4. Bohdi

Chapter four

Bohdi

I forcefully slam my glass on the bar and motion to the bartender to pour me another. Denny told me to get here at eight; I'm thirty minutes early and already on my second drink. Today was good, but despite everything, when the day was over, I still carried the weight of a boulder that seemed impossible to remove. Typically, drinking can provide some relief, but I can't use it as a permanent escape. Today was my first day; I'm celebrating, right?

Seeing that kid set me back a bit. He doesn't resemble Jace or behave the way Jace did, but it's his eyes. They are the exact same color. Similar to mine, but more crystal-clear. It messed with my head. I found myself wanting to know him more: does he enjoy the same things Jace did? My thoughts were all over the place, and I couldn't help but cringe. This is a fresh start for me. I need to let things progress naturally. It's expected that I'll still be thinking about him. He was my nephew, and although there were eleven years between us, he was my best friend.

I find myself fixating on the beer that was brought to me a couple of minutes ago. A sigh escapes my lips as I run my fingers through my wavy hair, now sticking up in unruly tufts instead of neatly styled. Do I really want to drink this and let my mind plague more thoughts of Jace? No, I can't stand it because it's torturous and gradually wears me down.

A firm hand grips my shoulder, pulling me back from the dark depths of my thoughts.

"Bohdi, my man."

"Denny," I say as I slide my untouched beer his way. "I got you a beer ready." Denny's face lights up as he grabs the beer.

"Five-star service, you can stay," he playfully teases, takes a big gulp, and leaves a white froth on his upper lip before wiping it clean. I gesture to the bartender once more and request a soda.

Denny raises his eyebrow, halting his glass in midair. "Not drinking?" he says before taking a second big sip, leaving the glass more than half empty. This guy can drink.

"I've had a couple. I got some papers to sort, ready for tomorrow; the hangovers don't leave as quickly as they used to. Turning forty last month, it all went downhill." The lie and excuse roll off my tongue effortlessly. I even believe it myself. However, that's not the reason, is it? It's because I crawl myself into this dark cave where the remains of my shattered soul lie, waiting to feel whole again, but I don't think it ever will.

"I hear you, brother. My back got strained when I was shouting at my players the other day. Make it make sense." He sighs while rolling his eyes. I burst into laughter when I think of him coaching and shouting, because it's not only his mouth involved. Denny expresses himself a lot with his hands and arms.

"How was the first day? Any kids test you. We have some right dicks in that place," he declares, finishing his drink and signaling the bartender for another. Suppressing a laugh, I shake my head in disbelief. Denny always speaks his mind, but the truth is, those guys are some of his players whom he loves, like his own children.

"Na, they were good. They're kids. You have to expect them to be dicks sometimes." My mind immediately recalls Jace at eighteen, sneaking around and causing trouble behind his father's back. To this day, there are things I saved him from that his dad has no knowledge of. We always kept it as our little secret. Even though you're not considered a kid at eighteen, boys still behave like children.

"My boys are always dicks, but sometimes I need them to be, makes them play better."

"Do players often end up with many black eyes?" I question remembering Brayden's black eye in class. Denny halts his glass in midair, lifts an eyebrow at me, and proceeds to fix his stare on me for a brief moment.

"I am a hockey coach, not a ballet coach. Having black eyes is the least of their concerns," he utters before taking another sip of his drink. Nodding, I sip my soda.

His face crinkles into a frown as he asks, "Why did you ask that?"

"That kid—Brayden. His black eye was pretty bad." Denny audibly sighs and nods repeatedly in agreement, acknowledging how severe his black eye was.

"Brayden Anders," he mutters, visibly unsettled by the mere mention of his name. "The only kid to make me want to hug him and scream with rage all at once." He sighs again. While holding the glass, he gestures toward me. "This kid will push every limit of your patience."

"Don't let him skate rings around you, Boh. If he's slacking in class, kick him up the ass." My head tilts back, eyebrows arching up to my hairline.

"When have I ever let anyone skate rings around me, Den?" He brings his hands out in front of him as a surrender.

"Just watch him. Don't get me wrong, I consider him to be my top player, and I have love for him. He's an absolute beast when it comes to playing on the ice. His rage can be both detrimental and advantageous, but when it works in his favor, he becomes unstoppable." He stares absentmindedly ahead, a faint smile forming on his face, as if Brayden's play is unfolding before him, but then the smile fades away slowly. "Something is brewing beneath him, but not in a good way. Even though he's quiet around me, I make sure to watch him because the dean shared a few things with me."

This piques my interest. For what reason? I can't quite figure it out, but there's something intriguing about this kid. I want to know more about him.

"What did the dean say?" I immediately question. Denny moves nearer.

