—?

But it isn’t.

It’s Lane.

Hey, you there?

I suck in a breath and stab at the keyboard.

Yes.

Three gray dots appear as he types.

Good. Come meet me for breakfast. Ray’s Diner. You know the place.

Yeah, I know the place. Best corned beef hash on the West Coast. Not that I can even think about eating anything right now.

Meet you there in ten.

When I pull into the diner parking lot, my blood is still on high boil. I glare at my phone before stuffing it into my pocket. No call from Sam in the ten minutes after I stormed out of his place and evidently, his life.

I scrub a hand down the front of my face and take a deep breath. The urge to go back to Sam’s apartment and beat him with his own crutches is damn strong.

Fuck him.

I need to work on myself.

What the hell about him?

I let out a groan and slam my hands on the steering wheel.

The demons nip at my heels.

This is why I don’t get close to anyone .

Nobody will love you if your own father can’t.

Fuck corned beef hash. I need vodka.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My hair sticks up in a million different directions from me constantly tugging on it. I don’t bother to smooth it back. It’s wild and chaotic and right now, that’s exactly how I feel.

I get out of the car and walk toward the entrance. It’s mid-morning, so the breakfast rush is over and it should be pretty quiet inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the flash of a camera and grit my teeth.

I’m so not in the mood for paparazzi right now.

Ignoring it, I duck inside and scout the small space until I see Lane in a far corner booth at the back. It’s not until I get close that I see he’s not alone.

I stop in front of the table.

Dak and Aidan look up at me from under the brims of their baseball caps.

Lane clears his throat. “I thought it would be a good idea to talk about the future of the band. Together.”

“You guys flew in just for breakfast?” I ask.

Dak flashes a smirk. “Well, breakfast and to potentially audition new front men.”

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that going?” I bite out.

“B, sit,” Lane orders.

I drop into the booth next to him. “So this is an ambush? You brought me here to lay the news on me before I find out in the tabloids?”

“No, dick,” Aidan says. “There aren’t going to be any auditions.”

Dak chuckles. “There never were going to be. You’re the heart and soul of Sin City. Nobody could replace your arrogant ass. ”

“But,” Aidan says. “That doesn’t mean shit between us is fixed and forgiven.”

“No,” I say. “It’s not. So let’s start with that, yeah?”

“You pulled away after Davis died. You skipped practices, were fucking pickled for the better part of two years because of all the booze, you didn’t engage, you didn’t show up for events.” Aidan takes a sip of his coffee. “You weren’t in it anymore. Didn’t seem like anything could pull you back.”

“And what about you?” I shoot back to Aidan. “Did you even bother to talk to me? To ask me how I was?”

“It’s a little hard to be sympathetic when your lead singer is bombed off his ass all the time and doesn’t remember shit from one night to the next. We were always there for you. You were just too out of your mind to realize it. And we dealt with it because Sin City got so big so fast and we had that as a distraction,” Dak says. “But when the dust settles, it’s gotta be us. It can’t be us and you. We’re a team or we’re not.”

I lean forward into my hands. “I fucked up, guys. And I got chewed out by the label, too. But I want to make things better. I’ve realized a lot over the past couple of weeks. I don’t want to cut myself off anymore. Yeah, it took me a long time to deal with Davis’s death, and I had a hard time with it for a lot of reasons. But I can finally see things clearly. I own my mistakes and I’m making up for them. And I’m sorry for what happened at the press conference. That was probably the peak of my dickheadedness.”

“Arguable,” Aidan says. “I can think of a few other times that could rival it.”

I give him a punch in the shoulder.

“We built this thing together and we all want to see it through,” Lane says. “That’s why we’re all here right now. I talked to Aidan and Dak and told them we talked. Nobody wants to break up the band. And everyone is willing to overlook the fact that you were a selfish, self-centered pain in the ass over the past couple of years.”

“I like how you slipped that dig in,” I mutter with a smile.

“Yeah, well, we were all thinking it.” Lane laughs. “We had a rough patch. The important thing is that we bury it and move forward.”

As I watch the guys joke, laugh, and dig into their breakfasts, I am consumed with a sense of belonging that I resisted for a long time. Maybe I pulled away because I felt like without Davis, the guys would end up rejecting me, too. So subconsciously I was pushing them away and driving them to that end to convince myself I was right about the need to self-protect.

As it happened, all I was doing was self-sabotaging.

Family is the most important thing.

Doesn’t need to be blood to be considered family, either.

I realize that now.

And it’s been a long time coming.

“I’ve got an idea I wanna run past you guys. Lane and I talked about it the other day but it would be great if you guys were onboard, too.”

I go through the details of my plan and when they smile and nod, it lights me the fuck up.

They love it.

“We’re in,” Aidan says. “Anything you need, whenever you need.”

