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Chapter seven

Trayton

O pening my eyes, I lie there for a minute, planning out my day in my head. I’ve always believed that if I don’t mentally plan exactly what I’m doing, the whole day will go to shit.

Get up

Make Kal roll his eyes at least once

Shower

Eat

Go to first class

Eat

Go to second class

Eat

Come back to the dorm and get ready for training

Pre-training food

Training

Make Kal roll his eyes again

Make Brayden smile

Post-training food

Dinner

Sleep

“What’s your list looking like today?” Kal’s voice breaks through my internal thoughts as I move my eyes to his bed on the other side of the room.

“Tiring,” I groan, standing up and stretching.

“Trayton,” Kal growls, and I stop stretching to glance at him. He’s staring over at me with a not-too-impressed expression on his face.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, you couldn’t get past a day without seeing my dick. It’s woken up to say hello to you, Cap,” I tease, swinging my hips gently from side to side to give Kal a little wiggle. Immediately, Kal rolls his eyes and turns over in bed. One and two on the list—done. Now I can get on with three.

Standing in the shower, I let the hot water cascade over me, trying to wash away my growing anxiety. I’ve been perfecting my techniques, knowing that this season could be the one that finally gets me signed. The thought of making it big always ignites a fire within me, but it also brings a familiar, gnawing worry. What about Brayden and Kal?

I scrub my body with intensity, hoping to remove the unease, but it clings to me stubbornly. Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and return to the bedroom.

“Oh, he hides it for once,” Kal teases from across the room.

“Kal.”

“Tray.”

I hesitate before sitting on my bed. “What happens if we get signed to completely different states?” I look at Kal, seeking the reassurance only he can provide.

Kal frowns slightly, then shifts on his bed to face me. “It will probably happen, Tray. Between the three of us, what are the chances of us being near each other?”

I nod slowly, my gaze dropping to a spot on the floor.

“It’s only May, Tray. We have nearly a year until any of this,” he says, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know.” I hesitate again. “I just… I don’t want to lose you both.” My voice is soft, almost a whisper. I hate speaking like this, hate feeling weak. But when it comes to Brayden and Kal, my defenses crumble. I don’t know what I would do without them.

“Just because we won’t see each other every day doesn’t mean we’ll lose each other, Tray.” Kal’s voice is gentle yet firm.

I manage a tight smile, nodding. I try to push the nagging voice to the back of my mind, but it persists.

Everyone always leaves.

Striding out of the locker room, I breathe in the cold, crisp air. I can already hear the sounds of skates slicing the ice and pucks hitting the boards. The anticipation builds as I head to the rink, ready for another tough training session.

The ice sparkles under the bright lights, and as soon as my skates touch the surface, a rush of excitement washes over me. This is where I belong. Every worry seems to vanish, leaving only the thrill of the game.

I glide across the ice, straight toward my teammates. Kal gives me a nod, and Brayden flashes a quick smile before his eyes flicker behind me and then back to me again, wincing slightly. Frowning, I spin on my skates. And there he is—Daxton—leaning against the boards, watching with that infuriatingly calm demeanor. I’d almost forgotten he’d be here today. My mood sours instantly. A small smirk appears on his lips before he fakes a yawn.

“Break a leg, King—literally,” he calls out, his laughter echoing through the rink as he collapses back into his chair with a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Who does this guy think he is? Who’s been feeding him bravery flakes for breakfast?” I mutter under my breath, my words laced with disbelief. I watch as he arches one eyebrow at me, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. Without taking his eyes off me, he picks up a colossal sketching pad and pen, lifting it dramatically to obscure his face.

“Keep those soulless eyes on me, Rivers, and enjoy the show. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to real talent,” I taunt, my voice dripping with venom. The sketch pad lowers ever so slightly, revealing his eyes, ablaze with heated intensity that makes me believe he could burn the entire rink with just a glance. His gaze flickers down to the pad momentarily before snapping back to mine. He winks, a gesture that sends a shiver down my spine, before raising the pad once more.

