Page 18 of Tight End

“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 yankedaway 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?

Chapter 7

Sam

Iguzzle 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. Twoyears 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 hislife 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.

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