14. Bohdi

Chapter fourteen

Bohdi

A s I finish my third glass of whiskey, I relish the fiery sensation and hope it can drown out my troubling thoughts. No matter how many I finish, I can't shake the memory of those eyes and the way they stared at me. But above all, I can't ignore the intense sensation that washed over me when he took a sip from the beer bottle. I sigh and pour myself a generous amount of whiskey, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as I drink it down. Fuck. Today was a complete cluster fuck. Maybe I wouldn't have stared at Brayden that way if I hadn't gone to the gym and ended up at the bar.

Could it be that my growing attachment to him is due to my subconscious inclination to support and ensure his safety? To make sure what happened to Jace doesn't happen to him? And it's not actually an attraction?

Fuck my life.

I drag my legs to the couch, flop down, and then realize I've brought the bottle of whiskey but forgot to grab a glass. I have class tomorrow, but I can't sleep tonight unless I drink enough to make me pass out.

I take a quick glance at the time and notice it's almost 11:30. Even though my alarm will ring in six hours, I'm not even slightly tired. I'm too wired to sleep.

Pulling out my phone, I light the screen up to do what? I'm unsure, but I see that I have a few emails. I reluctantly check my work account. This might be enough to make me fall asleep.

While quickly scanning my emails, I notice one from Denny, asking for me to provide an update on Brayden by the end of the week. It's a detailed report that showcases his work and attendance. I realize that this isn't something the professors usually require. This is from Denny. His goal is for his players to excel not only in hockey but also in their work. He's always been strict about that and Brayden's grades slipping don't sit well with Denny.

My mind wanders back to the happenings earlier today at the trailer park, specifically at Brayden's place. How do I keep this from Denny? I know he won't care that I punched the man; I mean, hell, if Denny was there, he would have done the same thing. Despite Denny's knowing about Brayden's mom and brother, I'm not sure how he would handle the knowledge of Brayden's true home life and upbringing. He was already concerned about Brayden. That much is clear. I think this would send him over the edge.

So, my decision is to tell Denny or not?

I toss my phone onto the couch and reach for the bottle, taking a gulp. The burning sensation has disappeared while the buzz soothes my body.

I wonder if Denny knows about Brayden's sexuality. Who was the guy he was with tonight? I didn't know who he was, and he appeared way too small to play hockey. Despite my continued drinking, thoughts of Brayden plague my mind even more. I was hoping drinking would stop me from thinking about him. I use my fingers to find my phone, and then they take over control. Before I even realize, I'm already on Instagram, without pausing to think. I ended up downloading it because Rylee asked me to, even though I barely use it. When I search for Brayden's name, nothing shows up. Maybe he doesn't have it. I type in Devil Hawks. I'm sure they have a page, as I've seen Denny post some stuff on his personal page. It comes up straight away and I find myself going through the pictures. The team appears to have a strong bond, clear from the smiles in every picture and their serious game faces on game day. The way they celebrate each other on a win. There is no animosity among them. I see that on the day I went in there, after Brayden kicked off. I stumble upon a video of Brayden doing a trick, most likely during the warm-up. I observe his carefree smile and the impressive puck tricks he performs. How the hell do you essentially do kick ups but with a puck and a stick? That's the next level of talent. He pays no attention to the puck as it bounces on his stick. He's too busy skating toward the goal. There are a few tricks of him showing off. Even some teammates that get caught on the video are staring at him in awe as he flips the puck with his stick, while skating and shoots from some crazy angles.

He's addicting to watch. I could watch him play all day.

I read the caption, and it's only named ‘earthquake' and then there's a tag.

@quakeontheice

I go against my gut feeling and click on it. I didn't think I would find much on here, but there are small snippets of his life. Not much, but still some bits. It appears as if most of the pictures are hockey-related, but as I scroll further, I discover a photo of him and Bexley when they were around eight years old. They are seen standing on what appears to be a table, pretending to play air guitar together, and both laughing. The caption We will rock you makes me smile as I gaze at the screen, but it also leaves a small ache in my gut. I feel a wave of sadness as I keep gazing at the picture. I'm not a twin, so I don't know how it feels, but I can imagine having one is like a right arm. Brayden likely feels a sense of loss when it comes to Bexley. It's evident from this picture that they are filled with happiness and a sense of freedom. I bet Brayden would do anything to get that back. I scroll up to find more pictures, some of him with Kal, and some of him, Kal, and Trayton. Their tight-knit trio is apparent, but the friendship between Kal and Brayden stands out to me. When Kal watches at Brayden, it appears as if he's ready to conquer anyone who dares to harm him.

