Page 61 of Tight End

Rex sent the pictures of me leaving the hotel but didn’t need to repeat his past words because they were already branded into my brain.

I told you so.

Yeah, you fucking did.

And again, I got kicked in the teeth.

Jack just happened to pick that time to call and tell me he was in town to sign contracts with the Oakland Raptors. Asked if I was seeing anyone and if the rumors about Brixton were true.

I told him it was complicated.

He said he wanted to uncomplicate things for me.

And here we all are.

Brixton walks toward us, my insides plunging into a deep freeze at the shards of ice shooting from his gaze.

Jack gives me a little nudge. I look up at him and raise my shoulders in the tiniest shrug.

Because I’m just as surprised to see Brixton as he is.

The kids, too.

They watch him approach, open-mouthed until they all erupt in excited yells.

Brixton pauses and flashes a wide smile at the group. “I may be a little out of place here since I’m not an athlete,” he says, casting another glance at me. “But I know how to have fun and that’s what you do here, right?”

They cheer and I nod to the coaches to come over to the group. “Hey, coaches, can we divide the guys up into groups, please?”

Brixton’s hard gaze doesn’t leave my face. I can feel his anger rippling through me. Beads of sweat pop up along the back of my neck despite the chilled air blasting from the overhead vent.

My fingers tingle with the memory of sliding over his heated skin, of teasing the tip of his cock, of gripping his hips while thrusting deep inside of him.

His smile never wavers as he turns to Jack. “You’re a long way from home.”

Jack smirks. “Not anymore. But then again, it makes sense you didn’t know. For someone who’s all over the Internet, I’d guess you would steer clear of Google.”

Brixton lets out a sharp, fake laugh. “Yeah. Well, I guess youwouldn’tknow much about being all over the Internet since the Renegades have one of the shittiest records in the NHL and Google probably doesn’t even recognize your name.”

Jack’s jaw tenses and he fists my shirt. I put a hand on his chest and glare at Brixton. “That’s enough,” I hiss under my breath so only the three of us can hear. “Remember, we’re supposed to be here for the kids, not a dick measuring contest.”

Jack rubs his hand up and down my back and brushes his lips against my cheek. Then he turns to the groups of kids and says in a booming voice, “Okay, where are my hockey players?”

I follow Brixton’s narrowed eyes as they follow Jack toward the ice skating rink toward the back of the facility.

He turns back to me, his expression sullen. “I thought he was gonna pee on you next.”

I stalk toward a corner and twist around to face him, practically choking on the cloud of fury surrounding me. “It’s none of your goddamn business what he does to me, Brixton. Or did you smack your head and forget the way you kicked me out of your room and your life yesterday? You gave up the right to say a fucking word about it.”

Brixton pulls off his baseball cap, smooths back his hair, and sticks the cap on again, pulling the brim low.

It’s not typical for him to delay a response, so that tells me he doesn’t have one.

That stings even worse.

Because it tells me he did it out of self-preservation, not because he really doesn’t care about me.

And I hate that I let myself fall into his trapagain.

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