18. Bohdi

Chapter eighteen

Bohdi

D espite my temptation to drink the bottle at my desk earlier, I chose not to because of my afternoon classes. I hate relying on alcohol to take the edge off and I'm more than aware that it's wrong, but it's the only thing that helps. I can't win. When I consume an excessive amount of alcohol, I find myself consumed by darkness and haunted by thoughts of Jace, but when I abstain completely, it becomes suffocating. I often believe my drinking isn't excessive enough to be considered a problem, but if I'm drinking to alleviate stress, isn't that problematic on its own?

I'm relieved that my day is done, I can go home and indulge in more glasses of my favorite evil juice. I notice my eyes wandering toward the chair Brayden usually occupies. There's a part of my mind that longs for his presence, staring at me with the same expression from earlier. Another part of me is screaming to let go and stop fixating on him altogether.

I can't though and as much as I need to, I don't want to.

Without even realizing it, my phone is in my hand again and the Instagram app is open. Instead of feeling anxious, Brayden's face unexpectedly brings a sense of calm over me.

Once again, I see the red-orange circle around his picture, but I pause before clicking on it.

He can see when I watch him.

Fuck it.

I've done it once. What's the harm in a second time?

I click it and it's someone with his phone recording him and Kal doing tricks on the ice. Kal and Brayden are impressively showcasing their skills by passing the puck to each other in midair. In another video, around six seconds in, Kal drops the puck and Brayden lifts his helmet up, winking at Kal with a smirk that makes my insides flip. The following image is a video of Brayden at the gym, lifting weights a few hours later. His toned arms in a tank top have captured my attention completely. A rush of excitement floods through me as I watch the muscles flex with each lift. With a focused expression and slightly flushed face, he lifts the weights in each arm, causing his biceps to grow with each curl. This was only posted fifteen minutes ago. I wonder if he's still there. I prefer not being in the gym when the whole team is present, but from the mirror's reflection, it appears only Trayton was there. A wave of exhilaration courses through me as I think about seeing him again, and I embrace the anticipation. I don't think about it, and I don't freak out about it. I let it go as I rise from my desk, knowing I have my gym gear in my locker. I grab my keys and walk out of the classroom. I need to release some tension after today, anyway.

The gym is eerily quiet as I step inside. I scan the area, expecting to find people among the machines, but it's empty. Making my way toward the boxing gym doors, I open the door and am greeted by the sound of heavy breathing and the rhythmic thuds of fists meeting bags as I open them. Initially, I thought there were at least three people here based on the noises, but upon scanning the area, I only see one person in the corner.

One shirtless person.

Brayden.

I silently approach him, avoiding any sudden movements to observe him for a while longer. Brayden strikes the bag with remarkable speed, faster than most people I've seen. His swift and forceful strikes reverberate across the gym, giving the impression of multiple people pummeling bags, yet it's solely him.

And now me, secretly, the way I wanted it.

With each strike, Brayden's breathing grows harsher and sweat continues to stream down his chiseled body, effortlessly revealing the rippling muscles beneath his flawless exterior. His strength is palpable and his presence commanding attention from anyone that could catch a glimpse of his chiseled form.

I'm trying to convince myself to look elsewhere, but I'm unable to do so. I proceed to explore his body further, taking note of the loose gray sweatpants on his hips. My gaze wanders across his back and the air gets caught in my throat as a tingling sensation begins in my dick. All I can do is envision my hands gliding over his strong muscles, longing to feel their firmness. I move closer to him, as if being drawn by an invisible force, while Brayden moves in a circle now sideways on. Without warning, he comes to a halt and snatches the punch bag to halt its movement. Glancing sideways, his darkening swirls meet mine, and his shoulders rise rapidly as he takes deep breaths. It's as if the world moves beneath me as our stare connects. His usual backward baseball cap is missing. His disheveled dark hair indicates that he has recently showered, but I know that's only from him sweating profusely. Dark shadows frame his blue eyes, while a few wet strands hang over his face. I can't resist the urge to let my gaze wander downward, taking in his clear and untouched skin. My eyes can't help but track the sweat droplets that shimmer on his glistening skin, emphasizing his well-defined form. My eyes widen as I admire his sculpted vee, a result of his hard work in both hockey and the gym. A solitary strand of hair stands alone in the center, beginning below his navel and vanishing under his sweatpants. I swiftly redirect my gaze to make eye contact with him before it can descend.