I see a red circle around Brayden's profile picture, in which he is holding a trophy in his hockey gear. I click on it and see a picture of him taking a shot at the bar tonight. I move on to the next one and it's a video of him drinking more shots. I click once more and now there's a table filled with empty shot glasses and beer glasses that says, ‘Fuck family.' That was posted five minutes ago. Glancing at the time, I notice that closing time is approaching. He's drank a lot. While I trust Kal and Trayton to keep him safe, I can't shake off the fear of something bad happening. What if he tries to go back to the trailer while drunk? What if he ends up coming across that waste of space from earlier?

I let my head roll back and stare up at the ceiling.

I need to know he's safe.

Before I can think twice, I'm opening the Uber app.

Less than twenty minutes later, the Uber I'm in pulls up near the bar and I see Brayden walking down the street with the person he was kissing earlier. It's obvious that the man is having trouble handling Brayden's height and solid structure as he leans on him. I watch the struggle for a minute, debating whether to get back in the car and head home. My legs have already made their mind up as I walk toward them. I try to convince myself that I'll only follow them back to campus to make sure they enter the building safely. But the longer I watch them from behind, the more my anger builds. But why? Why am I angry? Seeing them together is clearly bothering me, but why? As they walk, the smaller guy supports Brayden by rubbing his back and allowing him to lean on him slightly. It's clear to see Brayden is wasted. I can't handle this shit anymore. I increase my walking speed, and once I'm directly behind them, I clear my throat as a signal.

"Boys," I attempt to sound stern, but end up sounding even creepier, approaching two young boys past midnight on a silent street.

Huh, guess I kind of am.

The smaller guy's sudden jump startles Brayden, nearly causing him to drop to the floor. With a single arm, I secure Brayden by holding him up. As the smaller guy peeks at me with wide eyes, I hear Brayden muttering, "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Good night I see?" Brayden's drunken state prevents him from standing still, as his feet continuously jut out sideways. I release his arm and shift my focus to the other guy.

"What's your name?" I narrow my eyes at the boy, who appears genuinely terrified and on the verge of pissing himself. I guess I haven't made it clear I'm a teacher and not some random guy on the street. As I keep observing the guy and waiting for his reply, I can't help but think that Brayden and someone such as him don't appear compatible. I shouldn't stereotype, but he gives off the vibe of a classic geek. It's surprising that he's out at this hour, and even more so with Brayden.

"I—I'm,"

"It's Lanson," Brayden sighs out. The man remains silent, staring at Brayden before glancing at me and promptly casting his eyes down to the floor.

"Lanson, I'm Mr. Stiles. I'm Brayden's marketing teacher." As he shuts his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, a sense of relief washes over him, only to be replaced by fear as he struggles to speak.

"I—um wasn't drinking. I swear it. You can smell my breath." I raise my hand to silence him.

"I have no interest in what you are or aren't doing. My only concern is that you both return to campus safely," I reassure him, which has him nodding eagerly.

"Let's go then."

The rest of the way, Brayden stays quiet, doing his best to walk straight but occasionally running into me and muttering, "Sorry." When we arrive at the campus, I see Lanson freeze and hover near a few dorm buildings.

"Which dorm is yours, Lanson?" I inquire, and he gestures toward the one on the left. I glance at Brayden, who nods his head to the right.

Brayden winks at Lanson and says, "Lanson is staying at my dorm tonight, sir." I raise my eyebrow at Lanson, causing his doe-eyed gaze on Brayden to shift to me, and he immediately lowers his head.

"Goodnight Lanson." I state.

"Wait, no." Brayden tries to argue, but I push him along to his dorm. Lanson continues to ignore Brayden and heads straight to his dorm.

"Respectfully, sir, but what the fuck? You know I'm nineteen, right?"

"Respectfully Brayden, I don't give a fuck. Now keep it moving. You're too drunk to do anything right now and I'm pretty sure the school doesn't allow overnight stays in the dorms, right?" With a raised eyebrow, I observe the sulking face and his focus shifting toward Lanson's retreating.

"I can make my way to my own dorm." He mumbles as we walk through the main doors of the building.

"You're wasted. It wouldn't be right of me to leave you alone until I know you're safe." He hasn't even asked about how I found them or what I was doing walking the streets at the same time as him. And I hope he never does because I don't know what I would say.

Brayden stumbles a few times during our walk, but he quickly shakes off my attempts to steady him.

"What floor are you on?" I ask as we approach the stairs.

