Page 70 of Shattered Hate

I shake my head, trying to hide the smirk tugging at my lips as I study his maddening expression. He steps closer, each measured stride tightening the distance between us, and I draw in a sharp breath. I lower my head to hold back the swirling emotions. Then his hand finds my face, tenderly lifting it until our gaze connects, and his eyes always feel like a punch to my gut—eyes that have always captivated me. At his touch, my heart jolts with a soft, overwhelming cry of happiness.

“It’s been weird not seeing you lately,” he whispers, his eyes flickering between mine.

I nod. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot going on,” I lie, even though the truth is that I’ve been avoiding him.

“Liar.” He grins; it’s a playful accusation. “You’ve just been avoiding me.” I stay silent, locked in his gaze. With a gentle lift of his lip, he continues, “It’s okay. I have too.” His voice softens as his shoulders sag with vulnerability.

I nod again, trying to steady the flutter in my chest. “Well, tattooing is done. I’ll probably only be at training a few times a week, so I shouldn’t be around too much.” I force a smile before stepping back. Trayton frowns, and his hand meets mine, our fingers intertwining. I close my eyes, drawing a deep, reluctant breath, all the while hating how perfect it feels to be held by him.

“Because I don’t know how to handle what I feel for you, Dax. Not because I don’t want to be with you. The last few weeks have been pure hell. My…” He pauses, jaw clenching before he continues, “I have physically ached.”

My heart skips a beat at his confession, and suddenly, I’m lost in the depth of his gaze. “I’ve never dealt with feelings before, Dax. I’ve only ever known hate. I always hated you—and now I don’t. This new feeling overwhelms me. Just be patient with me,” he pleads, his brows furrowing as he waits for my reply.

“Okay,” I reply softly. I could never refuse him. His smile returns, gentle yet daring. He steps forward to press a soft, lingering kiss against my lips before pulling away.

“What are you doing to me, Dax?” he murmurs so quietly I only just about hear him as he releases my hand, moving toward the door. When he reaches it, he turns back, and I stand there, heart pounding so fiercely I fear it might burst out of my chest and run after him. “I will never be able to thank you enough for this.” He raises his arm with a playful spark in his eye. “But this isn’t over.” His smirk deepens. “I just emailed you what I want for the other half of the sleeve. I can’t wait to see your design.” With that, his dazzling smile flashes one last time before he’s gone. I exhale deeply, sinking into the chair behind me as my trembling legs give way.

“More like, what are you doing to me, Trayton King?” I sigh into the quiet space. My phone pings, and I fumble to grab it, anxious to see his notes. When I open the email, the world around me seems to freeze.

I read his notes, and as each word lands, unshed tears burn in my eyes.

All this time, I believed it meant nothing to him.

But it did.

Chapter thirty-five

Trayton

It’s the first pre-season game, and I’m buzzing with excitement. Training sessions are great, but nothing compares to the thrill of playing against our rivals. Supposedly, it’s a friendly match, but anyone familiar with ice hockey knows there’s nothing friendly about it, especially when facing the Arctic Bears. “Do you smell that?” Cope asks, sniffing the air theatrically. Everyone joins in, while Coach just rolls his eyes. “I smell victory,” Cope declares, thumping his chest like a gorilla, prompting everyone to cheer and mimic his gesture. My gaze sweeps over the team, soaking in the adrenaline we always feel before a game, and then it settles on him. Lately, my eyes always find him. I swallow hard as his face lights up, his eyes wide with excitement as everyone around him jumps and shouts. My smile fades as the noise and movement around me dull, and it’s like I’m seeing him through tunnel vision. His smile brings a sense of calm, quieting my chaotic thoughts. But then his smile vanishes as Cope pulls him to his feet, forcing him into the spotlight hehates. Cope lifts his arms like a puppet, and Daxton frowns, muttering at Cope, who, unsurprisingly, ignores him. I can’t help but laugh. He looks awkward but somehow belongs here, as if he’s always been part of our team, supporting us from the sidelines. I can’t imagine him not being here. My Daxton trance is cut short as Coach’s voice booms through the locker room.

“I’m not here to give a big speech,” he announces as his gaze sweeps over all of us. “Play fair—skate rough. No swinging fists, and I want no bloodshed,” he bellows.