As the room remains dimly lit, his chest rises and falls quickly, his eyes never leaving mine, his breathing loud and heavy. Sweat drips down his forehead, shimmering in the low light. His eyes reveals his determination. His focus is intense. Despite appearing disheveled, he exudes a raw sense of power. He appears as if he's on the verge of releasing a flood of emotions with his clenched jaw and tense muscles.

The rawness in his expression creates a sense of vulnerability that pulls me in. His eyes, incredibly blue and full of emotion, reveal a hidden depth within him. It's as if he is baring his soul, exposing himself completely to me.

In that moment, I realize the strength in his vulnerability, the power in his imperfections. Despite his sweaty and disheveled appearance, he remains confident and determined. I'm captivated by the complexity of this kid, the way his vulnerable eyes furrow as they watch me, yet the strength in his body when he clenches his fist.

I find myself wanting to get lost in him.

"Sir." His curious voice snaps me out of my observation.

"Brayden," I rasp, my voice baring all my emotions, yet I'm too consumed by him to mind. As we both take in a lung full of air, our eyes remain locked on each other. My eyes drop to his lips, his full fucking lips. The lips that devour without mercy. His tongue slips out, causing me to stumble over my words as I shift my gaze back to him, only to find that he's not looking at me anymore. Instead, his eyes are fixated on my slightly parted lips, as if inhaling through my nose has become too difficult. His piercing look lazily meets mine.

Our lustful trance is broken by a noise in the distance, causing us to snap back to reality.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Stiles." Trayton's voice resounds throughout the gym.

"Have you come to get some tips off the youngsters?" Brayden's scoff makes me grin as I raise an eyebrow at Trayton, who has joined me.

"Mr. Stiles would have you on your ass in three seconds flat." Brayden says, eyeing Trayton.

"What makes you so certain?" Trayton scans me from head to toe, as if trying to gauge me. Despite being only an inch shorter than me at 6ft 3, Trayton is just as broad.

"I just know," Brayden says, as he turns toward the gym bag and keeps throwing punches. I don't think it would be as easy as Brayden makes out, but the compliment makes me puff my chest a little. I clear my throat,

"I will leave you boys to it." I offer Trayton a smile, keeping my lips sealed, then shift my gaze to Brayden, who is no longer interested in me. The only thing he's paying attention to is the bag that moves back and forth in front of him.

I retreat, moving toward a bag at the other side of the gym, and as I reach it, I can't resist checking over my shoulder.

Brayden stares straight at me. A slight smirk playing on his lips.

Why do I feel like this kid will be the death of me?

Trayton's voice echoes across the gym hall, pulling me away from my workout. "See you in class, Teach!" he shouts. I quickly glance at the wall clock. It feels like I've been in here for hours, even though it's only been fifty minutes.

With a wave to Trayton, I quickly wipe the sweat off my head. I take a quick glance at Brayden, who is using the jumping rope.

This kid has got some stamina.

I approach him, attempting to maintain eye contact, despite my mind's temptation to glance lower.

"Don't you think you have done enough for today?" I say as I reach him, raising an eyebrow.

He throws the jumping rope aside and says, "Yeah," between gasps for air. "I have to go back to my dorm and take a shower." He takes a towel from his bag and uses it to wipe his face. Evidence of his hard workout can be seen in the wet patches on the floor.

"Rough day?" I question him. His tense and fatigued demeanor hints at something weighing on his mind or an event that took place today. The sparkle in his eye from earlier is no longer vibrant.

As he sighs, he grabs his top and pulls it over his head, saying, "Long story."

"I'll walk you back to your dorm. You can tell me on the way." He suddenly stops and swiftly turns, tilting his head sideways.

"I was drunk last night. I'm good now. You don't have to walk me to my dorm."

I give a casual shrug, but on the inside, I'm anything but calm. I can't help but find reasons to be near him because he brings clarity to my mind, and I've missed that feeling of lightness.

"I want to know what's got my student hitting a boxing bag like he's trying to tear his way through it."

On a sigh, Brayden laughs. "OK," he eventually responds, then hoists his bag onto his shoulder.