“This—” I begin, my voice trembling with rage.

“Stop,” Brayden interrupts sharply. “Just pretend he’s not even there. He knows taunting you is going to get a rise out of you, and then fists are going to start swinging. Remember what the dean said.” My jaw tightens, the muscles straining as I take one last, seething look at the back of that infuriating sketch pad before forcing myself to turn away.

The rink is buzzing with activity; the sound of blades slicing through ice fills the air as we go through our drills. I skate with determined accuracy, every move a testament to my dedication. The coach’s whistle echoes sharply, directing us through our paces, urging us to push harder, skate faster, be stronger.

My breath forms clouds in the cold air, my focus solely on the puck in front of me. I weave through my teammates, my stick handling the puck with practiced ease. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Daxton, sitting off to the side, sketch pad in hand.

With a grunt of frustration, I try to ignore him, redirecting my attention back to the drill. But every time I glance over, Daxton’s eyes are fixed on me, the pencil in his hand moving furiously across the paper. The intensity in his gaze is almost palpable, as if he’s pouring every ounce of his concentration into capturing the moment.

My annoyance bubbles to the surface. I slap the puck toward the goal with unnecessary force, the loud smack echoing through the rink. I take a deep breath, attempting to regain my focus, but my eyes betray me, drawn back to Daxton. I see his brows furrow in concentration, his hand moving with swift, deliberate strokes.

“Come on, Trayton, keep your head in the game!” Kal’s voice snaps me back to reality, and I nod, shaking off my distraction. I force myself to concentrate back on the drill, but it’s no use. Every time I look over, Daxton is there, his eyes a beacon of focus.

The rest of the team continues their practice, oblivious to the silent battle I’m currently having with Daxton. My frustration mounts with each passing second, my movements becoming more aggressive—more erratic. Daxton, on the other hand, remains calm, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he sketches, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having.

Prick.

Finally, the coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of the practice. I skate off the ice, my jaw clenched in frustration. I can feel Daxton’s eyes on me, even now, the weight of his gaze impossible to ignore.

As I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my brow, I glance over at him one last time. His sketch pad is lowered, and our eyes lock in a silent challenge. I drag my skates back to the locker room, feeling the weight of frustration bearing down on me. Slumping down in front of my locker, I let out a heavy sigh.

“King, whatever is on your mind, fucking remove it. You played like a child throwing a tantrum today,” Coach bellows, his voice reverberating through the locker room. His words cut deep, a harsh reminder of my flaky performance.

“That’s because he is,” Kal chimes in, frowning down at me as he comes to stand beside me. His tone is laced with disdain, and I can feel the judgment radiating from him.

“Fuck off,” I snap back, my voice dripping with irritation as I lock eyes with Kal. He just rolls them—his signature move when it comes to me. I shift my gaze to Brayden, who bites his lip, trying to hold back a smile, but fails miserably as a laugh bursts out of him.

“Bray,” Kal moans, frustration clear in his tone.

“Sorry, but the way you talk to him sometimes, it’s like he’s your child who never listens, and you look like you’re at your wits’ end,” Brayden says, his laughter still bubbling up despite his attempt to stifle it.

“Well, he needs to start acting his age,” Kal mumbles as he locks eyes with mine. “You know I will always tell you how it is, but you’re not acting twenty, Tray. You’re acting like you’re sixteen again.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I know exactly what he’s getting at. He’s the only one who knows about me and Bexley. I never told Brayden, and to this day, he remains in the dark. I guess I just didn’t want my relationship with Bexley to drive a wedge between me and Brayden, who I love like a brother.

I wince slightly, memories flooding back. Bexley wasn’t just my best friend; he was the person I thought I was in love with. It was different from the brotherly love I have for Brayden. When Bexley told me he couldn’t be with me anymore, it broke me. Seeing him kiss Daxton that day pushed me over the edge. I lost control, went to our local rink, and smashed the locker room to pieces. I skated like a madman, whacking pucks around the rink with recklessness.

