Page 57 of Shattered

Brayden

Cloud fucking nine is the only way I can describe myself today.

Nothing is ruining this mood.

Nothing.

Everything has gone from zero to one hundred with Bohdi, but I can’t bring myself to doubt it like I would do everything else. For once I’m happy and I never knew being happy felt so good, how it changed so much around you, how it changed your view of life and people.

Since seeing Bohdi at and after my game yesterday, I have felt completely weightless. As if this boulder that was sitting firmly on my shoulders is no longer there.

And that’s all because of him.

Last night, back in the hotel room, I realized I couldn’t continue holding stuff back from Kal and Tray. I needed to reveal some truth. After they called me out and half the team searched for me out of concern, I confessed that I’d been with aman—not Lan, not a boy, but a man I genuinely like. They grilled me relentlessly until I drifted off to sleep. And this morning, at 6 a.m., I woke up to Tray staring at me. His expression studying me as he questioned whether we’d been in the same room as this person in the last month. Kal accepted my hesitation, but Tray’s chaotic mind won’t settle. We have not long got off the coach, and already, two more questions have come my way by text. Apparently, having secrets isn’t acceptable to Tray. What I know, he has to know.

I roll my eyes, slipping my phone back into my pocket and exhaling as I approach the front of the trailer park. Each visit fills me with hesitation—it’s a mood-ruiner, but I must check on Bex. I need to make sure he’s still OK. Standing at the park’s edge, I gaze up at the seemingly endless expanse of doom that lies ahead. Hopefully, Bex is having a good day today.

The warmth beams down on the day, and people lounge outside their trailers, lying in the sun. Strolling through the rows, some cast me looks of betrayal for leaving, while others offer smiles, relieved that I escaped. Trailer parks can be like having a large family, and leaving is comparable to abandoning that family, making you a traitor. Yet some recognize the hellhole you emerged from and wish you freedom. The trailer park opens up, revealing a circular arrangement of trailers, with my mom’s trailer standing directly in front. To my right, I spot people, and that’s when my blood turns icy.

Bexley stands there, talking with Daxton’s uncle—Marley Rivers. Karl’s brother is the last person I want near Bexley right now.

Karl is bad enough. But Marley? He’s the root of all this evil, the devil for who Bexley sold his soul years ago.

While Karl controls Bexley, Marley feeds the addiction. It shows in Karl’s appearance—he smokes, sniffs, and injects all his profit. Marley reaps the benefits from Karl and Bexley. He rarelycomes here and as Bex is getting better, the last thing I need is him here now. Bexley steps aside, revealing Daxton, whose face is completely fucked up, swollen left eye, bust lip, cuts all over his face. It makes my stomach turn. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who done that. Karl fucked Daxton up, but Daxton can half hold himself with Karl due to him being high most of the time. This has Marley written all over it.

Bexley’s eyes meet mine, and he sighs, his shoulder rising and dropping. He slaps his hand on the back of Marley’s back and walks toward me. Seeing how familiar he is with Marley makes me feel sick.

“Bro,” he murmurs, his hand on my shoulder as we head toward our trailer. I side-eye him, wondering why he’s grinning the way he is. “Bex.” He glances at me briefly, then averts his eyes.

His brightness, those wide eyes, it’s unmistakable. He’s relapsed. It’s as clear as day. Inside the trailer, my mom’s overly cheerful expression grates on my nerves.

“Brayden, my baby, why don’t you visit me anymore?” she whines, pouting like a child. She approaches, reaching for my arm, but I recoil in disgust.

“Bray,” Bex interjects, as if I need to ease up on her. I can’t understand why he always defends her. After all, we’re in this mess because of her. Brushing past Bex, I head toward our room.

“Why do you always defend her?” I furrow my brow.

“It’s hard to explain, Bray. Addiction isn’t a joke,” he says, his smile strained, and takes a seat beside me.

“Why were you talking to Marley? Why is he here?” I question.

“It didn’t take you long.” He chuckles, nervously picking at the skin around his fingernails—a telltale sign he’s avoiding the truth.

“Just checking in, I guess. Not sure.” He shrugs, his thumb finding its way to his mouth as he nibbles on the skin.

“Fuck, Bex.” I exhale, closing my eyes, already defeated. I don’t need to ask; I know he hasn’t stayed clean. I must’ve been living in delusional land, thinking it would be this easy. But it never is. That’s why I’ve worked tirelessly for years to get him into a rehab center.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. Someone’s been helping me explore options—for both of us.” I pause, meeting Bexley’s intense gaze. “He’s incredible, Bex,” I admit, my cheeks warming. “He’s the one who found the support group. I’m going with him again this Saturday. The group isn’t a charity, but they offer resources for addiction. And Bohdi, he’s been so supportive. You’ll like him when you meet him.” Saying Bohdi’s name sends flutters through me.

Bexley frowns, scanning our surroundings as if lost in thought. “Bohdi?” he questions. “I’ve never heard of him. Is he your new boyfriend?” His words twist something inside me.

“What? No, definitely not,” I retort, my face scrunching up. “No,” I add, my voice squeaking.

“Do you want to say ‘no’ anymore?” Bex’s sarcasm stings.

“He’s my teacher,” I say, and Bexley’s gaze locks onto mine.

“Which teacher?”

---