“We kill them by winning,” Kal shouts, and we all grip our sticks in response.

“Daxton,” Cope calls, turning toward him. “Today, your guy is putting in time on the ice.” Cope arches his eyebrows, and the moment Daxton’s eyes meet mine at the words “your guy,” my heart skips a beat—though it shouldn’t—and I find the sensation thrilling. We haven’t really defined what we are to each other, but deep down, I know it’s more than anything I’ve experienced before. I just can’t figure out how to navigate it yet.

“Mike is not my guy,” Daxton mumbles, frowning up at Cope, who looms over him.

“But you were out pretty late that night,” Cope teases with a smirk. Daxton’s cheeks flush bright red as his gaze locks with mine. I catch a slight tilt of his lips before he quickly looks away.One.My eyes drift over to Kal and Brayden—since Kal mentioned he saw Daxton leaving that night—and both grin at me before shifting their attention back to Daxton, whose eyes bounce between me, Cope, Kal, and Brayden as his blush deepens, before he finally smiles at me.Two.

“I thought Daxton wasn’t feeling well that night—wasn’t it a sore throat or something?” I interject. Kal bursts into wild laughter while Brayden chuckles silently, shaking his head. Daxton’s eyes widen in shock as he stares at me, the redness creeping further down his neck. Cope narrows his eyes, first atme, then at Dax, seemingly ready to interrogate him. But before he can, I almost blurt out to everyone that he was with me that night. Then Coach cuts in, urging us to move along. As I walk past Dax, I wink and tease, “Hope that throat is better.” He shakes his head, and I don’t miss the way he bites his cheek to stifle a smile.Three.

Outside on the rink, the Artic Bears strut around with an air of confidence that’s almost laughable. We’re up five-one and haven’t even broken a sweat. I’m pretty sure I could take them on while nursing a hangover and still dominate the ice. Bray glides through the middle with a carefree smile, as if this were just another practice session for us. He glances my way and shakes his head as one of the Bears’ defensemen barrels toward him. Effortlessly, Bray ducks and weaves, slicing the puck over to me through a clear opening. The moment that puck hits my stick, it bounces straight off and slips right between the goalie’s legs. I raise my hands in a playful taunt as I skate past their bench. “What the fuck is going on with you lot?” Maybe a little provocation will fire them up. I pass by Daxton and flash him a wink, which causes him to smile as he drops his head, no doubt to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks.Four.

Then, as I turn, I’m whacked hard on my shoulder—not enough to send me sprawling, but enough to make me stagger a few steps on the ice.Ah, Mike Grady. I can’t help but wonder why he suddenly seems so uptight. “Mikey boy,” I call out as I skate around him, before leaning in as our helmets collide. I come toa stop, pushing my shoulders forward. “You lot are playing like fucking kids—what’s happening?”

“Shut the fuck up, King,” he spits out as his eyes dart to the edge of the rink before narrowing back at me. I steal a sideways glance and see Daxton watching with those wide, innocent eyes. Mike starts skating away, but of course, I can’t seem to hold my tongue.

“Yeah, sorry about taking your date that night,” I call after him. “I had this ache I just couldn’t soothe, so I needed some help.” I smirk and casually run my hand across my jockstrap “He soothed it so fucking well. Every time the ache comes back, he eases it right away. I’d even go as far as saying he’s mastered it.”

My smirk widens as my mouthguard flashes at him, but his expression hardens into pure rage. Within two strides, his helmet collides with mine. “Well, I hope you cleaned yourself after,” he sneers. In an instant, my smirk vanishes.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I hiss through my helmet, but he does dare. He goes there. “Because I heard those trailer trash boys are pretty fucking rotten.” I catch a couple of sarcastic laughs from him before my head swings back and then snaps forward—a thunderous helmet clash ringing out.

Grady is thrown back, his skates slipping out from under him as he crashes to the ice. I waste no time; I drop on him, rip off his helmet in one swift move, and let my fists rain blows across his face. By the fourth punch, blood spurts up and splatters across my face as chaos erupts around us, my teammates going wild while I continue landing shot after shot on Grady’s face.

“Tray,” his voice echoes from somewhere, but I ignore it.

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