Page 20 of Tight End

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 hoveringoutside 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 issonot 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.”

Chapter 8

Brixton

Iglare at Sam as my words pelt the air like bullets. Color drains, shock seeping into his confused expression.

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