Page 31

Chapter thirty

Trayton

Me:

What you doin?

I fix my eyes on the screen, anticipating the little bubbles that will show Daxton is typing. I’m not entirely sure why I’m messaging him at this moment. I just can’t seem to get him out of my head. There’s this overwhelming craving for him that I can’t shake. I don’t even know when this shifted. When did I stop despising him? And when did I turn into someone who can’t stop thinking about him? Here I am, on a Saturday night, unable to stop obsessing over a guy I’m supposed to hate. I see the two ticks turn blue, yet there’s no reply. I wait for a few more minutes, growing more impatient. Five minutes pass, and there’s still no response. Daxton Rivers just left me on read. Seriously? I sit here fuming, wondering what the hell is going on. Then I remember—I’ve still got his location linked to mine. I open the app and am surprised to see he’s at some bar in the city. Why is he there? It’s a half-hour drive from campus. “Kal,” I say, still staring at the flashing dot.

“Yo.”

“Where’s Cope tonight?”

“No idea, probably in his dorm. We’ve got an early morning 10K run tomorrow,” he answers, yawning. Ah, the thrilling life of being single and in our twenties. I then type out another message, this time to Cope.

Me:

What you doin?

I sit there again, waiting for the blue ticks or typing bubbles, but nothing appears. Cope hasn’t read my message, even after ten minutes. I switch back to the tracker app and watch that annoying dot flash at the bar. If Cope went out, he’d have mentioned it. He would have invited us. We never go out without asking each other to join. We’re a team both on and off the ice. It’s always been that way. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?” I ask Kal, sitting at the edge of my bed while tying my sneakers.

“Erm, get me something sweet.” He never wants anything, and the one time I’m not actually going to the store, he requests something. For crying out loud. “Sure.” I’ll just say I forgot when I return. I pull on my sweatshirt, open the door, and close it quietly behind me. I check the time—it’s ten. If they’ve gone out for some kind of guys’ night without us, I’m going to be pissed.

What if it’s more than that? Cope always claimed he was straight, but what if things changed for him? First, he roomed with Brayden and saw more than he expected. Now he’s rooming with Daxton.

He became close to Daxton quickly and is overly protective of him.

What if it’s more? What if there’s something between them, and I was just a placeholder for Daxton, something to pass the time?

No way.

Nope.

My mind needs to stop this shit. That’s not what’s happening. Daxton doesn’t look at Cope the way he looks at me. His eyes don’t undress Cope like they do with me during every training session. I noticed how he looked at me in the showers yesterday. There’s no one else. I leave my dorm and rush across campus to Cope and Daxton’s place. The campus is unusually quiet for a Saturday night—typical since no one here is as dull as we are. Everyone else is out doing what normal college students do. But as an athlete, I have to prioritize certain things, even though we still manage to have our nights out. I take the stairs two at a time, hurrying up to the third floor, and when I reach the door, I knock a few times, not really expecting anyone to answer because, well, they’re probably out. Instead, a tired-looking Cope opens the door in his boxer shorts.

“Tray, what’s up?” he asks, his eyes adjusting to the bright corridor light as he rubs them. For a moment, I stand there, lost for words—damn, I didn’t expect him to be here. “Uh, just checking in,” I manage to say, although it sounds as lame as it feels.

Cope raises an eyebrow. “Uh, all good,” he replies, glancing around in general confusion. “Do you want to come in or something?”

“Yes,” I blurt out too quickly, almost eagerly, because now I’m thinking Daxton might be in bed behind that door, maybe he’s even lost his phone. As the door opens, my eyes immediately dart to the side of the room where Brayden used to sleep, his bed now neatly made and untouched. Who the hell is he with at that bar? I already sense that Cope suspects I’m here because of Daxton. He always catches me glancing his way and has noted how often I ask about him, so I can’t come right out and ask. I know he wouldn’t judge me—nobody on the team would—but who can I explain this messed-up feeling to when I barely understand it myself? So I continue playing the game of disliking him because that’s all I’ve ever known about Daxton Rivers.

