Page 95 of Shattered

“So, what happened? What did they say?”

I sigh, pulling him close. “I really want to savor our first official night together. Can we discuss it tomorrow? Just know that nothing will affect you.”

“OK,” Brayden whispers, but then he sits up, raising an eyebrow. “But you do know you’re supposed to ask me to move in, not just arrange for removals. I thought I’d been robbed when I got back to my dorm.”

“What are you talking about? I told you earlier.”

“When?” His eyes scan the room, as if trying to recall when I mentioned it. I sit up, heading to the kitchen for a bottleof water. “I said you’re moving in with me.” I grab the bottle, smiling.

“Sweet Jesus.” Brayden’s head flops back against the couch. “I didn’t think you meant today.” He laughs, shaking his head. Then he leans to the side. Those ocean-blue eyes—capable of reducing me to a puddle—lock onto mine.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” he asks.

Walking over, I plant a kiss on his forehead and crouch down to be eye level with him.

“Brayden Quake Anders, love doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel for you. There isn’t a word invented that captures it. But here’s the thing: no one else on this earth can test your patience and make you smile simultaneously like I can. I promise you, for as long as I live, I’ll bring a smile to your face on the worst days. Some days, Bray, you’ll be out there on the ice, sinking pucks and laughing with your team. Other days, it’ll hurt just to open your eyes.”

“But know this,” I continue, my voice steady. “I’ve got you on both days.”

Chapter forty-nine

Brayden

April

Training the last couple of months has been hard. After not being on the ice for two months, I lost a lot of strength in my arms and legs. But late sessions in the gym with Bohdi and him being relentless has built me up to this moment.

The last game of the season.

It’s the one game we have been working toward all season.

The final of the frozen four.

Coach’s decision to bench me during the semifinal hit like a slapshot to the gut. The team felt it, too—we were a tight-knit crew, and my absence echoed through the locker room. But fate had other plans. Our boys stepped up, playing like their lives depended on it. I watched from the sidelines, fists clenched, heart pounding.

And then Kal got body-checked, a brutal collision that sent him sprawling. I lost it. Kicked a bench so hard it splintered like my dreams of being out there on the ice. If Coach hadn’t pinnedme down, I swear I’d have leaped over the boards, skates on, and pummeled the guy who did it. My rage was a wild animal foaming at the mouth.

But the game ended, and the adrenaline didn’t dissolve. No, it fueled me. I stalked that player, quiet, determined. When he least expected it, I booted him square in the back. His knees buckled, and a minor scuffle erupted. Fists flew, helmets rattled—it was hockey in its rawest form.

Kal has a new motto: “Sink pucks first, fists later.” And damn, it’s a great motto. Because sometimes, in the heat of the rink, you need both fire and ice to survive.

“Are you ready, Quake?” Tray slaps my back as I take my time lacing up my skates, making sure they’re perfect. Never underestimate a good pair of laced up skates.

“Born ready.”

“Did teach give you a good morning fuck to set you up for the ga—”

“King!” Coach bellows. “I will beat your ass if that mouth keeps moving.”

“Yes, Coach,” Tray mumbles, rolling his eyes. I know it’s not the fact Tray was saying those words, it’s who those words were about that has rubbed Coach up the wrong way. I glance up at Coach whose eyes quickly move away from me.

It makes me sad Bohdi lost someone who has been by his side since they were young. The guilt has eaten at me more times than I can count. But Bohdi always pulls me back out of the guilt and reminds me that the people that truly care for him would be happy. He’s not bothered, so why should I be? Coach acts weirdly with me now. He’s pissed. I’ve tried explaining that it was as much me as it was Bohdi. But my age always comes into it among other things that I can’t even think about without feeling like I will lose it with everyone around me.

I get it sometimes. It’s crazy for a now twenty-year-old being with a man twenty-one years his senior, but we have one life and one life only. We don’t get replays of life; we get one shot at it and who am I to walk away from a love that I know I will never find again because of some stupid numbers?

Why would I not take the chance of being truly happy for once?

People stare. They can’t help it. Sometimes it’s a disgusted glance when Bohdi will grab me in the streets and smack his lips to mine, but sometimes it’s in awe. Bohdi is a walking masterpiece. His stride and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, that alone draws attention.

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