7. Sam

Chapter 7

Sam

I guzzle a cold bottle of Fiji water from the bar, the chilled liquid simmering the heat flooding my insides. The raw and haunting melody of the new hit song by Sin City makes the hairs on my arms spring to attention. My eyes are glued to Brixton Scott as he slams on his guitar.

His voice makes my skin prickle and my heart thump hard. It mesmerizes me, captivates me, pulls me into the dark abyss of his emotions. My head swims with X-rated thoughts as his breathy, gritty timbre flirts with my senses.

With a thrumming pulse, I follow his every move across the stage as the band performs their encore. He’s dressed all in black, right down to the steel-toed boots on his feet. His hair is dark and thick, long enough to fall over his blue eyes, long enough for me to drag my fingers through it and fist it hard just like I’ve done in my fantasies.

I remember those eyes, the glowing flames that flickered in the depths.

Damn, the memory still gives me chills. Two years have done nothing to extinguish the embers that smolder in my gut every time I think about him.

Taking another long gulp of water is definitely not the equivalent of a cold shower, which I could probably use right now because staring at Brixton for a second too long can make me harder than a steel rod.

And that would be very inconvenient, especially in present company.

I bring a hand to the back of my neck and rub my skin in an attempt to eliminate the trace of goosebumps and Brixton’s overall effect on me.

“Sammy,” Jase Maxwell says in a loud voice, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

Twisting my head to look at him, I force a smile. “Yep. Sorry. I think I zoned out there for a second.”

Jase grins. “I’ll give ya a pass, especially after the insane game you played today. I hope you’re not too broken to meet tomorrow. Lucas and I want to stop by Play It Forward to check on things before we head home, you know, just meet some of the kids, hang around for a while to see how things are running. That kind of thing.”

I nod. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll be there.”

Jase and Lucas formed an organization in Cincinnati about a year and a half ago that provides sports training and after-school leagues to underprivileged kids who can’t necessarily afford to play with private clubs like a lot of their classmates. After it gained tremendous popularity and sponsorship, Bryce got involved to run an affiliate organization here in Oakland and asked me to join him, which I did.

Casting a glance at my brother Chase, who is plastered against the front of the box and transfixed by the last bit of the band’s performance, I remember the vow I made once he pulled through. He got a heart transplant which gave him his life back. And I committed to give back however I could, to show my gratitude and appreciation.

Over the past two years, I’ve worked with a handful of charity and volunteer organizations, the latest being with Bryce at Play It Forward. It’s grown by leaps and bounds since we opened our doors six months ago, and we’re about to recruit our next wave of volunteers.

I have a lot to be grateful for. Not only do I have my brother and best friend by my side, but I also have the greatest freaking job in the world that pays me a crap ton of cash. I’m lucky. We’re lucky. So many people aren’t, and the least I can do is give them something to look forward to, some shred of hope.

For a long time, I’d lost hope and it sucked to feel so lost and alone. I’d never wish that on my worst enemy.

“We can do a piece on the expansion of the center,” Rex Ashton, my, Bryce, and Jase’s agent, says. “It’ll raise awareness and drive the volunteer numbers up. Donations, too.”

“Good idea,” Jase says. “How fast can you put a press release together?”

The guys keep talking but my mind is still on the sexy as hell singer down below. My eyes sneak another glance at the stage at the same time Brixton looks up in the direction of the box. I’ve got a clear view of him, and a fierce shudder rocks me when his gaze locks on my face. The breath is literally sucked out of my body in that second. I’m unable to move, my foot rooted to the spot like they’re stuck in a pool of hot tar.

It’s ridiculous to think he can see me all the way up here, although maybe Lane told him I’d be with Bryce, Jase, and Lucas in the suite. My palms start to sweat, and I rub them down the front of my jeans.

Then the spell is broken without warning and he strides across the stage, focused on the thousands of other pairs of eyes anxiously drinking him in as the band finishes their final song.

Chase turns, a wide smile on his face. “That was so incredible. They’re amazing.” He looks at Jase and Bryce. “I can’t thank you guys enough for the chance to see them tonight.”

I clap a hand on my brother’s shoulder. “Good celebration surprise?”

“The best.”

“How about we keep the surprise going?” Jase winks at me. “You up for it?”

My heart lodges in my throat, anticipation putting me in a tight chokehold. “What’d you have in mind?”

“There’s a place not too far from here. Doc’s Corner Tavern. The guys like to unwind there whenever they play Oakland. It’s kind of a dive where they can get lost and just chill without anyone bothering them. You guys down?” Bryce looks between us.

Chase’s eyes practically pop out of his skull. “Hell yeah, we are.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Don’t you have to be at the hospital early tomorrow?”

My brother rolls his eyes. “I’ll catch up on sleep in the on-call room, like I usually do.”

“I’m sure your patients will be so excited to hear that. Here’s hoping they get you after that nap.” Lucas smirks and holds up a beer bottle.

