12. Daemon

M y hands smudge the charcoal on the page, blending in the lines I just drew, yet still it isn’t right. I try to correct them, but it only makes it worse, and the anger already burning inside of me intensifies tenfold. What the fuck am I even doing here? Tossing down the charcoal, I slam my sketchbook closed, no doubt making the image even worse, and reach for my cup of green tea as I glance around the cafe. I don’t normally come here during the week, it’s not part of my routine, and it feels weird to not only be here, but also to see it this quiet.

Aside from me there is only one other person here, sitting in another one of the booths, and just one of the girls behind the counter. She greeted me with surprise when I came in, but was happy for me to take my usual order and go sit in my regular spot. I only started to draw to try and distract myself from why I’m here, and I shouldn’t be here, I know that. I also know that I’m a fucking hypocrite, because why warn him away from me, and then turn around and accept an invitation from his sister?

I should be staying away from anyone with the last name Gray, but when Aurora messaged me and asked to meet for a coffee before she left, I had no reason to decline. The last few weeks we have talked almost daily, about everything from art to books we are reading, to the damn fucking weather, and outside of Josh, she feels like the first real friendship I have had in years. A friendship that is easy to maintain because it lives inside my phone without expectations, until tonight that is.

When I came out of practice earlier and she called my name, I wanted to go to her. I wanted to say more than just her name, but as soon as she called mine it was like we were in a fish bowl with everyone just watching us swim by. So I walked away, just like I have so many times before, and I thought that would be it. Yet not even an hour later, she sent me a text message asking me to meet her here, and I should've said no. I should have made up some excuse, or lied about being busy and maintained my distance from the fucking Gray family, yet here I sit.

Aurora is exactly like her brother in every way. She’s insistent and chaotic, yet she hides it in her art and quiet nature, in a way that Archer clearly never learned to manage. She’s also popular, outgoing, and talented in every way, just like her brother. They are my opposite in everything, yet for some reason Aurora and I have a connection through our art. She always takes an interest in what I am working on, and loves to share her own work and get my input and advice, and it makes me feel needed. She reminds me of my younger brother Ryan in a way, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I find myself leaning into that outstretched hand of friendship with her.

It’s nice to have someone, outside of my teachers, that looks at my work and understands it, appreciates it even. Especially when I can still remember the days when I would come home and my sketchbooks would be ripped and my paints completely trashed. My father used to say art was a pointless waste of time, as he made his own against my skin. Ironic now that his own impressions will live on forever as his final masterpiece, no matter how hard I try to forget about it.

The bell above the door jingles, pulling me from my thoughts, and when my eyes flick up, they meet the excited ones of Archer’s sister. She waves frantically, before heading to the counter and ordering something, and I quickly slip my sketchbook into my bag to make some space on the table for her. It feels kind of weird to meet up with her, when I don’t really know her that well in person, but I remember looking for someone to relate to in the art community when I was younger, and I had no one. I don’t want her to experience the same. It’s why I replied to her messages in the first place, it’s why I keep replying, it’s why I’m here now.

When she finally makes her way over, I stand, gesturing for her to take a seat, but instead she places her things on the table, and moves in closer to me. It takes me longer than usual to realize her intentions, given we are practically strangers, which means she is hugging me before I can stop her, and I freeze in place.

“Hi, Daemon,” she mumbles happily into my chest, before sensing my statue-like reaction, and pulling back with a frown.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a hugger,” I grit, trying to calm my now rapidly beating heart caused by her touch, and her face softens into a smile as she takes a seat across the booth.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I forget not everyone is as touchy feely as I am,” she replies with a shrug. “One of Everest’s best friends is the same, he hates anyone touching him,” she adds casually, probably not realizing how serious of an issue it actually is. “I swear, once I accidentally brushed Harden’s arm with mine and he lost his mind, it was crazy.”

I almost smile at that, because I understand him completely. When my home life became violent, anyone else’s touch would send me into a spiral, and I would be called all sorts of names like crazy, and though I manage it a lot better now, I still go out of my way not to be touched. Hockey is the only place I don’t avoid it, finding that with my base layer and jersey on, I can put up with it easily enough, but outside of that, I avoid it wherever possible. Even when I choose to fuck someone, it’s done with the intention of them not touching me, and me barely touching them. With one notable exception of course.

