2. Daemon

E ver since I was a kid being on the ice has been my only escape. It helped me escape my mother’s death, it helped me escape the cold and abusive environment my home became without her, and it helped me withstand my father’s wrath. There was no true escape from that unfortunately, I learned that the hard way, but the ice is calm and it brings me calm. Yet with calm comes chaos, and chaos has a name, Archer fucking Gray.

Twenty years on this earth and I have survived things I never thought I would, and I’ve become pretty immune to feeling anything. Being raised in my home I didn’t really have a choice, it was necessary for survival. I mean, sure, there are still plenty of things that get to me, but I learned early on to ignore them. Yet trying to ignore Archer Gray is like trying to ignore a fucking nuclear bomb. It’s literally impossible. The guy is a menace who is determined to piss me off at every turn, and honestly I don’t know how the rest of the team stands him.

I’m warming up alone, which is pretty common since I’m nearly always the first one here, and I enjoy the quiet cold before everyone else arrives. My teammates probably mistake my early presence for commitment to the game and the team, but I’m not like them. Most of my teammates’ goal has always been to go pro and be rich and successful, whereas my only goal in life, for as long as I can remember, is to stay alive.

Unfortunately for me, that goal has been hard to maintain. After my mom died, my dad became a bitter and mean drunk, whose only outlet was his sons. My older brother, Jasper, shielded me for as long as he could, but the second he turned eighteen he ran, and I wish I could say I understood him, that I didn’t blame him for what happened, but I do. With him gone, I took the brunt of all of our father’s rage, and my body bears the scars to prove it.

I can still remember the stench of alcohol on my father’s breath when he would come home, can still feel his knuckles slamming into my jaw, and the drag of his switch blade across my skin. All of it has been embedded into my mind for eternity, yet when I’m on the ice, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy as normal. So I shake the thoughts that plague my regrets and nightmares daily, and focus back on the ice, just as Gray and our captain appear.

Nova Darkmore is a decent enough guy, a good captain for the team for sure, but the same can’t be said for his choice in best friend. The two of them skate almost in sync onto the ice, like two peas in a pod, but the second Gray sees me, his smirk turns devious, and he changes his initial direction and comes my way. Here we fucking go again.

“That’s some nice stretching you’re doing there, Forbes, I bet the girls appreciate your efforts,” he calls out, as he flies past me, but I do my best to ignore him, focusing on my warm up, not that it deters him in any way. “Oh yes, that’s it, ride the ice, baby.” His words are paired with an exaggerated wink, as he circles me, before coming to a stop right beside me.

I wish I knew what I did to capture the attention of Archer Gray because if I did, I would go back in time and undo it. He has been obsessed with pissing me off any way he can since we were freshman, and I’m not ashamed to admit that he succeeds almost daily. The prick gets so much joy out of annoying me and though I manage to ignore everything else in my life, for some reason I can never ignore him.

A few more guys from the team appear, including who most people would consider my best friend, Josh Peters, but also Gray’s other roommates, Alexander Reign, and Jake Harper, and I nod my head in their direction as I respond. “Surely there is someone else you can bother,” I grit out, keeping my focus on the ice and my breathing, but of course he ignores me completely and drops down beside me to copy my current stretch.

“None that are as much fun as making you squirm,” he grins, tossing me a wink, and I can feel the anger that I try to keep a tight leash on rising inside of me. I pride myself on staying in control, but when it comes to him, I always feel it slipping.

“You don’t make me squirm, you piss me the fuck off,” I snap, only making his smile wider, and I groan internally for taking his bait.

“Meh, both are just as fun for me,” he replies easily with a shrug, and it takes everything in me not to slice his fucking throat with the blade of my skate, just to shut him the fuck up.

Choosing silence as my defense, like always, I ignore his invading presence and focus on my warm up, going through all my stretches until my body is efficiently ready to play. Hockey isn’t really my passion, it was something my father chose as a way to impress his friends, but I enjoy the level of fitness I have to maintain in order to play. Working out is something else that brings me calm, it quiets my mind and exhausts my body, and if I do enough of it, I can manage a few nights without any nightmares.

With that in mind, I ignore my menace of a teammate and focus on my captain and my coach, listening to their orders for the day, as the rest of my teammates arrive. We all go through the motions of warming up, and then start running drills, and with the welcome distraction to my mind, I am able to shut out everything else and focus only on the ice.

By the time practice is over, most of the team are groaning and dripping in sweat, after a summer away from the ice, and it’s only Nova, Josh, and myself that seem to be fine. Josh offers me a knowing smirk since we spent the summer training together, and we watch in amusement as most of our teammates limp off the ice, as Nova calls them a bunch of lazy fucks. As they start to strip and shower, I hang back a little, grab my stuff, then head to the one semi-private stall at the end that is cut off from the rest, with a wall of tiles and a long curtain. None of the other players ever dare to use it, knowing I won’t shower anywhere else, and I begrudgingly head behind the curtain and pull it shut, allowing me some sense of privacy.

