Page 34 of Tight End

Yes.

Because I can’t risk him seeing the guy who’s got his dead brother’s heart beating inside of him.

Brixton is on the edge just knowing who has his heart. If he came face to face with Chase? I don’t know what the hell he’d do next. He already looks at me like he wants to kill me. He might actually do it if he’s pushed too far.

And that would send him straight over the edge.

Not risking it tonight.

My place is about twenty-five minutes from the hospital. The Uber driver doesn’t speak to us. He doesn’t even bother to look in the backseat once we slide inside. Brixton sits back and closes his eyes.

I watch him for the entire trip, memorizing every detail of his face and body because I’m clearly a headcase. The guy detests me and his actions make it pretty damn clear, but I can’t shake the feeling that something brought us together again tonight.

Maybe it’s as simple as me stepping in to stop him from committing manslaughter.

But there’s some weird sensation swirling in my gut that tells me all of this happened for a reason.

A few hours ago, though, I thought it might be a very different reason.

One that would be a lot more carnal.

I stroke my beard, watching him toy with the silver rings on his fingers. One on his left hand is a simple band. The two on his right hand have some kind of design or engraving on them. I squint but can’t make them out in the darkness.

His fingers clench into balls, knuckles white. My eyes move toward his face in time to see his mouth twitch. His neck is taut, the vein that runs along the side bulges against his skin.

It’s like staring at a rubber band being stretched to the point of snapping.

The car finally rolls up to the curb outside my building. I give Brixton a nudge and his eyes fly open, glassy and hopeful for a split second until they clear with the realization that none of what he experienced tonight was a dream.

He pushes open the door and staggers out to the curb. I slide out after him and dig out my keys to the front door. He follows me inside, wordless, which throws me for a loop because I’m used to him being a caustic prick with his snide comments and toxic commentary.

It’s a nice change but also eats at me a little bit.

Maybe he had some kind of epiphany during that car ride that has him thawed out.

We take the elevator to the top floor and I unlock my door. He walks into the foyer then moves into the massive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lights of the city.

“Too bad they don’t pay you more so you can get a real penthouse,” he bites out.

My lips stretch into a tight smile. He is such an insufferable asshole.

Maybe the brother should have dug the knife in a little deeper at the hospital.

I give my head a quick shake. Jesus, now the air around him is poisoning my head, too.

“Thanks for that. I’m actually really comfortable here.”

Brixton paces around then looks at me with a lifted eyebrow. “Sure. It’s nice and cozy and small.”

I shrug. “How much space does a guy need?”

He runs his finger over the black granite countertop. “Bigger is always better. You never got that memo?”

“So we’re talking apartment size…and ego size, yeah?”

With a flash of his eyes, Brixton stalks across theroom to where I’m standing. “Is that supposed to be a joke? Because we’re not friends. Now or ever.”

“I have no desire to be friends with you, Brixton. I’d rather stick a hot fire poker in my eye.”

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