Page 46 of Tight End

Loyalty, compassion, love, trust, faith.

Things nobody else on Earth has ever shown me since Davis died.

Maybe nobody thinks I’m worthy of them.

My dad sure as shit doesn’t.

I sometimes wonder what my mom would think if she could see the way he treats me, the way he looks right through me.

Any other parent would be here, front and center, for their kid in this situation.

Instead, I have a fake boyfriend in the front row, praying I don’t do any more damage to his life.

Rage gathers force deep inside of me, flowing like magma racing to the crater of a volcano.

He tore open the wounds this morning when he disappeared without a warning.

I flex my ringed fingers.

Prayers won’t help you this time.

Ben places a piece of paper on the table in front of me and covers the microphone with his hand. “This is the statement. Don’t go off script. Read it and then we can get out of here and put it all behind us.”

My eyes drop to the typed-up page. I skim the words and stifle a sharp laugh.

Is he fucking kidding me?

A quick glance at Sam confirms he’s shitting a brick right now.

He must know it’s about to get real.

Smart fucking cookie.

I avoid looking at Lane. Instead, I stare at Dak and Aiden.

Where the fuck were they last night after we left the bar?

Lane reached out to make sure I was okay.

Did they give a shit enough to ask?

No.

They never fucking once asked me how I was doing after Davis died. It was Lane who showed up at the hospital that night, not them.

All they were worried about was their precious fame and what a damaged and broken front man would do to their careers.

Lane was there for me.

They weren’t.

Not for any of it.

Lane is a great musician, the best I know.

Guilt knots my gut.

Unfortunately this time, he’s gonna be collateral damage.

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