I sit down on Daxton’s bed and immediately get caught in his scent. It isn’t anything fancy, just a warm, comforting smell that feels like what I imagine home would smell like. Safe and comforting.

Damn, this isn’t good. That unsettling feeling returns; I can’t bear it—it’s like a broken bond screaming out for him, desperate to see him, to touch him. “Tray.” Cope’s voice breaks through my inner turmoil, pulling me out of my state—I can’t even tell what my mind or body is doing right now.

“Mm?” I look up at him.

“You good?” His brow is furrowing as he takes me in.

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” I say, trying to piece myself together.

“So, what’s up?” Cope asks, studying me as if trying to figure out why I’m here. “Why are you here?” He’s squinting slightly and tilting his head in curiosity.

“I messaged you, but you didn’t reply, so I thought I’d come over and see what you were up to.” I shrug, placing my hands on the bed behind me and leaning back slightly. My eyes wander over Daxton’s side of the room. It’s sparse—only a single poster hangs there, showing that prominent Ferris wheel in London. I know it’s London because the poster includes a sketch of that iconic clock, named after some guy called Ben. It’s a strange detail, if you ask me; maybe it’s a place he wants to visit.

“He drew it for Bex,” Cope says, and I glance at him as he stares at the picture. “That’s why Bohdi took Bray there—it was the one spot Bex always wanted to see.” I nod, though I don’t recall Bex ever mentioning that to me. Maybe he did. I’ve pretty much erased most of our conversations. “No roommate tonight?” It seems like the natural moment to ask. Cope gives me a smirk as though he’s just realized exactly why I’m here, and I do my best not to let it show.

“He’s out.” He settles back on his bed, leaning against the wall with his legs dangling off the side, hands resting in his lap as he looks at me like the cat who got the cream.

“Anywhere fun?” I ask. Cope’s eyes widen, and he nods, biting his cheek to hold back a laugh he clearly wants to let out.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s somewhere fun; he’s definitely having a great time.” He pauses before adding, “If you know what I mean.” Cope stretches both arms upward. “After all, the guy who asked him out made it pretty clear he wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

At that statement, my blood turns ice-cold—no, it’s burning like fire, as if it’s searing right through my skin. He’s out on a date while my cum might still be dried up inside him, just a day after he was crying out my name. Cope arches a sarcastic frown.

“You look a bit red, Tray.” I don’t care anymore; I’ve long since stopped caring about what anyone has to say about me. My body trembles with anger, and every hard heartbeat makes my chest ache fiercely.

“Where is he?” I growl through gritted teeth as I take deep, steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cope says, his expression turning serious.

“I don’t know what’s been happening, but leave him alone, Tray. He’s finally moving forward with his life, living the life he never got to have while growing up. Just let him be.”

“Where is he?” I demand.

“Why do you care? You don’t even like him.”

Something inside me snaps. I leap off the bed and go for Cope. “Because I care, damn it! I care about him, what he’s doing, all of it. Got it?” I practically shout in Cope’s face. “I don’t know why I care so much, but I do. Now tell me where he is.”

Cope stares at me for a moment. “I love you like a brother, Tray. But I’m not telling you.”

Suddenly, clarity hits me. What a dick. The app—I know exactly where he is. My anger had clouded my mind, but now everything is clear. Without saying another word to Cope, I head to the door and fling it open.

“You won’t find him,” Cope calls after me.

I smirk, turning to give him a defiant look. “You really underestimate me.”

I can’t help but laugh at how I ended up forking out an extra fifty dollars on my ride just to bust the speed limit, but nothing at this moment matters as much as the fear of being too late. My eyes remain fixed on that flashing beacon as I silently pray that he doesn’t move—especially not to some hotel. Just the thought churns my stomach. Before the car has even come to a full stop, I throw open the door and charge straight toward the entrance. Thank God it wasn’t like that swanky joint he was at before—if the door wasn’t opened for me, I swear I would have kicked my way through it.

