37. Brixton

Chapter 37

Brixton

“ T urn it up,” I say to Sofia, hovering over her shoulder to watch the breaking news on her laptop monitor. Sam sits in a chair next to her, leaning forward, his eyes glued to the screen.

It’s been two weeks since I was released from the hospital. Two fucking weeks and the cops have absolutely nothing on the shooter. I hired investigators who came up empty, too. It’s like that damn truck followed me into the parking garage, made the hit, and then disappeared into thin air.

But last night I got a call from the chief of the Oakland Police Department because there was a break in the case. Turns out, the girlfriend of the guy I put in the hospital overheard the assbag bragging about the hit and flipped the fuck out. He beat her pretty bad to keep her quiet. Smart girl decided she wanted out of that cesspool of white trash and went to the cops. She’s in protective custody now and said she’d testify against the guy.

She also happened to leak a few other details about the motorcycle club’s criminal dealings other than the attempted hit on me, so of course, the cops are salivating over using her as a witness in plenty of other unsolved cases against the club.

Sofia hits the volume button on her laptop so we can hear it more clearly.

“According to sources, the accused in the Mercy Hospital shooting of rock star Brixton Scott has been identified after two weeks of investigating. The whistleblower, Emme Madsen, is the girlfriend of the accused and brought her story to the police last night after she was attacked and beaten by her boyfriend outside of a bar in downtown Oakland. Per an anonymous tip, the accused, Tommy Horton, was caught trying to skip the border late yesterday afternoon and is now being held without bail.”

“She’s fucked, no?” Sofia asks. “I mean, she’ll never survive if those biker guys have anything to say about it.”

“The police chief told me the FBI is going to take over because a lot of the other crimes are intrastate. They have jurisdiction and plenty of cash. They’ll do everything they can to keep her safe.” I straighten up slowly. My arm is still in a sling so my movements are limited, not that it stops me and Sam from getting in our daily “workouts.”

“You’re impervious to death. Kind of like cockroaches.”

I make a face at him. “Never been compared to a roach before.”

“Maybe not to your face,” he says slyly. Then Sam springs out of the chair and wraps his arms around me. “I hope when that dickhead gets sent to gen pop at Crescent City Prison, they tear his fucking balls off and choke him with them. ”

Sofia gasps and looks up at Sam. “Wow, so you do have a dark side.”

“You have no idea,” he says.

“Yeah, and it’s not my influence, either,” I pipe in, laughing until I look toward the front door of Play It Forward.

The smile fades from my face.

My fingers clench the edge of the desk.

Sam rests a hand on the small of my back, but I don’t need protection or shielding.

Not anymore.

My father walks into Play It Forward, twisting his head left and right, taking in all of the activity. I narrow my eyes, my lips twisting when he finally looks straight at us.

He takes a few tentative steps in the direction of the reception desk, his gaze latched onto my cold one. His keys jingle as he twists them between his fingers, apprehension scrawled across his lined face.

“You okay?” Sam murmurs.

I take in a sharp breath. “Yes.” Then I walk around to the front of the reception desk, my back stiff.

“There’s no reason for you to be here right now,” I say.

His eyes drop to the sling. “I knew from Allie that you were doing better, but I wanted to see for myself.”

“Okay, you’ve seen. I’m good. Now leave.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I understand why you don’t want to see me.”

“Good, because if I had to explain it to you again, that would be really fucking sad.” Anger bubbles in my veins, my one good fist tingling with all of the reasons why it needs to crack against his jaw and knock him the fuck out.

“Please, Brixton. I need you to hear me out.”

“You had a lot of years when I was ready and willing to listen. But the shit you spewed was poison. Now I’m supposed to open my ears? Because you’re ready? Fuck that.”

I push past him and stalk toward the door. I shove it open with my good shoulder and walk outside, pacing along the sidewalk like my feet are on hot coals.

He follows me outside. “I was a fucking horrible father to you.”

I spin on my heel, lasering him with a glare. “Fucking A right, you were. And now that you’re here, asking me to listen to whatever bullshit you feel the need to say, I’m just supposed to let you?”

