7. Brayden

Chapter seven

Brayden

E veryone waits for the coach to enter the locker room. The tension ramps up for me every minute that goes by. Kal paces the length of the dressing room in front of me. His head cast down and his eyes harsh on the floor as if the bare sight of it disgusts him. He's game-ready, but anyone from a mile away can see the nerves that strum through us, and we aren't even meant to know about the scouts. King flips his lucky coin in his hand, staring into space. The locker room is deadly silent. I get my headphones out of my pocket and get myself into my zone. I can't start a game day without listening to my song. "We Will Rock You" by Queen, blasts through my headphones as I let my head slip back against the locker and I close my eyes. Every time I listen to this song, it takes me back to the good days. Days when Mom was sober, and not drunk, or on drugs. A day, we would wake up, and she would have breakfast at the table waiting for us. "We Will Rock You" was Mom's favorite song. The song used to blast through the trailer every day sometimes. On the good days, Mom would play air guitar with Bex and me. When we were fully immersed in the groove, we would stand on the kitchen table and strum the guitars. These were the days when our beautiful mom would gaze at us as if we were her sunshine.

I still don't know what went wrong. We were eight years old with a great life and an even greater mom. Then the next thing I know, we were nine years old, and our mom was no longer our mom; she was a shell of the woman she was before. Life was easier. Not like this morning when I woke up to a message from someone in the trailer park telling me there had been trouble at my mom's trailer again. This is happening way too much. When I arrived, everything was eerily silent, no one was outside, everyone's doors were closed. When I entered the trailer, everything was trashed. Mom was locked in her bedroom and Bex was laying on the bed, covered in cuts and bruises. After cleaning up the trailer and Bex waking up, he told me there was some trouble with the guy he deals with. Karl is a piece of work and doesn't care about anything other than, alcohol, drugs and money. I ended up being there all morning cleaning Bex up, which caused me to miss morning classes. I still haven't had a chance to properly thank Kal and Tray for covering for me in class this morning.

Everything in my mind changes, and images of Bexley's sunken cheeks and soulless eyes flash in my mind. I played the song to him and did the air guitar while he lay there, staring at me as if I had lost my mind, his lips tipping up slightly, but he was too drugged up to care or move.

The days I would try to get my brother back, but he was already gone.

Then my eyes spring open as the claps and stomping filter through the headphones from the beat, and the reasons I need this so badly swarm to the front of my mind.

For Bexley. This is all for my twin brother.

The song ends and I pull my headphones out as Coach walks in, and we all stand up and huddle together. Coach gives us our usual prep talk, and we all slap each other's helmets and head toward the ice. The tension is thick, you could cut it with a knife the minute our skates hit the ice. My eyes glance over at the other team, who seem out for blood. I smile, baring my teeth through the helmet.

Good. Because I'm fucking thirsty.

Something happens to me the minute my skates touch the ice on game days. Something takes over my mind, almost as if a different version of me emerges. People say it's passion, and I guess it is, but the anger that fills me sometimes even shocks me.

I want blood when I'm on the ice.

I want to see people crumble before me.

I want to see them fucking shatter.

"Quake," Kal mutters, grabbing my attention as his stick hits the puck toward me. We warm up together as we always do, and then, before we know it, the game is about to start. Kal skates around me in a circle before smacking both of my knee pads with his stick.

"Remember Quake, sinking pucks, not fists," he says before hitting his helmet against my own. Kal is on the left wing, and King is the right wing. Me, I'm in center, and it's known that our line is the nightmare line. There are no three-line players out there that work better than me, Kal, and Tray together. I stand head-on with the other team's center with the puck in the middle of us. Mackey, who plays for Ice Hogs, stares back at me, his eyes brimming with hatred. I may or may not have let him suck my dick at a party one night last year and didn't bother to tell him that his girlfriend had walked in around two minutes prior to me coming down his throat. I still remember the horror on her face watching her boyfriend on his knees deep, throating my dick like a fucking pro. Of course, I didn't know it was his girlfriend until he stood and turned around, and she backhanded him around his face. I thought she only wanted to watch and, to be honest, it was hot as fuck. It absolutely made me come quicker. Safe to say, Mackey didn't find it as funny as I did when I was not subtly laughing while tucking my dick back in my jeans.

Apparently, I should have said something.

Who the fuck interrupts a blow job because someone decided they wanted to watch? His lips lift in a small smirk.

