Mason nodded, bringing me back to his chest. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll be fine.” I felt his words floating over my head to Logan and Nate as he repeated, “We’ll all be fine.”
“Sam, can we talk about the article?” Logan asked. “Is that okay?”
I nodded against Mason’s chest. I wanted to participate, and I was trying to get there. The shaking had almost completely subsided. I still needed some time, just a little. Mason’s hand kept caressing my side.
I needed a bit more of that too.
I turned my head so I could see Logan when he pointed to the article. “What do we do about that? We all know Helen’s not going to do shit.”
“Everything is in there from this summer.” Mason’s chest rumbled under my head as he spoke. “It was the Quinns. I’m sure of it. I bet if we ask Garrett, he’ll say Adam’s dad’s trial is starting. They did this to throw blame my way instead of his.”
“You look like a wealthy, privileged boy getting off when you shouldn’t,” Nate added, nodding.
“Pretty much.”
“This will end your football career.”
Mason let out a silent breath. I felt his chest lift and fall under my head. He agreed with Logan. “Probably, especially with our history in school.”
Nate held up a hand. “Can we spin it? My parents are always saying stuff like that with scenes in movies. Maybe we can do that here. You go out before this gets out. You tell everyone about your past, and about this summer, and you show the correct footage from that day at the carnival. We have shit on Quinn Jr. I say use it.”
Logan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “It’s risky. That’s what it is.”
Then a thought occurred to me, but it was one I didn’t like. I didn’t like attention. When it came, I’d been taught that it was usually negative, and this—this would be the spotlight of all spotlights.
But . . .
I pushed down the fear. It was a big, fat lump that formed in the bottom of my throat. It was always there. It was always waiting for bad stuff to happen. Even though I’d gotten some good things lately, a part of me was always tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This time, I decided.
I sat up from Mason’s arms. “Use me.”
“What?”
“Use my story. I wasn’t always wealthy and privileged. I came from a family that barely held its head above water. My dad was the only breadwinner, on a high school teacher and coach’s salary. My mom suffered mental illness all her life. She went to a treatment facility for two years, and you guys gave me back a family. Use me. I’m the underdog.” I cracked a grin. “Who doesn’t root for an underdog?”
Logan’s grin had been spreading as I spoke, and it stretched from ear to ear as I finished.
He snapped his fingers. “And an underdog who’s going to the fucking Olympics one day.”
“Exactly.”
I ignored my ice-cold panic.
MASON
It wasn’t right to use Samantha.
She’d already made the decision to sacrifice herself. The hope was to champion her as the underdog, and people would like me for ‘saving’ her. Maybe it would work. Or maybe it wouldn’t, and it would backfire completely. But I knew it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to use the woman I loved. People would either like me or they wouldn’t, it didn’t matter to me.
And the truth wasn’t that I saved Sam.
Still, we made the decision to come out with our story before the article, and we all went home. Logan, Taylor, and Nate came to the house with Sam and me. We stayed up till early morning, just drinking and sharing stories. I don’t know why. It seemed like we were kind of memorializing my life or something. If this didn’t work, I’d still live, but a part of my dream would be dead. Our lives would definitely change. I didn’t know how. No one did, but we all felt it.
I held Sam on my lap, drank whiskey with my brother, and laughed with my best friend. This was my family, and as they talked about how this was going to be Sam’s official ascent into the public eye, I was doing what I always did.
I planned ahead.
I thought ahead.
I calculated, and I tried—I really did—to imagine using my girlfriend as a crutch to explain why I’d done all the shitty things in my life. But every time I went down that path, the same decision came to me.
There was no fucking way.
I loved this woman.
Sam was livid with the world when I first saw her. She had a stone-cold exterior, but I saw the fire inside, and I was drawn to her even that first night at the gas station. She looked at me, dead in the eyes, and I felt her message. A solid fuck you. I’d wanted her then. I wanted to take her, bend her over, and stick myself so far in she’d never feel another guy. The primal part of me had just wanted to claim her as mine, and I usually never gave two shits about that stuff.
I liked sex. It was what it was. It was a pastime for me, but I answered to no girl.
That changed the second I saw Sam’s fuck you attitude, when she looked at me and never looked away. She challenged me without knowing it. I knew then that Logan would want her, but no way. This one was mine. I felt her inside of me. I didn’t like that part of it. No one got in there, only Logan. But she’d gotten in, and she continued to get in deeper over the next weeks. I couldn’t get her out.
I tried.
God, did I try.
I tried to ignore her.
I tried to intimidate her.
I tried to fuck her out of my mind.
I tried everything except bullying her—I couldn’t do that.
I was an asshole, still am one. Bullying was not beneath me. If someone came at me, or came at someone I loved, I did what I had to do. I fought people. I fucked other girls. I didn’t give a damned thought or care about who someone was. I hated adults. That was why Nate’s parents took him away. They didn’t want me rubbing off on him, and I’d begun to.
I was not a good guy, nor am I one now.
I am the bad guy. I’m the asshole.
Sam is the one who saved me.
The only part of me that was good was her. She curbed my anger. She taught me how to love. She made me want to be a better version of me, but I only went so far. Even now, I wanted to fuck people up. I wanted to hunt down Adam Quinn, and I wanted to beat the shit out of him until he was in the hospital. I didn’t give a shit how much damage I inflicted. I wanted it. I almost needed it sometimes.
And my brother, I’d condemned him. I’d made him what he was today. Like at dinner when he needed someone to take his anger out on? I did that. I put that hatred and darkness in him. Logan lived for the fight. I used it to extract my demons, but not him. I raised him in that world of hatred, loathing, and violence. He’s addicted to it. I could walk away. He can’t. That’ll always be a problem in his life, and it’s my fault.
I couldn’t let anything else be my fault.
As they talked about my speech for the press conference, I already knew. I wasn’t going to let anything fall on them. Not even Nate, who wanted me to talk about how he’d joined the fraternity and how Sebastian became our enemy for two years.
This was me, all me. And this was probably the last time I’d make a decision for the group without consulting them. I was their leader, at least for one more day. I might not be after this, but it didn’t matter.
My life.
My history.
My faults.
My problem to fix.
“Are you ready?” Coach Broozer clasped a hand on my shoulder.
The next afternoon we stood outside the room where we did interviews for the team sometimes, and it was filled with press. I realized it was probably my last interview in there too. I could hear the telltale sounds like I always did after a game, but this time the reporters didn’t know the reason for the conference. They didn’t have questions prepared for me. I was the one to prepare them.
“Okay.” Coach opened the door and eased back out. Lights and voices filled the hallway before he shut the door again. “They’re all here.” He looked at me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nodded. I had no other choice.
Coach took a deep breath. The nerves were getting to him. He kept squinting—that’s what he did when he was agitated about something.