Page 21

Liam

“Do you want to join us at Millie’s Diner?” Professor Patel asks, turning around to face me as I shuffle behind him and Dr. Blanton.

“I—uhh—I’m not hungry,” I say, my mind still stuck on Haydon. “Sorry, Professor.”

A curious look passes between him and Dr. Blanton.

“I ate a massive hotdog earlier,” I say with an awkward chuckle, doing my best to be polite. “I think I’ll just head home, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, we don’t mind,” Professor Patel says with a kind smile.

“Yeah, it’s getting quite late,” Dr. Blanton adds. “And it was a bummer we lost the game to Silverlake. Their defense was just too brutal. Our boys gave their best but it was a tough one to win.”

Professor Patel nods, looking disappointed. “Come along, Keith. Some food will make you feel better.”

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” Dr. Blanton says, raising his hand.

I nod. “Yeah. And thank you so much for inviting me to the game. I enjoyed every minute of it even though we lost in the end.”

“Hockey’s amazing, isn’t it?” Dr. Blanton says with a chuckle.

“Yeah. It’s the most thrilling sport I’ve ever watched.”

“Well, we’re glad we got you converted into a fan,” Professor Patel says, grinning. “Welcome to Knightswood, Liam.”

I return his smile and wave as they both walk away.

A sigh escapes me. I should’ve gone with them. Getting to know the head of the department was the only reason I came to watch the game. I should’ve taken advantage of his friendliness and used the opportunity to talk about my future here.

Deep inside, though, I know it wouldn’t have helped me even if I’d forced myself to follow them. My mind is fixed on Hayden and the lost, frozen look I’d caught on his face.

Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t just disappointment at losing the game.

He was going through something far worse.

I don’t know why but something about the strange man in the black suit rubbed me the wrong way. Why was Hayden staring at him like he’d seen a ghost? Who was he and why did Hayden have such a reaction to him?

A cold sensation washes over me.

I have to find Hayden and make sure he’s okay. At this moment, I don’t even care about our breakup. I don’t care if he decides to stay in the closet for the rest of his life.

I just need to know he’s okay.

Making up my mind, I head back inside the hockey stadium.

Now that the crowd is gone, the vast corridors are deserted. My heart pounds as I run through them, trying to locate the locker room.

My feet come to a sudden halt as hushed voices reach my ear. I flatten my body against the wall, intent on not being caught wandering these hallways by myself.

Two men walk toward a different corridor. One of them is Hayden’s coach and the other one looks like he could be his assistant. I look toward the direction they came from and steadily head that way.

Before I know it, I find myself standing right outside the locker room.

I waver, wondering if I’m even allowed to go in.

My hesitation doesn’t last long though. Thinking of Hayden, I push through the doors and enter a softly-lit space.

The scent of sweat and male dominance hits my nostrils as I look around the young men gathered in the room. Most of them are busy tending to bruises, taping up injuries, or talking in low voices.

They seem so dejected and exhausted, that none of them bother to even glance at me. I search for Hayden among them but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Uh, hi,” I say, cringing at the nervousness in my voice. “Do you guys know where I can find Hayden?”

A few heads turn toward me.

“Who’s asking?” A bare-chested guy with rippling muscles asks me.

“I—” I hesitate, realizing how weird my appearance must seem to them. I’m just a random guy from the Physics department showing up to ask for their star forward.

Another guy, a tall blond with several cuts on his forehead and cheeks, smirks at me and walks toward me. As he gets closer, I recognize him as one of the defensemen who was closely following Hayden through the game.

“You’re Mitchikov, right?” I say.

An amused grin comes on his bruised face as he turns to look at his teammates. They all chuckle and shake their heads, sharing some secret joke between them.

“Are you a fan or something, kid?”

Kid? I straighten my spine as I face Mitchikov. “I’m Liam Meyers. I...I’m Hayden’s tutor.”

A look of realization flashes in his eyes. “Ohh, you’re the tutor guy.” Stepping closer, he looks at me curiously. “Hayden’s already left with his dad.”

Was the stranger who stood with the coach during the game Hayden’s dad? Hayden should’ve had a warmer reaction to his appearance. Why did he look like he’d just seen the devil?

“Do you know where they went?” I ask as my desperation rises.

Mitchikov looks toward his teammates. Some shrug while others shake their heads.

Mitchikov frowns as he turns back to me. “Anything else we can help you with?”

“No,” I mutter, my anxiety rising.

“Hey, you good, man?”

I don’t answer him. Turning around, I walk out of the locker room.

A deep intuition tells me to keep looking for Hayden. Even though I have no idea where to look for him, I head outside the stadium. Some fans are still hanging around the gates but I don’t see Hayden anywhere.

A chilly breeze blows by, making me shove my hands deep into my jacket pockets. Should I even be so worried if Hayden’s with his dad?

Maybe I should just call him?

With that idea in mind, I take my phone out and call him.

My pulse roars in my ears as I wait for him to pick up my call. His phone continues to ring and goes to voicemail.

I call him several more times and it’s the same thing over and over again. His phone rings but he doesn’t pick up.

Where could he have gone with his dad? I wonder, walking away from the crowd. My feet carry me aimlessly through the more deserted areas of the grounds while I continue dialing his number.

I know I’m acting crazy but it’s impossible to ignore this horrible, gut-wrenching fear curling in my chest. The cold wind hits my face as I desperately search for my Pirate.

Suddenly, I come to a halt at the sound of a hoarse male voice.

