Page 27 of Tight End

And that knowledge generates a sudden and inexplicable urge to run my hand down the side of his taut face, to drag the tips over his beard, to run my fingers through his thick, dark waves.

I grab the sides of my head like I have the power to block out the X-rated thoughts now looping through my mind. What the hell is wrong with me? Today was a total shit show — from my visit with Allie and Jules to my dumbass idea of going suicide surfing at Half-Moon Bay. Ever since I read that letter, throughout the entire concert, all I could think about was the fact that my brother’s heart is still beating inside of someone else, that a part of him is still alive and not with me, but with fucking Sam Hartley, the guy who got to keep his brother.

A fierce and completely unwarranted hatred ignited when I read his brother’s name at the bottom of that letter. Jealousy surged deep inside of me, seeping into all the deep cracks in my heart left by Davis’s death.

When Sam cornered me by the restroom after the show, making my mind and my body fly into battle over him, shit just snapped. With my vision flooded with red, anyone could have been a target. Unfortunately for him, Mr. Clean was the first unlucky son of a bitch to get on my war path.

But at this minute, the hatred simmers, and pure animal lust is gaining power over my mind. It doesn’t care about why I’m so focused on despising him. It only cares about the sensations coursing through it, what it would very much like to do to the guy who pulled me out of my dark rabbit hole before I really went completely postal. What happened back at that bar was nothing compared to what might have been if it hadn’t been for Sam.

Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

“Okay, we’re heading to Mercy Hospital. And we’re going to hope and pray that the guy is conscious when we get there.”

An icy hand grabs my heart and squeezes as my mind trips back to the night of the accident.

That’s the same hospital where Davis died. Where his beating heart was taken out of his body and put in another.

My throat tightens, a sharp pain shooting down my left arm. Electricity flows into my fingertips, heart hammering hard against my ribcage.

I gulp down air, gripping the seat until my knuckles turn white.

I can’t go back there. I can’t go through that horrific night again, can’t?—

Ben turns to me and Sam. “The press will be camped out there waiting for a status on the guy.”

He and Rex exchange a quick knowing glance. Rex gives his head a slight nod, choking my next thought.

“And so will you…as a newly public couple. Get ready to put on the act of your lives.”

Chapter 11

Sam

“We’re just supposed to walk into the Emergency Room and wait around to see if the guy wakes up or becomes a vegetable?” Brixton scoffs. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I have to agree.” I turn to Rex. “What’s the goal here? Is it just a publicity stunt to show us off together? Because I’m not here for that. The guy could be in bad shape and they won’t tell any of us because we’re not immediate family. If we show up with all those biker guys and something goes south with the ringleader’s health, they won’t let us go while we’re still alive. We’ll be completely blindsided and trapped. Why can’t Brixton just make an announcement apologizing for being such a fucking caveman? And that he’ll cover all the medical expenses?”

“We can’t let this wait. A public apology is necessary, as is financial compensation because in the court of public opinion, Brixton is a walking disaster. But all that has to come after you make amends with the guy you pummeled,” Ben says, his voice tight.

“Amends, my ass. He took the first punch.”

“And it wasn’t at you, dick.” I lift an eyebrow at Brixton. “Remember? By the way, do you even understand that kind of language? Making amends? Do I have to break that down for you since you clearly don’t grasp the concept of remorse?”

Brixton focuses his attention on me, his blue eyes spitting fire, his lips curling into a snarl. “Why should I feel sorry for someone who would have done the exact same thing if I hadn’t gotten to him first? Lane’s no fighter. He would’ve kicked Lane’s ass from here to fucking Timbuktu if I didn’t show up when I did.”

“He was wrong but so were you. You can’t just go around beating the shit out of people because you think you’re being right and just.”

My pulse jumps into my throat under his heated gaze and right now, I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me or choke me. It could go either way.

Not gonna lie, I feel the same way about him at this second.

Brixton leans toward me, his messy, just-fucked hair flopping over his right eye. I take in a breath, letting his cologne fill my lungs and make very bad, very twisted thoughts cycle through my mind.

“If you’re so worried about what the world thinks of me, let’s just stage a breakup so you don’t have to keep me as a noose around your neck.” His words drip with disdain, but the sparks crackling in the air between us are electric with the potential to be soul-searing.

I’ve never felt such a heady mix of disgust and desire for someone in my life. He locks onto me with those deep-set eyes, the ones that women and men alike swoon over when he’s on stage. He leans back against the leather seat, bringing his arms overhead. His muscles tense and rip, full arm sleeves of black ink flexing as he slowlygrins.

“I don’t want Sam here to be dragged into my rabbit hole,” Brixton says with a sarcastic edge to his voice. “I can handle this shit on my own after I cut him loose in front of the press camped out at the hospital. I’m better on my own.”

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