"Third," he says, taking the stairs. I'm trailing behind him, but he suddenly halts and wavers a little. I immediately jump into action, catching him as he crouches down on the step.

"Brayden, what are you doing?" Without saying a word, he raises his hand and takes a few deep inhales. After a moment, he replies,

"Just give me a moment. I feel sick," he says as he rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang between his legs. I stand there staring down at him, wondering how long he will sit like this for. After a few moments of silence, Brayden asks, "Why do all people suck?" he asks. I frown, wondering where the random question came from.

"What?"

"Why do all people suck?" he repeats. I hesitate to respond immediately because how do you even respond to that? Then I remember his Instagram story from earlier.

I position myself on the stair next to him, bending down and placing my arms on my knees as I stare down the corridor ahead.

"I don't think all people suck." I reply. "I think it's the people you put your trust in and the people you love unconditionally, even though they don't deserve it and who let you down and disappoint you. Those are the people that suck." Brayden lifts his head and casts a sideways glance in my direction. Among the bloodshot that surrounds his sapphire eyes, his irises still shine bright.

"Those are definitely the people that suck." Tilting his head upward, he studies the ceiling and lays back, resulting in the back of his head hitting the step. I want to tell him to get up and that his bed will be more comfortable, than laying on stairs. But then I realize that if he goes to bed, I'll have to stop talking to him, and I'm not ready for that just yet. Selfish maybe, but it's what has me laying back beside him with my head on the step.

"I hate that I let him do this to me time and time again," for a moment, I don't know who he's talking about. Is he talking about a boyfriend? Is he talking about Lanson, or is he talking about his brother?

"Who?"

"Bex," he sighs out. "I let him in every single time and each time he proves to me why I shouldn't." His voice cracks at the end. I close my eyes, wishing I could ring Bexley's neck for making Brayden feel like this. I wish he could see what he does to his brother. Maybe he knows but doesn't care. It's understandable why Brayden is closed off and appears hostile toward others. Has anyone ever shown this kid that sometimes it's worth being vulnerable in order to let the right people into their life? That there's people out there worth being vulnerable for?

"Don't paint everyone with the same brush, Brayden. There are good people out there." Despite not knowing the reason, I have this urge to reassure him. "A day will come when you'll find someone who will patiently wait at the door until you're ready to open it. Even if it means waiting years. When the time comes, you'll understand why it's worth opening the door for the right person." There's a moment of silence before Brayden responds.

"Have you opened your door?"

"Not yet," I sigh. I'm still trying to gather my thoughts and emotions after what happened earlier today. Despite being with Brayden, I don't find it as strange as I thought I would. I'm not sure if being more content than I have been in a while is a good or bad sign.

"It's possible that Miss Banksy might be the person you find at your doorstep," he remarks, his voice hinting at a playful tone. I raise an eyebrow at him and smirk.

"I think it's time you got to bed," I say, leaning up and jumping to my feet, although I have to hold on to the railing. I forgot about the few whiskeys I had tonight. I motion my hand for him to hold on to. "Come on."

He shuts his eyes and grabs my arm to hoist himself up. My jaw clenches as warmth spreads up my arm. What the fuck is going on? For a moment I don't let go and neither does he. There's something about his touch, his skin on mine, that feels almost perfect. Although, my mind is screaming for me to release him. I direct my gaze toward him, but he diverts his attention to his arm.

No, he's looking at my hand.

Nope, he's looking at my fingers that are brushing his arm. I snap my arm back fast he sways slightly and then rights himself. I hurriedly pass by him, feeling the need for a moment alone, and climb the stairs. We are on the third floor in record time. Once he's inside the dorm, I must leave and go home. These feelings, or whatever they are, are a combination of drinks and sleep deprivation I've been dealing with lately. It has to be. This isn't me; it's as if my brain has malfunctioned.

As I walk past his dorm, his gruff voice calls out, "This is me." I pivot on my heels, hands in pockets, and give him a firm nod. From his pocket, he retrieves his keys and unlocks the door.

Without a second glance, I casually say, "See you tomorrow, bright and early," as I continue walking.

"Mr. Stiles." His calm voice drifts through the air, leaving me motionless, refusing to turn and face him.

"Tha-Thank you for not only tonight, but today also." I know what he means when he refers to today. He's talking about at the trailer park. I choose not to respond and continue walking, but when I reach the end of the hallway, I glance back and find Brayden staring right at me. He appears expressionless, as if he's lost in his own world. My feet suddenly become heavy, as if they are weights. Walking away from him feels like one of the hardest things to do.

What is this boy doing to me?