Looking into the distance, I come across a scene that has me rooted to the spot.

The man I’d seen earlier grabs Hayden’s hair and pulls him closer angrily.

I expect Hayden to fight back but he’s surprisingly pliant, shifting on his feet, letting his dad get all up in his face.

“I spent my life training you and coaching you. And for what?” Hayden’s dad shouts, his face twisting in rage. “You’ll always be a useless little loser who can’t even win a game.”

His words sound slurred, like he’s been drinking. That’s when I notice the whiskey bottle in his left hand.

The cruelty of his words sinks into my soul but the horror doesn’t end just yet. He slaps Hayden’s cheek, the sound so hard and loud, that I seem to feel it against my skin.

Hayden’s head snaps to the side from the impact but he still remains limp and motionless in his dad’s grasp. Just what the hell is he doing?! Why won’t he fight back?

Before I can overcome the shock of what’s happening, Hayden’s dad lands a fist into his gut. The strike is so forceful, that Hayden bends over, panting and gasping.

My heart squeezes in my chest. Hayden is already severely hurt from the game. I saw the bruises and injuries on the bodies of his teammates and know he’s sustained worse hits from the opponents.

My head spins as the man shouts worse things to Hayden while continuing to use his body as a punching bag. I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare, unable to utter a word or move.

Hayden stumbles but his father yanks him back up, shaking him like a ragdoll. He neither resists nor tells his dad to stop. He just takes it like he’s used to this treatment.

My stomach twists as I helplessly watch. I want to scream, to throw myself between Hayden and his father, but my body refuses to move.

Hayden’s body falls to the ground. But his dad isn’t done with him.

Seeing Hayden down, quiet and unmoving, seems to enrage him further. He kicks his battered body with a disgusted cry.

Hayden’s dad is gasping for breath. Breathing loudly, he smashes the bottle of whiskey against a tree trunk.

I flinch as glass shards fly everywhere, showering over Hayden.

For a moment, Hayden’s father just stands there, breathing hard, his eyes wild with fury. Then, as if the fight has drained out of him, he mutters something under his breath and walks away.

Hayden’s crumpled body lies on the ground. A cold breeze blows dry leaves all over him but he doesn’t move.

I can’t believe what that man just did. He left his son without a care and walked away.

A sob escapes me, breaking whatever spell had me standing frozen in my spot. My legs move and I’m finally running toward Hayden.

My knees hit the frozen ground as I kneel beside him.

“Hayden,” I sob, too scared to even touch him. “Hayden, can you hear me?”

His eyes flutter open but they don’t focus on me immediately. When his gaze finally meets mine, he lets out a groan. “Liam?”

My heart breaks at the sight of his bruised lips. A thin stream of blood trickles down his chin. How could someone hurt him so cruelly? Was that man truly his father?

A weak chuckle escapes him. “This is embarrassing,” he rasps, his voice choked with pain.

“Shut up,” I say, my voice cracking. “Just shut up and don’t say a thing!” Bent forward, I sob hard.

“Liam,” he says in a quiet voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” I say, impatiently brushing my tears away. “I just had this feeling you weren’t okay. I had to find you and make sure you were all right.”

“You shouldn’t be worried about me.”

I grab his face gently with both my hands, making him look at me. Tears continue streaming down my cheeks as I stare at him.

“Why are you crying, silly?” he says, raising a hand to wipe them. “You should just go home. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you!” I say fiercely. “Forget about everything I’ve told you. It doesn’t even matter what I told myself. I’m not leaving you again.” A painful emotion chokes me. “I just need to make sure you’re safe.”

A lost look descends into Hayden’s eyes. His expression looks painfully familiar.

I never asked Hayden why he walked into the sea in the middle of a storm that night. With a jolt, I realize I no longer need to ask him.

I already know.

Hockey games are brutal. You have to keep playing no matter how violent the opposing team gets. Hayden had already been suffocating, struggling to hide his sexuality from his teammates and fans.

Combined with his father’s abuse, I’m sure he felt lost and defeated.

There was no one on his side who could understand the pain and anxiety he was going through. Hayden must’ve felt so alone.

No more , I vow to myself. I’ll never let Hayden feel like he has no one in this world.

Moving closer to him, I let Hayden rest his head on my knees and gently wipe the blood from his lips with my sleeve. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Then, you’re coming home with me,” I say firmly.

A sigh escapes him as he closes his eyes. I pull him closer against me, slinging an arm around his waist to support him better.

My anxiety spikes. I need to get Hayden out of the cold and take a good look at his injuries.

With shaky hands, I reach for my phone. Fumbling desperately, I book an Uber to take us to my gram’s beach house in Long Island.

Hayden is silent, his eyes closed shut firmly. Only the rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s still alive after all that brutal beating he received from the opposing team and his cruel father.

Thankfully, the cab arrives within minutes. It’s one of the perks of living so close to New York City.

The driver glances at us and immediately climbs out to help me.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully as he helps me to lift Hayden to his feet and put him in the back of the car.

He nods, going to the front to take his seat.

I settle next to Hayden. At once, he rests his head against my shoulder, his body relaxing against mine.

I wrap an arm around him, holding him close. “You’re safe with me,” I whisper to him.

Hayden stays quiet but his fingers curl weakly around my sleeve, gripping it like a lifeline.

He doesn’t need to worry anymore. I’m never letting him go.

From now on, Hayden is mine. No one, not even his father, gets to hurt him again.