Page 18 of Shattered Hate

I take a step forward, but Kal grabs my arm, holding me back. “Not worth it, Tray,” he says firmly.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. But the sight of Daxton, standing here with that smug look on his face, makes it nearly impossible. This night just took a turn for the worse, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my cool.

Chapter nine

Daxton

Ihad no intention of coming to this damn party. Cope was antagonizing me the whole time he was getting ready, and I swore I wouldn’t go. But he kept bringing up Trayton, saying not to let him get under my skin. I’m so over people thinking I’m that quiet, timid guy who accepts punches and doesn’t retaliate. I’m sick of being seen as a pushover.

The moment Cope said, “Trayton will think he’s got to you if you don’t come,” there was no turning back. Over my dead body will I let that guy get to me anymore. Last year, I was in a bad headspace; it felt like my world was crumbling, and then I lost my best friend. I’ve never felt so low in my life. But leaving that trailer was a fresh start for me. It was my new beginning, and there’s no way I’m letting Trayton drag me back to that dark place.

Every step I took toward this party was fueled by my determination to prove that I’m not the same person I was then. As soon as I walked into this fucking kitchen and he saw me,I had to swallow whatever self-doubt was gnawing at my mind and put on my brave face. I needed to show this prick that I’m not the same guy. Even if sometimes I think I am. I’m not someone who seeks confrontation, but Trayton brings it out of me. Just seeing his face makes me want to scream.

It’s funny how time changes our perspective of someone.

I never used to look at Trayton and want to scream.

It was the complete opposite, actually.

I used to look at him and instantly smile.

Then Bexley happened. That’s why Trayton despises me. I’ve told myself a thousand times that his hatred is justified. I understand why he loathes me. But it was years ago. Why can’t he let it go? We were just kids.

He blames me for so much.

What he doesn’t realize is that I blame myself even more. I wish I could turn back time and change everything, but I can’t.

“Let’s go into the living room,” Cope mutters, tugging on my hoodie.

I take one last glance at a seething Trayton, his stare burning into me, before I walk through the door to the living room with Cope. I spot the couch and notice a free seat at the end. I came here, proved myself, and now all I want to do is leave. I’ve shown him I’m not scared, and now I’m over it.

Cope pushes a bottle in my face, and I shake my head. I’ve got a lot of drawing to do tomorrow and need a clear head.

“One drink won’t hurt,” Cope insists, pushing the bottle right in front of my face again. I sigh, taking it from his hand. Maybe if I just take a sip, every time he looks at me, it’ll make him happy.

I don’t even know why he’s trying so hard with me anyway. I sit back on the couch, pulling myself to the edge as more people squeeze in. The music blares, and I don’t recognize a single song. I feel so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well be on Mars.

Why did I need to prove a point?

As I go to set my beer on the table and prepare to slip out since Cope has vanished from sight, that voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“Daxton Rivers.” A smug-looking Jamie Vice comes into view as he stands in front of me, not leaving me any room to get up.

Why did you fucking come here, Daxton? For fuck’s sake.

“Jamie,” I reply—bored. Jamie is a cunt. That’s the only way I can describe him. I was at a party last year; me and Bexley were there selling shit, and Jamie was drunk. He ended up walking into the bathroom when I was taking a piss, but he didn’t turn around and walk out like any normal person. He stayed until I was finished and then literally threw himself onto me.

I instantly pulled back because no, just no. Jamie Vice is a fucking dick, and I’ve always known it. No way was he going to try to kiss me behind some closed door while he was drunk and high on god knows what.

Turning him down unleashed a storm I wasn’t prepared for. He spread lies around the school, claiming I made advances on him and even mocking how I smelled, saying I reeked like a garbage truck. This nightmare began before I even started at Hawksview. When I finally did, he made it his personal vendetta to tarnish my name, making everyone remember the fabricated stories he’d spun about me. People would stare, snicker, or dramatically sidestep me as I walked down the halls. It was downright humiliating.

“What drugs you selling today then?” He sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm and malice.

“None, so go find someone else.” My words are monotone.

“What brings”—he scans me from head to toe, a look of utter disgust contorting his features—“you here, then?”

“I was invited,” I say flatly, attempting to rise, but he steps forward, forcing me back onto the couch.

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