Page 14

Chapter 13

Zach

Coach Harper’s office door slams behind us with enough force to rattle the blinds. Viktor drops into one of the leather chairs, lounging like he’s on a beach somewhere, blood still dripping from his nose. I remain standing, crossing my arms over my chest. My fingers curl into my biceps, and I focus on the slight pressure, on the way it grounds me.

"What the actual fuck was that?" Coach Harper’s voice is low and controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my jaw clench. "Viktor, why the hell did you get involved again? Weren't you explicitly told to stay out of his shit after your mother found out what the fuck the two of you did in Miami?"

Viktor smirks, a little devilish glint in his eye, as he tosses the tissues into a nearby waste basket. “Relax, Becks. Merci just gave me a little love tap. ”

“You think this is a joke?” Harper’s jaw clenches as he pulls off his hat and rakes a hand through his brown hair. “Every time you get involved with Zach, you end up hurt."

My chest constricts, my heart beating rapidly. The sensation is uncomfortable, so I dig my fingertips deeper into my skin.

"Oh, please." Viktor rolls his eyes, taking tissue from the box on Coach Harper’s desk and dabbing at his nose. "It was nothing compared to the shit Noah pulled."

I stare between the two of them. While Viktor is one hell of a fucking brat—though Merci appears to be giving him a run for the money—the last thing I expect is for him to throw that trauma in his boyfriend’s face.

Coach Harper is equally as shocked considering the way he pales, his posture going rigid, his chest rising and falling sharply. Harper’s eyes flick to me. “I’m placing boundaries. You’ve hurt him before. Left him scarred.”

A muscle near my jaw ticks as I clench my teeth. I glare at him, unblinking. Before I say a word, Viktor jumps out of his chair, leaning across the desk. “Like fuck you’re doing anything of the sort.”

But it doesn’t matter what he says because he loves Beckett Harper too much. He’ll abandon me like my own mother did. Hell, he’s just my friend. She’s the one who gave birth to me . . . then decided she couldn’t deal with the issues I have .

Because somehow it’s my fault there was an accident that left me with brain damage.

“Chaos, it makes me uncomfortable with how close you two are.”

“That’s a fucking you problem.”

“Just shut the fuck up, both of you.” My chest heaves, everything inside feeling like it’s about to explode.

“Zach . . .” Viktor says as he reaches out to touch my arm.

I jerk back.

Coach Harper looks between us, his brow furrowing. “What the hell is going on here?”

Viktor doesn’t answer and steps closer to me as I start to pace like a caged lion, flinching when I roll my shoulder.

“One of you better talk now.” Coach Harper turns to Viktor. “Chaos!”

“No.” Viktor stands his ground, pulling back his shoulders as he stares down his boyfriend. “It’s not for me to tell. And don’t you dare try to make me choose, Beckett, because I swear to God you’ll lose this battle.”

Coach’s face darkens. "Are you seriously threatening our relationship over him? After what he did to you?"

Something breaks inside, sharp and searing like a cracked bone. I step around the desk, standing nose-to-nose with Beckett. "Going to tell me again, I don’t care that I hurt him! Because I do! You don’t know a damn thing about me!"

“Then enlighten me!”

“Becks, I swear I will end us right now if you don’t stop.” Viktor’s voice is firm, but I catch the cracks that break through at the end.

“I just . . . I can’t—” My voice falters, and I yank at my hair as if trying to rip it out of my skull. “It’s not my fault, okay? It’s not my fucking fault my brain doesn’t work like yours. Or his. Or anyone’s.”

I start pacing again, tugging hard enough that the pain should register but doesn't. It's frustrating—everything is frustrating. The emotions I can't process, the sensations I can't feel properly.

Someone grabs my wrist, firm but not hard. I look up as Coach Harper tries to gently remove my hand from my hair. Once I release the strands, he presses a stress ball into my palm. "Use this instead."

I squeeze it, watching the foam compress and expand. The repetitive motion helps, gives me something to focus on besides the mess inside me I can't properly interpret.

Viktor bites his bottom lip, eyes soft as he stands, and offers me the chair to sit.

Dropping into it, I continue to focus on squeezing the stress ball. “I have brain damage. Insular cortex damage, to be precise. Happened when I was seven. Don’t remember how. My dad just said it was an accident, and I hit my head too hard. I can’t fucking feel things the way I’m supposed to. Can’t process emotions or read people. It makes me . . . wrong. Viktor’s the only one who knows. He’s the only one I trust.”

“Which is why I won’t abandon him, Becks. No matter what you fucking say. He’s family to me. My fucking brother.”

I look up at my friend. He isn’t glaring, just standing firm.

For me.

My throat goes dry, my eyes growing wet for the first time in five years. I clench my jaw because if the tears fall, I won’t know how to stop them, just like I didn’t the night Merci saw me.

It’s the only time I ever remember crying.

“Why isn’t any of this in your medical records? Your arm is but—”

My breaths become shallower, my fingers tightening around the ball in my hand. This is it. Coach can end my career by revealing the one secret my father fought to keep hidden. “My father paid to make sure it stayed hidden.”

