Page 52 of Shattered Hate

“It’s about Daxton.”

My whole body tenses at the mention of the name, and Brayden notices, letting out a short, amused huff. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me intently, his gaze sharp and firm like a hawk’s. His stare makes my skin prickle because Brayden knows me too well. He can read every flicker of emotion—when I’m happy, excited, or drowning in sadness and moodiness. But the worst part is how he always catches me in a lie before I’ve even spoken.

“I need to know what’s going on,” he presses after a prolonged silence. I weigh my options carefully, wondering if I should actignorant or spill the truth. There isn’t a specific reason I kept this from him for so long, but sometimes secrets grow beyond their original size, becoming heavy. This is one of those times. The longer I kept quiet, the more daunting the truth became until I couldn’t bring myself to approach the subject at all. “And don’t use my brother as an excuse, Tray. I love you. You’re my brother, but I know it’s more than this. I know it’s more than him being who he is and where he comes from. I talked to Kal, and he said I need to speak to you. It’s not his place to tell. So, I need you to tell me. I need to know where this hatred has come from.”

His words ignite a spark of anger inside me. Yes, Daxton is who he is, and he comes from where he comes from—that should be enough explanation. Not everyone has a choice in their family, true, but Daxton didn’t exactly make any moves to break away from that life, did he? No, he embraced it fully and dragged Bexley down with him.

“Hatred?” I huff a laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “He’s part of that family—how can you just let this slide? How can you face him every day?” Brayden’s shoulders sag like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily, then turns his body fully toward me.

“You know it’s not his fault, Tray. I know you understand that.” He is steady, but there’s a faint tremor beneath the surface of his statement.

“Yeah, not directly, but what did he do to stop it?” “Think back to when Bexley went downhill, Bray. Daxton was suddenly around a lot, and I did everything I could to stop Bexley from doing what he was doing. I was twelve years old when I found out what he was doing for that scummy family. Twelve years old, and I did everything I could to get Bexley to stop.” My voice cracks, the words tumbling out like a confession I didn’t know I needed to make. I avert my gaze from Bray and clench my fists so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

“I know you did, Tray. Bexley loved you; you were his best friend.” My jaw tightens until I’m amazed that I don’t hear the sound of a molar cracking under the pressure. He loved me? Yeah, I don’t think so. I keep my eyes fixed on the worn spot on my bed between my legs, my breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts.

“Bex dipped his toe into that life, then he got tangled up in it.” Bray’s voice is a low murmur, thick with the weight of memory. “He wanted a better life for me and him, and he saw no other way. I blamed myself for a long time, Tray. I’m still working on how not to, but I know now it was my mom. If my mom hadn’t turned her back on us, then he would still be here now. He wouldn’t have felt he needed to choose the life he did. Like a fly to a web, Tray. Once he was caught, that was it.” Bray’s voice breaks, and my eyes shift to his face. He dips his head, wiping a hand across his damp eyes.

I reach out, my fingers curling around his hand, and hold it tightly in mine, offering what little comfort I can. “There was no escaping.” His statement is heavy. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he leans forward, his words cracking with a mix of anguish and anger. “Imagine this, Tray. You’ve been trapped in that web since the moment you took your first breath.” His voice rises a notch. “Imagine being born into that suffocating web, clueless about what might come next, unsure when the next threat will pounce. You’re that fly, caught in sticky strands woven so tightly there’s no escape. It’s the life stamped on you before you could even choose—a life where every day, those cold, relentless spiders prod and manipulate you. You’re utterly alone, abandoned by anyone who might have cared. And then, out of the depths of that darkness, a boy steps into the trap willingly—his arms and heart intertwining with the mess you find yourself stuck in.”

His eyes shift from our entangled fingers to mine, softening, but I see the fresh pain etched on my best friend’s face. I swallow hard, wishing I could do anything to help him. “Bexley was a lifeline for Daxton that day, Tray. He saved Daxton just as Daxton rescued Bexley in return.”

A tremble escapes my lips. “But he was mine,” I whisper, barely audible.

“Who?” he asks, his voice rough with surprise.

I let my gaze dart between Brayden’s now deeply furrowed brows as he fixes me with an intense stare, his eyes searching as if they could unravel the silent tales spilling between us. “Bexley,” I say, thick with grief and disbelief. “He was mine, and Daxton took him from me.” Brayden’s brows knit together even more tightly—his eyes flickering between mine like a shutter, capturing every unsaid word, every hidden tremor of rage and torment that I have never voiced. “He was yours,” he murmurs. It’s not a question but a statement.

I shift my focus back to our intertwined hands, our fingers gripping for comfort. I nod slowly. “He was like a beam of light, Bray—an overwhelming, brilliant fucking light.”

“The brightest,” Brayden croaks and then sniffles. I squeeze his hand tighter, silently urging him to hold on while I battle with surging tides of emotion. I remember the two times I’ve cried since losing Bex—the first was when I found my best friend desperately trying to perform CPR on his twin in his childhood bed, and then the heart-wrenching funeral where my best friend stood, vulnerable, before over thirty people, his voice breaking as he recounted how shattering it was to lose his twin.

“Remember that day at the rink?” I begin, my voice soft yet lost with memories, catching a subtle nod from Brayden out of the corner of my eye. “I was quicker to get ready than you and Kal. After our training session, I rushed over to the vending machine to grab some snacks. That’s when I saw him—a boystaring straight at me. I could’ve sworn I was just with him in the locker room, but the moment our eyes collided, I knew instinctively that it wasn’t you. There was a sadness in your eyes, yes, but his had depths of darkness—eyes that had witnessed far too much shit. I don’t even know how I saw it at such a young age.” I laugh softly, the sound bitter with irony.