“Anyway, show me what you were working on before I got here.” Aurora cuts into my thoughts, nodding her head towards my bag, and I freeze as I reach for my tea.

“Who said I was working on anything?” I reply instantly, and she rolls her eyes in a way that reminds me so much of her brother.

“Your hands are completely stained in charcoal, and I can tell it’s fresh,” she muses, sipping her coffee with a smirk that I can’t help but return.

Artists know artists.

Not even bothering with any further denial, I reach into my bag for my sketchbook and hand it over to her. Her smile only widens in excitement, as she grabs it from me and instantly starts flicking through it, until she finds my latest creation. When she reaches it, she pauses, her eyes flying across the page at the half-drawn faceless man, her fingers brushing delicately along the lines. I’m not sure, from what I have so far, if she can tell that the object of this drawing is more than familiar to her, but I don’t bother pointing it out, not when I am still denying it myself.

“Daemon, this is amazing,” she praises, flicking her eyes from the drawing to me, and back again in disbelief. “Like, you are so talented it makes me crazy that you don’t show more people,” she adds with a shake of her head, studying every inch of the page like she is committing it to memory, and I’m almost certain I see a flicker of recognition flash across her stare.

“People and their opinions are overrated,” I muse, making her smile, and before she can start flicking through the rest of the book, I hold out my hand. “Come on, you know the rules, I show you mine, you show me yours,” I tell her, repeating the agreement we created, and her eyes light up with excitement, as she digs into her bag for her own sketchbook, passing it over to me.

As she flicks back to the beginning of mine, I open hers and come face to face with the thorn in my side. The first page is a fully finished and completely detailed picture of Archer, lounging by a pool with his head tipped back, as if he is looking up at the sky. She has captured him perfectly, from the lines of his body, to the edge of his jaw, it’s as accurate as a photograph, and if she wasn’t sitting across from me I would study it a lot longer. Yet I force myself to turn the page, coming across more sketches of different people, some of them familiar as I recognize them from her social media, and I know her talent is only going to get better as she gets older.

There are multiple sketches of her older brother, and I force myself not to linger, but still my eyes stay a little longer on his than the others. When I look up to find Aurora watching me, I see she is paused on yet another sketch that I could deny was inspired by her brother, but she isn’t blind, so I don’t say anything, not wanting to lie to her.

“Can I ask you something?” she questions, her eyes still on the sketch, and before I can even respond she adds, “My brother posted a very interesting photo the other day.” Her stare finally dancing up to meet mine, and there is a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “It was a picture of a bruise on his neck, that looked a lot like a hickey,” she muses, watching me closely, and once again my heart starts to race.

“Was there a question in there?” I ask carefully, and her smile only grows.

“Was it from you?” she asks boldly, not breaking my stare for even a second, and I know I should deny it. That no good can come of me admitting it, yet something inside calls at me to claim him. To let someone know that the mark he wore so fucking proudly for all his bullshit fans, was actually from the person who hates him most. It’s that thought that has me nodding slowly in confirmation. “Oh my freaking god, I knew it!” She squeals, bouncing up and down in her seat, and I can’t help but smile gently, her excitement infectious. “I just knew I sensed something between you two, and then when you and I talked on Halloween you mentioned a drunken hookup, and then Arch was asking these questions earlier to Diana at dinner, and ah, I just knew it, this is amazing.”

I listen to her ramble on, ingesting all her words, but only a few snag my attention. “What questions? And who the hell is Diana?” I interrupt without thinking, and Aurora pauses, looking at me with another kind of knowing smile.

“Diana is Nova’s mom. Archer and I had dinner with her before I came here,” she tells me gently, no doubt seeing the relief on my face before I slam my mask back into place. “And he was asking her if she ever experimented with the same sex in college, if she liked it, if she considered herself bisexual, you know, those kinds of questions,” she adds with a smirk, probably thinking such things would excite me as much as they do her, but they don’t, in fact, they do the opposite.

