Page 2 of I’ll Walk With You
Bryson
“ F aster, Kennedy, you can do better than that!” Coach shouts at me as I skate down the ice during practice. “Get your head out of your ass or get off my ice!”
Shit. He isn’t wrong. My stride is off, and I’m completely off my game. My head’s fucked since meeting Javi a week ago.
He hasn’t reached out, and I can’t shake the worry clenching my gut into knots.
His face appears in my mind. Tan skin with an unnatural pallor, and his beautiful chocolate eyes wide, darting back and forth, scanning the crowd. The look of fear on his face was a giant red flag that immediately awoke my protective instincts. I need to know who he’s afraid of.
As a hockey defenseman, protecting is what I do. It’s part of who I am, but this? The feeling that’s eating away at my laser focus and turning my game to shit? This is new.
Nothing gets in the way of my dream of playing in the NHL.
Until now.
I’ve never felt like this about another person. Everything inside me is screaming that he needs me, and that certainty has left me unsettled as fuck.
My game is suffering the more days pass that I don’t hear from him. If my game is suffering, my chances of getting drafted next season decrease.
“Fuck’s sake, Kennedy!”
My shoulders cave at Coach Armstrong’s admonishment for missing the puck yet again. We’ve perfected this play. It’s basic, but apparently, the basics are beyond my capabilities.
“Hit the showers, Bryson. I’ve seen enough of you today. Get some rest or whatever the fuck and get your shit together for the game this weekend.”
A groan rumbles up from deep in my chest. Fuck .
I don’t need rest. I need to be here, but I know better than to argue after three years on his team.
A few of my teammates side-eye me with obvious concern, but none more than my best friend, Demetrius Maxwell.
He looks like he’d follow me if Coach wouldn't crash out. I lift my chin in an up nod, trying to convey yeah man I’m okay .
He raises an eyebrow, his disbelief clear.
After a beat, he nods back before returning his focus to practice.
After a shower, I pull on some sweats and my favorite hoodie.
My mind wanders back to Javi. Since I texted myself from his phone, I have his number.
I could just message him to see how he’s doing, but my gut is telling me not to press.
He needs to be the one to reach out. Patience isn’t one of my strong suits.
Every minute that ticks by, I see his eyes welling with tears.
I pretended like I didn’t see them since he seemed embarrassed, but the tear that fell down his cheek burned its mark right into my chest. I’ll burn the world down to make sure he doesn’t shed another tear.
It makes no sense to feel this way. We just met. I don’t even know him.
Gathering my gear, I make my way outside and head toward the Sigma Mu house, pulling out my phone to check my notifications.
My heart skips a beat, then plummets into my gut, before rattling my rib cage in a violent rhythm. Four messages from Javi. The last one came through about twenty minutes ago.
Angel: Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, Bryce, but it’s Javi.
Angel: Omg, obviously. You literally texted yourself my name
Yes. Yes, I did. But Angel suits him better.
Angel: I could really use your help if you’re not busy.
Ten minutes later, he sent another message.
Angel: I’m sorry! Ignore me. Erase the last messages from your mind. You’re definitely busy.
There are so many thoughts running through my head all at once. Who made him feel like a burden? Who made him scared to ask for help? Why does he need my help? And finally, why the fuck am I standing here when Javi needs me?
Clicking his contact, I hit the call button.