“I get it,” Brayden agrees quietly. “Bex’s eyes—those eyes told a whole story.”

“They did. A really dark story,” I murmur in agreement. “Anyway… he turned his gaze away from me for a fleeting moment, his eyes clouding over with frustration, before snapping back to the old vending machine. With a swift, forceful kick, he sent it shuddering, and a crinkling bag of brightly colored Jolly Ranchers tumbled out.” Brayden burst into uncontrollable laughter. “You both hated Jolly Ranchers.”

I laugh, just as Brayden chimes in unison, “We hated Jolly Ranchers.”

“He was so fucking angry, Bray. His brows were drawn tightly over eyes that burned with anger, and his mouth was set in a firm line. In a sudden outburst of fury, he snatched the scattered candy from the machine, tossing them violently onto the hard floor before stomping on them as if trying to crush every single one.” I chuckle, remembering watching Bexley and thinking he was a breath of fresh air. I can’t explain how many days I just wanted to throw stuff down on the floor and stamp on it, and here Bexley was, vandalizing a vending machine and still fuming with what it gave him for free.

“I walked up beside him and said, ‘I take it you don’t like Ranchers.’ He frowned even more, as if he couldn’t believe the audacity of a stranger talking to him. I placed my money in the vending machine and typed in some numbers, a few things falling out for me, you, and Kal.” I smile, looking at Bray, who smiles back at me. “Then I asked him what he wanted, and hepressed the button of what he wanted, and guess what dropped out.”

Brayden suddenly inhales sharply, as if the memory had flooded back with full force. “A Nerds Rope,” he whispers, and another sharp gasp escapes him.

“Yep. As soon as you walked out of that locker room, my heart skipped a beat because that’s when Bexley blinded me with that smile of his,” I say, brushing a tear off Brayden’s face. “He saw you, and his face beamed, Bray.” Brayden squeezes my hand as tight as he can as he silently chokes on the continuous sobs that shake his body. “And that’s when he reached out and handed you the Nerds Rope,” I add after a pause. “He just wanted to give his brother a Nerds Rope after he finished training.” At these words, Brayden’s shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably, overwhelmed by a rush of sobs that he can no longer hold back. I slowly let go of his hand and wrap both arms around him, drawing him close until his tear-streaked face rests gently against my chest. I allow him some time to gather himself. The tremors slowly stop, and I feel him lift his head from my chest.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. His words are low and rough, as though each one carries the weight of his buried pain. “It’s still so raw—hearing those good things makes me happy, yet it cuts like broken glass every time.” I ease my arm away slowly, giving him space to sit up properly. He takes a deep, trembling breath before saying, “Continue, please.”

“Right after that moment, we became inseparable—best friends, really, as a group of four. But it was always you and Kal and me and Bex.” Bray’s sigh is heavy as he rolls his head back against the cool wall, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I always knew that what I felt for Bex was deeper than friendship. I held it inside, scared of losing him if I ever told it.” I pause for a moment, the memory of his unexpected kiss flooding back. “Then, one day, when we were fifteen, you and Kal were atthe rink while I stayed behind at the trailer with Bex. Out of nowhere, he kissed me.” I stop, watching Bray for a reaction; his silence gives me the courage to continue. “It was sudden—one minute, we were lying side by side, and the next, his lips were pressed against mine. He admitted he’d felt something for me for a long time, and in that moment, everything felt so right.”

Bray asks quietly, “How long were you two together?” I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s just it, Bray. I don’t think we ever really were together in the way you imagine—it was more like a friends-with-benefits situation. I don’t believe I ever truly mattered to Bex.” I lean forward to meet Bray’s eyes. “I don’t think he knew how long I’d waited for that kiss, how desperately I wanted him.” My frown deepens at the memory of him telling me we couldn’t continue with whatever it was between us, a moment when everything in my world seemed to crumble as I walked out of the trailer door. “Then one day, just ten minutes after he said we couldn’t carry on as we were, it had to just be friends, I stepped out of the trailer and saw him—locked in an intense, almost desperate kiss with Daxton. Daxton’s glare over Bex’s shoulder was so piercing I couldn’t tell whether the fire burning in my chest was from sadness or rage.”

“Daxton, what?” Brayden springs off the bed and turns sharply to face me. “Bex and Daxton were never together like that, I swear—I asked him.” Brayden’s brow furrows, and his eyes sweep around the room as if he’s searching for something he might have missed or a detail Bex might have mentioned. “He would have told me. He wouldn’t have kept something like that from me.”

“I don’t know what happened between them,” I start, my voice shaky as I stare at the floor. “But I do know that was the last day I ever spoke to Bexley. He fucked me up, Bray. I still replay that day in my mind—reminding myself that we were just kids, and deep down, I had long forgiven him. But my pride kept mefrom rebuilding that bridge and then seeing the shit he wreaked on your life—the endless stress you carried—it brought up all my anger and made it impossible for me to let anything go.” My head bows, heavy with regret. “Now it feels too late to tell him that I forgave him for breaking my heart,” I murmur.

Brayden steps closer and drops himself down next to me again; his warmth wraps around me gently, as he slips his hands around my arms. “Look at me, Tray.” I lift my head slowly, meeting his bloodshot eyes that seem to plead for understanding. “It’s never too late to tell him,” he insists. “I talk to him every day, telling him that I still haven’t forgiven him for leaving me,” he admits, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He pauses to take a deep, steadying breath before continuing, “But if you can find it in your heart to forgive Bex, then why not Daxton? Bex carried most of the blame.”

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