Page 17 of Tight End

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 myconstricted 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 areworried 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.”

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