Fuck.

Trust Archer fucking Gray to kiss one guy and have a sexual crisis. Isn’t he a grade A, womanizing man whore? Why can’t he treat it as what it was, a drunken mistake, never to be repeated again?

Before I can even muster up a response to what she just said, she quickly asks, “Are you bisexual, Daemon?”

My eyes widen in disbelief at her audacity, which I shouldn’t be surprised at given her last name, yet still I choke on my own breath. “What, no, I mean yes, I don’t know,” I rush out, reaching for another sip of my tea, as I think about her question.

I’ve always struggled with my sexuality, in the sense that I never understood why I had to fucking label it. Why can't I just like who I like without giving it a damn name? I can fuck anyone without truly thinking about it, regardless of their gender, yet for me to truly like someone and form a connection, it takes a lot more that just whether I find them physically attractive. I need to relate to them in an emotional and intellectual way too, and to this day I have never truly had that.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” I finally breathe out, the truth seeming the best form of action. “I just like who I like, I don’t see a need to put a label on that just to make others feel better.” I shrug, feeling nervous under her watchful stare, as I admit that for the first time to someone.

“And do you like my brother?” she asks hopefully, and all I can see in her eyes is the happiness of someone who has never known heartache or pain, just so like her brother in every way.

“Your brother is like the sun,” I start slowly, thinking about my words carefully. “He wants to shine everywhere, and people are addicted to his light, they are drawn to it. It’s why he has friends like Darkmore and Reign, they feed off his light and shine theirs on him, they’re a perfect fit.”

I’m not sure if I am even making sense, yet Aurora nods as if she understands me completely, as she replies, “And you’re not?”

Her question shouldn’t catch me off guard, but like her brother she is perceptive, almost too perceptive to the point of being annoying, yet still I nod. “I’ve known for a long time that I’m broken,” I start, and she opens her mouth to disagree with me, but I hold my hand up, as I force myself to push on. “No, trust me, it’s true, and I won’t bore you with the traumas of my childhood, not when you’re one of the first people to ever look at me without pity or regret,” I tell her truthfully, and she smiles softly, yet that look of pure happiness from before is gone, and I’m sure she sees it now.

The shadows that lurk beneath my skin aren’t easily contained, which is why I don’t invite people in, because when you do it brings questions. Questions that then bring answers, which they have probably never fathomed until they no longer look at me in the same way anymore. So now I don’t even try. I’m already drowning, why steal someone's life raft and drag them down with me?

“I did kiss your brother, but that’s all it was, just a kiss, a drunken mistake that won’t ever be repeated,” I add firmly, and I prepare for some backlash or disappointment, for the retreat of her offered hand of friendship, but I get none of that.

Instead, she reaches for the large cookie on her plate and breaks it in half, putting one of them on a napkin and sliding it across the table towards me. “My brother’s friend, Harden, is like you. He lives in the darkness of his past, he lets it mold him, and like you I don’t think he realizes that darkness can’t exist without the light, they are a true pair, even if one never appears at the same time as the other.”

Her words are delivered so casually, that I barely even register her meaning, until she has already eaten most of her half of her cookie. “Your brother is not my light,” I scoff, wanting to defend the meaning of my earlier words, but all she does is smile, like Archer does when he knows he is getting under my skin.

“Sure, and I’m not Harden’s,” she tosses back playfully with a shrug, and focuses back on my sketchbook like the conversation we just had didn’t happen. “What pencil did you use for these lines here?” she asks, not so subtly changing the subject, as she appraises one of my pencil drawn sketches of Josh playing hockey.

“4B,” I reply mindlessly, still stuck on her earlier comments, and for the next hour, my responses pretty much follow the same pattern. By the time we leave, I am feeling heavier than I have in a while, and can come to only one conclusion.

Kissing my teammate was a big fucking mistake.

