Page 8 of Puck’N Enemy (Thunder Knights #2)

Dylan

Pushing open the door to the apartment, I step inside the hallway and take off my worn-out sneakers. My ribs ache as I move, especially the spot where that Knight’s guy punched me.

“Fucking moron,” I mutter, still tasting the tang of blood from my split lip.

Closing the door behind me, I haul my backpack over my shoulder and step further inside the living room. At once, the smell of chamomile tea, old books, and bleach wafts into my nostrils.

No matter how much I want to ignore it, the sharp, clinical odor of chemo always hangs in the air. The quiet reminder that the sickness has become a part of our lives is inescapable.

Coach Becker lies in his recliner, reading a book. An old, faded blanket is wrapped around his tall, thin frame. Under the glow of the table lamp, his skin looks paler than usual.

That’s when I notice the IV stand beside him. He must’ve had a chemo session today. The IV bag is nearly empty, so I’m guessing it’s been a while since he got home.

I decide to sneak off to my room before he can see me but he’s quicker. He glances over his shoulder just as I’m about to pass the couch.

“Jesus, kid,” he says, frowning. “What the hell happened to your face?”

A sigh escapes me as I drop my backpack on a chair. “There was a scuffle. It’s fine, though.”

“Fine?” Coach Becker scoffs. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, grinning. “The truck lost.”

A weak, huffing laugh escapes him but he soon ends up coughing violently.

“Coach!” I gasp, going over to him in a flash.

“I’m okay,” he says, wheezing. “Stop fussing already.”

I rush to the kitchen and quickly fill up a glass of water. Grabbing the pills he’s supposed to be taking in the evening, I go back to him.

“Here, it’s time for you to take these,” I say, crouching next to his recliner.

He stares at the pills like they’re poison. “I hate swallowing them.”

“I know,” I say gently. “But you hate hospitals more. So just drink some water and pop them in one by one. They’ll help you stay strong.”

“You are such a fussy kid,” he sighs, but takes the glass of water and swallows his meds without further protest.

I take the empty glass and set it aside, then adjust his blanket over his legs.

“Did you eat anything yet?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I ate dinner early today.”

“Good,” I say, feeling relieved. “Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah. I need you to tell me what really happened,” he says, gesturing at my face.

A crooked grin comes onto my lips as I sink into a couch. “It wasn’t anything major,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Just ran into some guys from the Thunder Knights team and things heated up when they recognized me.”

I don’t mention Logan because the conversation can get trickier.

“Do they look as bruised as you?” A suspicious look flickers through his aging face. “Or is it worse? Did you break any bones?”

I shake my head. “They’re fine. I didn’t touch them.”

“You didn’t even throw a punch?” Coach asks, looking surprised.

“Nope.”

Coach’s brows furrow. “That’s not like you.”

“What can I say?” I say, cracking a grin. “I’m mellowing out.”

Coach snorts but doesn’t push further.

“I’ll go get some ice,” I tell him and head into the kitchen. Grabbing an ice bag from the freezer, I slap it over my cheek and walk back to the living room.

A groan escapes me as I sit down on the couch. My bones ache but the pain in my heart is more troublesome.

“You saw Logan today, didn’t you?” Coach says after a moment.

I don’t reply immediately. I don’t need to because Coach already knows the answer.

“Did he see you?” Coach asks.

I nod, my shoulders slumping.

“Did you guys talk?”

“Not really.”

He closes his book and places it on his armrest. “He was your friend, Dylan. Your best friend . He deserves more than your silence and guilt.”

I exhale a heavy breath. “Logan doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“He doesn’t know the truth.” Coach gazes at me with a grim look in his eyes. “Logan will think differently of you when he knows what happened.”

“Logan thinks I ran away,” I say, the word making my throat choke up. “That I walked away without a second thought. And honestly? It’s better for him. This way, he can move on and live his life without any worries.”

“You don’t get to decide that, Dylan.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I don’t want to ruin his life.”

“No. You’ve decided to ruin your own instead.”

I stay quiet because Coach is right.

I’d rather Logan live his life without a constant shadow hovering over him.

“Logan has made it clear he doesn’t want to be friends with me,” I say under the weight of Coach’s gaze. “It’s better this way, isn’t it? He plays for the Knights, and I’m with the Bears. The teams hate each other. Staying away from me saves him from extra drama.”

The incident from this evening resurfaces in my mind. Logan’s teammate has nothing personal against me but he beat me up just because I played for the Bears. Without Logan’s interference, he’d have caused me even more damage.

Coach reaches over and places a hand on my head, the way he always did when I was sixteen and shattered. “Don’t lie to yourself about how bad it hurts,” he says.

I nod, taking a moment to simply relax.

“It’s getting late,” Coach says after a while. “You should go and eat your dinner.”

