Page 25 of Shattered Hate

“Nothing,” they both say in unison. Ugh, I hate when they do this.

They skate off the ice, and I shake my head, following them. I’m the last to walk through the gate, ready to head back to the lockers. Because I clearly like to see Daxton in distress, I turn my head, hoping I’ll see that fear in his eyes again, but I don’t.

He’s not there.

But his sketch pad is. I turn my head to check if anyone’s around, but everyone’s gone into the lockers already. I trudge along the seats to where Daxton was sitting and glance down atthe sketch pad, which is closed. I look around the rink. He’s not here, so I pick up the sketch pad and open the first page.

Shit.

It’s amazing. Fuck, why does he have to be so good at drawing? I flick to the next page, and then I frown. It’s a sketch of me, Kal, and Brayden. We’re all laughing.

We look so fucking happy.

The image is so perfect that it’s as if we’re going to come alive on the page.

How does he fucking do this? I flick to the next, and I suck in a sharp breath. It’s me.

The next one.

Me.

The next.

Me.

What the fuck? I hear a noise behind me and quickly shove the sketch pad up my jersey, turning toward the locker room.

What the fuck is this guy doing?

That evening, I steal a quick glance at Kal. He’s got his back to me, probably scowling at his phone as if it’s personally offended him. I swear, every night, he fixes himself on that phone. It’s sometimes hard to even get a conversation out of him. I quietly reach down between my bed and the wall, fingers searching for Daxton’s sketch pad I snagged earlier. My heart pounds in my chest as I keep checking to make sure Kal isn’t sneaking a peek over his shoulder. As silently as possible, I open it to the first page. There it is—the sketch of me, Kal, and Brayden on theice at the rink during hockey practice. The fluorescent lights overhead are captured in soft shading, casting a warm glow over the scene. Our smiles are so real that they practically jump off the page. Kal’s grin is wide, his helmet slightly askew, eyes crinkling at the corners, the way they do when he’s genuinely into the moment. Brayden is mid-laugh, his mouth open in a carefree chuckle, stick propped on his shoulder like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. And me—I look alive, eyes shining, a big smile spread across my face.

The crisp lines of the rink barriers frame us, and the smooth surface of the ice is detailed with just the right amount of texture, showing the carved lines from our skates. You can almost feel the cold air and hear the echo of our laughter bouncing off the arena walls. Daxton captured everything—the friendship, the thrill of the game, the unspoken bond between us.

I want to hate it so badly, just like I did when I saw my tattoo.

But I can’t

He’s too fucking good.

God, I hate him.

I flip to the next one, and it’s me frowning down in concentration at the puck in front of me. I scan every detail of the photo, not able to take my eyes off it. It’s as if the only thing in the world that exists is that puck in front of me. I flick to the next one, and it’s me, body checking Kal when we were having our friendly rivalry, but it’s not finished. Maybe that’s when he left.

Why did he leave? Why did he look scared?

Why do I even fucking care?

I don’t. I’m just curious, I guess. I’ve always been curious.

I flick to the next page, waiting to see if he’s sketched anything or anyone else, but the next one isn’t anything to do with hockey. It’s a blue lake that ends with tall green trees. The colors blend,but in the middle of the image and behind the trees, bright light streams through the gaps. Casting a glow across the water. I squint my eyes to look at the writing in the corner. “Mystic Tealglow.”

It’s another version of the one at the shop. It looks almost the same, but the glow is from a different angle this time. It has to be the sun, right?

I get why he loves this picture, but to draw it again? He must really love it.

I flip to the next page, but there’s nothing. I flip through the rest of the pages, but that’s it. I’m drawn to the picture of the lake and the trees. I want to look at it again so turn back and stare at it. It bugs me how familiar it is, like I’ve seen this exact image before.

Does he copy art? I huff a laugh. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. I quickly snap my gaze to Kal to make sure he didn’t turn around, but it looks as though he’s put his phone down now.

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