The Calm Before The Storm(1)

Chapter 4.

Brent’s POV

“What do you mean by your illegitimate child has the ability to compete for what is RIGHTFULLY MINE?!”

“Keep your voice down, Brent,” Dad said, getting extra defensive, but I wasn’t one to give a shit.

“I can’t. What do you mean I’ve gotta fight for what’s mine with Maddox? He really means something to you even after his mom–”

Before I could complete my sentence, a sharp sting landed across my face. The sound cracked through the room louder than the broken glass still scattered across the floor. My head snapped to the side. Heat bloomed across my cheek and for a second, I just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the wall because looking at him felt impossible.

“I’ve said what I’ve said and that’s final!”

Victor didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked out, the bedroom door slamming hard enough to rattle the frame. Footsteps pounded down the stairs. A moment later the front door opened and closed with the same finality. Then the house was quiet again, except for the low hum of the broken lamp still plugged into the wall and the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

I turned slowly.

Maddox was still leaning against the wall where Victor had left him, handkerchief pressed to his split lip. He watched me the way he always did, like he already knew how this was going to end and was just waiting for me to catch up.

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand even though nothing was bleeding there. The slap still burned.

“You happy now?” I asked. “You finally got what you wanted?”

He pushed off the wall and walked toward me slowly, clearly in no rush, like the room belonged to him. When he reached me he stopped close enough that I could smell the his blood and the faint trace of Sofia’s perfume still clinging to his skin. He patted my shoulder once, almost casual, then lifted his hand higher. His thumb caught my chin and turned my face toward him so I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I’m nowhere close to that, little bro.”

The words landed soft and deliberate. He held my chin a second longer than he needed to, just long enough for the heat of his fingers to register, then let go and stepped past me. I heard him walk down the hall, heard the soft click of his bedroom door closing, and then nothing.

I stood in the middle of the wreckage for a long time. My gaze went from the shattered mirror to the half broken lamp and right to the blood on the rug that wasn’t only mine. The red heels Sofia had left behind still sat by the hallway table like they were waiting for someone to come back for them. No one would.

My cheek throbbed and my knuckles throbbed worse. I flexed my fingers and felt the skin pull tight over the cuts. The house felt bigger and emptier than it ever had. Every sound I made seemed too loud. I needed to move. I needed to do something that wasn’t standing in the ruins of another night Maddox had ruined.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled to Coach Jake’s number before I could talk myself out of it. The line rang three times.

“Lennox,” he answered, voice already irritated. “If this is about you skipping practice, I swear to God—”

“It’s not.”

Something in my tone must have registered because the background noise on his end quieted.

“Talk.”

I walked over to the window and looked out at the dark driveway. Victor’s car was gone. Maddox’s black sedan still sat in my spot like a middle finger.

“The game against the Black Eagles,” I said. “Is it still happening next week?”

“The exhibition, yeah. Why?”

“It isn’t an exhibition anymore.”

Silence stretched on the other end. I could hear him breathing.

“Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just tell me if it’s true.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Victor called the league commissioner an hour ago,” Coach said finally. “Winner of the Regional takes the Fletcher Sports deal and… other things. He made it official. How the hell did you already know?”

I stared at my reflection in the dark window. The red mark on my cheek was already darkening.

“Because he just told us.”

Coach was quiet for a long moment.

“Jesus Christ, Brent.”

“Yeah.”

“Get some sleep. Practice is at six. Don’t be late.”

Then the line went dead.

I lowered the phone and stood there in the quiet house that had never really felt like mine.

Somewhere down the hall Maddox was probably icing his lip and smiling about the fact that he had once again walked into my life and set fire to everything that mattered. Victor was somewhere in the city deciding that the only way to control his sons was to make them destroy each other for sport.

I picked up my hockey bag from the floor. The zipper was still broken from the fight. Aroll of white tape had fallen out and I shoved it back inside, slung the bag over my shoulder, and headed for the stairs.

If Maddox wants to play dirty, then he doesn’t know what he’s up for.