Page 62 of Shattered Hate

“Yo.”

“Where’s Cope tonight?”

“No idea, probably in his dorm. We’ve got an early morning 10K run tomorrow,” he answers, yawning. Ah, the thrilling life of being single and in our twenties. I then type out another message, this time to Cope.

Me:

What you doin?

I sit there again, waiting for the blue ticks or typing bubbles, but nothing appears. Cope hasn’t read my message, even after ten minutes. I switch back to the tracker app and watch that annoying dot flash at the bar. If Cope went out, he’d have mentioned it. He would have invited us. We never go out without asking each other to join. We’re a team both on and off the ice. It’s always been that way. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?” I ask Kal, sitting at the edge of my bed while tying my sneakers.

“Erm, get me something sweet.” He never wants anything, and the one time I’m not actually going to the store, he requests something. For crying out loud. “Sure.” I’ll just say I forgot when I return. I pull on my sweatshirt, open the door, and close it quietly behind me. I check the time—it’s ten. If they’ve gone out for some kind of guys’ night without us, I’m going to be pissed.

What if it’s more than that? Cope always claimed he was straight, but what if things changed for him? First, he roomed with Brayden and saw more than he expected. Now he’s rooming with Daxton.

He became close to Daxton quickly and is overly protective of him.

What if it’s more? What if there’s something between them, and I was just a placeholder for Daxton, something to pass the time?

No way.

Nope.

My mind needs to stop this shit. That’s not what’s happening. Daxton doesn’t look at Cope the way he looks at me. His eyes don’t undress Cope like they do with me during every training session. I noticed how he looked at me in the showers yesterday. There’s no one else. I leave my dorm and rush across campus to Cope and Daxton’s place. The campus is unusually quiet for a Saturday night—typical since no one here is as dull as we are. Everyone else is out doing what normal college students do. But as an athlete, I have to prioritize certain things, even though we still manage to have our nights out. I take the stairs two at a time, hurrying up to the third floor, and when I reach the door, I knock a few times, not really expecting anyone to answer because, well, they’re probably out. Instead, a tired-looking Cope opens the door in his boxer shorts.

“Tray, what’s up?” he asks, his eyes adjusting to the bright corridor light as he rubs them. For a moment, I stand there, lost for words—damn, I didn’t expect him to be here. “Uh, just checking in,” I manage to say, although it sounds as lame as it feels.

Cope raises an eyebrow. “Uh, all good,” he replies, glancing around in general confusion. “Do you want to come in or something?”

“Yes,” I blurt out too quickly, almost eagerly, because now I’m thinking Daxton might be in bed behind that door, maybe he’s even lost his phone. As the door opens, my eyes immediately dart to the side of the room where Brayden used to sleep, his bed now neatly made and untouched. Who the hell is he with at that bar? I already sense that Cope suspects I’m here because ofDaxton. He always catches me glancing his way and has noted how often I ask about him, so I can’t come right out and ask. I know he wouldn’t judge me—nobody on the team would—but who can I explain this messed-up feeling to when I barely understand it myself? So I continue playing the game of disliking him because that’s all I’ve ever known about Daxton Rivers.

I sit down on Daxton’s bed and immediately get caught in his scent. It isn’t anything fancy, just a warm, comforting smell that feels like what I imagine home would smell like. Safe and comforting.

Damn, this isn’t good. That unsettling feeling returns; I can’t bear it—it’s like a broken bond screaming out for him, desperate to see him, to touch him. “Tray.” Cope’s voice breaks through my inner turmoil, pulling me out of my state—I can’t even tell what my mind or body is doing right now.

“Mm?” I look up at him.

“You good?” His brow is furrowing as he takes me in.

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” I say, trying to piece myself together.

“So, what’s up?” Cope asks, studying me as if trying to figure out why I’m here. “Why are you here?” He’s squinting slightly and tilting his head in curiosity.

“I messaged you, but you didn’t reply, so I thought I’d come over and see what you were up to.” I shrug, placing my hands on the bed behind me and leaning back slightly. My eyes wander over Daxton’s side of the room. It’s sparse—only a single poster hangs there, showing that prominent Ferris wheel in London. I know it’s London because the poster includes a sketch of that iconic clock, named after some guy called Ben. It’s a strange detail, if you ask me; maybe it’s a place he wants to visit.

“He drew it for Bex,” Cope says, and I glance at him as he stares at the picture. “That’s why Bohdi took Bray there—it was the one spot Bex always wanted to see.” I nod, though I don’t recall Bex ever mentioning that to me. Maybe he did. I’vepretty much erased most of our conversations. “No roommate tonight?” It seems like the natural moment to ask. Cope gives me a smirk as though he’s just realized exactly why I’m here, and I do my best not to let it show.

“He’s out.” He settles back on his bed, leaning against the wall with his legs dangling off the side, hands resting in his lap as he looks at me like the cat who got the cream.

“Anywhere fun?” I ask. Cope’s eyes widen, and he nods, biting his cheek to hold back a laugh he clearly wants to let out.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s somewhere fun; he’s definitely having a great time.” He pauses before adding, “If you know what I mean.” Cope stretches both arms upward. “After all, the guy who asked him out made it pretty clear he wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

At that statement, my blood turns ice-cold—no, it’s burning like fire, as if it’s searing right through my skin. He’s out on a date while my cum might still be dried up inside him, just a day after he was crying out my name. Cope arches a sarcastic frown.

“You look a bit red, Tray.” I don’t care anymore; I’ve long since stopped caring about what anyone has to say about me. My body trembles with anger, and every hard heartbeat makes my chest ache fiercely.

“Where is he?” I growl through gritted teeth as I take deep, steadying breaths.

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