Page 14

THIRTEEN

ELIO

I didn’t sleep.

Not really. I stared at the ceiling until it blurred, then pulled a hoodie over my head and paced the dorm like a caged animal until the sun dragged itself up. It wasn’t the first sleepless night. Wouldn’t be the last.

Patrick asked me if I was okay when I trudged into the room to grab my gear. I told him to mind his own fucking business, and he shrugged like I hadn’t spent the last month pretending to be human.

The thing is, there wasn’t a word for what I was feeling. Not one I could say out loud, anyway. Rage? No. I could handle rage. It burned hot, but it didn’t last.

This? This was something else. It sat under my skin like a bruise, deep and spreading. Every breath hurt.

But I wasn’t about to go spilling it to Patrick, or anyone for that matter.

What was I going to say?

Yeah, hey, Patrick, you know that guy I keep pretending isn’t important? The one who took every goddamn thing I handed him without blinking? I broke him. And he still looked at me like I was the one drowning.

Sure. Real casual.

So I said nothing. I kept my mouth shut and got my ass to practice.

The cold helped. The rink was the one place I could count on. No one cared who you kissed or how you hated yourself as long as you made the puck move.

But today, even the ice felt too soft under my skates.

Coach Webber had us running a simulated game. No lines, no second string. Just blood. Just battle.

Perfect.

Easton ended up across from me at the face-off. The bastard grinned, the same smug little tilt to his mouth he’d always had. But when he set his stick down, he looked me in the eye like he knew. Like somehow, he could see it, the mess underneath.

I bared my teeth at him like that could shut him up without saying a word.

He flicked his eyes up at me. Sharp. Cool. The way he used to look when we ran drills side by side, before I turned him into another thing I couldn’t fix. His mouth twitched like he was about to say something, but all that came out was a sigh.

“You look like shit,” he said under his breath, just for me.

“Eat me,” I snapped back, but it didn’t have teeth. Even I could hear it.

His gaze held. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t rise to it. And that was worse.

I almost preferred when he fought back.

The ref dropped the puck, and I lunged. The clash echoed off the boards like a gunshot, but I wasn’t playing hockey anymore. I was bleeding, and Easton knew it. He matched me beat for beat, like he could feel it, too.

I shoved harder than I needed to. Easton let it happen. Didn’t retaliate. Just rode the hit and glided backward, eyes locked on me like I was the puck itself.

“You okay, Elio?” he asked when no one else could hear.

Fuck him.

I nearly said it. Nearly tore into him just to feel something crack.

But instead, I let the silence hold. I pushed past him and threw myself deeper into the play, burning up whatever was left inside me.

The thing was—I did want my friend back.

I wanted the late-night takeout and the shitty jokes and the way Easton always knew when I was about to break before I even did.

But I wasn’t worth it.

Not after what I’d done to him.

Not after what I’d done to Jaxon.

And I’d learned my lesson, hadn’t I? Nothing good stuck. Nothing ever stuck.

So I played harder. Hit harder. Fought harder. Because if I could just outrun the guilt, maybe I wouldn’t have to admit any of it aloud. I could snatch the captaincy for myself and let them all burn in hell. Or maybe I could win my friend back if I sacrificed enough for it.

And I didn’t deserve that.

Not from him.

Not from anyone.

The scrimmage shifted. Coach O’Brien barked orders from the bench, letting us loose like dogs without leashes. I barely heard him.

All I could hear was the pounding in my skull. The leftover heat from Jaxon’s voice, soft but final. I can’t keep doing this.

And then there was Easton. Right in front of me, chasing the puck like we hadn’t carved each other open weeks ago and just left the mess to rot.

I kept up. Matched him stride for stride, shoulder to shoulder. He was still good—he always was—but I wasn’t here to play fair.

This wasn’t about the game. Not anymore.

We fought for possession along the boards, sticks scraping, elbows sharp, skates carving into the ice like we were trying to rip it up. Coach Webber watched, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. The whole team watched.

Easton’s breath fogged against the cold. “Elio,” he grunted through his teeth. “Don’t.”

But I did.

I slammed into him harder than I needed to. Not dirty—just enough to send a message. Just enough to win. His skates slid, and he staggered, catching himself at the last second. My stick snagged the puck, and I took off, ignoring the heat rising behind my eyes.

