Page 8 of Shattered

“Bray, please. I need to know,” he insists, his voice softer now, filled with concern.

I sigh, sensing the weight of his worry. “He was tall, with a scar across his cheek. He appeared rough, as if he’d been in a few fights.”

Bexley’s jaw tightens. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, not really. I managed to get him to leave before anything happened.”

Bexley pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms trembling slightly. “I’m so sorry, Bray. I should have been here.”

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, holding him close.

He nods, his grip on me tightening. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

We stand there for a moment, holding each other, the weight of our fears and promises hanging in the air.

Bexley walks over and lays down on the bed, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. He reaches over to the nightstand and picks up our shared diary, the worn leather cover familiar under his fingers as he runs his hands over it. Flipping it open, he finds the last page I was on, which he can tell from the dog-eared page. He shines the UV light on the page. His eyes scan the page, taking in the words.

A soft smile tugs at Bexley’s lips as he reads my words, his smile broadening more as his heart swells with pride while he learns how well hockey has been going. Just as he’s about to turn the page, his phone rings, the sound jarring in the quiet room. He glances at the screen, and his expression darkens.

“I have to take this,” he mutters, answering the call. After a brief, tense conversation, he hangs up and glances over at me, regret etched on his face. “I have to go.”

“No, please,” I plead, reaching out to him. “Stay a little longer. I’ve missed you Bex, so much.”

Bexley sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to leave, but I have to. It’s important.”

“Can’t it wait? I wanted to tell you about my ice hockey game, which is coming up this weekend.”

Bexley’s eyes soften, a small smile forming. “I’m so proud of you, Bray. I wish I could stay and hear all about it.”

“Then stay,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Just for a little while longer.”

Bexley hesitates before he stands. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promises, leaning over me and placing a kiss on my forehead. “We’ll talk then, I swear.”

I nod, trying to hold back the tears as Bexley stands up and heads for the door. “Be safe,” I call after him, my voice trembling.

Bexley turns back, giving me one last, lingering look. “I know you need me. But know I will always need you more. I’m sorry, Bray.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. I watch him leave, my heart aching. Every time I watch my brother turn his back on me and leave, I never know if I will see him again. The room is colder, emptier without him. I clutch the diary to my chest, hoping he’ll return soon, safe and sound.

Chapter six

Bohdi

Rubbing my hands over my face, I attempt to erase the tiredness and dark circles, which of course don’t work. I frequently have nightmares, but this one felt vivid and involves someone I know. It’s even worse because it’s my student.

Even though I attempt to gather my composure as students come in, the lingering sickness persists. It’s particularly bad today, worse than usual.

I keep my eyes fixed on the door, anxiously waiting for each student to pass through. I know who I’m subconsciously waiting for. I only need to see him to see he’s not evil. Not like the monster who took my best friend from me. Having a tough home life doesn’t mean he’s equal to others in that situation.

Five minutes later, the students talk quietly among themselves while waiting for me to begin the class. I get fidgety that Brayden isn’t here; I scan the area he was sitting in last, in case I missed him, and I see a few of his friends from before, one being Kal, who he seemed pretty close with. But Kal has an empty seat nextto him, which I assume was for Brayden. When I glance back at Kal, he’s watching me, and it’s then I realize I recognize him from somewhere, but I can’t pinpoint where.

Weird.

The sound of the classroom door opening catches my attention, making me think it’s Brayden, but it turns out to be someone else. I haven’t seen this boy before. With each stomp of his chunky black boots, the chains on his black jeans create a jingling sound that fills the classroom. He approaches and stands in front of me. A black slipknot sweater engulfs him completely. His green eyes stand out from the black hard edges of the eyeliner that surrounds them. The lip piercing shifts while his lips create a firm, straight line. I clear my throat.

In a barely audible voice, he states, “I’m new.” Ah, this is Daxton. I saw something on my emails the other day explaining someone new would be joining today.

“Daxton Rivers?” I question. He gives me a sharp nod.

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