Fallen Crest Forever (Fallen Crest High #7)

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.

“I’m going to do everything possible to keep you on the team,” he said. “You might have to do some suspensions, but I’m still going to try.”

It wouldn’t matter. If that happened, no NFL team would touch me. This was the only card I had to play, if I even wanted to attempt to stay in the game. I knew the odds. They weren’t good. I was just hoping for hope right now. That was all.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay.”

Coach reached for the door, but I heard a slight hitch in his voice. That wasn’t normal. He never showed emotion, and hearing that now, I hung my head.

“Mason.” Broozer touched my shoulder, holding me back. “Are you sur—”

“I’m sure, Coach.”

“No, I meant, are you sure you don’t want Logan or your girlfriend here? I understand that you’re trying to spare them in some way, but if Taylor were going through something like this, I’d want to be there for her.”

“That’s your daughter. You’re being a good dad.”

“She’s family. They’re your family.”

Maybe. Maybe I should’ve told them when it was happening. They were at home, expecting me to come back after talking everything out with the coaches, and then we’d call a press conference later tonight. But when I left the house, I knew it wasn’t going down that way. I told the coaches and asked them right then and there to call the media. I wanted it done before Logan and Sam had any idea.

Coach was still waiting, ready to open the door, and I said again, “I’m ready.”

We stepped out, and the room grew quiet. The flashing lights remained constant. The press room was usually hot and stuffy, but not this time. A cool breeze swept through the room like someone had propped the door open, or maybe it was just me. Maybe this time I wasn’t hot and sweaty from a game.

It didn’t matter. None of that did.

I’d expected to be alone when I walked out here. I wasn’t. Both coaches sat beside me. They didn’t say anything. This was all me, but it meant something that they were there. It meant a lot, and I was man enough to wish that either of these guys had been my father. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been in this position. But that wasn’t right. Maybe I wouldn’t have had Sam if that was the case, and if there were a choice between her and anything else, I would always choose Sam.

She was the only direction that made sense to me.

“What’s this about, Coach?”

It was go time.

The reporters jostled to get their mics closer.

Coach pointed to me. “Mason asked you guys to be here. This is his show, and no matter what you hear, I ask you to remain respectful.” He glanced to me.

That was my cue.

I looked at the room, but I didn’t speak right away. This was the end of one part of my life. Emotions surged up in me, and I stomped them down. My problem. My mess to clean up.

“Mason?” It was the same reporter who asked the first question. He had a friendship with Coach, and as he’d softened his tone a bit, I had a hunch he already knew what this was about.

This reporter, he was being cautious right now, but he’d called me by my first name. He acted like we were friends. I didn’t even know the guy, and I looked over the rest of them. They were all the same. They’d been like this since I came to Cain U. They called me by my first name. They gave me friendly smiles, joked like we were all pals. Then they’d go back and write whatever kind of article suited their magazine. Some were scathing, some were reluctantly respectful, and yeah, sometimes they were nice articles.

Okay. Fine. They wanted to act like we were friends, then I was going to make them my friends right now. Or I was going to try.

I cleared my throat and leaned toward the mic on the table.

“Tomorrow, a magazine is going to print a story that says I was given special privileges because of my athletic ability and because of my father’s wealth.”

An interested buzz started to filter through the room. Any dull or glazed eyes sharpened now. Almost as one, everyone moved a little closer.

“I wanted to come out before the article appears and tell you what part of it isn’t true.” I paused. The one reporter’s frown deepened. “And I wanted to tell you what parts of it are true.”