Page 32 of Tight End

Sam rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “How can you say shit like ‘fuck the consequences’? You came here to show remorse and you end up getting into another fight. And you don’t care? Do you realize how much you have to lose, what other people would do to have your success?”

I grip the sides of the bed, my pulse pumping against my throat. “And my pain? My guilt? My regret?” I shake my head. “No, they wouldn’t want what I have to live with. No amount of success is worth that kind of hell.”

The stress knot in my back flares, shooting down my legs. “I should have told him to stay home that night, to take care of his fiancée and baby. I didn’t. I wanted him there. I needed him there. So now, no matter how much money I make, how many fans I have, how many top ten hits we release…none of it matters. And fuck you for judging me. You don’t know how I feel. You won and I lost. So yeah, fuck the consequences. Because nothing matters when you fail the only person who ever really gave a shit about you.” My chest heaves. “And don’t pretend for a second you care about me beyond what kind of havoc I can wreak on your precious career.”

I tear my eyes away from him because I can’t bear to see my accusation confirmed. Which it most definitely will be because Sam Hartley can’t bethatgood…no matter how much I may want…or need…him to be.

Chapter 13

Sam

By the time we walk out of the Emergency Room, the biker convention has broken up. Only a few remain and they all laser us with hateful glares as we pass them. On my way to the restroom a little while ago, I overheard one of the nurses say that the guy Brixton beat to shit has a slight concussion but no other issues. They’re keeping him for observation but after that, he’ll be good to go.

I’d say Brixton dodged a bullet but he’s so broken, I doubt a bullet would have done any worse damage.

We push through the revolving glass doors, the driveway to the Emergency Room clear of ambulances, flashing red lights, and sirens. I twist my head left and right.

No paparazzi, either.

A relieved breath slips from my lips.

Brixton barely spoke a word when the nurse was sewing him up. He didn’t want to be numbed, either.

Masochist.

Except he doesn’t take joy in the pain, he needs the pain as a reminder of what he thinks he destroyed. It’s probably whyhe takes so many risks and does stupid shit. In his mind, the repercussions are all punishment for his sins—and he feels that he deserves every ounce of it.

My heart clenches every time I think it could be me in his position, suffering the same heartache.

And that only makes me feel worse because I can clearly remember the hope in his expression that night we were in the chapel together. He was different…lighter, but still sensitive to what I was going through.

So different from the closed-off, rage-filled man standing next to me now.

Brixton pulls out his phone and stabs the screen. I stare at the angles of his chiseled features, his profile glowing in the moonlight. His hair hangs low over his eyes, stubbled jaw tight.

“Where the fuck did they go?” he mutters.

Shoot. That’s right. The Escalades are both gone. I text Chase to see if he’s back at my place. Since he’s barely home with his residency to justify a place of his own, it made more sense for him to crash with me when he’s not at the hospital.

But while I love having my brother around, the last thing I want to do is recount the details for him once I finally get home. Tonight quickly went from a happy celebration to a literal throw down, and all I want to do is put it all behind me for a few hours.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Ben set up a press conference for tomorrow at noon.

My shoulders slump. Yep, a few hours is all I’m gonna get.

Okay.

A second later, my phone pings again.

And you need to show up together. Until this all dies down, you guys are joined at the hip.

I grit my teeth. It’s what I signed up for but damn. Brixton’s sharp voice cuts into my thoughts.

“What the fuck, Ben? You just left us here? How am I getting back to the hotel?”

He paces the sidewalk, stalking back and forth, his eyes glowing with anger. “What do you mean, I’m not going to the hotel?”

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