For the love of racing book 1: dirty love

I wore my twin brother’s jersey, proud to show my support at his hockey game. They were up against another school today. 

He had been talking about this matchup all night, and my mind had been racing so fast I could hardly sleep. We had spent the entire evening practicing together because he was incredibly nervous.

I play hockey too. But here in Sylvaris, women are completely banned from the sport. It's outlawed in this country and in several other regions across this side of the world.

Desperate to cheer him on, I grabbed a piece of cardboard and a marker, boldly writing "Go Jace Silverman" across the front. I pushed my way right up to the front row, shouting at the top of my lungs. Even when my glasses started sliding down the bridge of my nose, I didn’t care. I kept screaming.

Then, I locked eyes with my twin. Peering through the small gap in his helmet, I noticed how sad and defeated he looked. His eyes were bloodshot, looking exactly like he’d just been crying. 

When he noticed me, he quickly flashed a thumbs-up, trying his best to pretend everything was fine. But I knew him too well; something was seriously wrong.

The whistle blew and the game kicked off. Both teams dashed toward the puck, their skates cutting fast across the ice. Out of nowhere, an opposing player slammed Jace brutally against the boards. The impact sent him crashing hard onto the ice. To my horror, not a single one of his teammates even glanced his way, let alone offered a hand to help him up.

My heart skipped a beat. I bolted over to the section of the glass closest to where he lay, though I made sure to stay outside the rink.

"Come on, Mr. Snowman, get your ass up or you are not getting dinner tonight!" I yelled, trying to inject some playful energy into the terrifying moment.

Jace looked up and stared right at me. The tease seemed to spark something inside him, because a second later, he dragged himself back onto his feet.

In many ways, I felt like his mother. Our actual parents couldn't care less whether we existed or not. They were completely consumed by their massive business empire, treating us like afterthoughts in a stupid, echoing mansion that felt more like a cage than a home.

Jace skated back into the action, chasing after the puck. By this point, his team captain had already scored twice. As Jace turned, I caught sight of a dark red stain smeared across the back of his jersey, right over his name. 

Maybe his back rubbed against something on the bench, I reasoned, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling in my gut.

I completely ignored the judging glares from the crowd behind me. I kept pacing from one corner of the glass to the other, keeping my eyes locked on my brother and cheering through every play.

But it was brutal to watch. He kept getting leveled, slammed over and over again into the boards on the far side of the rink. He couldn't even manage a single shot on goal. This was my very first time watching him play against an actual opponent.

We had only ever trained together in our backyard, and from what I was witnessing, he was really struggling out there.

The moment the game finally ended, I sprinted away from the stands and headed straight for the locker room. I knew girls were strictly forbidden from going back there, but I didn't care. I had to know if my brother was okay.

I halted right at the doorway, and the scene inside absolutely broke my heart.

Jace had already taken off his helmet. A fresh, nasty bruise was blossoming across his cheekbone, one that definitely hadn't been there when he left the house this morning.

A larger player towered over him, aggressively flicking his fingers against Jace's forehead.

"When will you stop embarrassing us, Silverman?" the guy sneered, his jaw tightening as he crowded Jace's space.

"Silverman?" another player piped up from across the room, eyebrow arched in mockery. "More like Loser-man."

The entire room erupted into cruel laughter.

"Good one, Theodore," the guy in front of my brother chuckled. He then reached out, trying to force Jace around. "Come on, let me see the ketchup I used to color your name."

Jace planted his feet, fighting to stand his ground. "I just want to be alone," he muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, his voice barely a whisper.

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. The stain I had noticed on the ice wasn't blood or an accidental smudge, it was ketchup. His own teammates had done that to him. They were nothing but a pack of bullies.

Then I noticed the team captain walking over. I recognized him instantly, though he had no idea who I was. Back at our house, his name was constantly thrown in my brother's face. My father was desperate to mold Jace into a carbon copy of him, mostly because our dad was a major business partner with the captain's father.

For a second, I thought he might actually step in and stop it. Instead, he just slumped onto a bench with a bored expression, looking like this whole ordeal was beneath him.

"Turn around, weakling," the bully barked, violently jerking Jace around. The sudden force sent Jace stumbling forward, his face smashing hard against the metal locker.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to burst through the door and punch the bastard right in the mouth. But I forced myself to hold back. I knew it would only make things worse for Jace. If a girl had to step in and defend him in front of his entire team, they would never let him live it down. He’d become an even bigger laughing stock.

"I put that on your back for good luck," the guy sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as if he were the one being inconvenienced. "I guess it was chasing you, and you were just running too fast." To cap off the insult, he spat directly into my brother's hair.

"Hey Liam, I still have some of that ketchup left over," Theodore chimed in, stepping closer to the huddle. He raised a plastic bottle. "Take this as an anointing oil, weakling."

With a nasty smirk, he began squeezing the contents right over Jace’s head.

Through all of this, the captain, Nico Lancaster, just sat there resting his chin on his hand. A faint, amused look crossed his face, like he was watching a mildly entertaining show.

A wave of pure hatred washed over me. My chest burned with a furious, boiling heat, and I genuinely didn't know how much longer I could stand there without losing my mind. I had never felt this level of rage in my entire life.

Looking around the room, the rest of the players just went about their business. No one attempted to intervene. It was sickeningly clear that this was just a normal routine for them.

All those bruises I used to see on Jace at home hadn't come from rough practices at all. These were the monsters who were hurting him, while their golden-boy captain just sat by and watched like a total jerk.