Coach Harper growls. “What the fuck was he thinking? And this sport? Zach, do you understand the danger you put yourself in each time you get on the ice? ”

I look up at him, brow quirked. “Just because part of my brain is fucked up doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Coach pinches the bridge of his nose while Viktor snickers. When Harper flops into his chair again, Viktor walks over and sits in his lap, wrapping his arms around our coach’s neck. “What happened between Zach and me was an accident. Please let it go.”

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The insular cortex damage prevents me from reading body language well.”

“And I was being my typical mouthy self, so Zach ended up gagging me.”

I shake my head. “Was the first and last time I’ve ever used a gag—”

Coach holds up a hand, cutting me off. “And from what I was told, neither of you set up a safe word.”

I shake my head. “Wasn’t thinking straight. I assumed . . . I assumed he’d stop me if it was too much. It wasn’t the first time we’d played or that he played like that.”

His glare sharpens as it lands back on Viktor. “You knew about his struggles. Why would you let him gag you?”

“Zach needed me. He was—”

I narrow my eyes at his words. “How exactly did you find me at the club that night anyway?”

Viktor’s lips twitch, and he shrugs .

Beckett groans, running a hand through his hair. "Do you enjoy stalking everyone, Chaos?"

"It wasn’t stalking. It was proactive caring," Viktor says innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrays him.

I throw the stress ball at him, hitting him square in the forehead. “Asshole, did you inject—”

Viktor grins, not even bothering to deny it. "I told you, you’re family. What do you think?"

Coach shakes his head. “Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?”

“Probably not.” My voice is back to its normal, flat tone. Viktor injected a tracker into Coach too, and they just stopped fighting, so I’m keeping that fact to myself.

I’m also not sure why there’s a little flutter in my chest or why my lip twitches at the corner, knowing my fucking friend has a tracker in me. That he’s used it to find me. And when the fuck did that even happen?

My father doesn’t show me half the concern Viktor does. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had such a hard time accepting he’s in love with Coach Harper. Not because I had any romantic interest in Viktor. But he’s the only person in my life who’s ever fully, deeply cared about me. Even if I’m difficult to deal with every fucking day.

“I was new to whipping. I never meant to scar him. He’s my best friend. And he never told me he didn’t like or want it. ”

Coach sighs. “Yeah, kinda learned myself he does things he doesn’t like because he wants to be accepted.”

“Can you two assholes stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here?” Viktor smiles wide, wiggling in Harper’s lap. “Unless you are talking about how sexy I am or what an amazing goalie I am. Or how neither of you can live without me.”

“What about the knife play?” Coach stares at me, unblinking.

My brows furrow. “I’ve never—”

Viktor’s gaze drops to the floor when we both look at him. “It wasn’t Zach.”

Someone else hurt him. My jaw clenches, molars grinding. If only I could read people, maybe I could’ve protected my friend from himself the same way he does for me.

I flex my fingers again, staring at my left hand, the tattoos stretching.

“Noticed you’ve been compensating a bit during games and practice lately. What’s going on?”

I look up and Coach’s gaze goes from my hand to my face. “Numbness has been acting up more lately, less strength in my hand, too. Taking extra hits every time Henneman fucks up isn’t helping either.”

“If you’re getting hurt during games, why not just say so and sit a shift.”

“Because another wonderful side effect of my fucked-up brain is I can’t register pain correctly.”

"For fuck's sake!" Beckett explodes, throwing his hands up.

Viktor boops his nose. “Calm down. Don’t need you having a heart attack.”

“You and your friends are fucking impossible. Between Reed and now Knight. Christ, I deserve a pay raise and more time off.”

I can’t help the lopsided smile. But there’s still one thing I’m concerned about. “Are you going to say anything?”

Coach’s brows furrow as he sighs. “Zach, this is . . . you’ve both put me in a tricky situation. But no, I’ll keep this to myself. Don’t need your father coming after me.”

I nod, about to stand and leave, when he motions to me to remain seated.

“And as far as your hand goes, I’m calling in a favor. I have a PT connection who’ll keep things quiet. We’ll get you the help you need.”

“Why?”

"Because you’re my player. And I protect my players."

Viktor grins. "You mean they’re family to you."

"Chaos, keep pushing, and you won’t like how I’m going to punish you when we get home." Coach turns back to me. "Thank you for trusting me. We'll figure this out. "

I stand, then head to the door, completely exhausted. Didn’t expect revealing my fucked-up truths would take such a physical toll. But I also feel . . . lighter, like the weight pressing down on me has shifted, even if only slightly.

I glance back at my friend and my coach, at how they embrace even after arguing.

Wish I had someone just for me. Someone who could see past the damage and still want me.

But I’m broken. Permanently. And no one stays with the broken pieces.

Yet another reason I need to avoid Merci.

He stirs something in me, something I can’t begin to explain, but something I know would annihilate me for good if I allowed it to keep growing.

So, hockey, my friends, my routines—it’s all I’ll ever have, which is why I’m accepting Coach Harper’s offer to help too.

Because if I lose my chance at the NHL, I’ll have nothing.

I’ll be nothing.