17. Brayden

Chapter seventeen

Brayden

T here's nothing on this earth that calms me, like sliding the puck back and forth with Kal. The smell of the ice, the sliding noises the blades make against the ice, the scratching of the puck as it glides and bounces off the stick. It's home. I always feel like I'm gasping for air and my heart skips a beat, but when I'm here, I breathe more freely than ever.

Kal glides nearer to me, circling and fixating on the puck.

"Keep it on the down low, but I heard the scouts are coming back next weekend for our away game." I skillfully lift the puck onto my stick and flick it over to Kal, who smoothly catches it on his stick and sends it back.

"How about the first person who lets it drop first, pays for all the drinks this Saturday night?" I say, passing it back. Kal wears a smile as we continue our back-and-forth with the puck.

I casually ask, "When did Coach let you know about this?" as we continue with our usual passes.

"Just before coming out here. He mentioned that he's informing you to prevent a repeat of last time."

"There won't be."

"You promise?"

"No."

"You're known for your temper, but you're lucky you didn't get a match ban for what you had done to Mackey."

"I know, Cap. You don't need to keep going on about it." This causes Kal to fuck up, and he drops the puck.

I lift my helmet, grinning. "Drinks on you, Cap." I wink.

"You fucker." He bodychecks me, slamming me into the side of the rink.

I shout, "Touché!" as he flips me off and continues skating toward Cope.

When practice is done, we all head to the showers. Trayton is talking nonstop about a guy he met at the bar and calling out Kal for not taking the girl back to the dorm.

Kal's sulking began after he returned from a trip he had to take with his dad last year and hasn't stopped since. There was a change and now he hardly pays attention to girls. I've asked him time and time again what's wrong, but he makes up some bullshit. I can tell it's not true because I know Kal. Kal has always been known as the ‘babe magnet,' a nickname he dislikes, but stuck after Trayton used it. Kal used to lap up the attention and rarely had an empty bed. He was a man hoe, but a humble one. He may be my best friend, but that doesn't mean I can't acknowledge how incredibly attractive he is, both physically and in terms of his personality.

Kal is a fixer, someone who wants to help people that need fixing. It has always been part of his character since we first met. Hence, why we are best friends. Kal, being by my side is something I can't imagine being without. I furrow my brow in contemplation, observing him as he flips off Trayton when Tray reveals that Kal no longer likes girls and assumes he is now gay. Tray, of course, volunteers that Kal uses him as an experiment. I also noticed a slight increase in his drinking habits, not enough to cause worry, but noticeable nonetheless. Especially when we are at parties. He will keep himself away from girls and only drink. It's not like him. Trayton noticed and attempted to talk to him, but he dismissed him the same as he did to me. I laugh as I see Tray twirling around a moody Kal, swinging his dick like a helicopter. Being friends with Tray means being OK with seeing his dick more frequently than you see your own. Trayton is as important to me as Kal. Kal is the one who can help me unwind, while Trayton is the one who supports me when I need to release my emotions. Honestly, I'm confident that if I told Tray I needed his help in robbing a bank, he wouldn't question it and would simply ask about my mask preference. Whenever I need to escape reality, they provide me with balance, and I will forever be grateful to them.

"Anders." Coach's deep voice booms in the changing rooms. I hastily put on my top and sweatpants, while the rest of the team watches me. Kal silently nods at me, indicating that this is exactly what we were discussing, before leaning in to whisper into Tray's ear, no doubt updating him. I put on my baseball cap and twist it backward. Strangely, my baseball cap provides me with a sense of security. I hate not wearing it.

Stepping into the coach's office, I offer a closed-mouth smile, noticing the overwhelming amount of papers on his desk.

"Coach," I say, trying my best to sound cheery. The sight of me appears to offend him deeply, as indicated by his pinched eyebrows. I'm standing there, awkwardly rocking on my heels and clapping my hands in front of me.

"Anders, I'll get straight to the point. The scouts are returning next weekend. I need you to please get your shit together. Advise your brother to stay the fuck away from this game and find a method to release your anger beforehand. Nothing that will get you in trouble, of course." He points in my direction. "Your attitude is holding you back from reaching your full potential as my star player. Do you understand me?" I nod.

"Yes, Coach. Nothing will mess up next weekend. You have my word." With a nod, he settles back into his chair, picking up his mug and sipping from it.

"Oh, and one more thing," he adds, fiddling with papers on his desk. "The dean and I have had a conversation, and your grades are declining noticeably." He stares directly at me, raising one eyebrow. "To help, you need to take an extra class." Before I can speak, he raises his hand. "It doesn't matter which class, but you must obtain extra credit. You have the freedom to choose, as long as it doesn't affect our practice schedule. I don't care what it is."

