Page 6 of Shattered Hate

“I didn’t know who I was sharing with, so I was just finding out.”

“Cool,” he says, nodding again and walking toward his bed. The whole ordeal was just as awkward as I instantly imagined as soon as I saw Cope Jackson’s name. It then dawns on me as I stare at my new bed.

This was Brayden’s room. He shared with Cope.

But now he lives with Mr. Stiles.

Move out one trailer park kid and move another in. Good ole Hawksview U.

Cope rustles around with something on his bed and then turns, heading straight for the door, leaving and shutting it lightly behind him.

Cope knows who I am. But he’s never been hostile toward me. He’s always left me alone, so I’m hoping it stays that way. I only ever existed in one person’s world, and he’s gone now, so it’s just me, and that’s the way I like it. Hopefully, he treats me like I don’t exist just as everyone else has. Sighing, I begin emptying thetrashbags and open some drawers near my bed, thankfully finding them empty. I fold up the few clothes I have, all black, of course, and place them in the drawers.

Within ten minutes, the bags are empty, and everything is put away. I hold the picture I drew for Bex in my hand, staring down at it, and debate whether I should fold it up and put it away. Butthen I think twice and stand on my mattress, fixing the picture to the wall above my headboard.

“Look over me, Bex.” I smile.

I flop down on the bed, instantly realizing how comfy this mattress is. A lot more comfortable than my bed back in the trailer. I stare at the envelope the dean gave me. Eagerly, I grab it, wondering what he and Mr. Jenkins have put together. What they think I will be so good at doing.

God, I hope it’s street art. That’s my favorite, and Mr. Jenkins has already said it’s my specialty. “You’re fantastic at putting a story and so much emotion into one image, Daxton,” he once said. I already have so many ideas that I could create, and my fingers tremble from excitement as I pull the papers out of the envelope. I scan the first few paragraphs, which detail the grades I could get, and then my eyes move down.

No.

No.

FUCK NO.

Rising quickly, I snatch the keys from the bed and storm toward the door, slamming it shut with a resounding echo. I refuse to do this, and I’m about to confront the dean, insisting on any alternative, anything but this.

Bursting through the mass of students and hurtling down the stairs of the dorm building, I shove the doors open, gulping in the air that my desperate lungs crave with each frantic breath. My gaze drops as I clutch the paper once more, scanning the words in disbelief, praying this is some cruel illusion.

But it isn’t.

The words stare back at me in stark black ink.

This year’s final paper will focus on:“The Art of Ice Hockey.”

Chapter three

Trayton

“There’s my baby.” I grin, sprinting toward Brayden. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen him, though it’s only been a little over two weeks. Brayden’s face ignites the entire locker room as he smiles, and I barrel into him, sending us both crashing into the lockers. “Never leave me that long again,” I say with fake tears. “I was nothing without you.” I hear Brayden laugh.

“Stop hogging.” Kal’s deep voice comes from behind, shoving me off Brayden and pulling him into a fierce bro hug that somehow swallows Brayden’s six-foot-three frame. Kal is only a couple of inches taller than Bray, but he’s got a good fifty pounds on both of us. Fifty pounds of pure muscle. Both of them slap each other’s backs. As Kal steps back, I finally get a good look at Bray, and that gnawing ache in my stomach eases. I’d had that gut feeling like something was off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. It turns out, it was Brayden.

I was terrified he wouldn’t be okay. I’ve seen Brayden and Kal nearly every day since we were eleven. Since we met on the ice, when I noticed how off Brayden’s form was from a mile away.

I didn’t hold back; I went right over and told him where he was going wrong. And I remember that day, seeing something in his eyes that made me want to help him—not just with his form, but with everything.

As the locker room buzzes with the usual pre-training energy, Brayden’s face relaxes into a genuine smile. He pulls out his phone and shows us a picture of him and Bohdi from their London trip, both of their eyes sparkling with happiness. “Yo, London was incredible! We went to all these cool places, and—oh, I got you both something,” he says, digging into his bag.

Kal and I exchange curious glances as Brayden hands us each a small, neatly wrapped package. I tear mine open to find a keychain with a miniature Big Ben. Kal’s got the iconic red London bus. “Thought you’d like a piece of London with you.” Brayden grins.

“Thanks, man,” Kal says, his usual stern expression softening for a moment. “But don’t think this makes up for ditching us for a whole two weeks.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for on the ice,” I add, smirking.

Brayden laughs, putting away his phone and slipping into his gear. “Better get ready then. I’ve got a lot of energy to burn.” He winks.

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