Page 42 of Tight End

“I’m so sorry about your brother. He gave me my life back. I tried to reach out a long time ago. I wanted his family to know how thankful I am every day.”

The words stab me like knife blades, slicing into my heart with their serrated edges. I press my fingers against my temples, Chase’s face swimming in front of my eyes. Then Davis’s face appears and they blur together, both talking at me. I grab the sides of my hair, blinking fast.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Shaking my head, I pull open the door and walk out without a single word. The door slams closed behind me and I collapse with my back against it, my shoulders shaking.

My brother is in that apartment.

And I have to get away from it as fast as I can because I’m damn close to shattering like fucking glass.

I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Ben to bring my clothes to the hotel. Then I order an Uber for myself, not giving a good goddamn that I am shirtless. By the time I get downstairs, the car is waiting at the curb.

The driver’s eyes widen as I slide into the backseat.

“Just go,” I grumble.

I hang my head, covering my face with my hands.

My pulse hammers against my throat.

Seeing Chase was like pouring alcohol directly onto a raw and bloody wound. The searing pain that follows is unbearable.

Sam never told me his brother would be at the apartment. He knew how fucked up I was about that letter, how ungluedI’d become if I was faced with that loss again. And he left without a warning, that fuckhead.

How ironic that the reason why I woke up with a smile on my face is the same one making me want to throw a fist through this car window.

Saint Sam, my ass.

I was right about him being the fucking Devil.

Except he’s not the only one with darkness in him.

And he’d better watch his back.

Beware the pitchfork, dickbag.

Chapter 17

Sam

Iforce a smile at the doorman at the Wallingford Hotel as he pulls open the glass door for me.

“I’m a really big fan,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t let all that social media crap rain on your parade. There must be something good about that Brixton Scott if you’re with him.”

Goddammit.

My jaw hurts from trying to keep the smile plastered on my face.

“He’s a good guy,” I reply, my voice strained. “Just going through a hard time right now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that hanging around with you is the best medicine.” The doorman grins wider and steps aside so I can pass. I give him a nod and stalk toward the elevators, keeping my head down.

I don’t need any morefansassuring me that I’m not a complete fucking idiot for getting tangled up with Brixton.

Straightening my tie, I spot Rex a few feet away. He’s staring at his phone and shaking his head.

“What has you in such a twist?” I ask, bringing a hand to the stress knot at the base of my skull. It’s going to take a heck of a lot more than a quick massage to relieve the sharp pain shooting down my spine because of it.

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