"You can't say anything." Pausing, he drinks the last of his second beer in the last ten minutes.

"His home life is quite bad. His mom is an alcoholic and drug addict, I believe. He's also a twin. I know that from one of the other teachers, but I don't know who or where the twin is." He shrugs before continuing, "I asked Brayden about him, but he said he decided to work and not continue his education."

Denny scans the bar as if he has something else to say but doesn't want anyone to overhear. He leans down and gestures for me to come closer. I lean forward, eager to hear. "I heard from someone that his brother is a drug addict, similar to the mother." I inhale sharply, and Denny raises his hand in defense. "Now, it could be hearsay, I don't know, but there's something in Brayden's eyes that indicates he's seen it all. He's too young to have that expression already. I'm concerned. I try to keep an eye on him, but he's incredibly withdrawn."

Denny rubs his eyes before saying, "I need to stop drinking now and take a page out of your book, I think. Soda, please." He raises his hand to the bartender.

Dread floods my thoughts. A dysfunctional household, with a drug-addicted mother and brother. It triggers thoughts of the one person I never wanted to remember. My nephew's murderer, my nephew's half fucking brother. The child, victimized and neglected by his drug-addicted mother and her despicable pimps. His life shaped him into the monster who took my best friend from me.

"To clarify, you've never seen the twin?" I'm desperate to understand what's happening here.

"To my knowledge, no teachers have. It's quite a mystery. I assume he's not as smart as Brayden and couldn't secure a scholarship at Hawksview." Denny's frown deepens as he examines the glass before him, as though it holds the answers. I have a thousand questions to ask.

"He's a scholar?" It's bad to think this way, but the smart kids typically stand out. I didn't get that impression from Brayden. Inwardly whistling, Denny tilts his head toward me.

"Not only is he my star player, but he also boasts some of the best grades at the college. Well, had the best grades. Something is going on with him. More than it normally is. Lately, he's been slacking a lot more. I'm requesting all teachers to provide me with a monthly report on him and his work next week. I need him to keep it up. Losing this scholar is not an option, and losing him from my team is not an option either. I refuse to lose him."

My attention drifts as I nod, my eyes focused on my soda. Too many damn questions and not a single answer. What is it about this kid that compels me to dig deep and reveal the truth by peeling away each layer that he hides himself with?

We don't need another James in this society.

We don't need another monster.

"Bohdi, help me, help me!" The echo of a piercing scream fills every corner of my house. It's Jace. He needs me.

I keep screaming, "Jace!" as I open door after door, but his voice fades with each door I open. Since when did my house have so many goddamn doors?

The longer time moves, panic courses through me. "Fuck!" I scream, finding myself opening doors I have already opened.

A sense of dread washes through me as it becomes increasingly difficult to swallow, wondering where Jace is. "Jace, where are you?"

Harder to breathe.

"Here, Bohdi. I'm right here." His voice cracks at the end. He's no longer panicked but sad, as if he doesn't see a way out. But where is he?

"Please hold on, Jace." In desperation, I pull my hair and open every door, crying out for help. He's not here.

"Jace." I spin on the spot, not knowing what to do, but that's when I see it.

Blood. So much blood. It seeps through underneath the front door. Slowly flooding my floor. My heart beats erratically. It's attempting to shatter my chest. I approach the door with hesitation. My shoes sink into the blood that continues to flow from under the door, causing me to wince. Holding my breath, I extend my hand, uncertain of what I will encounter. Opening the door, I am met with the sight of a hooded figure, standing with legs slightly apart, arms and hands hanging down. But I don't see Jace. Only more blood. This time, it drips from his fingers. His gray hoody is no longer gray, but red.

"Where is he?" Rage and panic take over. "Where's my fucking nephew?" I charge toward the hooded figure.

I know who it is. It's him.

"James!" I shout, my voice echoing, as I forcefully grip him and shake him. However, a deranged laughter envelops me as he slowly raises his gaze, causing everything around me to halt.

It's not James.

"No!" My voice trembles, shaking my head from side to side. "No!" I gasp again.

His face twists into a malicious grin. "Jace is gone, Bohdi, and he's not coming back."

"Brayden?"

***

As I gasp, I soar upward and my vision gradually becomes clear. My eyes wander around the room while my head sways back and forth.

"It was a dream, it was a dream," I repeat to myself. Adjusting my legs and placing them on the edge of the bed, my slippery, slick skin sticking to the sheet beneath me. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I wipe the sweat off my face with my hands. The moment I open my bedside cabinet, I quickly find what I am searching for. Jace's picture in a black frame. The sight of him makes me sick with grief that I have to hide his picture in my bedside cabinet, but sometimes I need him. I need to see him. I lock eyes with him.

It's going to be OK.