Page 84 of Sticks & Serpents

Cooper didn’t flinch. “I would.”

His words hung in the air like a lifeline thrown into stormy seas. No one had ever said that to me before—not when it mattered most. My throat burned as emotions churned within me, a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite name.

“What do you want me to say?” I shot back, irritation coating my voice. “You think you know what goes on inside my head?”

“I’m not trying to read your mind,” he replied calmly, stepping closer. “But I can see it’s eating you alive.”

The truth hit harder than any punch Cooper had thrown earlier. It was all too raw—too real—like an open wound refusing to heal no matter how many times I tried to cover it up. The memories surged forward: every taunt from my mother, every moment of helplessness that lingered long after she left the room.

“Maybe it should eat me alive,” I hissed, rage surging again as I struggled to keep myself together.

“You don’t really mean that,” Cooper said softly, his gaze unwavering.

A flicker of doubt crossed my mind—was he right? But there was a part of me that craved the chaos; it was familiar and twistedly comforting in its own way.

“It doesn’t matter,” I finally said, forcing indifference into my tone as if that could shield me from the truth clawing at my insides.

“It matters to me.”

I stepped out of the ring, the air outside was cool against my flushed skin. The adrenaline still coursed through my veins, but it felt different now—charged with something more than just anger or excitement.

Everly stood nearby, her presence grounding the moment. She had a way of being there without demanding anything from me, just watching quietly, as if she understood the storm raging inside.

Cooper shook his head slowly, his voice softer than I expected. “Mom doesn’t own you, Damien. And neither does Dad.”

I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to shake off the tension coiling around me like a noose. “Dad never gave a shit about me. He only ever cared about you.”

Cooper’s jaw tightened at my words. He glanced at Everly then back at me, and for a split second, I felt exposed under their scrutiny.

Everly squeezed Cooper’s hand. She didn’t say a word but somehow made the silence feel less suffocating.

“Dad caused my scars,” Cooper said, his voice steady and low. “Not hockey.”

The world tilted on its axis at that revelation. I blinked, confusion flooding my mind. That… that wasn’t right. How could he say that? Hockey was the only thing we had left—the one thing our father had pushed us both into as if it would fix everything broken between us.

“No,” I shot back instinctively, clenching my fists as if I could physically grasp the truth and bend it to fit what I wanted to believe. “You’re wrong.”

Cooper held my gaze firmly. “No, Damien.” His tone remained unwavering.

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter as doubt gnawed at me like a feral animal. Had I really let this cycle of pain and pressure continue? Did our father’s obsession truly infect us both?

Dad never touched Cooper. Cooper was the golden boy. The one who left.

As I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, my brother kept going, his voice steady and unwavering. “You were always too busy surviving Mom. You never saw what he did to me.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I swayed slightly on my feet. My stomach clenched tight as everything I thought I knew began to unravel around me. The walls of my carefully constructed reality trembled under the weight of his accusation.

Cooper sighed, running a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture that used to mean he was at his wit's end. “Mom and Everly’s dad had an affair.”

I didn’t react, because I already fucking knew. It was the only time I was free from her grasp—the only time I could breathe without feeling her suffocating presence smothering me with expectations.

Cooper studied me for a moment, assessing the storm brewing in my eyes before he nodded toward Everly, standing quietly by his side, concern etched across her features. Then he turned back to me, and the air crackled with unspoken tension.

“Move in with me.”

The suggestion hung between us like an anchor thrown into turbulent waters. My mind raced as I processed the offer—part of me recoiling at the idea of uprooting everything once more while another part craved the escape it promised.

I opened my mouth to respond but found no words came out—only silence filled the space where my thoughts collided chaotically against each other.

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