“All right,” I say, getting to my feet. “Are you sure you don’t need me to get you anything?”

He waves a hand and opens his book.

So, I let him go back to his book and head into the kitchen.

My stomach groans, reminding me it’s been hours since I last ate anything. Opening the freezer, I take out a Tupperware full of pasta and put it in the microwave to heat up.

Next, I open the fridge and take out a carton of eggs.

Even though Coach Becker is retired now, he’s anal about me eating enough protein. Since I’m too exhausted to cook meat, I opt for making scrambled eggs.

It’s not long before my meal is ready.

Some people might think it’s weird to pair pasta with scrambled eggs, but when you grow up in foster care, you learn to cherish whatever food comes your way.

I sit down at the small kitchen island and eat a mouthful of hot pasta.

“Mmm,” I moan, enjoying the hot, saucy macaroni.

After a full day at the university and hours of working at the food court, I’ve been starving. I wolf down the eggs, almost impressed by my own genius of adding cheese to my scrambled eggs.

I clean up the kitchen after I’m done and head back to the living room to check up on Coach. A chuckle escapes me when I find him dozing with his book open on his lap. His breaths are soft and steady and the blanket is tucked under his chin.

I’m glad to see him feeling well enough to fall asleep.

I’m about to walk into my room when a sudden knock halts me in my steps.

Glancing at the wall clock instinctively, I see that it’s close to eleven PM.

It’s way too late for deliveries or a calling neighbor. Wondering who it could be, I quietly move to the door and look in through the peephole.

No one’s standing in the hallway.

Opening the door slowly, I look in both directions but the hallway is empty.

About to close the door, I notice a plain white envelope on the worn-out mat at the threshold. There’s no postal stamp or address on it. It just has my name.

DYLAN , in all caps, is written in an all-too-familiar handwriting that sends a chill down my spine. Pushing the door open wider, I recheck the hallway, but no one’s around.

Heart hammering against my chest, I bend down and snatch up the envelope. Shutting the door, I lock it by securing every bolt and latch.

I look toward Coach and find him sleeping with a peaceful look on his face. Moving toward the couch, I sit down by the lamp and turn the envelope over.

There’s no return address on it. The pristine white surface looks crisp and clean. Too clean.

Unable to bear the sight of it, I tear the envelope open and a stack of photos cascades over my lap.

They’re all grainy, black-and-white shots of me.

The first one shows me wiping tables at the food court. The second one shows me walking out of the pharmacy with Coach’s meds in a paper bag.

I shuffle through more, coming across photos of me skating at the Bears’ practice arena. The very last one is a shot of me with my helmet off, laughing with a teammate.

My fingers tighten around the edges, bending the photographs.

A sheet of paper flies loose and floats to the ground.

Snatching it up, I see it has a note on it, written in the same jagged, deliberate hand.

WELCOME TO TOWN, DYLAN.

That cold sensation slithers up my spine again, feeling like someone has pressed the tip of a blade against my neck.

He knows I’m back in Knightswood.

I spring to my feet too fast, feeling my heart thudding like a war drum. My eyes dart to the window and the locked door. I know he wouldn’t show himself but I can’t help checking if Coach and I are truly alone in the apartment.

When the silence stretches, I realize he’s playing his games.

The envelope with the photos was just the opening move. His game always starts with an illusion of control.

This was a warning and a reminder that I’m still in the palm of his hand.

“Fuck,” I whisper, realizing everything I did to keep people safe was all for nothing.

Coach stirs in his sleep, his chest rising and falling in at a steady rhythm under the worn-out blanket.

I came back to Knightswood for Coach Becker. I risked my present and my future to take care of the only man who protected me when the world turned its face away from an abandoned foster kid like me.

I thought it’d be safe since he was supposed to be locked up and gone for good.

I walk into the kitchen and shove the photos in a drawer, far beneath the old takeout menus and ketchup packets. Breathing hard, I brace my hands on the countertop, trying to keep myself from punching the wall.

He’s the reason I left Logan behind and never dared to get in touch with him.

Closing my eyes, I try to calm my pounding heart.

It’s okay , I tell myself. I’ve stayed away from Logan. And Logan...he hates me.

Everything’s better off with him hating me. He doesn’t need to get involved with me and get pulled into a mess that’d leave him broken, body and soul.

I can’t let the same thing happen again.

So, yeah...it’s a good thing that Logan and I are through.

It’s the only way to keep him and his family safe.

Maddie’s impish face flashes in my mind, bringing up memories I’d long suppressed. She’d been too young in the past to understand anything. I wonder if she still remembers me...

My hands ball into tight fists. I’ve stayed away from Logan and his family. I never made any contact except for the brief time during the hockey game last month.

This time, I have no weaknesses he can manipulate.

This time, I refuse to run. I’ll deal with the son of a bitch myself and make damn sure he never touches the people I love again.