“You think this is a joke?” Harper’s jaw clenches as he pulls off his hat and rakes a hand through his brown hair. “Every time you get involved with Zach, you end up hurt."
My chest constricts, my heart beating rapidly. The sensation is uncomfortable, so I dig my fingertips deeper into my skin.
"Oh, please." Viktor rolls his eyes, taking tissue from the box on Coach Harper’s desk and dabbing at his nose. "It was nothing compared to the shit Noah pulled."
I stare between the two of them. While Viktor is one hell of a fucking brat—though Merci appears to be giving him a run for the money—the last thing I expect is for him to throw that trauma in his boyfriend’s face.
Coach Harper is equally as shocked considering the way he pales, his posture going rigid, his chest rising and falling sharply. Harper’s eyes flick to me. “I’m placing boundaries. You’ve hurt him before. Left him scarred.”
A muscle near my jaw ticks as I clench my teeth. I glare at him, unblinking. Before I say a word, Viktor jumps out of his chair, leaning across the desk. “Like fuck you’re doing anything of the sort.”
But it doesn’t matter what he says because he loves Beckett Harper too much. He’ll abandon me like my own mother did. Hell, he’s just my friend. She’s the one who gave birth to me . . . then decided she couldn’t deal with the issues I have.
Because somehow it’s my fault there was an accident that left me with brain damage.
“Chaos, it makes me uncomfortable with how close you two are.”
“That’s a fuckingyouproblem.”
“Just shut the fuck up, both of you.” My chest heaves, everything inside feeling like it’s about to explode.
“Zach . . .” Viktor says as he reaches out to touch my arm.
I jerk back.
Coach Harper looks between us, his brow furrowing. “What the hell is going on here?”
Viktor doesn’t answer and steps closer to me as I start to pace like a caged lion, flinching when I roll my shoulder.
“One of you better talk now.” Coach Harper turns to Viktor. “Chaos!”
“No.” Viktor stands his ground, pulling back his shoulders as he stares down his boyfriend. “It’s not for me to tell. And don’t you dare try to make me choose, Beckett, because I swear to God you’ll lose this battle.”
Coach’s face darkens. "Are you seriously threatening our relationship over him? After what he did to you?"
Something breaks inside, sharp and searing like a cracked bone. I step around the desk, standing nose-to-nose with Beckett. "Going to tell me again, Idon’t care that I hurt him! Because I do! You don’t know a damn thing about me!"
“Then enlighten me!”
“Becks, I swear I will end us right now if you don’t stop.” Viktor’s voice is firm, but I catch the cracks that break through at the end.
“I just . . . I can’t—” My voice falters, and I yank at my hair as if trying to rip it out of my skull. “It’s not my fault, okay? It’s not my fucking fault my brain doesn’t work like yours. Or his. Or anyone’s.”
I start pacing again, tugging hard enough that the pain should register but doesn't. It's frustrating—everything is frustrating. The emotions I can't process, the sensations I can't feel properly.
Someone grabs my wrist, firm but not hard. I look up as Coach Harper tries to gently remove my hand from my hair. Once I release the strands, he presses a stress ball into my palm. "Use this instead."
I squeeze it, watching the foam compress and expand. The repetitive motion helps, gives me something to focus on besides the mess inside me I can't properly interpret.
Viktor bites his bottom lip, eyes soft as he stands, and offers me the chair to sit.
Dropping into it, I continue to focus on squeezing the stress ball. “I have brain damage. Insular cortex damage, to be precise. Happened when I was seven. Don’t rememberhow. My dad just said it was an accident, and I hit my head too hard. I can’t fucking feel things the way I’m supposed to. Can’t process emotions or read people. It makes me . . . wrong. Viktor’s the only one who knows. He’s the only one I trust.”
“Which is why I won’t abandon him, Becks. No matter what you fucking say. He’s family to me. My fucking brother.”
I look up at my friend. He isn’t glaring, just standing firm.
For me.