“I’m so sorry, Brixton. There’s no excuse for the way I’ve behaved. I can’t justify it, no matter how devastated I was about you mother’s death. And I hate myself for it. I just…I couldn’t let it go. I tried. But every time I looked at you…”

His voice trails off.

“You don’t have to worry about that ever again,” I snarl.

“I’ve been going to therapy,” he blurts.

“A little late in the game, huh, Pops?” I tug at my hair and continue pacing. “It’s only been about twenty-five years. What the fuck jolted you?”

“Nearly losing you,” he says. “I know you won’t believe it, but?—”

“You lost Mom and Davis and you still didn’t give a flying fuck about me. So why should I believe that almost losing me would make you realize what a fucking raging asshole you are?”

I turn and creep toward him, my voice shaking. “Is this just some bullshit exercise from your therapist? Some sort of 12-Step program or something? Because there’s no redemption for what you did. None.”

My father hangs his head. “I know. And I also know I don’t deserve another chance. I didn’t come here because my therapist wants me to reconnect with you. I’m trying to make myself better.”

Damn if those words don’t resonate.

“I said some horrible things a couple of weeks ago. I was angry, but not at you. I’ve been angry with myself all this time and I lashed out because I couldn’t handle it. I needed to drag someone down with me…and you were there. And my God, I wish I hadn’t spoken those words. I wish with everything in me that I could take them back.”

“I was angry that you came to the hospital when you thought I might die because all those other times, over my entire life, you didn’t care at all,” I say. “So now you decide that you didn’t want your soul stained with the rejection of your only living son? Too bad. That’ll be your demon to battle. I’m finished battling mine.”

But then I slant a glance back at Sam who just appeared in the window and remember.

I don’t need to hang on to the anger anymore.

I don’t want to hang onto it.

It’s been a big, dark, toxic cloud over my life for too many years, and it finally dissipated when I woke up from the shooting.

I stood up to those demons and told them to fuck off.

Taking a deep breath, I look at my father’s crestfallen expression.

As if he really believed I was just going to forgive him for a lifetime of hurt.

“I’ve looked for your approval for my whole life. I thought I’d never be deserving of love because of the blatant ways you rejected me. I’ve had to deal with intimacy issues and survivor’s guilt and a whole boatload of other crap because the one person who should have loved me and protected me no matter what kicked me to the curb like I was trash. You were never there for me. Ever. And I won’t ever allow you to cast a shadow over my life again.”

I walk toward the revolving glass door, then turn one final time. “We share a family. We have Allie and Jules. I don’t plan to run from events because we’ll both be there together. I won’t hide from you. But I’ll tell you right now that civility is the best you’ll ever get from me. And to be honest, it’s a very generous offer, considering the hell I had to go through as your son.”

He drops his head, his shoulders slumping. “I understand. And I don’t blame you. Thank you for listening, and…be well.”

Then he turns and slowly walks down the street, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Sam bursts out the door, his eyes wide with alarm. “What happened? What did he say?”

I shrug. “He wanted to make amends. But I’m not on the same page.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something then closes it. “Do you feel good about the way you handled it?”

“Nope. I hate the way I handled it. It fucking kills me to not have a relationship with my father. But he’s a constant reminder of the pain I lived with from the day I was born. Maybe one day I’ll be able to find a way to forgive him. But it’s definitely not today.”

Sam hugs me close. “I love you, and I’ll always stand by you.”

I breathe in the fresh, clean scent of Chanel Bleu, my favorite cologne of his. “I know. But you think I’ll regret this, don’t you?”

He pauses for a second before nodding. “I do. But I also know you, of all people, need to do things in your own time.”

I lean my forehead against his. “I have everything I’ll ever need, right here, right now. ”

It stings, what I just did. Sending my father away, rejecting his attempt at reconciliation.

My story may not have a picture perfect ending with all loose ends tied up with a pretty red bow. Sometimes there just aren’t any resolutions to be had.

But it’s my story.

And I’m stronger now with Sam at my side and I’ll never let anyone take over the writing of it again.