Page 46 of The Puck Chase

Fuck. I can’t breathe.

“Come on, D, he has friends everywhere, and I guess he’s tired of sitting in a fucking cell.” Jasper says, some of his cold and emotionless demeanor slipping, as he uses my oldnickname. “Did you forget how powerful he is?” He questions, as I fight to catch my breath, the memory of Ryan, lying motionless on the floor, flooding my mind.

I scrunch my eyes closed to try to wash the memories away, as I gasp, “I’m not like you, Jasper, I don’t forget anything.”

“Daemon,” he says, my name sounding so familiar and foreign at the same time, as I hear him take a step toward me. My eyes snap open instantly, holding up my hands and stepping back.

“Why are you even here?” I ask again, still trying to process the news he delivered, but like everything else, I will deal with it later, when I’m alone. “As far as I’m concerned, I stopped being your brother the day you left me in that house,” I tell him, staring him down, and I swear I see a flash of regret in his eyes, before he quickly hides it.

“I had to get out, kid, I was dying in there,” he whispers, emotion clinging to every inch of him, but it means nothing to me.

“You don’t think I know that?” I ask in outrage. “Who do you think took your fucking place after you left?”

I think about that first night when I realized he wasn’t coming home. It was his 18th birthday, and Ryan and I had spent all afternoon in my room making him a present. I was only eleven, Ryan was almost seven, and as usual Dad was drunk, and when Jasper didn’t come home, his fist found me instead. I remember the shock, the pain, the anger, the heartbreak, but most of all, I remember the fear in Ryan’s eyes, and I knew right in that moment that as long as I kept him safe, nothing else mattered.

“But you made it out, look at you, look how far you’ve come,” Jasper gestures to my jersey and the rink, as if he thinks those things hold space in my life, and I almost scream.

“And what about Ryan?” I ask, and he recoils at the sound of our little brother’s name, as if it pains him. “He didn’t make it out, did he? No, he died on our fucking kitchen floor, and you didn’t even bother coming to his fucking funeral.” I snap, losing the hold on my anger, and Jasper takes another step toward me.

“I think about him every day, but I was a mess back then kid, I needed…” he starts, but I cut off whatever excuse he is about to feed me, I have no interest in hearing anything else he has to say.

“You know, my entire body is covered in scars, but none of them compare to the pain of losing him, so excuse me if I don’t give a fuck about what you need.”

Again my words seem to cause him pain, as his eyes trail over my body, as if he can see through the fabric of my clothes. “Scars? What scars?” he asks, sounding confused, and all I can do is think about how many times he ignored my calls.

“Oh, that’s right, dear old Dad only used his fists with you,” I laugh, without a trace of humor, as I shake my head. “Let’s just say he got more inventive after his favorite son left,” I mock, and for once I see the brother I remember, and not the coward who left me behind.

“What scars, Daemon?” His voice breaks as he says my name, and I know my words are hurting him, and I’m glad, I want him to hurt. I want him to feel even a fraction of the pain I did when I lost Ryan.

“You know I felt him die,” I whisper, the memory still so fresh in my mind that bile rises up the back of my throat. “I called him and he didn’t answer, and I knew something was wrong, even though I told myself everything was fine. I drove as fast as I could, and when I got home I could hear him screaming. He screamed so loud that I felt it in my bones, but it was the silence that followed that almost killed me.” Jasper is frozen silent as I talk, tears gathering in his eyes, but I don’t feel anything as I relay the story to him. “I remember wondering how a child couldhave so much blood, then when my hands pressed to his neck I felt his final breath, and I swear something inside of me died right along with him.”

My fingers flex, the phantom feeling of the warm liquid still there now, even as I recall scrubbing my hands clean in the police station bathroom, after they took pictures of them. “I felt him die, and just for a moment I was jealous, because he was finally free, because every hit and kick, and slice of our father’s blade was all pointless, because even though I never left Ryan to fight alone, even though I took every fucking hit just to protect him, it still wasn’t enough, because I failed him anyway.”

Tears stain my brother’s face now, and most people would probably find it heartfelt to see a monster of a biker like him crying over the loss of his little brother, but Ryan didn’t need his tears, he needed his protection. And now? Well, dead people don’t need anything.

“It’s not your fault, Daemon, Dad was always so…” he trails off, not able to think of a word to describe our father, before he quietly adds, “You were just a kid, it wasn’t your job to protect him.”

I shake my head, because I was all Ryan had, he was just a kid, but he could have had so much more. “You’re right, it wasn’t my job to protect him,” I agree with him, eyeing his leather cut and knowing the rumors that surround his found family. “It was your job to protect him, to protect us both, and you failed, you left and found yourself a new family, so run back to them and stop fucking calling me. The only brother I have is buried in the fucking ground, and I hope the other rots in hell.”

Turning on my skates, I stomp towards the locker room, I ignore him as he calls my name and I focus on trying to catch my breath.My dad is up for parole. The thought plays on repeat in my head, as I shove through the door and find Josh waiting for me on the other side, eyeing me with worry.

“Everything okay?” he asks, looking in the direction I just left Jasper, and all I can do is shake my head as I make my way inside.

I can’t be here, I need to get home.

Josh is hot on my heels, as I rip open my locker door, ignoring the intrigued glances from the other guys on the team, no doubt all wondering who that was. My heart is slamming against my ribcage, my breaths coming in too fast for me to control, and I can feel the rising panic taking over, as my best friend closes in on my left side.

“What did Jasper want?” he asks, as Archer rounds the bank of lockers, his stare instantly zeroing in on me with a smirk.

“Oh, that’s Jasper, is it?” he purrs, brushing against me as he passes, but with the memory of that night still fighting to take control in my mind, my skin crawls at the contact.

“Not now, Gray,” I snap, ignoring my best friend, who is now looking between me and Archer in wonder, as I rip off my jersey, tossing it to the floor.

“Hope you took my advice and told him to fuck off,” Archer replies sweetly, not reading the room at all, and why would he? He’s probably never known a day of panic in his goddamn life.

Josh is still holding firm at my side, watching me like I am ready to blow, and it doesn’t go unnoticed, as Cap steps towards us and asks, “Is everything okay?”

My mind is at war as I try to block them all out, as hit after hit plays on repeat, as I recall all the pain my father inflicted on me. Yet it isn’t the punches, the bruises, or the scars, it’s my little brother’s blood, it’s the sound of his screams and the feeling of his chest going still, all of it attacking me so fiercely I feel like I might throw up.

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