33. Sam

Chapter 33

Sam

I raise my head off the pillow and turn my head toward the training room door when I hear the light knock.

“Come in,” I grunt.

Coach Taylor pops his head into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Sick. Devastated. Pissed off. Rejected.

Where the fuck you want me to start, Coach?

“I’ve had better days.”

A concerned expression flashes across the coach’s face and I let out a sigh. “My leg’s okay. Doc thinks I should be good to play in a couple of weeks, right in time for the playoffs.”

Coach’s face relaxes into a smile. “That’s very good news.” He steps toward me, pulls off his hat, and wrings it in his hands. “And, uh, the other stuff…how’s that going?”

I let out a sharp laugh. “The other stuff. You mean with Brixton Scott.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Don’t you read the tabloids, Coach? ”

His smile gets sheepish. “I try to avoid ‘em. Nothing good ever comes out of believing that trash.”

“Well, in this case, you can believe it. We’re done. So nobody in the organization has to worry about any backlash from my romantic life.”

I shift on the table, wincing when a rush of pain explodes down my leg. I dig my fingers into the sides of the worn green leather.

“You know,” Coach says, sticking his hat back on. “I wasn’t really worried about backlash on the team. I was more worried about you. I’ve never seen you upset like you were at that press conference. I know the suits were pissed about how it’d reflect on them, but I was afraid you’d suffer way more than anyone if things went south with that rocker guy.”

“I appreciate that, Coach.” I swing myself to a seated position. “But I’m good. It wasn’t serious.”

“I hear Jack Larsen is back in town. Signed with the Raptors, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“That a good thing or a bad thing?”

I shrug. “He’s a friend.” My heart clenches when the word slips out of my mouth.

“Nothing more?”

I open my mouth to respond when the door opens again. Dr. Rick, the team doctor, walks in and Jack is right behind him.

He looks about as angry as I feel.

“Coach, looks like you’re going to get your superstar tight end back in a couple of weeks.”

Coach Taylor nods. “Looking forward to it, Doc.” He casts a glance at Jack and then back at me. “Stay well, Sammy.”

“Will do, Coach. See you at practice. ”

Dr. Rick removes the heating pad from my knee and I lower myself onto the floor. Jack just stares at me, his lips tight.

He’s going to want answers.

And I can’t hide them from him anymore.

A few minutes later, I’m back on my crutches, hobbling out of the training room with Jack next to me. I can practically feel the steam coming out of his ears, he’s so heated.

When we’re out of earshot of the doctor, he stops in front of me and turns with a fierce glare in his eye.

“What happened to you yesterday?”

I swing my back against the cinderblock wall and lean against it. “I went to Play It Forward because I needed to get the hell out of my apartment. I was getting cabin fever.”

“But you didn’t actually make it inside, did you?” he says, his tone accusatory. “When I didn’t hear back from you after the voicemails I left, I called around. Sofia said you weren’t there. Your parents and Chase hadn’t heard from you, either. So where the hell were you? And why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I heave a deep sigh and lean my head back against the wall. “I must have shut off my ringer.”

“And you didn’t think to look at your phone at all?” he asks. “I stayed with you since your injury to make sure you were okay. And you didn’t even have the decency to let me know not to come over yesterday.” His eyes narrow. “I’ve given up a lot to be there for you. I’m not a fucking doormat, Sam.”

I swallow a laugh. What a sick twist of irony.

After weeks of willingly being a doormat for Brixton, I’ve turned Jack into the same damn thing.

“Were you with him?” Jack asks, his voice dripping with disgust. “Is that why you were dodging my calls?”

I scrape a hand down the front of my face. “I wasn’t trying to dodge anything. I told you, I just needed to get out?— ”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jack’s eyes spit flames. “Or maybe you just did.”

With a roll of my eyes, I stab the floor with the rubber bottoms of my crutches. “Fine, I was with Brixton. But it’s not what you think. He saw me outside Play It Forward. I really did go. But he asked if I wanted to take a ride to his sister-in-law’s house. I figured, why not?”

“Why not?” Jack lets out a biting laugh. “Why not? Really?”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “I’m sorry, when did I give up the right to choose who I want to spend time with?”

“The guy is a fucking mess. Everyone knows it, except for you. And I get it. You feel bad for him. You feel like you owe him. But he doesn’t give a shit about you. He only cares about himself. And he makes that clear all the fucking time. Don’t you remember the press conference?”