This was it. This was the only thing left.

The captaincy.

The one thing that could make me something.

If love didn’t want me, if Jaxon didn’t want me, if even Easton couldn’t look at me without flinching?—

Then fine.

I’d be their fucking captain.

I circled the net and scored without fanfare. The puck clattered against the back of the goal like it was already over. It may as well have been.

Easton skated up behind me, no grin this time, no smirk, just that steady, tired disappointment that cut me deeper than any hit on the ice. “Is this how you want to win?” he asked, voice low. “You’re really gonna do it like this?”

I stared at him, blood roaring in my ears.

I could have told him no. Could have called it off. Could have said I don’t want it like this. Could have said, “I miss you.” Could have said, “I’m sorry.”

Instead, I lifted my chin and said, “Yeah.”

And just like that, I traded in the last piece of myself worth saving.

If I enraged him enough or hurt him enough, he would get sloppy again. And when he got sloppy, everyone noticed. The captaincy was in the bag. All we had to do was call a meeting and put it to the vote. It was a ruthless sport; it made sense to have a ruthless captain.

The whistle blew, but it sounded like it came from underwater. I skated to the bench without looking back, pretending the burn in my throat was just from the cold air.

Part of the team clapped me on the back, muttering about how I’d finally put Easton in his place. Coach gave me a nod like he was proud.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t see it.

But Easton did.

When practice broke, I headed for the locker room first, ripping at the straps of my gear like I could peel off my own skin if I tried hard enough.

The door swung open behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, just leaned against the wall like he had nowhere better to be. I could feel his eyes on me, steady and heavy and unbearable.

“Congratulations,” he said eventually, voice flat. “You won.”

I clenched my jaw, fingers curling around the edge of the bench. “Spare me the lecture.”

Easton huffed a bitter laugh. “What lecture? I’m done lecturing you, Elio. You made your choice.” He pushed off the wall. “Not what I thought would happen.”

I spun to face him, the words on the tip of my tongue— I didn’t have a choice —but I swallowed them back. I didn’t get to play the victim here.

“You could’ve just told me you wanted it more,” he said. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”

I let out a sharp breath. “I didn’t?—”

“Don’t,” Easton cut in, stepping closer. “Don’t pretend you care now. You’ve been gunning for this since the semester started.”

I stood up and faced him. “I’m just doing what everyone expects.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Right. Is that your excuse? Is that why you turned on me, too? Just doing what was expected?”

His voice cracked on “turned on me,” and it sent a splinter right through me.

“You think I betrayed you?” I ground out.

Easton blinked, disbelieving. “Are you seriously going to stand there and act like you didn’t? The second Kyle opened his fucking mouth, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” He laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t even asking you to stand up for me, Elio. I just…I just thought you were my friend.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. Because I had been. I was. But I’d also been terrified. And jealous. And disgusted with myself. Not with him.

“You didn’t even tell me,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

He froze. “Tell you?” His eyes went wide like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re kidding. That’s what this is about? You think you were entitled to know before I was ready?”

The silence between us stretched, heavy and sharp. He stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time. And he didn’t like what he saw.

I hated myself just then more than I had ever done so before. I wasn’t ready, either. It ate me up from within, and I wished I had the balls to tell him all of it, but I couldn’t. I knew the way forward. I knew it so clearly then, and it was the very same thing I should have done with Jaxon. I’d thought I could. Just a week ago, I’d been sure I could own that truth and say it aloud, but I couldn’t.

And it was the same solution now. The only thing that could save this friendship was the one thing I couldn’t make myself do.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he stepped back. “You are such a coward.”

I winced like he’d slapped me, but he wasn’t done.

“You let me think it was me. Like I was the problem. Like I fucked up. When really, you just couldn’t stomach the idea that I wasn’t the version of me you wanted.”

My throat worked uselessly, but the words didn’t come.

Easton’s voice softened, which somehow made it worse. “You weren’t my brother, Elio. You didn’t have to approve of me. You just had to be there.” And then, like he’d already decided I wasn’t worth it, he said quietly, “I hope the captaincy keeps you warm.”

He turned, walked to the door, and this time, he did slam it behind him. Not hard. Just enough.

Enough to say it was over.