“I’m a fifth year resident. I’ve learned how to operate on no sleep.” He smirks. “Let’s fucking go!”

We pile into the waiting Escalade and it takes us through one of the rougher parts of the city, one I’m not really familiar with and I’ve lived in the area for years. The truck stops alongside a black cement building. Jase pushes open the door and jumps out, followed by Bryce and Lucas .

“Holy shit, I can’t believe we’re going to meet the band,” Chase mutters. “How fucking cool is this?”

That’s when Bryce’s earlier words blare out in my mind.

“Listen, don’t fanboy too hard. I heard Brixton’s had kind of a tough time lately. Turns out the night I met him, his brother died.”

“So it’s two years for him too,” Chase muses. “That really sucks.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t imagine how things would be without you.” I shrug. “So, ya know, just keep it cool. I don’t even know if he’ll show up with the rest of the guys.”

“Got it.” Chase slides across the bench seat and hops out of the truck.

I follow Chase into the bar, struggling to move my feet since they keep getting stuck on the sticky floor. Dark walls and low purplish-blue light give the place an ominous feel. The bar is packed with tough-looking guys in leather cuts and stringy beards shooting drinks. Nobody turns to look at us when we walk in, nobody gives us a glance as we file into a roped-off corner lined with dark velvet couches riddled with burn marks.

Since smoking in bars has been banned for a long damn time, I’ve gotta wonder what decade the furniture’s from…and how much activity these couches have gotten over those years. Jase hails someone over and a minute later, a few buckets of beers show up at the table.

I grab one and pop off the top before taking a long gulp. The cool liquid lands in my empty stomach, and I really wish I’d have eaten something back at the arena suite. The last thing I had today was a steak right after the game with Chase and my parents, but that was hours ago.

Chase nudges me. “Don’t look now but the band just showed up. ”

My head jerks in the direction of the three guys walking toward the bouncer and the rope.

Three.

My gut plummets into my shoes.

“I guess you were right,” Chase says under his breath. “He didn’t show up after all.”

“Can’t blame the guy.” I force out the words, inexplicably disappointed that I won’t see him. For all this time, I really believed we’d find each other again when the timing was right.

But I guess when the door closes, you’ve gotta say goodbye.

He’s suffering, just like I’d be. Why would he want to be here, tonight of all nights?

I let out a sigh. Carrying a torch for a guy who was probably a casual fan at best is just fucking stupid. Just because he recognized me doesn’t mean he wanted anything more from me. For those fleeting minutes, even in the depths of my grief, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were meant to meet.

And it’s plagued me ever since that night. Yeah, I’ve dated guys since then but I haven’t met anyone who lit the kind of flame in me that Brixton did.

He was the first person I wanted to tell when Rae told us Chase was getting a heart, which is ridiculous since we’d only just met. But somehow, I felt like we were almost…I don’t know…kindred spirits or something. Both of us almost losing a brother, both of us finding out our brothers would make it.

Then he lost his…

And all this time, he’s been grieving when I figured for sure, it’d be me in that situation.

I guzzle the rest of my beer and then stand up. “I’ll be back.”

Peering through the hazy blue light, I find the sign for restrooms and push my way through the crowd hovering outside the roped-off area. I keep my head down, trying to ignore the sidelong glances of the people surrounding me.

Nobody comes up to me.

Nobody asks for a selfie or an autograph.

I’m not in the mood for any of it.

I finally duck away from the crowd and make a left down a dark corridor, following the right-pointing arrow for the men’s room. Head hung low, I look up a second too late, my shoulder colliding with something hard.

Angry eyes, laser-focused on me, spit out white-hot flames.

I swallow hard, stumbling backward into the wall.

“You,” Brixton Scott growls through clenched teeth.

“Uhh…” Words completely evade me as he lances into me with that sadistic stare. What the fuck is that all about? He glowers at me like he wants to claw me apart with his bare hands. “Yeah, me. I, um, I’m really sorry about your brother. I only just heard he passed away that night.”

Shit, why did I say that? Why did I say anything? Brixton is obviously on a warpath, why the hell would I incite him by bringing up his brother?

“Tell me something.” Brixton ignores what I said and takes a few steps toward me, closing the space between us. His cologne catches in my throat, damn near choking me to death.

Or maybe he’s trying to kill me with his mind. Sure seems like it with that hateful expression on his face.

I did only have one beer, right?

Why the hell does it feel like I’ve tripped into some alternate reality where the guy I’ve secretly been pining for looks like he wants to bury a machete in my chest for no apparent reason?

“Is Chase Hartley your brother?”

My jaw drops. This is so not the reunion I fantasized about. This guy isn’t grieving. He’s fucking murderous .

“Yeah.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

Brixton leans in close, his lips practically hovering over mine. His eyes are bloodshot, his breath is hot against my face and reeks of stale liquor.

I watch his face twist into a grimace.

“Because,” he hisses. “Two years ago, I lost my best friend. And your brother got his heart.”