Page 16 of Shattered Hate

“Absolutely, I’ll be there,” I fire back at him, a broad smile spreading across my face. But then it falters slightly as doubt creeps in. “But I’ve only given a few ideas of what I want. Won’t he need to know the exact placements and details?”

“He wants to use his own creative freedom if that’s okay with you,” Max explains.

“Err…” I hesitate. I have a clear vision of what I want, and I’m not sure anyone else can bring it to life the way I imagine.

“I promise you, whatever he creates will exceed your expectations. Trust him, okay?” Max’s confident tone is reassuring.

“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. “If I don’t like it—”

“You don’t have to go with it. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Max.”

After ending the call, I turn to head back into the locker room, but my smile fades instantly. Daxton stares at me, leaning casually against the wall, his hands buried in his pockets, clearly having eavesdropped on the entire conversation.

“Have you not heard of privacy, Quiet Boy?” I grit out, struggling to keep my temper in check. The old Daxton is long gone, replaced by this new version who seems to be out for blood—my blood. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me benched and not playing.

Daxton flashes a grin that’s larger than life. His sudden bravery has me grinding my molars, hard. He used to be so breakable, so easy to hurt. Now, he’s nothing like that. He’s made of steel, and not an ounce of sadness shines back at me.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize pizza ordering was so private,” he says, placing a hand dramatically across his chest. “My apologies, Trayton.” He straightens his lips and softens his brows, giving off an innocent look. Fucking pizza. What a prick.

“Watch it, Rivers,” I growl, feeling my temper teetering on the edge. It doesn’t take much to push me, and he fucking knows it.

His eyes drag down and back up my body, connecting with mine, with that new cocky smile of his.

“Not much to watch,” he says, before shouldering his way through the locker room door and leaving me there, stunned.

Did he really just say I wasn’t much to look at?

Chapter eight

Trayton

As I step into Dan’s house, the beats of “Sicko Mode” by Travis Scott pulse through the speakers. The door barely clicks shut behind me before my friend Manny thrusts a beer into my hand, then turns to grab two more for Kal and Bray. We weave through the bustling crowd, exchanging backslaps and greetings with familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. That’s the life of a devil—respected, resented, and desired by everyone. This last thought is confirmed when I feel sharp claws, quite literally, digging into my neck as a petite girl, no taller than five feet, clings to me. She tilts her head back to meet my gaze, her eyes sparkling as she takes in my six-foot-two frame. Her smile brightens even more when I flash her a grin. Everyone at this school knows I’m gay. Girls just don’t do it for me. I’ve never felt the urge to try, and I’ve never even come close to wanting to. However, a few years ago, in a moment of drunken frustration, I kissed a girl. It was an experience that made my skin crawl. There was nothing wrong with her—she was quite pretty. But herlips were coated in this sticky gloss that made every movement feel like a struggle. Her tongue was small and hesitant, and the moment her soft hands cupped my face, I felt myself recoil. It felt so profoundly wrong. Even now, I get goose bumps thinking about it, and not in a good way. Yet, girls—or should I say puck bunnies—seem unfazed. They’ll try anything to get what they want. Anything to sleep with me. Especially after a couple of years ago when a guy I slept with sent around the dick pic I sent him as if it was meant to hurt my feelings. My DMs blew up, and when I say blew up, my actual phone froze and glitched out. It couldn’t handle all the notifications. Since then, they don’t seem to understand. I only want dick. Some even offered me their ass as if that would make it okay or offered to wear a strap on. I can be a man whore, but I still need the male connection. It’s like these girls think I’m desperate. Off the top of my head, I can think of at least five guys I could call up now, and they’d be in my dorm, bent over as if they were waiting for a prostate examination.

“Tray, Tray,” she singsongs in what she believes is a cute voice, but it’s anything but. The sound makes me want to crawl out of my own skin and hide. Although my thoughts might paint me as a class-A cunt, I pride myself on being very nice to the ladies.

“Casey.” I beam at her, but her face instantly drops.

“It’s Katie,” she corrects, her frown deepening. Despite my clear mistake, I choose to ignore it and lean down so my lips ghost her ear. Her breath catches as I whisper.

“Do you see that big, tall, brooding guy behind me? The one who looks like he’s ready to choke-slam anyone who dares to step in his path?” Katie inclines her head to look behind me, and then her eyes meet mine, widened with what seems to be a mix of excitement and curiosity. She keeps her deer-in-the-headlights gaze locked on me as she nods eagerly.

“He’s a bit…” I pause, searching for the perfect words to describe Kal—moody, an asshole with a perpetual stick up his ass. “Sad,” I finally say, going with the simplest yet most fitting description.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her brows furrowing as a look of sadness crosses her face. Despite this, she keeps her eyes locked on mine, clearly eager and hanging on my every word.

I make a point of glancing around the party, taking in the scene before meeting Katie’s eyes again. “Out of all the girls here, I just know you’re the one for him,” I say, keeping my voice sincere.

She gasps softly, placing a hand on her chest. “Me?” she says, stunned.

“You,” I confirm with a smile. Her cheeks turn crimson as she tips her head back to look at Kal, who’s standing behind me. She then leans in closer to me and whispers, “But he doesn’t talk to any girls anymore. My friend Cass tried so many times, and he shut her down every single time.” She frowns, clearly puzzled.

Kal really needs to sort himself out. I don’t know what’s gotten into him over the last couple of years. He’s always been a broody asshole, but not to this extent. He never turned down girls before. Bray and I try to leave him to his own devices because, well, like I said, he’s a broody asshole. But I’m definitely talking to Bray later about sitting down with Kal because this needs to stop.

“I think you can make him better,” I say with a wink, standing back up to my full height. She nods eagerly, a smile spreading across her face. As I walk away, I hear her innocent, petite voice call out, “Kal?” I smile to myself, biting my lip, and keep moving.

Within seconds, Bray catches up to me, laughing beside me. “He’s so getting you back for that,” he says, amusement clear in his voice.

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