8. Bohdi

Chapter eight

Bohdi

I can't say that ice hockey has ever been my thing. I'm a massive soccer fan, but Denny persuaded me to come to tonight's game. He said it's good to get an understanding of my students when they're in their element.

His wasn't wrong because this is fucking amazing watching them. They all work incredibly well together. I can also see why they call Brayden Quake. I never knew about this until Denny was telling me on the phone earlier and was getting way too excited about me seeing his star player in action. I hate to say, I was slightly too intrigued to see it myself. I can tell he has an attitude about him, but he comes alive on the ice. He's quiet in class, but on the ice it's his home. He glows out there, but my heart has been in my stomach watching him play, the way he skates circles around the other team. They don't even know what to do with him. They are a puck to him; he simply plays with them how he wants.

I was warned about his temper and was disappointed to see it come to blows on the ice. I don't know what caused it, but one minute, he was in game focus; the next he was fouled, and he got up. I see him walk away, but then in the blink of an eye, it all changed. He grabbed the guy's helmet, yanked it off, and slammed his head into the side of the rink before pouncing on him and pummeling him on the floor. Something set him off, and I can't stand how much I want to know what it was. I don't know why I'm so intrigued by this kid, but it's fucking annoying.

I wait for Denny to come out, and when he does, it appears he's aged.

"Great game," I wince, slapping him on his shoulder.

"Let's not go there. I got to go find his brother. He's on a rampage in there." Denny sighs out, moving past me before I can ask what he means.

"Wait up. What do you mean by his brother? I thought you have never seen him before. And what happened out there? He was playing great from the looks of it." I jog to keep up with Denny, who is moving through people, his eyes moving over the crowd at a quick pace.

"Denny," I shout as we get squeezed between people leaving the stadium.

"Boh, do me a favor find a kid who resembles Brayden exactly. When you do, Grab him," he repeats before pushing more people aside. I shift to the side and let my eyes scan the crowd, but I don't spot anyone resembling Brayden. I continue moving and keep my eyes on the surrounding people. By the time the crowd begins to thin, I still don't see anyone matching Brayden's description, and I don't see Denny. I assume Denny has gone back to the changing rooms, so I head back but then bump into someone exiting the public toilets.

"Sorry, man," I mutter as I brush past him.

"No problem," the deep voice replies, but it's not the voice that has me stopping. It's the dark floppy hair that shadows over porcelain white skin. Black-rimmed eyes that hide the bright blue I know those eyes can shine.

"Bray—" I stop myself, realizing one thing already. This is definitely Brayden's brother, and I know what he was up to in those toilets if his half-lidded eyes and the way he stands there, swaying slightly, staring at me—more as if staring through me—are any indication. He's high. High as a fucking kite. Will he even remember the game? Is this the reason Brayden kicked off on the ice? Did someone say something to him about his brother? Is that why Denny is searching for his brother? Because Brayden needs him.

Not like this, he doesn't.

I grab the boy by the arm and drag him down the hall toward the doors.

"Hey," he puts up a pathetic protest and barely has the strength to put up even the slightest of a fight. Once, the iron doors slam behind me, and it's only me and him on the quiet sidewalk, from where everyone has disappeared, no doubt to the bar. I push him up again against the wall. His head rolls back, bouncing off the brick. But right now, I don't care. He fucked it for his brother today. Brayden may not think about it, but he did. Denny told me there were scouts and his brother would have been fine if he hadn't turned up. He winces, but his eyes blink slowly while gazing up at me, towering over him.

"You're going to listen up now," I grit out, already sensing my temper slip. "You're going to take your mess of a self-home and fix up before you see Brayden. When you see him, you make up a piss-poor excuse for why you had to go. He isn't seeing you in that state. You got it?" His eyes lazily shift between mine before he huffs out a laugh.

"I'll see my brother whenever I want, old man. You ain't stopping me." My resolve slips slightly as I grip his neck in a tight grip and bring myself nose to nose with him. His scrawny hand scratches at mine, trying to get me to loosen his neck, but I don't; if anything, I squeeze tighter. His eyes go wider. I know I'm projecting my own issues right now, but I need to make him understand what addiction can do to the people that love you.

"You listen here, and you listen fucking good. Your brother he could go places. You? You won't. You hear me? All the time you're being you, he won't because he won't leave you. You will drag him into your dark, sad life and remove all the good in him. Is that what you want for your brother? You want him to have the life you have?" I let my eyes dance between him and raise my eyebrows at him for him to answer me. I see it in his eyes, though. The small fight he was trying with me, slips from him right in front of me. His half-lidded eyes turn downcast as he stops tearing at my hand. As if he would be happy for me to take his final breath right here. I loosen my hand and let go of his neck altogether. He takes a few deep gasps and rubs his neck but avoids meeting my gaze. He keeps his eyes on the floor and pulls at the scraggly broken fabric around the wrists of his old sweater.

"Everything." He stops talking and slowly lifts his head, raising his head higher, giving off a false sense of bravery. "Everything I have done in our life was for my brother. I would rather take my last breath right here than Brayden ever have to live a single minute of the life I do." And with that, he shoulders past me and walks away.

"You don't think him seeing you live your life like this isn't chipping away at him day by day. He's living this life with you, whether or not you want that!" I shout. He stops, his shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn around; He walks again. This time, his head is lower than it ever was.

I pace back through the building and end up back in near the rink when I see Denny come from around the corner.

"Did you find him?" he asks, appearing more stressed than ever. I shake my head.

