Page 84 of Tight End

Allie cocks her head to the side and tucks her light brown hair behind one ear. “I’m also pretty observant. It’s an occupational hazard since I’m a psychologist.”

“Oh…”

“So let me ask you again. Did you really get involved only to help Brixton? Or is there some other reason why you’re here right now? Because for as gorgeous as my little pumpkin here is, let’s face it. You wouldn’t be here just for air tea and plastic food. Am I right?”

My breath hitches, the words catching in my throat, tangled like a thick knot. And before I can even squeeze out a syllable, there’s a knock at the front door.

Allie furrows her brow and gets up from the floor. She walks over to the door and pulls it open. I can’t see who’s there from my spot on the couch but Allie sounds flustered.

“Martin, what are you doing here? I thought you were coming tomorrow to see Jules.”

“Grampa,” Jules cries out, scrambling to her feet and running to the door.

A tall man who looks like an older, more worn version of Brixton follows Allie into the family room. He stops in the doorway, his blue eyes focused on me.

“You,” he says in a gruff voice. “Aren’t you thinking about your career? You think hanging out with my son is going to do you good? Any association to him will rot everything in your life. If you’re smart, you’ll get out now.”

“Martin,” Allie gasps.

Did he seriously just say that to me? About his own son?

I struggle to get off the couch and grab the crutches. Bloodrushes between my ears, my vision flooded with a thick red haze. Anger colors the shock. “Brixton is one of the best people I know. It’s a real shame that as his father, you obviously don’t even see that.”

“He’s a walking wrecking ball. Anything that comes close gets crushed. Hasn’t everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks shown you that?”

I hop forward on my crutches, my jaw clenched so tight, it might actually crack. “What I’ve seen is a guy who made mistakes and has tried hard to fix them. I’d think that as a parent, you’d recognize his effort.” My lips twist. “Maybe even give him some encouragement. He’s trying to change.”

Martin scoffs. “He’ll never change. He’ll always be the same selfish, self-centered person he always was. Always focused on himself, his music, his life. He’s the reason why his brother’s not here anymore. It’s always about Brixton.”

“Martin, stop,” Allie yells. “That’s a horrible thing to say and you know it’s not true!”

My heart hammers so hard, it might actually bust out of my chest. “You know, I feel really bad for you, Martin. You’re a miserable person who’s clearly miserable with his life and feels the need to take it out on the one person he’s supposed to love unconditionally.” With a shaking voice, I step closer to him.

Then something catches the corner of my eye and I look to my right.

Ice replaces the fire in my veins when Brixton appears in the kitchen doorway, a stricken look on his face. I want to pull him close, to erase the caustic words his father just spoke, to take away the pain that haunts his expression.

The vein in my neck throbs as rage courses through my insides. I hold Brixton’s tormented gaze as I spit out my next words at Martin. “He’s an amazing man, and if you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve him as a son.”

Chapter 30

Brixton

My legs shake with each step I take toward my father. Hatred knots in my chest, wrapping tight around my lungs like a thick metal lasso, tugging harder and harder as his caustic words bang between the corners of my mind. It hurts to breathe, to think, to remember.

His eyes narrow in my direction, and the son of a bitch doesn’t even have the decency to look the least bit sorry, or even remotely embarrassed about blasting his only living son to a perfect stranger.

Davis is gone. You don’t have anyone else to shield you from what you fear most.

Allie’s earlier words are like clanging cymbals, rattling my brain.

What I fear most…

Until now, I don’t think I knew exactly what that fear was.

But I know now.

I turn my head toward Sam, catching his stricken expression.

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