Once we're outside, we walk at a snail's pace to his dorm, which is only a 5-minute walk. I feel relieved he doesn't seem in a hurry to distance himself from me.

"So, talk to me."

"Take a guess." He sighs, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Your brother," I state, eyeing him. He bites his lip, nodding.

"Yep."

"What did he do this time?"

"Apologized."

I frown, confused about why apologizing is a problem for him.

"Rightttt," I drag out. "What is the issue there?"

"I could have become rich if I had been given a dollar every time he said sorry. I've had enough of him consistently screwing up and assuming an apology will make it right. I'm sick of fighting my way up and using all my energy to put him up high on a pedestal and him letting me down each time." I remember last night what he said on the stairs. "I put all my energy into him, and he gives me nothing back. I'm sick of it."

His eyes remain locked on the sidewalk, never lifting his gaze.

"Did he call you?"

"No, he turned up at training. I said a few things which are now flooding me with guilt, but it had to be said."

"Does the gym help when you're feeling this way?" I want to keep him talking instead of focusing on Bexley. As he says, he uses enough energy on that boy when he doesn't even appreciate it.

"Yeah, a lot. It clears my mind." I understand that feeling and nod in agreement. The moment my fist meets the bag, a bubble is created, isolating me from everything else. Every negative thought in my mind travels through my bones, my hands, and into the bag. It's as if I can physically attack and eliminate all negative thoughts.

After continuously staring at the ground, he finally raises his eyes and peers up at me. "Is that why you go there?" he says.

"Yep." I respond. I don't want him prying into my messed up thoughts, so I divert my attention as we approach his building entrance. I open the door, letting him enter first before following him inside. He frowns at me. "I'll walk you up to your door," I say, stepping ahead slightly, hoping he doesn't ask why. I can't let him know how much I enjoy being around him. He will find that weird, surely.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something." Jogging a few steps, he struggles to keep up with me as I bound up the stairs.

"Shoot," I reply. Brayden casually places his hands in his sweatpant pockets as we reach the top, but I catch the uneasiness in his quick sideways glance at me.

When we reach his dorm door, I face him. "Brayden?"

"Er, yeah . . . " He scratches the back of his head. "The coach might have informed you about my grades decreasing, and I'm sure you're aware that I can't afford to let them decline." I make eye contact with him and give a nod.

"According to Coach, taking an additional class will be the only way to get them back up." I nod again, unsure of where this is headed.

"I was looking at the college's website today and noticed that it mentioned you also teach business management classes?" Ah, yes, he's right. I am scheduled to start that in the upcoming semester.

"Not this semester, but I will eventually. I think they are starting next." His shoulders slump in a disappointed manner as he nods.

"No worries," he says, placing his hand on his door. As he says, "I'll see you in class."

All I can focus on is the sickening feeling, observing his lack of happiness and hopefulness. He's unhappy now, and it's my fault, which is not acceptable.

My hand lays over his, that is on the door handle, and I blurt out, "I will run the class for you." Brayden stares down at my hand on top of his and I quickly snatch it away. I'm trying my best to ignore the tingling sensation that moves up my arm.

"Sorry."

He shakes his head, gazing down at his hand, rubbing it as if my touch physically burned him. "It's OK. What do you mean, you will run them for me?" With his head raised and a frown on his face, he directs his questioning gaze straight at me.

"It will mean after-school time." Clearing my throat, I continue, "Meeting me in the classroom at five on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays and I'll teach the business management to you."

"Are you serious? You'd do that for me?" he asks, his brows raised in shock.

"If my student needs help, then I will help them. It's as simple as that." I shrug. "See you in class tomorrow." I give Brayden a tight-lipped smile. I walk away, close my eyes, and inhale deeply.

I will help my students with whatever they need help with during school hours.

Brayden, however, is the only one I would help, whether it be ten at night or four in the morning and I have to make sure he never realizes that. My mind and body resist leaving Brayden, as I feel that same invisible tie once more, as I did last night and at the gym today. Pulling me, wanting me to look his way. When I reach the end of the hall and turn the corner, I quickly glance behind me. Brayden isn't looking at me. In front of his dorm room, he stands, fixated on his hand.

I wonder if he experienced the same sensation, signaling it's not only me.