"No," Denny might think bringing Brayden's brother to him is going to help. But bringing his brother, who is high as a kite, to the locker room in front of his friends will not help. It's going to make Brayden feel even shittier than he already does. He just potentially put a strain on his future, all for what? A brother who can't stay sober for a couple of fucking hours.

"Brayden is in a bad way. And if he doesn't get his fucking head together. He is going to ruin any fucking future he has in hockey," Denny bellows out, throwing a puck at the floor. Denny turns away from me, walking back to the changing room, and I automatically follow him, wondering what I'm going to see when I walk through those doors. Denny stops at the door before opening it. "The boy has a nasty mouth when he gets in these moods. Try to ignore it while here, in the changing rooms."

"I can handle a few bullshit words. You know me." I smirk at him. He knows full well I wasn't the easiest kid growing up. He huffs, closing his eyes and takes inhaling deeply before kicking the changing room door open with force. Sometimes I don't understand how he isn't completely gray. The stress these kids put him through.

As we reach the doors to the locker rooms. Denny stops and turns around.

"Remember, you're not in the classroom here, Boh. Whatever you see or whatever he might say doesn't go against him in the classroom." Den seems worried. I know he is protective of his boys. He makes out they do his head in, but he loves them, and the joke is, he talks about these kids more than he does his own. I nod quickly.

"Of course. I'm here as Bohdi. Not Mr. Stiles today, Den." We both walk in and it's silent. His players sit there, now dressed, staring down at the floor. All their kits packed away.

"Boys," Denny says in a stern voice, as if he hadn't been running the halls moments ago, frantically trying to find the one thing he thinks his player needs. I scan each kid, and when my eyes land on Brayden. Still in his hockey gear, my heart breaks a little. His head is cast down, staring at the floor at his broken stick. Kal sits beside him, staring down at the same spot, while Trayton sits on the other side of Brayden, flipping a coin, staring up at me blankly.

Brayden's head slowly rises, and confusion mares his face the minute he sees me. I can see the devastation on his face, but most of all. I see hurt; he is trying to mask it with anger, but I see it. I see him.

"You good?" I softly whisper, holding his stare. He frowns, as if he doesn't understand why I'm here or why I'm asking, then gently nods and casts his eyes back down. Denny begins going into a speech, telling them everything was perfect until it wasn't. Each player hangs their head in shame as if what Brayden had done, they have all done. It's clear they're a team. They don't blame Brayden; they don't even seem angry with Brayden. They all take the blame for what happened, and it makes me realize why Den respects them so much.

"You can all go. Brayden, I want to talk in my office when you're changed." Den shouts while everyone gets up and walks past Brayden, slapping him on the shoulder. I hear whispering and glance to my left to see Kal kneeling down between Brayden's legs, talking to him. Brayden doesn't look at Kal, but Kal keeps whispering to him. I catch on to a few of the words, and it's clear Kal thinks the world of Bray.

"Don't lose your cool. Listen to what Coach has to say." Kal whispers "You killed it today. Don't let one small fuck up ruin the entire season." His hands land with a slap on Brayden's shoulder. "Come find me after, OK?" He finishes before standing up and walking toward the doors and past me.

"Professor," Kal nods at me and drops his head quickly. It's as if he is shy or scared of me. I can't quite work out which one it is yet.

"What did I say about, Professor?" I mutter as he walks past.

"Sorry, Mr. Stiles," he says bluntly, with his back to me as he carries on walking, which is weird, but whatever. Trayton stands there frowning at the back of Kal's head and then swings his attention at me before subtly nodding and walking off. I can see Trayton pick up the pace to come beside Kal and whispers to him. I'm not taking it personally; they have been through a lot tonight. When I turn back, Brayden is nowhere to be seen, I assume he has gone into the office. I won't interrupt. I sit down where Kal was sitting and wait. I hear a door open about ten minutes later and out walks Denny. The stress was clear in his face, the frown lines across his head, with a fixed scowl. The bloodshot, tired eyes, and the darkening circles that surround them.

"I'll meet you at the bar in a little while," I say as Denny approaches me. He frowns, his eyes flickering back to where he just came from, and then back to me. I smile and nod at him again, showing it's OK. "I'll be two minutes." Denny finally nods and leaves without another word. Brayden turns the corner and stops in his tracks.

"I know I wasn't in class today. I had something to deal with, I don't nee—"

"I'm not here for class. I'm not Mr. Stiles tonight, Brayden. I'm just Bohdi. Pretend you don't even know me right now." Where I'm going with this, I don't know, and why I'm even sitting here. I still don't fucking know. Something draws me to this boy, it's as if I can see him drowning and I need to save him. He lets out a deep sigh and moves beside me, opening his locker and grabbing his clothes. "Look, I'm tired. I don't know what you want me to say. I got a temper on the ice. Everyone knows it got the best of me tonight, I guess."

"It wasn't anything else that made you switch in that moment? You were about to take a shot that even I know would have gone in. What made you drop the stick and pummel that guy?"

"Why do you want to know?" he shoots back.

"Curious, I guess." Brayden grabs more of his clothes in his hand, still in his hockey gear, and turns to walk away. He stops and turns around.

"Sir." His scratchy voice, as if he is beyond tired, breaks through the silence. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, it won't work with me. Just leave it and leave me, OK," he says, and not even in a rude way, but in a tired and fed-up manner as though he's given up on everything, including hockey. I don't push because what can I say? Why am I even here? Why do I even care? I don't know, that's the thing. The only thing I know is that seeing Brayden sad chips away at me.

I don't like it.

I really don't fucking like it.