I bow my head and nod to show my understanding. Right now, I don't need an additional class, and this news has caught me off guard. I knew my grades were slipping slightly and being on a scholarship, I know I need to be careful. But I thought I could pull it back, not have to take an extra class.

Leaving the coach's office, I trudge back to the boys. While most have left, Kal and Tray are still here, sitting and waiting for me.

"Gonna head to the gym," I grumble, trying not to sulk, but it's a bit hard right now. Kal's brows knit together as he gets up and comes over to me, Tray trailing not too far behind.

"Was it not about the scouts?" Kal says.

I nod. "It was, but also about my grades slipping. The coach and the dean have decided that I should enroll in an extra class to raise my grades."

Tray drawls out the word, "Dayyyymnn," in a way that resembles Ice Cube and Chris Tucker's delivery in the Friday movies. Usually this brings a smile to my face, but currently I don't feel like smiling at all.

"Damn is correct." I sigh.

"What are you going to pick?" Tray asks

"No idea," I say as I snatch my bag and leave the changing rooms, heading straight for the door. Behind me, Kal starts listing additional classes I can enroll in. I take a quick glance behind me and spot him on his phone, most likely browsing the college's website. I don't find any of them appealing.

"I didn't know Mr. Stiles teaches business management," Kal says, and this perks my ears up. I respond, attempting to hide my enthusiasm.

"Oh, is that an extra class?"

"Yeah, by the looks of it, not much information on here, though."

"Quake doesn't like him. Next one?" Trays says.

I stop and turn. "I didn't say that."

"You gave the impression you didn't like him," Tray mentions.

Kal agrees, "Yeah, let's forget about Mr. Stiles and try a different teacher."

"I think it's Kal who doesn't like him." Kal does act standoffish toward Mr. Stiles and it has caught my attention once or twice, as it is unlike Kal. Kal simply shrugs and goes back to his phone. Opening the doors, I make a turn and abruptly stop when I come face-to-face with my twin brother. His foot against the wall and a cigarette in his mouth. This isn't what I need right now. I turn to Kal and Tray. "I'll meet you at the gym." Kal nods in agreement, acknowledging Bexley, while Tray stands rigidly, fists clenched and jaw tight. I peer back at Bex, and he is staring at Tray. There's a softness in his eyes, as if he's on the verge of saying something but unsure.

A moment later, he says, "Tray." I hear movement and glance back to see Tray turning around and leaving. What the fuck went on between them? As I turn around, Bex takes a long pull and flicks the cigarette.

A guilty smile forms on his lips as he says, "Bro."

"I've had a shit day and I'm tired, Bex. What's up? I don't need it to be any worse."

"I wanted to say sorry," his head dips, kicking at gravel on the floor.

"Sorry like the thousands of other times?" I respond, putting my hands in my pocket.

"Bray, I really am so—"

"No." I raise my hand. "I'm done with your sorrys, Bexley. All I wanted was one night, only one goddamn night, and you couldn't even give me that. One night with my brother."

I take my hands out of my pockets and run them through my hair, gripping the strands while Bexley's eyes grow heavy, observing my distressed state. "Seriously, Bex, we're nineteen. When have we ever gone to the bar together and just had a drink? When do we ever spend quality time as twins? It would have been nice if you had at least contacted me to say you couldn't make it, but you didn't answer my calls or texts. Fuck, even Kal and Tray thought you were coming." With a mixture of guilt and empathy in his eyes, he flickers his gaze between mine, his brows furrowing.

"I put everything into you, Bex, every single part of me. I gave, and I gave and gave time and time again and I never expect anything in return, but for once I just wanted this one thing. I reached out to you every day. Day after day, I waited with my door open, praying for you to come back to me." My hands fall and hit my thighs with a smack.

"I love you, Bex. I'll always fucking love you, but I'm done breaking myself for you. I'm completely drained from obsessing over where you are and what you're up to. You're fucking up my life and drowning me from the inside. I have nothing left to give Bex. I can't do it anymore. I need to close the door."

Bexley frowns and avoids eye contact, chewing on his bottom lip and tilting his head. He keeps flicking the lighter in his hand over and over.

"Bu—but what about BB for life? Brayden and Bexley?" His eyes are glassy as they stare back at me. It's hard for me to admit, but I need some time alone to clear my thoughts.

"BB hasn't existed for a long time, Bex. When you chose drugs over me, that's when it all ended. It stopped when we were twelve."

I turn and walk away, unable to face him again. The feeling of tightness in my chest comes back and my vision blurs. Following my therapist's advice, I close my eyes and take controlled deep breaths. The sensation of pins and needles moves up my legs while I'm still walking, making it more difficult for me to continue.

I switch from walking to jogging as I hurry to reach the gym, confident that once I arrive, I can release all my worries and clear my mind of Bexley.