Page 84 of Shattered Hate

Maybe he’s celebrating up there.

Walking back to the group, I feel a strange mix of sadness and hope. Tray meets me halfway, wordlessly taking my hand in his. His warmth grounds me, reminding me that I’m not alone in this. These last three months have been strange between us. We’ve all been through so much over the past two years, and we’re each dealing with it in our own way. But Tray hasn’t told me he loves me once since I woke up, even though Cope saidhe told me many times while I was in the coma. I’m trying not to let it bother me, but I can’t stop wondering if something has changed for him and if heartbreak is coming.

I’ve gotten close to Brayden recently, and he tells me Tray struggles with his feelings and that I just need to be patient. So I try to be. I’m just going to enjoy the days Tray wants me and hope there’s never a day when he doesn’t.

As we pile into Cope’s truck, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Kal and Bray start debating the merits of various pizza toppings, their playful bickering a welcome distraction. I lean my head against Tray’s shoulder, letting the familiar voices of my friends wash over me.

This is where I belong.

This is family.

Chapter forty-two

Trayton

Two months later

“All right, gather ‘round! Before we hit the ice, I need a quick word with you all,” Coach booms. I toss my phone aside and stride over to join my teammates in the huddle. “This year? It’s been incredible. I’ve watched you guys grow and grow; you got better with each training session, each game. You’re warriors. And believe me, you’ve made me proud, even if some of you push my patience to the limit.” Coach levels me with a pointed look like this is new news. “Yes, that’s directed at you,” Coach says. I grin, because Coach picking on me is his own love language, and well, I love the attention. Meanwhile, Kal—our ever-serious captain—stands opposite me, rolling his eyes like it shouldn’t be something to be proud of. It’s always been known that I raise Coach’s blood pressure and make him wish he took another job doing accounts or something, but I wear that badge with fucking honor. “When you step onto that ice, remember who you are. Remember the blood, sweat, and tears that brought us here. We play for each other, for the DevilHawks who came before us, and for the fans who believe in us. We have a target on our backs, and that’s exactly where we want it. Because we don’t shy away from challenges—we embrace them. We fight harder, skate faster, and play smarter. We are relentless, we are fearless, and we are unstoppable. Look into each other’s eyes and know that you are not alone. We are a united force, and we will leave everything on that ice to defend our title. No regrets, no second chances. This is our house, our game, our legacy. Devil Hawks on three. One, two, three—DEVIL HAWKS!” Kal and Bray both pull me into a tight hug, our arms wrapping around each other as if we’re forming a shield against the world. After a moment, we step back and head to our lockers, each retreating into our own thoughts. I reach into my locker and retrieve the coin that has been with me since the beginning. It’s worn and smooth from countless touches, and I can’t help but smile as I rub its surface. The familiar words etched into the metal catch my eye: Fuck Yes and Fuck No. This coin has been my guide, my decision-maker, before every game. I rely on it to bring me the luck I need. Today, though, my mind drifts away from the usual game-related questions. Instead, I find myself whispering, “Does everyone in life always leave?” My fingers trace the Fuck No, and a sense of reassurance washes over me. Then another question bubbles to the surface: “Have I fallen in love with Daxton Rivers?” I can’t suppress the grin that spreads across my face as I rub the Fuck Yes. I stare at those words for a moment. “I best tell him then,” I decide, placing the coin back into my locker and slamming it shut with a sense of finality. “Boys, we’re going to fuck them up the ass so hard, shit will be pouring out of their mouths,” I shout with a bold confidence. Cheers erupt around me, mingled with a few groans, Kal being one of them.

“King, you’re fucking disgusting, but yes, fuck their shit.” Coach pumps his fist in the air with intensity, and Kal groans louder, his face contorting in exaggerated disgust.

“My dick ain’t going near any ass or shit, but yes, we will fuck them.” He stresses the word “them” with a pointed look up. Our team erupts in cheers, the locker room buzzing with adrenaline and anticipation, everyone brimming with confidence, ready to take down the Boston Bears.

As we make our way through the dimly lit tunnel leading to the rink, Cope jogs up beside me, his breath visible in the cold air. “Nervous?” he asks over the echo of our footsteps.

“Pft, like fuck,” I reply with a smirk, trying to mask the jittery energy coursing through me. “We’re killing them.”

“I’m not talking about the game, Tray,” he softly murmurs. The realization hits me—he’s referring to my little surprise planned for after the game.

“Absolutely dreading it,” I admit, giving him a tight-lipped smile that gives away my nerves. It’s true. I’ve never opened up to anyone like this before, especially not the way I’m doing it. Daxton laid his soul bare before me, sharing everything, even secrets he swore to keep from others, all because he loves me and wants me to truly know him. He was on life support. He nearly died. We both did. I told him I loved him all the time he was in that coma. And I meant every single word.

But nearly losing him did something to my brain chemistry. It’s taken me so long to really believe he’s here and that he’s not leaving me again.

I’ve been so tied up on people always leaving that I was too scared to utter those three words to Daxton’s face in case he fell through my grasp. I’ve fallen so deeply for him. I fell a long, long time ago, but I was too stubborn to acknowledge it, too skeptical to believe in love. But he changed that. Daxton made me see that while people might leave, sometimes there’s a reason that bringsthem back. He returned to me, and I genuinely believe his soul was meant to find mine. I’ve never believed in soul mates, but with Daxton, there’s a certainty I can’t deny. I fucking know it.

“He’s going to love it, Tray. You did good,” Cope assures me with an encouraging smile.

“Let’s hope so.” The words have barely left my lips as we step out of the tunnel. The blinding stadium lights hit me, and the roar of the crowd washes over us, a tidal wave of sound that fuels every part of me. The moment my skates touch the ice, everything around me fades into a muted hum. Time seems to slow as I draw in deep breaths of the frigid air, allowing it to fill my lungs and consume me whole.

