Page 22 of Tight End

“Tell me what the hell is up with you. Let me help you.”

I shake off his hand. “I don’t need help. I’m fucking fine.”

“You couldn’t be further from fine if you were in another universe.”

My throat tightens. He’s right. I’m obviously nowhere close to fine. I can’t even really touch “okay.” Completely fucked is way closer to where I am right now.

“Come on, nobody really gives a shit, Lane. Everyone wants their payday and I’m the weak link right now. You know it. Don’t pretend to give a damn about what I’m going through.”

Hurt flashes on his face and my gut clenches. I’m being a dick but I can’t stop myself. And of all those guys, Lane isn’t the one who deserves it. The rest of the band is more concerned about how my actions impact our social media standings but Lane actually cares. We grew up together and he knew Davis for years before he died.

My shoulders slump and I collapse backward against the wall.

Maybe I want him to feel like shit, too. Misery loves company and all that.

I figured if I was an asshole, he’d tell me so and walk away. He’s not.

Dammit.

“Talk to me. You look like…”

His voice trails off, his unspoken words hanging in the air.

Like you lost your best friend.

I did. And it fucking hurts.

I pull myself away from the wall, my lips pulled into a tight line. “Lay the fuck off, Lane. I’m done talking about this.”

“You never started. I’ve tried to be here for you for all this time but all you do is shut me the hell down. I actually give a damn about you. Why the hell is that so hard for you to swallow?”

My pulse throbs against the side of my throat. “What the fuck do you want to hear? That I feel like a walking zombie most days? That I can barely live with the fact that I walked away without a scratch and my brother died?”

I can’t bring myself to tell him about Sam and Chase and the letter. Even thinking of those words guts me worse than any knife could.

“You’re being too hard on yourself. He wouldn’t have wanted this for you. He was so proud of you, Brix. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t accept that. I pissed God off that night. Davis was supposed to live. That’s what the doctors told me. Like, God was on my side and then switched teams for some reason. And I’m so fucking angry.” I grab his jacket and tug it tight. “I wanted to go instead of Davis. I would have traded my life in a second for him to get his back.”

“You know that’s not how it works. And you’re destroying yourself because of it. Don’t fucking go and try to kill yourselfsurfing because you feel survivor’s guilt. This self-destructive bullshit isn’t gonna bring Davis back.”

“Don’t tell me how to handle this. You don’t understand.” My voice is flat even though blood rushes between my ears.

“I’m your family. I’m always going to be here for you.”

My jaw sets. “Not like Davis was.”

The second I say it, I want to suck the words back in. The shock and rejection on his face twist my gut even more.

“You’ve become a real fucking asshole, you know that?” Lane seethes. “Next time, think again about alienating the only one who gives a shit enough to help.”

He pushes past me, jamming my arm with his shoulder as he stalks back to the main area. I let out a deep sigh and push back my hair.

I can’t leave like this. I need to apologize.

Rounding the corner in the direction of the VIP area, I notice a hot blonde with huge tits edging toward Lane, licking her lips as she looks at him.

She’s clearly hungry for our drummer.

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