Inside, the place is massive—damn, really huge—and amid the lively bar and its live band, I can’t immediately spot him. The atmosphere is wild, with people leaping around and singing their hearts out. I first glance toward the stage, knowing full well he wouldn’t be up dancing or joining in the music; he has to be sitting somewhere. I make my way around the perimeter of the room, shoving people aside without a care, even as drinks fly and insults are hurled in my direction. Desperation surges as I round the halfway point and still no sign of him. I light up my phone once more—he’s here. But where? After picking through another quarter of the circle, something in a dark corner grabs my attention. A large guy is leaning in close, whispering into someone’s ear, and when I look over his shoulder, my stomach plummets. There, unmistakably, is Daxton, his eyes closed while the other guy plants kisses down his cheek. My legs move on their own before my mind can catch up. I grab him by the shoulder and yank him back as hard as I can. It takes him a split second to register what has just happened as his eyes blink at me in shock.

“What the fuck?” the other guy seethes, his hand still resting on Daxton’s waist. I zero in on that hand.

“If you want to keep those hands, I suggest you remove them from him now.” Daxton blinks once, twice, and then his outburst fizzles out.

“Don’t worry, Ross. He’s all bark and no bite,” he slurs loudly, his eyes lazily closing and reopening—a clear sign of how wasted he is. I smirk as my gaze drops to his open shirt, revealing the marks I gave him in the shower yesterday.

“Your neck says otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Daxton spits out as his drink topples over the edge of his glass, spilling on the floor, and he staggers forward, swaying to the left. “Ross, I think he came to tell you something,” he mumbles, almost losing his balance. I quickly move to steady him.

“We’re leaving,” I whisper urgently into his ear. He jabs his elbow into me, making me grimace, but I resist the urge to double over despite the sharp pain in my gut.

“Fuck you.” His eyes shut briefly before reopening to meet Ross’s furious gaze. “He came here to tell you I gave him chlaaamydiaaaaa,” he drawls, chuckling at the end. Ross’s face turns pale, and he steps away from Daxton. Daxton turns his smirk to me as he raises his arms, swaying slightly. “I did it for you, Trayton; now fuck off,” he snarls at me.

Damn. He must have talked to Ashton. Triple damn. “I can explain everything about Ashton, but first, I need to get you out of here and get some water in you.”

“The only thing I need inside me is him.” He points to a shocked Ross. “Now fuck offfff for the fifth time.”

“Firstly”—I point to my finger—“it’s more like twice you’ve told me to fuck off,” I correct him. “And secondly”—I gesture toward the short, bulky guy—“he’s not laying a finger on you again, much less getting inside you.” His anger flares up even more.

This time, Ross grabs his coat from the chair and backs away. “I’m done. Screw this,” he declares. Daxton groans in protest and tries to follow him. I seize him by the hips, and he spins around, splashing his drink in my face before landing a punch. He actually punches me.

“You can fuck off, Trayton King. I’m done with you, and I’m done with all of this.” He gestures dismissively at me. “I’m tired of you treating me like shit, acting like you can just walk all over me and keep hurting me with your bullshit words.” He steps closer, his teeth bared. “You can go to hell if you think you can hurt me anymore, Trayton King. I’ve been through a lotta shit and taken more beatings than your mommy has cooked you hot dinners.” My heart skips a beat, and I freeze, staring at him as a smirk forms on his lips. “Oh wait, that’s probably not many, is it?” I look at him in disbelief at what he just said. Instinctively, my hand wraps around his throat.

“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t even go there.” I’m shaking with rage. I know he’s drunk and doesn’t mean it, but he doesn’t realize how deeply those words cut. “Oh boohoo,” he whines. “Did I upset the big, bad Trayton King?” My jaw clenches, and I tighten my grip on Daxton’s throat as he smiles at me, showing his bright teeth. I know I deserve this, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. I scoff.

“You think you have the power to upset me? You think you matter enough to hurt me?” I hiss in his ear, and he stiffens in my grasp. The smirk and his bravado vanish, leaving only raw pain in his eyes, and I immediately feel like shit.