Our rink is our sanctuary tonight—a place where every moment feels like a hard-won victory. I trace smooth, deliberate circles on the ice, the cool air stinging my cheeks as I ease my muscles into motion. Suddenly, the opening beats of “We Will Rock You” surge through the speakers—a song that we’ve embraced as our lucky charm ever since last year. Although Brayden and Bexley originally claimed it as theirs, Bray insists that the music makes him feel as though Bexley is standing right here on the rink, silently cheering him on. All around, people join in the chorus, their feet stamping and their bodies swaying as the booming drums ignite the atmosphere. I glance over at Brayden, who is now twirling in a tight circle, his eyes scanning the crowd before he returns the energy, singing his heart out. Then, with a sudden focus, he stops, fixed on one point. There, among the swirling activity, stands Bohdi. The moment his gaze meets Brayden’s, Bohdi’s smile—warm, genuine, and framed by his Number 13’s Biggest Fan hat, lights up the whole rink. In that glance, their expressions soften, communicating an unspoken, intense connection that makes it seem as if the entire world has shrunk to just the two of them. As I watch them, my heart tightens with longing. In that split second, all I can think about isDaxton. Earlier, he told me he couldn’t join us in the locker room—despite Coach’s assurance that he was as much a part of our team as anyone, but apparently, he needed to sort his art project out before the game.

And then, almost like magic, I see him standing beside Bohdi. My Dax. His smile shimmers with a cascade of bright, full teeth, and in that instant, my heart pounds as if trying to burst free and sprint over to him. All I want is to be in his arms—to kiss him, to feel his hold. With a playful gesture, Dax points at his top. “Are Boston Bears going to win? Fuck No.” I can’t help but burst into laughter. And then I read the next line: “Is Trayton King hot as fuck? Fuck Yes.” I grin back at him through my helmet, silently grateful that he can’t see the full extent of how much I’m blushing right now because he would never let this go if he did. I can’t lie: Seeing him wear a shirt with my name displayed on it stirs something intensely magnetic within me, and the heat creeping up my neck has little to do with my blush. There’s an undeniable pull—I crave him in ways that go far beyond words. I find myself staring into his eyes, hoping my gaze conveys every whispered thought swirling inside me. And sure enough, his cheeks instantly redden, and he quickly glances over at Bohdi, as if checking that no one else sees his flaming cheeks that I have come to love so much. I love it when he looks that way—nervous, shy, and completely mine. I hear the sharp, piercing sound of a referee’s whistle echoing through the arena, and then Brayden’s grin vanishes in an instant, replaced by a look of steely determination. “Here’s Quake,” I mutter under my breath as Brayden strides past me, his focus unwavering, eyes locked on the opposing player he’s about to face off against. Brayden has a knack for getting under the skin of his opponents, a talent for saying exactly what will unsettle them, which almost always gives him the edge in winning the puck. He’s incredible, a real force on the ice. Kal and I stand at the rink with Brayden,ready for the play we’ve rehearsed a thousand times. As soon as the puck drops, Brayden scoops it up with his signature flawless motion and charges down the ice. I speed up his left side; when he slides the puck to me, I send it back in our practiced rhythm. The black puck zips across the white surface as Brayden maneuvers through the opposing defense, and the crowd’s roar swells as I dart between defenders, my heart pounding with every stride.

Brayden’s brief glance gives me the signal—I break away toward the goal. The perfect pass lands on my stick; time seems to slow as I wind up and unleash the strongest slap shot of my life. The buzzer sounds, and I score. I immediately skate over to Daxton, pointing and mouthing, “That one was for you.”

The game remains in our favor—Kal nets the next goal—while the opposition manages only one through Cope. After Cope squares up to a teammate and earns a penalty, our defense crumbles, and we concede a few more goals. I catch a glimpse of Cope, furious and screaming, as he returns to the ice. Coach calls a line change, and Brayden, Kal, and I leave the ice, though I know Coach wants us back for crunch time. Our focus is relentless despite the scouts’ presence and my lingering thoughts about Daxton, who turned my dream of going pro upside down.

On the bench, we remain silent and game-focused, determined to avoid overtime. But when Coach calls another shift, we’re back on the ice as overtime is announced. The arena is deafening with anxious cheers while Brayden wins the face-off cleanly, setting off a fast-paced scramble that finds me weaving through defenders. Brayden murmurs, “Come on, Tray, let’s do this.” I fake a shot to drop their goalie, pass to Brayden at the crease, and watch as his shot is saved. The puck bounces off the boards; Kal retrieves it and passes to Cope at the blue line, who fires a slap shot that gets blocked.

The rebound finds me, and I quickly control the puck, noticing Brayden cutting close to the net. I deliver a perfect pass; Brayden tips the puck on goal, only for the goalie to deflect it again. As the opposition sweeps in for a counterattack, I dig deep, sprint hard, and block their shot. I recover the puck, turn, shake off a defender, and set it back to Kal at the point. Kal fakes a shot to draw defenders, then dishes it back to me. Seeing my chance, I fire a powerful slap shot that slices past the goalie and thuds into the net.

The arena erupts as the red goal light flashes; our bench explodes with celebration. Teammates pile on in a jubilant heap, Coach breaks into a rare smile, and the fans chant “Devil Hawks!” Kal skates over, pulling Brayden and me into a tight hug as we share the triumph in those precious final moments. “We did it, boys. We fucking did it.” We’re all grins as we all pull on each other, and then among all the celebrations, I hear his voice through the speakers.

I hear Daxton.

Chapter forty-three

Trayton

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