Page 56 of Shattered Hate

“Not much, bro, you?” he responds casually, lowering himself to the floor to begin his routine stretches.

“No, I mean with him,” I clarify, nodding subtly at Daxton, who’s sitting in the bleachers like he always does.

Cope releases a heavy sigh, glancing over at Daxton with a look that speaks volumes. “I can’t say,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you can,” I insist, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

Cope’s eyes meet mine, turning steely. “No, I can’t. He’s my friend, and I promised I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

“I’m your friend too.”

“Yes, and I have other friends, Tray. Leave it,” Cope snaps back, standing up and skating away, leaving me teetering on the edge of losing my goddamn shit.

I shift my focus back to Daxton, whose eyes are locked onto mine, filled with a haunting sadness and a vulnerability that practically screams for help. Frustration gnaws at me as I shake my head, exhaling deeply before diving into the training session.

Me:

Stay in the lockers after everyone has left.

Quiet Boy:

Why?

Me:

Because I said so.

The rink is nearly empty as I glide across the ice, the chill biting at my cheeks. The echo of my skates against the frozen surface is the only sound in the vast arena. Everyone else has already gone back to the lockers, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I push myself harder, the muscles in my legs burning with each stride, hoping the energy will remove Daxton from my mind. But with every powerful stroke and every sharp slap of the puck, his image lingers stubbornly.

Eventually, I slow, my breath clouding in the crisp air. I skate off the ice and remove my skates, allowing my pounding heart to calm. By the time I’ve got back to the locker room, I notice all the team has left. Relief washes over me when I see Daxton still there, sitting on the bench with his sketch pads and pensscattered around him. His eyes lift to meet mine, a flicker of curiosity mixed with fatigue.

“What did you want?” he asks, his voice lacking its usual edge.

“You.” I breathe out, my heart racing as I move closer, pulling him to his feet and backing him into the cold metal lockers. My fingers press against his temple, my frustration boiling over.

“You”—I jab a finger against his head—“are in my mind too damn much, and I hate it.” My body trembles with intensity as I tap my finger against my head. “In here, all the damn time.” Daxton’s eyes widen in surprise, his face a portrait of shock as if I’ve gone mad. This is all his doing though. He does this to me.

“What are you doing to me, Daxton?” I whisper, my gaze drifting to his lips. His eyes, still wide, lock onto mine before dropping his gaze to my lips. And I know we are on the brink.

I understand that the moment I taste him, there will be no turning back. I will be completely undone.

“Don’t,” I grit out through clenched teeth, holding onto the last bit of resolve I have. My hands are balled into fists in Daxton’s shirt, knuckles white. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Daxton gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes remain focused on my lips. His breaths come in heavy, ragged waves, each exhale brushing against the fabric of my jersey as his chest rises and falls with intensity. “You fucking infuriate me,” I growl, feeling the heat of anger coiling in my stomach like a live wire. “Every word you say is like a match to gasoline.” My eyes lock onto his, and I see something flicker there, a momentary shift, like the flick of a lighter in the dark.

“And yet, you keep coming back for more. Just admit it, Tray, you love the burn.” He’s taunting me with his whispers that send shivers down my spine.

“I don’t like you. I fucking hate you,” I say, but I falter, the truth undeniable. He’s right. I love it all. I love the way desire ignites within me, scorching and consuming.

“I hate you too,” he lies, a tangled mess of contradictions. The tension between us snaps like an overstretched rubber band.

“Fuck you, Daxton.”

Then it’s fireworks. Every possible firework explodes inside me as I crash my lips against his. His lips are both impossibly soft and fiercely demanding as they move against mine, a clash of passion and fury. Daxton’s tongue slides against mine, igniting a wildfire that rages through my veins. Right now, I don’t fucking care if the world burns around us; as long as I have Daxton’s lips on mine in the final moments, nothing else matters. He’s addictive in every sense of the word.

His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer, as a deep, guttural moan escapes him, vibrating through me. I moan back, the sound mingling with his, a symphony of raw need. Our teeth clash, our lips bruise, and our tongues dance in a desperate, greedy rhythm, each swipe leaving us craving more. His lip ring rubs against my lips, causing me to realize and really let it sink in. It’s him. I’m kissing Daxton Rivers. I run my tongue over his lip ring, causing another moan to rise up his throat. I swallow it whole.

It’s never felt like this, and right now, it feels too good to even question how something could feel this amazing. I’m drowning in sensation, lost in the taste of him. Daxton’s lips are like a fire against mine, burning away every doubt, every fear. His hands tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send shivers down my spine. I press closer, desperate to feel more of him. My hands run over the muscled ripples on his back.

The world narrows to just us—the heat of his body, the urgency of his touch. I breathe him in, all spice and sweat and something uniquely Daxton. It’s intoxicating. My fingers trace the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my palm.

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