My scars don’t bother me, I’ve learned to live with them, it’s the looks and questions that come with them that I can’t bear. People are curious, and from experience, not always kind, so I’ve found it’s better for everyone to keep them as covered as possible. Getting ready before hockey isn’t a problem, I just quickly swap whatever shirt or hoodie I am wearing for my base layer, and most of the team know to avert their eyes. Then whenever I get drunk enough to fuck someone, I am often too far gone to care, and their mouths are usually too occupied to ask any questions anyway, but those occasions are few and far between. Getting drunk means losing control, and losing control isn’t good, not for me.

I shower quickly, not wanting to linger here any longer than I need to, then I get dressed and head back to my locker to wait for Josh. His father is almost as fucked up as mine, which gives us a level of understanding between us that allows me to tolerate our friendship more than I thought possible. His presence in my life is both important and appreciated, more than he could ever know. Besides him, most people tend to avoid me, either knowing my personality, or rumors of my backstory, and honestly I like it better that way. I’ve got enough issues to deal with, without adding other people and their bullshit drama to the mix.

Part of me craves more, but I’m smart enough to know that not many could handle the darkness that lives inside of me, so why even try?

By the time I make it back to the house I share with Josh and two of our other teammates, Levi Jones and Landon Cooper, my mind is buzzing with tension again, the distraction from the ice already long gone. So I do the only thing I can do right now to calm myself down, and that’s cook dinner. Josh leaves me, sensing I need to be alone, and I silently pull out the ingredients and pans and utensils I need, and then grab my headphones and get to work.

Some of my first and last memories are of Jasper and I sitting in the kitchen, watching our mom make dinner. Being almost seven years my senior, he was always allowed to help out, but mom made sure I never felt left out. I can remember her lifting me up, even with her giant pregnant belly, and letting me stir whatever they had in the pot, and it always made me smile.

Once dinner is made, I go through the motions of eating and cleaning up, leaving plates out for the rest out my roommates, before heading upstairs to my room. I do another workout, practicing my calisthenics, before I take another more thorough shower now that I have full privacy, and then complete some homework, before flicking open my sketchbook.

Unlike hockey, art is my passion, and nothing silences the pain in my body and mind quite like it. I enjoy both sketching and painting, and according to my professor, he thinks I have a healthy career ahead of me, but I don’t do it for that. I do it because I need to escape, I need to be able to forget my trauma and exist in a world that isn’t this one, and that’s what art does for me.

I’m deep into a sketch of a faceless man when my best friend strolls into the room, without knocking like always. “Hey man, thanks for dinner,” Josh grumbles, ever the polite, politician’s son, letting his eyes scan my room casually. I know what he’s looking for, he’s seen the darkness inside of me more than most, but he won’t find it now.

There was a time when I needed more than art or exercise to feel free, and he knows that. When I first got to FU I wasn’t in the best place, everything was still so raw and I was lost, doing anything to escape my reality, and that led me down a dark path. Josh didn’t care about my reasoning though, he only cared that I was clean, which I have been for almost two years now.

Pushing past the regret inside of me, I pause my sketch to look at him knowingly. “You know, one of these days you’re gonna walk in here and find me jerking off,” I tell him, and he snorts a laugh.

“Please, do you even jerk off? You’re like a fucking monk,” he grumbles, trying to sneak a look at what I’m drawing, but I snap the book in my hand closed before he can.

“Is that why you’re here, Peters, wanna see my dick?” I ask, cocking a brow, knowing he is the only one I can joke with like this, and he laughs again, a rare thing for him.

“You wish, Forbes. From what I hear, the only one who likes to watch around here is you,” he claps back, effectively shutting me down, but moves to sit at my desk, turning the chair towards where I am sitting on the bed. “Are you good?” He adds in question, his face turning more serious, and I nod softly.

“I’m good,” I tell him truthfully. With classes and practice coming back, I have seamlessly fallen back into my routine, one I have down to a T, and it silences my mind in a way I can manage.

“Good, then come on, we’re all watching a movie downstairs,” he commands, tapping his knees before rising back to his feet, and looking at me expectantly.

“No, I’m okay, I’m just going to sketch and then read a little,” I start, but Josh holds his hand up and cuts me off.

“You’re not sitting in your room again and reading The Great Gatsby ,” he tells me sternly. “The ending isn’t going to fucking change, so come and have a damn beer and watch a movie with me,” he snaps, glaring at me before he eventually sighs and adds, “You can bring your sketch book.”

I contemplate his offer, before sighing and rolling my eyes. “Fine, but I’m not watching fucking Star Wars again,” I grumble, and the fucker smirks.

He leads me downstairs, shoves a beer in my hand, and then we settle in with Levi and Landon to watch Star Wars: A New Hope.

And the fucker thinks I’m predictable, he’s lucky he’s my best friend.

All in all it’s a good day, despite the efforts of my fucking prick of a teammate.