Page 7 of Spite Crush

It was stupid. I was stupid. And stubborn. Every time I did something like this I risked not just my career, but my band mate’s careers and everyone who worked for us. They depended on me to keep myself together and I couldn’t even suck it up before a show.

Pathetic.

I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to force my brain to shut up. It was a familiar argument, a typical mental response of degradation to accompany the physical reaction to the attack. But I didn’t know how to make it stop and I was going to have to let the whole thing play through before I could get over it.

And I needed to get over it quickly. Once I was on solid footing again, I could take my meds and hopefully avoid a complete meltdown on stage. But I couldn’t walk outside to the bus in the condition I was in.

My feet bounced against the floor, causing my legs to shake and I bit the inside of my cheek as I begged my body and my mind to just stop already. Blood rushed through my ears and I squeezed my eyes shut as they filled with tears of shame. This was my fault. I’d done this to myself.

Across the room I heard a door open and I looked up to see Zak Dempsey staring at me from the other side of the locker room. My stomach flipped and for a minute I worried that I was going to barf right there in front of him.

That would certainly give him something to talk about.

Chapter Four

~Zak~

“What the hell is going on tonight?” I asked the security guard as he approached my car.

“Concert,” he answered. “Some shitty rock band.”

Oh hell. I’d been so distracted by the fact that I’d left my fucking wallet in my locker, that I’d totally forgotten who was playing the arena that night.

“Fantastic,” I muttered.

“Player’s lot is open,” the guard assured me as he raised the gate to allow me through. “And I don’t think anyone is downstairs, so you should be able to get in without trouble.”

“Thanks.” I waved as I rolled up the window and drove down to the private lot reserved for players and arena staff.

If I’d have remembered the fucking concert, I’d have sent someone to get my stuff for me. But as long as the guard was correct and no one was in the player’s area, no one had to know I’d shown up.

I should have known about the concert. Naomi had sent me the link to her story about HSF and that Kellen asshole spouting off about me. She’d probably been skulking around the arena, hoping to get access to him, which she clearly had.

She’d asked if I wanted to respond and I’d been so fucking tempted, but I didn’t. I knew I needed to take a beat before I went off. So I’d just left her on read. But as I walked into the stadium and felt the steady thumping of bass coming from upstairs, I sort of wished I’d said something.

Honestly, I didn’t even understand why this guy was getting under my skin. I didn’t actually care about him being at the game. He was just some stupid rock star. At first I’d thought he was attention seeking, but after a cursory Google search of him I had to admit that he probably got plenty of attention as it was.

His band was insanely popular. Like…maybe how the Beatles must have been in the sixties. I’d never heard of HSF, but I seemed to be in the minority. They’d sold out the arena, which was something the Inferno hadn’t managed to do in decades.

None of which gave him the right to call me aging. I’m twenty-eight. Four years older than Kellen Fox. Punk ass.

Insanely sexy punk ass. Which also irritated me. What right did he have to walk around looking the way he did? I’d noticed it at the game, too. But some of those model shots of him on the internet had actually made my dick twitch.

I hadn’t gone so far as to actually listen to the music, wanting to keepdeniability if asked about it again. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t occasionally stare at pictures of the lead singer. You know, if I was bored or something.

Whatever. It was his night and I’d let him have it. Tomorrow, after I had time to either cool off or come up with something truly vicious, I’d reach out to Naomi for another quote.

Because actually upset or not…publicity was publicity. And if he wanted to keep this going, I wasn’t about to back down. My contract was up for negotiation after this season. Soif I took the team to the finals and kept my name in the press, I was sure to get my extension and maybe even be able to retire from the team I started with.

I walked into the locker room, feeling just a little bit better about the situation but stopped short at the sight of Kellen Fox, sitting on the bench in front of my locker.

Suddenly, all thoughts of cooling it disappeared and anger bubbled up from absolutely nowhere. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was my space. He had an arena full of peopleto shower him with adoration, he didn’t need to bring his presence into my place again.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I snapped. “You have no right to come into my town and start running your mouth about me.”

“Shut up,” he hissed, looking up at me for a moment before leaning forward and fisting his trembling fingers into his shaggy hair. “Please. I mean, you’re right, and I’m sorry. But can you just not?”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my anger turning to worry in the space ofa heartbeat. I hadn’t noticed at first, but he was doubled over as if he were in pain. “Are you okay?”

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