Some people saw me on my rampage, and someone called Kal. Thankfully, they didn’t contact Brayden. In my psychotic state, I doubt I could have beared to see his face. It was too much like Bexley. They had their differences, and once you knew them, you could tell them apart—but they were identical twins. Even if I knew it was Brayden, I don’t know what I would have said at that moment.

Kal was there in an instant, calming me, skating with me, playing hockey with me, not saying anything, just waiting for me to calm down. In the end, I told him everything. He was shocked and surprised how well we hid it. I told him about Bexley leaving me for Daxton, and Daxton clearly loving every minute of it from the way he watched me over Bexley’s shoulder. I told him that day I was going to end Daxton, but Kal, being Kal, talked me down off the ledge. He said there would be other guys; I was only sixteen. Somehow, he tamed my manic mind.

I held back.

I stayed away.

I never gave Daxton a second glance.

I never said another word to Bexley again. And that’s the one thing I regret. He hurt me. He fucking crushed me.

He was concrete proof that day that everyone leaves you in the end, and that’s something I will never forget.

But Kal was right. Life went on, people moved on, and it didn’t hurt anymore.

I forgave Bexley. We were young, but my stubbornness stopped me from telling him I forgave him, and then when he was putting Brayden through it, I couldn’t help but be angry at him again. I saw how much he was crushing Brayden. He was good at hurting people without even realizing it.

Snapping myself back, Kal gazes down at me and gives me a tight smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I cut him off, raising my hand.

“It’s cool.”

Kal opens his mouth to say something, but my phone suddenly interrupts him. My gaze shifts to the screen, and instantly, all my previous frustrations evaporate. Excitement surges through me as I see the tattoo shop’s name flashing on the display.

“Hello?” I answer eagerly, standing and walking out of the locker room.

“Trayton?” a voice on the other end says.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Great, it’s Max from Bold Impressions. The artist wants to play around with your designs based on what you’ve shared and was wondering if you could come in next weekend.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be there,” I fire back at him, a broad smile spreading across my face. But then it falters slightly as doubt creeps in. “But I’ve only given a few ideas of what I want. Won’t he need to know the exact placements and details?”

“He wants to use his own creative freedom if that’s okay with you,” Max explains.

“Err…” I hesitate. I have a clear vision of what I want, and I’m not sure anyone else can bring it to life the way I imagine.

“I promise you, whatever he creates will exceed your expectations. Trust him, okay?” Max’s confident tone is reassuring.

“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. “If I don’t like it—”

“You don’t have to go with it. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Max.”

After ending the call, I turn to head back into the locker room, but my smile fades instantly. Daxton stares at me, leaning casually against the wall, his hands buried in his pockets, clearly having eavesdropped on the entire conversation.

“Have you not heard of privacy, Quiet Boy?” I grit out, struggling to keep my temper in check. The old Daxton is long gone, replaced by this new version who seems to be out for blood—my blood. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me benched and not playing.

Daxton flashes a grin that’s larger than life. His sudden bravery has me grinding my molars, hard. He used to be so breakable, so easy to hurt. Now, he’s nothing like that. He’s made of steel, and not an ounce of sadness shines back at me.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize pizza ordering was so private,” he says, placing a hand dramatically across his chest. “My apologies, Trayton.” He straightens his lips and softens his brows, giving off an innocent look. Fucking pizza. What a prick.

“Watch it, Rivers,” I growl, feeling my temper teetering on the edge. It doesn’t take much to push me, and he fucking knows it.

His eyes drag down and back up my body, connecting with mine, with that new cocky smile of his.

“Not much to watch,” he says, before shouldering his way through the locker room door and leaving me there, stunned.

Did he really just say I wasn’t much to look at?