“He was going through a rough time?—”

Jack shakes his head. “Jesus, you’re such a fucking bleeding heart. Sometimes there isn’t any good, Sam. Okay? Sometimes, it’s just bad, through and through. Open your fucking eyes and see what everyone else does.”

“When the hell did you become so cynical?” I growl. “Can you blame me for wanting to help him?”

Jack paces in front of me. He lets out a groan. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Are you gonna let yourself be indebted to him forever because of what happened? It was out of your control. You had nothing to do with what happened to his brother.”

“It hit home,” I hiss. “It was my brother who almost died. And to know Chase was saved because of his brother, it’s not something I can just blow off. It means something to me. And fuck you for being so callous. Maybe you’d have done things differently if you were in my position, but guess what? You’re not. And I’m handling it the way I feel I should. I don’t give a damn what you or my parents think.”

Jack pauses, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Sam, I didn’t come here to fight with you. There is a reason why I signed with Oakland, why I’ve been at Play it Forward so much, why I’ve been by your side since your injury. It’s because I want to be with you. I didn’t want to push things, but you have to know that you’re why I came back to California.”

He walks toward me, locking me against the wall. “I had other offers. I chose to be close to you so we could try again. I hated the way we left things when I moved out east. I never wanted to lose you. But I can’t compete with Brixton Scott. I won’t. So if it’s him you want, tell me now and I’ll walk away.”

“I’m not with Brixton,” I say. “And I won’t ever be. But that’s not why you and I won’t work.” I grip the sides of the crutches, wrapping my fingers tight around the metal. “When you got signed by New York, I was excited for you. It was a great opportunity. But I knew then that we weren’t going to make it. Not because of the distance. I got tired of being one half of a pro athlete power couple. I want more out of my life. I’m not the same guy I was years ago. I have different goals, way beyond my football career.”

“And you think I can’t support those new goals? That I’m a superficial hockey player whose only focus is the limelight?”

“You love hockey. But you also loved the attention we got when we were together. I think part of you wanted that back once you signed with Oakland. There’s nothing wrong with liking the limelight, but when the lights dim and you’re left without the cameras, then what do you have left?”

“I thought we’d have each other.” A pained look flickers in his gaze.

“Would that have been enough for you?” A sad smile lifts my lips. “Would you be happy hiding in the shadows with me? You’re a superstar. Teams are clamoring for you to play with them, throwing money at you from all directions. You’re on top of the world right now and you deserve someone who wants to be up there with you. But I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks that being the center of attention is the absolute worst place for me. It’s not what I want. I work with nonprofit organizations because the people who need help are the ones who deserve the attention. I don’t want it wasted on me.”

“You’re an amazing guy.” Jack runs a hand down the side of my face. “And you were always enough. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t.”

“We just want different things. It happens. It doesn’t change the great times we had. And I really hope that one day we can be friends. I don’t want to lose that.”

Jack nods and turns away. “Wow. I didn’t expect to have this conversation when I came down here today.”

“I should have been honest with you earlier. I figured if I gave it a shot, maybe we could rekindle things. But I’m just in a different place right now. I’m sorry.”

“So this is what it feels like to be dumped,” Jack muses, stroking his chin. “Not loving it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long before you find a hot puckboy who can take away the pain of losing me.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I won’t grieve for too long.” He winks at me. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I push off the wall and settle back on the crutches. “But since you’re here, I could use a ride…”

“Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

I laugh. My phone vibrates against my leg and I fumble in my pocket to grab it. It slips from my fingers and I juggle it in the air with one hand to keep it from crashing to the ground. I catch it before it slips out again and stab the Accept button when I see Chase’s name flash across the screen.

“Hey, what’s u?—?”

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for an hour.”

My chest tightens at the alarm in his voice. “I’m at rehab for my knee. My phone wasn’t on me and the ringer was off. What’s wrong? Is it Mom or Dad?”

“No.” Chase pauses, and when I’m about to scream at him to tell me what the hell happened, he finally speaks.

“Brixton was gunned down in the parking garage here at the hospital. Security found him and rushed him to the emergency room.”

I collapse backward against the wall, the crutches crashing to the floor at my feet.

My heart lodges in my throat, thin streams of sweat slithering down my spine. Blood rushes between my ears, pulse thundering hard. I clutch the phone tight in my shaking hand because I know there’s more he hasn’t told me.

“Is he okay?” I manage to croak the words even though I don’t know if I want to hear the answer.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” he says in a low voice. “They don’t think he’s going to make it.”