"You ain't shattering no one today," he subtly growls, his eyes on the puck the whole time.

"Really? Pretty sure your dad shattered right in front of me last night while my dick was—"

The moment the puck makes contact with the ice, I snatch it up with my stick. I don't hear what Mackey says as I breeze past him and pass the puck to Kal. I fly up the rink, swerving the opponent's defense as they try to bodycheck me. I smoothly sail past every player, effortlessly dancing around them as if they were under my control. This moment is when I come alive. It's the only time I am temporarily able to escape from all the negative shit in my life.

I'm me on the ice. Brayden "Quake" Anders.

I quickly shift my focus to the left and spot Kal swiftly advancing, I slide the puck over to him. Getting closer to the goal, his lightning-fast movements become more apparent next to me. I anticipate the opposing defense on Kal and can already predict the outcome. Kal also sees it coming, as the puck swiftly connects with my stick while three players trap Kal.

We're too quick for them.

The goal is in my line, and the goalie's eyes are fixed on the puck. I know for a fact that he doesn't stand a chance, and I believe he's aware of it, too. As I swing my stick back, our eyes briefly lock before I make contact. I strike the puck with all my strength, and it reaches the net before the goalie can react. Each leg pad is struck by Kal's sticks before he head-butts me using his helmet. It's a celebration that we share. My team is crowding around me, constantly tapping my shoulders and pulling me around.

"Bray!" I hear someone call out on the ice, and when I turn around, Kal nods toward the crowd. I quickly scan the crowd, following Kal's gesture, and then I spot it.

Me. But a broken version of me.

"Bexley," I whisper into the empty air. Uttering those words amplifies its reality. Bexley gazes at me intently; A smile I haven't seen in a long time appears on his face. Tears spring to my eyes instantly. While I may be uncertain about some things, I am familiar with the feeling of happiness. He's here.

He saw me score.

He's happy.

My eyes meet Kal's again, and he points at me and winks. No one knew about Bexley until a couple of years back when we were at a party, and he turned up high as a kite and paralytic drunk. I can still hear the gasps echoing in the room as they witnessed what seemed to be me, but wasn't. Word soon got around about Bexley and, as always, the truth come out. I had a twin who was a drug addict. It's safe to say that year I had more fights than I ever have had. I couldn't stand the name calling. It didn't last long. Some other gossip came along, which was more interesting. I don't know if all the teachers know about Bex. No one has said anything, except Coach. Coach knows he out right asked me. Coach doesn't hold back on anything. I told him I have a twin, yes, but I told him what I told everyone else that asked. He's a worker, didn't fancy going to college.

They don't need to know he's a worker, but an illegal one.

I have the excitement of a child wanting to show his father a new trick. My veins ignite with fire as I face Mackey, eagerly awaiting the puck to be released, knowing it will be mine without a doubt. I'm already moving past Mackey with the puck, not hearing anything he has to say. My eyes keep flicking up to Bex, who sits on the edge of his seat, watching my every move. A smile spreads across my face as we move nearer to the goal. The puck is passed between the three of us as we press ahead. I see Tray has an opening, and he doesn't waste it as he shoots the puck toward me. Before my stick meets it, something hard slams into me and my feet slid out from underneath me. I hit the ice hard and wince at the contact. I squeeze my eyes shut and a hiss through my teeth at the sharp pain shooting through my right arm. I open my eyes and Mackey stares down at me grinning with his teeth bared through the gaps in the helmet. He then glances up and I already know where he's staring. He stares right at Bexley. Soon enough everyone is swarming me, players are being shoved, Kal leans down, and his arm outstretched to pull me back up. When I do, me and Mackey come helmet to helmet, allowing them to smack off each other as we both shove each other's shoulders. I inhale staggered breaths as I think back to what Kal said

"Remember Quake, sinking pucks, not fists ." I clench my teeth and drift away from Mackey. I have to remember the scouts and what I'm doing this for. Before I skate away, Mackey's voice interrupts my internal thoughts.

"Your Bro is looking angry. Maybe he needs a hit." Everything in my vision goes blurry. I don't see the bright lights anymore. I see gray, surrounded by darkness as I turn on my skates to face Mackey.

"I'm sure I could spare a twenty if he sucks my dick good enough." One minute he's in front of me, the next his helmet is in one hand while the other grips the side of his head and smashes it against the wall of the rink.

The gray and darkness disappear.

Now all I see is red.

All I see is his blood.