Page 25

TWENTY-FIVE

jack

“Saw your game against the Flames the other day,” Brixton says, taking his guitar out of the case.

“You guys looked good.”

“Thanks.” I lean against the wall next to the spot where Brixton sets up for his music students.

Play It Forward is sports-focused, but when Brixton has time off from touring, he shows up here and a few of the kids will work with him on music.

I slant a glance at the front windows and the gaggle of photographers waiting for him to make an appearance.

He doesn’t get here as much since Sin City’s tour schedule has been pretty hectic, and someone must have leaked his location because they’re all ready to pounce on the guy.

“How’s it going with the new team?” He looks down to tune one of the guitar strings.

“Feeling at home yet?”

“Things are good. Rough start but it’s gotten easier. I think we’re gelling.”

“So, you mean you’re actually learning how to be a team player?” Brixton looks up with a smirk.

“Never thought I’d see the day you didn’t hog the limelight.”

The hairs on the back of my neck spring up and annoyance jabs me hard in the gut.

“You know, I came over here to say hi and be a nice person. Why do you have to be such a dick?”

Brixton chuckles.

“So sensitive. If I didn’t bust your balls, then I wouldn’t care.”

“Maybe I’d like that better,” I grumble.

“No, you’d be pissed off if I ignored you. You’ve got too much ego.”

Jesus, why is everyone picking at my ego these days?

Is it really that big?

Uh, scratch that.

I already know the answer.

My eyes flicker toward the door again and from the flashes, I know Carter is here before I see him walk through inside.

His eyes shift left and right, face pretty pale.

I wave to him and he walks over to us.

“Hey, everything okay?” I ask.

“You’ve got a weird look.”

He shrugs but keeps his distance.

I furrow my brows.

Strange.

“What’s with all the photographers?” He peeks behind him, eyes narrowed as he stares at the group on the sidewalk peering into the windows.

“Eh, it’s because this guy decided to show up today,” I say, pointing my thumb at Brixton.

“Guess his publicist made a few calls.”

Brixton looks around to make sure no kids are around then flips me off.

“Come on, Jack, we all know it was you who made the call on behalf of your big ass ego.”

That gets a smile out of Carter.

“How’s it going, Brixton?” he says.

“Good, good. Just tuning up for my next lesson. I was telling Jacko that you guys have been looking solid lately. You think you’ve got a shot at the championship? ”

Carter’s smile widens.

“Hell, yeah. More than a shot, pun intended.”

“Hopefully, Sam and I can make it to a home game one of the nights I’m in town. See you guys live in action. We can grab dinner or something afterward.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

James, one of the kids Brixton works with, walks over, a shy smile on his face.

“J-man,” Brixton says.

“Come on over. I’ve got some cool stuff for us to work on today.”

“See you later, B,” I say as Carter and I walk toward the rink.

I put my hand on his shoulders and he immediately tenses.

He stops and turns to look at me.

“Do you usually make plans to hang out with Brixton and Sam?”

“Uhh…not really. I usually try to avoid it because Brixton is a tool.”

“Is it weird that he asked us to have dinner after a game?”

I roll my eyes.

“Eh, he was probably just making conversation. I doubt it’ll ever happen.”

“Then why would he say it? Unless he wanted to hang out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Sam’s on his case to be less of an asshole?”

Carter glances out at the sidewalk and bites his lip.

“What’s wrong?”

He nods toward the window.

“Seriously, what’s with all the photographers?”

“Dude, what’s up with you today?” I give my head a shake.

“I already told you. Brixton is here. The place is usually crawling with paparazzi when he shows up.”

“And they’re not here for any other reason?”

“Any other reason like what ? ”

He lets out a huff and cracks his neck.

“I just…I wasn’t sure if they might be looking for something else.”

“I don’t understand what else they could be?—”

But out of the corner of my eye, I see the door open, and whatever words I was going to say die on my lips.

Jeremy steps inside, followed by his father who has a scornful expression on his face.

And the kid…

My throat tightens.

He’s limping.

All the adrenaline in my body rushes to my fists.

“Jack?” Carter asks.

But the sound of my name is muffled, like I’m hearing it from the inside of a tunnel.

Fury snakes through me and I turn away from Carter, slowly creeping toward Jeremy and his father.

My pulse jumps into my throat, hammering a hole into it, fists clenched tight at my sides.

“Don’t do it,” Carter says.

“Jack, don’t?—”

Then the fuck head does the unthinkable and shoves Jeremy.

Shoves him.

When he’s already limping, likely from an injury his bastard of a father gave him.

Jeremy stumbles forward, his sneaker skidding on the tile floor.

A deep red haze settles over the world in front of me.

I don’t think.

I just lunge.

Jeremy’s father doesn’t see me coming in enough time to move out of the way.

I rush toward him and grab him by the sides of his jacket.

“You son of a bitch. Did you do that to your kid? Did you fucking hurt him? ”

“Get the hell off me,” the guy grunts, struggling to free himself from my grip.

But I hang on tight and bring him in close, fighting the clench of my gut when his stank breath hits my nose.

“You fucking did that to him, didn’t you? You gave him those bruises. You piece of shit. You’re gonna pay for what you did to him!”

“You can’t prove shit, dickwad,” he mutters.

“And what happens between me and my kid ain’t none of your business.”

“The fuck it isn’t. When he can’t walk or move his arm because the bruises are so bad, it becomes my business. And I’m gonna make sure it becomes CPS’s business, too.”

“Jack!”

Sam’s voice pierces the air, a warning in his words.

But I don’t give a damn.

“He got outta line. That’s what you do to kids who get outta line. You gotta teach them to not be fucking pussies,” he sneers.

“I guess your dad didn’t teach you shit, huh?”

A deep, guttural sound rumbles in my throat and I unleash it right along with a right hook to the bastard’s jaw.

The punch knocks him off balance and he staggers sideways into a wall.

His eyes narrow and he rushes me like a rabid dog.

Bring it the fuck on .

I sidestep his pathetic excuse for a punch and manage to drive my fist into his gut before I’m pulled away from him.

“Let me go,” I say to Carter and Sam.

“He fucking deserves to have the shit kicked out of him.”

Some of the other coaches have Jeremy’s dad by the arms, holding him back as if he could actually do any damage to me.

“He’s a good kid,” I shout.

“You should be proud of him, you asshole.”

I turn my head, spotting Jeremy standing with one of the football coaches.

His eyes are wet with tears, his shoulders quivering.

I pull away from Carter and Sam and run over to Jeremy.

Kneeling down in front of him, I say, “He’s not gonna hurt you again. I promise, he won’t ever hurt you again.”

Words I longed to hear from somebody, anybody.

Words that never came.

I’ll be damned if I let another kid suffer like I did.

The tears stream down Jeremy’s face and he nods.

I rise to my feet and hug him tight, squeezing my eyes closed and forcing out all of the horrors I lived through.

The tighter I hug him, the more muted the screams in my memories.

“You don’t have to do this anymore,” I mumble.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore.”

“You’re not getting away with this,” the father yells from across the room.

“You attacked and assaulted me in front of all these people. And I’m gonna get this place shut down for interfering with my business.”

I turn to look at him and then all the people standing around us.

Then he has the fucking nerve to smile at me.

“And if nobody here will sell you out,” he says, pointing to the camera flashes blinking madly outside the front windows with a clear view of exactly what just happened.

“I bet someone out there will. Now who’s gonna pay?”