My resolve for the next few practices is like fucking steel, as I treat Archer fucking Gray like he doesn’t even exist, no matter how many taunts he throws my way. Which is harder than it sounds given we have just endured our first away game of the season, but thankfully his attention was pulled in the direction of his best friend. Whatever was happening between my captain and my best friend’s sister on Halloween, came to light while we were away, and now everything is falling apart.

There was an engagement announcement in the paper, for Madeline Peters to some football jock, that sent Josh through the roof, but he’s not the only one affected. Nova got so drunk when he found out that both Archer and Reign had to carry his ass back to the hotel, and based on the screaming coming from Coach’s office right now, as Darkmore misses his second practice this week, I’d guess things aren’t getting much better.

After speaking with Josh, he confided in me that his father arranged a business marriage for his daughter, and now my best friend is on a mission to foil it anyway he can, but like mine, his father is a powerful man. My eyes search him out, finding him actively listening to the reaming out Archer is getting about Nova’s absence, and I see his jaw grinding in anger. Josh cares about his sister more than anyone in this world, and I’m sure it’s not easy for him to know that she was secretly hooking up with our captain behind his back.

By the time Archer stalks from Coach’s office to get dressed, most of the team is already on the ice, yet for some reason I find myself lingering. When he rounds the lockers, his stern and pissed off stare meets mine, but moves past me instantly, as he pulls his shirt over his head and rips open his locker. I’m fully dressed, I have no reason to stay standing here, but as he reveals the muscular planes of his chest, I can’t help but stare.

“Are you okay?” I ask, surprising not just myself, but him too, because his head snaps towards me instantly.

“Finally remember I fucking exist again?” He spits in question, his anger palpable, and it should piss me off, but instead I find it intriguing. This is a side of him that I never see, he is always so chilled and cool-headed, so to see him losing his temper a little is a welcome reprieve.

“Not for lack of trying,” I tell him truthfully, and a wicked smirk curls at the corner of his mouth.

“As much as the thought of you not being able to forget me is intriguing, Forbes, I’m really not in the fucking mood right now,” he grits, pulling on his base layer, and now it’s my turn to smirk.

“Then welcome to my life on this team with you for the last three fucking years, Gray,” I snap back, slamming my locker shut, and turning to look at him fully.

Of course he doesn’t shrink under my attention, no, he meets me head on, holding my stare as he slips into his jersey, before taking a step closer to me. “You know, I missed your bark, Forbes,” he tells me, no doubt living for the fact I have broken my silence after two weeks, as he brushes past me to sit on the bench. “It’s almost as good as your bite,” he adds casually, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, and it’s only now when I look down at him that I realize the position he has put us in.

Images of him on his knees rush to the forefront of my mind, so vivid that they almost make me dizzy, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm my heart rate as it starts to rapidly climb. “When is Cap coming back?” I ask, changing the subject, and the prick smiles as if he can read my every thought.

I wonder if he knows I hate him and his fucking mouth?

“Probably when he is sober and done mourning the lying little princess,” he replies, as he shifts his focus to his skates, and I cringe under his assessment of Madeline.

“This isn’t her fault,” I find myself snapping at him, and as his fingers deftly move to tie his skates, his eyes dance back up to meet mine.

“Is that right?” He finishes tying his skates, before rising back to his full height and bringing us almost nose to nose.

“When you grow up with a powerful father, you do whatever you can to survive,” I reply simply, not comfortable with my best friend’s sister being painted as the villain in his best friend’s story.

“Is that what you did?” he asks, surprising me with his change of direction, yet like with his sister, I don’t back down from his question.

“Every single day,” I reply without pause, knowing he could never understand the depths of what people like me, Josh and Madeline have been through, while also hoping he never does.

“Even if it costs you the love of others?” His question is so simple that I know he has never known anything except unconditional love.

He’s never experienced a loss so severe that it almost killed him, one that changed him so completely so that he would never be the same, but I have. Which is why I pour as much truth and sincerity as I can muster in my two word response.

“Especially then.”

I don’t bother waiting for a response, just grab my stick and head out onto the ice to find my best friend. He was the one person who helped me when I had no one, and even though everything might be a shit show right now, I will do whatever I can to change that for him.