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6. Brixton

Chapter 6

Brixton

M y eyes sting from the salty spray, legs aching as I crouch low on the surfboard and sail over the rough waters. The dark waves carry my board upward and into another swirling curl. The sky, which was bright and blue only a few hours ago, is now heavy and gray, thick with cloud cover that eclipses the sun.

It’s nearing dusk, and Half-Moon Bay is pretty much deserted because who the hell in their right mind would take a chance and risk their life to surf under these shitty conditions?

White-capped crests whip against my tensed-up muscles, the aggression of the sea matching my own.

My eyes blur behind my sunglasses, every muscle tightening for the ride through the massive barrel ahead. It has to be at least eighteen feet high. The open bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the front seat of the rental should have been enough of a warning to stay off this board and away from waves that could crush my internal organs if I make one wrong move. Instead, it only made me embrace the self-destructive tear I’ve been on, the one I managed to conceal from Allie this afternoon .

Barely.

I had to get out of there before the facade cracked.

Splintered bits of that letter pierce my brain like the sharpest razor blades. Knowing that a piece of Davis still lives should bring me peace but instead, it just pisses me off.

“He had so fucking much to live for,” I bellow into the air, my voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. “Goddammit, it should have been me.”

And there it is, the thing that’s been plaguing me for the past two years. Davis was about to be a husband and father. All I’d been doing with my life is dicking around with my guitar and microphone. The guilt that God chose him over me eats away at my insides, feasting on every shred and savoring it to prolong the goddamn torment.

He was always so supportive of my career. There was no way he’d have missed that show, but fuck, I wish with everything in me that he had.

My mind is fuzzy from the booze and splitting from the angry horde of voices commanding my thoughts. Water sprays my sunglasses, piercing my skin like tiny needles. The board propels upward, riding the barrel as it grows higher and higher. And then my fucking foot slips.

With a fierce, thundering tempo, my heart nearly explodes out of my chest as the wave sweeps my board out from under me. The sunglasses fly off my face. I gasp for air before I even hit the water. The waves thrash around me when I hit the surface, arms covering my head, the loud slap of my wetsuit slamming into the crests.

Thank fuck I fell backward. At least there’s a silver lining.

But the wave fights me for air. It flips and rolls me around and I know I shouldn’t fight. I know from years of experience that I should just let it carry me, but panic bubbles in my constricted chest and I flail and flounder as the wave ravages my body.

I cough and choke and sputter as my head pops in and out of the water. Keeping one arm over my head since I have no fucking clue what happened to my board, I somehow manage to propel myself through the dark, ominous swells, My biceps burn with each stroke. The force of the surf constricts my chest, challenging my lungs to struggle for oxygen.

I squint at the shore in front of me, and that’s when I see a cluster of jagged rocks jutting from a nearby cove. Terrific, maybe a great white might start circling, too. Really make it a fucking party.

Hoping my board landed somewhere far behind me, I drag myself through the surf when a set of breakers cuts toward me.

Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to drink and then surf? Allie would be so angry if she knew where I was right now. She tried to get me to stay after that tense exchange with my father, tried to calm me down. But I needed to get away from there. Too many memories…toxic and otherwise…plagued me.

And now I’m headed for certain annihilation by way of those damn rocks. With a deep breath, I dive forward. Another wave assaults me, this one driving me straight into the rocks. I suck in what I sure as hell hope isn’t my last breath and kick as hard as I can to get myself out of the wave.

Seconds feel like hours. By some miracle, I manage to edge myself out of the line of fire for the rocks and my feet finally hit the sandy shore. I drag myself out of the water, my lungs on fire, my legs like Jell-O. I collapse onto the sand, my breaths shallow and ragged. Staring at the darkening sky, my chest shudders. Wet strands of hair stick to the sides of my face.

I don’t know how long I lie here or what time it is, for that matter .

Fuck time.

Fuck obligation.

I bring my hands to the sides of my head and fist the hair.

“You got a death wish or something?”

I twist around at the intruding voice.

He doesn’t realize how close to the truth he is.

Tyler Desmond, the band’s manager, is trudging toward me.

“Little overdressed for the beach,” I say in a flat tone, collapsing onto my back again. I fling an arm over my eyes.

“Brix, you were supposed to be at the arena an hour ago. What the hell are you doing out here, anyway? Are you trying to drown? The fucking beach is closed for a reason.”

“I didn’t see the sign,” I grumble. “How’d you find me anyway? You got a tracker on me or something?”

Tyler sinks onto the sand next to me because that’s the kind of guy he is. Looking sharp in a suit and he still puts his train wreck of a client first over style. “I got a call from PR. There was a report of a guy who looked suspiciously like Brixton Scott spotted at a surf shop not too far from here.”

“I’m sure the fact that I used a credit card with my name on it didn’t tip anyone off.” I let out a snort. “Shit, I shoulda paid cash.”

Tyler pauses for a minute. “Look, Brix. You’re a hell of a talent but you’ve got to get your head together. The label isn’t happy with you pulling these disappearing acts every time you get a bug up your ass.”

I grit my teeth. “So what, are they gonna threaten to drop us because I’m having a hard time? Don’t I go out there and work my ass off for them, night after fucking night? A little sensitivity might be nice, especially after they screwed me over and scheduled this fucking show tonight.”

“Brix, you know we’re all on your side. The guys are worried about you and so is the label. It has nothing to do with money.” He lifts an eyebrow. “But you have to understand why they’d be concerned that one of their biggest stars decided to take on a very angry ocean under the influence of what smells a hell of a lot like Jack Daniel’s.”

“Today is a hard day, okay?” I shoot straight up, my head a little fuzzy from the sudden movement.

“What about every other day? I get it. You lost Davis and it sucks. I’ve been there. I know how it feels. But you can’t let it break you. I’ve been with you from the beginning. I know you. I knew him. I knew you guys together. You think he’d want to see you falling down this rabbit hole? Hell no. He’d kick your ass. And I’m sure Allie already has. You’ve got everything to live for. Start acting like it. You’re attracting a lot of negative attention and you have to think about more than just you. The guys are worried about you and about the future of the band.”

“Look, with all due respect, Tyler, you don’t fucking know what I’m going through. Davis wasn’t sick, okay? He was supposed to be okay. Those fucking asshole doctors told me he’d be okay after surgery. They said he was good, for fuck’s sake. And then I went to the chapel to pray and…and be fucking thankful that he’d been spared except?—”

The words tumble so fast from my lips that I barely have time to catch them. I struggle to my feet and pace in front of Tyler.

“Except he wasn’t. He was stolen from us. And I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. I should have fucking stayed with him.” I scrub my hands down the front of my face. “But he sent me away. He wanted me to be with the girls. Maybe he fucking knew and didn’t want me to see what was gonna happen next. I didn’t get to tell him I love him, that he was the best big brother I could ever want, that he was the only father I ever needed. He was my family, my best friend. And he was yanked away from us without any warning. It’s not fucking fair, goddammit. Okay?”

I kick at the sand as Tyler watches.

“And to top it off, the only immediate family I have left is a father who hates me and blames me for my mom’s and Davis’s deaths. So pardon fucking me that my head isn’t always in the game and that I’m not the team player that everyone wishes I was.”

A lump jams the back of my throat. Jesus, how is it possible that I feel more alone with Tyler here than I did when I was floundering around like shark bait in that ocean?

Maybe it’s because when I was sucked under the water, I felt closer to death and everything I lost.

How fucking ironic is it that skirting the line between life and death brough me more peace than I’ve felt in years?

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