Page 50 of Shattered Hate

“Talk,” he commands

I cross my arms and ask, “Why do you care?”

With a dismissive shrug, he replies, “I don’t—just curious.” But the storm brewing in his eyes tells me it’s more than that. I wonder, does he really care?

Of course he doesn’t.

“Just leave it,” I snap, pushing past him with determination, afraid that if I linger, I’ll spill everything and start treating him like my knight in shining armor. Because he’s not. Trayton would be in the front row of theWatching Daxton Fallmovie, grinning at every stumble.

I need to remember that.

I spent the entire training session watching them run drills, completely unproductive, not a single line sketched on my pad. My mind was tangled with what Marley had said. At the time, I didn’t fully process his words or even feel the panic because I was too worried about everyone else’s reactions. But now, sitting alone, the panic has settled deep in my bones.When I call, you answer.

I know what Marley wants. He wants me to jump through hoops for him again, to move back into that cramped trailer. But that’s not happening. I can’t return to that life, not after experiencing a glimpse of this one. My gaze drifts to Trayton, focused intently on the puck, weaving it skillfully between obstacles. Not after knowing what Trayton King tastes like.

If I went back to that trailer, Trayton wouldn’t come near me again. But who says he will anyway?

Damn.

Before I know it, the training session ends, and I find myself trudging back to the locker room, mentally preparing to interview Brayden. My stomach churns with dread; I remember the way he looked at me earlier, his eyes filled with knowing.

He knows. Of course he does.

Once the players finish showering and leave, I set up the camera in our usual spot near the window, where the light is decent, though the backdrop remains a stark, blank wall typical of locker rooms.

“So, what—”

“It was Marley, wasn’t it?” Brayden cuts me off, his eyes soft with concern. His expression hits me like a wave of nostalgia, reminding me of moments with my best friend Bex, and just like with Bex, I can’t bring myself to lie. I nod, the truth heavy in the small space between us.

“Has he got you doing things?” Brayden asks quietly. I shake my head, though my voice trembles with uncertainty.

“No. He’s trying though.”

“What are you going to do?” Brayden asks. He seems genuinely concerned; his brows furrow as he studies my face.

I shrug, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. “I have no idea, Bray, but I can’t go back to that life. I won’t.” My jaw tightens as I force myself to meet his gaze, eyes heavy with sadness.

“You can’t,” he insists, making my heart clench. “You’ve started fresh, and it’s here. This is where you belong.” His words stir something deep inside me, and tears prick at my eyes. No one has ever told me I belong somewhere, especially not someone I expected to hold resentment toward me. Yet, here he is, giving me a lifeline, and it means everything. Despite my efforts to contain them, emotions well up within me.

“Dax.” Brayden breathes my name, softening.

“He’s ruined so many lives, Bray. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, the dam breaking as tears spill over.

“Hey, hey,” he says gently, standing up and crouching down in front of me, his brows knitted in concern. “This isn’t your fault.” He sighs deeply, the weight of everything clear in his gaze. “Iknow I treated you badly last year, Dax, and I’m sorry for that. I was angry, sad, and tired. I blamed everyone and everything for Bex.” My lip trembles as his words sink in, tears cascading down my cheeks and pooling in my lap. “Dax, look at me.” His voice anchors me, and my eyes slowly lift to meet his.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were Bex’s lifeline for all those years, just as he was yours. He was lucky to have you by his side through it all.” His words break something open inside me, and sobs shake my frame as Brayden’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “You really miss him, don’t you?” he whispers.

“So fucking much, Bray. Some days, it feels like I can’t breathe at how much I miss him.” A single tear escapes down Brayden’s cheek, and he offers a weak smile.

“I get it,” he says, capturing the shared pain between us. He places a comforting hand on my knee. “It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that last year, Dax.” He stands and envelops me in a tight hug, his arms warm and grounding. “I’m really sorry.”

I sob into Brayden’s shoulder. The words I’ve secretly wanted to hear are finally spoken aloud. Even if I can’t fully believe it yet, hearing him say it means more than he knows. It’s my family. It will always be partly my fault.

Once my sobs finally quiet, he leans back and walks to his chair, giving me a soft smile. His own eyes are bloodshot.

“So,” I say, attempting a tight-lipped smile, “the team.”

“Trayton,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips like he’s holding a secret.

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