Page 48 of Tight End

I rake a hand through my hair.

Fucking manipulative asshole.

Goddammit. I’m not thinking about last night anymore.We are so fucking over. I was weak. Consumed with so much fury I couldn’t control.

I won’t let him steal that control from me ever again.

Nagging thoughts chew at my gut. I keep coming back to the question of why he sabotaged that conference. Yeah, he was pissed at me for not clueing him in about Chase, but I don’t think that’s the only thing that unraveled him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dak and Aiden, two of his other bandmates, huddled together in a corner with a few influencers. I didn’t meet them last night. They were too busy with their groupies to be bothered with anyone else at the bar.

My throat tightens when I look to the elevators where Brixton and Lane face off. I can’t see Lane’s face, but his body language tells me volumes. And Brixton’s expression…shit. For the first time, I can see something beyond his typical arrogance and self-righteousness.

He actually looks remorseful, like he knows exactly how he just fucked the friend he was trying to protect.

Even from this distance, the regret in his tormented gaze is clear.

What in God’s name was he thinking by pulling that stunt? What could he possibly have to gain by pretty much flipping off the label back in that conference room? Why the hell would he outright reject his success and bite the hands that feed him?

“I don’t think I really need to say, ‘I told you so,’ do I?” Rex asks as we rush toward a stairwell ahead of the press, photographers, and influencers. There are already too many people gathered by the elevator and Rex understands the need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

Ben and some other guy named Tyler whom Rex introduced me to are glued to their phones in front of us.

I try not to listen to the shocked voices around me.

Questions pelt me like paint balls as we make a beeline for the stairs.

“Sam, how could you think it was okay to put a guy in the hospital?”

“Is that some kind of occupational hazard since you steamroll guys on the football field?”

“You were always the good guy. Why would you want to get dragged down by the infamous bad boy of rock and roll?”

“Is this just some sham relationship to rehabilitate Scott’s image? How much did they pay you to be here today?”

“Are the lies worth choking your own career?”

Oh fucking no, he didn’t just ask me that.

I stop short and twist around to glare at my interrogator. He backs up the slightest bit, like he expects me to take a punch. Rex puts a hand on my arm, his wordless warning to keep my mouth shut and my feet moving.

But let’s face it, Brixton said more than enough for both of us already. A little more exposition can’t hurt.

So I stir the pot because I’m in this now, like it or not.

“Things got out of control last night, yeah. But just so we’re clear, you don’t have the full story. You have little pieces of what people want you to believe and write about, that’s it. In the eyes of the law, Brixton didn’t do anything wrong. He defended his friend, and I stepped in before anyone got seriously hurt. Brixton tried to make amends and instead, he got stabbed by the guy’s brother at the hospital. Nobody shared that, though. Nobody posted about that guy being arrested or Brixton not pressing charges or covering all the medical expenses. Because it would make the bad guys look better, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” Rex mutters next to me.

I ignore him and give my head a shake. “Nobody is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. But for some reason, you want tocrucify Brixton for his.” Stepping toward the guy, I can hear a rush of breath as his eyebrows fly upward.

Good.

I’ve got about eight inches on him and I’m shaking with anger.

“Sometimes, people do things without thinking of the consequences because they feel passionate about their motivation. And because Brixton’s a public figure, he’s being targeted. Have you ever made a mistake? Ever said or done the wrong thing and been publicly criticized for it? Ever had it splashed all over social media? No? Consider yourself lucky.”

There are more phones and cameras filming me than I dare to count but that need to protect overtakes my sensibilities.

---