“New tour won’t start for about eight months so we’ve got lots of time,” I say. “And we don’t need to limit it to Oakland, either. We can do drop-ins in the cities we visit. Make it a nationwide kind of thing.”

The more I talk about it, the more excited I get .

And there’s only one person who jumps to mind when I think about who I want to share that excitement with, even though I just walked out on him.

I lift my chipped white mug and sip the coffee the server just refilled, ignoring the scorching heat on the tip of my tongue.

This is exactly the kind of thing that would make Sam happy. Patching shit up, moving forward, doing good for myself and others. It’s totally his bag. Not that he’d give a shit now.

“So we’re good,” Lane says, clapping me on the back once we’re outside in front of our cars.

I force a smile. “Yeah. I’m headed to Mercy Hospital now to meet with the administrators so we can share the idea and maybe pick a date for the first private acoustic show.”

We do the whole bro hug thing on the sidewalk, and then Dak and Aidan jump into a waiting Escalade. I turn to Lane. “You’re not going with them?”

“Nah. I drove myself.” He gives me a long look. “You sure you’re good? You don’t look it.”

I let out a deep sigh and sweep a hand through my hair. “Yesterday was a total shit show at Allie’s. My dad showed up, words were said.” I pause. “Rocks were thrown. Literally.”

“Fuck,” Lane breathes out.

“Yeah. Sam was with me.”

Lane’s eyebrows fly upward at that. “How’d that happen?”

“I thought we were friends. Hoped we’d be more than that, but he’s not into it.” I shrug. “Moving on.”

“Dude, of course he wants more than that. Anyone who doesn’t live under a fucking rock can see how much he wants that from a mile away.”

“Yeah, well, they’d be wrong. He made that clear to me today. Whatever. I don’t want to deal with any relationship crap right now. I’ve got more important shit to focus on.” I trace the tip of my Nike over a crack in the sidewalk.

“I think you’re making a mistake. There must be a reason. You owe it to yourself to find out what’s going on in his head.”

I hold up a hand. “Lane, I appreciate your pep talk, but it’s done. He’s gonna be with that tool, Jack Larsen. He’s the guy Sam needs. I’m not gonna get in their way.”

Lane is silent for a minute. “I’m sorry, B. I didn’t know Jack was back in the picture.”

“When he signed with Oakland, he busted through the picture.” I roll my eyes. “Fuck it. I need to focus on myself and Sin City.”

“Okay, if you say so.” But he looks damn doubtful.

Kind of how I feel.

But I’m not gonna let myself get kicked in the teeth again. I’ve got at least one tiny shred of pride left, dammit.

“Gotta run,” I say after glancing at the time on my phone. “I’ll let you know how it goes later.”

I stab the hospital address into my GPS and sit back against the leather seat, my shoulders slumping a little.

It hurts like hell to hit rock bottom.

I guess this is the upward climb, and so far, it hasn’t been a fucking picnic.

Maybe I was wrong about why Davis sent Sam to me. Maybe he was part of the wake-up call from my perpetual living nightmare.

For the next twenty or so minutes, I’m lost in my tormented thoughts.

Still shredded on the inside.

I’ve said a lot of things to different people, but that closure still escapes me, both with my dad and Sam. Having a say doesn’t resolve shit, and without resolution, it’s a Band-Aid and bubble gum fix. It’ll never hold .

There’s nobody at the entrance of the parking garage. I pull inside the darkened space and wind my way up the levels until I find an empty spot. I jump down from the driver’s seat and slam the door shut. The sign for the elevator is the only light in the place.

I hunch forward and pull on my baseball cap, pulling the brim low.

My phone pings, and my heart lurches in response. A defeated sigh escapes my lips when I see it’s a text from Chase. He’s going meet me in the front lobby on the first floor.

I trudge toward the elevator, Sam’s words looping through my mind, each go around making me more and more pissed off.

Where the fuck does he get off saying that shit and then walking away, like my opinion didn’t matter at all?

I ball my hands into tight fists and walk across the lot toward the metal doors. Tires squeal along the concrete floor, jolting me from my angry inner diatribe. Flashing headlights make me squint. I jump back as a black car swings around the bend, nearly hitting me.

“What the fuck?” I yell, my hat flying off my head.

The smell of burning rubber grips my gut.

The car screeches to a sudden stop. I squint at the darkened windows. The back one opens part way.

I twist away a second too late, choking on a breath.

Maybe my last.

Bullets crack, shattering the silence around me.

I crumple to the ground as the car zooms away. A searing pain explodes down my left side as I try to pull in air, to yell for help. But nothing comes out. I try to claw at the ground with my right hand, to pull myself to the elevator.

My head feels like it’s a hundred pounds, vision blurring like I’m peering through water. The garage gets darker. Sirens ring between my ears.

I have to get help. Have to?—

But I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Numbness creeps into my limbs, erasing the pain and all my thoughts as I’m swallowed by blackness.