The Fourth Time

Chapter One

Brent’s POV

Hockey in Frostbridge has always been predictable.

The ice was cold, Coach Jake yelled way too much, Michael always showed up where he wasn’t supposed to, and if I worked hard enough, I usually won.

But Life, unfortunately, had never played by the same rules…

Coach Jake’s whistle sliced through the rink, sharp enough to snap me out of my thoughts before another puck skimmed past my skate.

“Eyes up, Lennox!” he called.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” I called back, already shifting my weight.

I held onto the pass against my stick and fired before the goalie had time to react.

The puck shot itself neatly in the top corner of the net.

The satisfying clang of metal echoed across the rink, followed by a chorus of disappointed groans from the freshmen lined up behind me.

Coach Jake lowered his whistle and pointed toward the goal.

“Stop staring at Brent’s shot you wimp,” he barked.

“Pay attention to how he got there. Goals aren’t luck. They’re repetition.”

The boys straightened immediately.

I skated past them, slowing when I noticed one of the younger players hanging back. His shoulders were slumped, and he kept staring at the ice beneath his skates like it had personally betrayed him.

I wasn’t supposed to care but I gotta be an adult I guess. “Everything okay?” I asked, gliding to a stop beside him.

He looked up, startled that I’d noticed.

“I keep messing up the drill.”

“So?”

He frowned.

“So… Coach’s gonna think I suck.”

A laugh left me before I could stop.

“Trust me, Coach already thinks all of us suck.”

The freshman blinked before letting out a small laugh.

I rested my stick against my shoulder.

“How many times did you fall when you first learned how to skate?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“A lot?”

“…Yeah… I guess”

“And you still got back up.”

He nodded.

“So what’s one bad practice going to change?”

The frustration on his face eased, replaced by something closer to determination.

“I guess… nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Coach Jake blew his whistle again.

“Captain! Stop giving therapy sessions and let the kid suffer like the rest of us.”

The entire team laughed.

I shook my head, still smiling. Typical coach.

“You hear that?” I told the freshman. “He’s in a good mood today.”

Coach snorted.

“Keep talking and you’ll both be skating suicides.”

The boy hurried away, trying not to smile.

Watching him leave reminded me why I loved this sport.

Nobody started out great.

You have to earn every inch. Every scar, every victory.

The ice never handed out second chances.

It rewarded the people stubborn enough to keep showing up.

“Practice is over!” Coach shouted. “Hit the showers before I remember conditioning exists.”

Relieved cheers bounced around the rink as everyone hurried toward the locker room.

I had barely stepped through the doors when they burst open again.

“Attention, victims!”

“Here we go again,” someone said.

Of course Micheal always HAD to make an entrance.

Every head turned.

He stood in the doorway with two paper bags from Joe’s Diner, breathing hard as though he’d sprinted across campus.

“I have suffered a terrible injustice,” he said, clutching onto his chest like he’d had his heart ripped out.

No one answered.

He looked around in disbelief.

“Seriously? Not one person wants to know what happened?”

One of the defensemen sighed dramatically.

“What happened, Michael?”

Michael lifted an empty fries carton with both hands.

“My fries.”

He paused for some dramatic effect.

“Were stolen.”

The room went silent.

Coach Jake stared at him.

“Boy, you don’t even play for my team.”

“I know.”

“So why the hell are you in my locker room?”

Michael looked around as if he’d only realized where he was.

“…You know what, coach? That’s a pretty fair question.”

Laughter erupted throughout the room.

Even Coach Jake struggled to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Out.”

“But I haven’t finished my investigation.”

“OUT!!!”

Michael pointed accusingly at every player within reach.

“One of you is a criminal.”

“I’ll confess,” one of the seniors said. “I stole them because you wouldn’t stop talking.”

Michael gasped.

“I knew the betrayal would come from within.”

He turned towards me the moment he spotted me unlacing my skates.

“There he is, my pretty star boy. Come to daddy”

I didn’t even look up.

“What do you want?”

“Dinner.”

“No.”

“You didn’t think about it,” he said pouting.

“I didn’t need to.”

“You know Brent boo,” he said in an annoyingly teasing voice. “Our friendship has become painfully one-sided.”

“Our friendship survives because I keep saying no.”

He clutched his chest again.

“I hope your future children inherit your mother’s generosity.”

“I hope they inherit your appetite,” I replied, standing up.

“They’ll bankrupt me before kindergarten.”

Another wave of laughter rolled through the locker room.

Coach Jake rubbed a hand over his face.

“I don’t know which one of you gives me a bigger headache.”

Michael grinned.

“I’d like to believe we take turns.”

Coach looked at me.

“Brent.”

“Yeah?”

“Please go home.”

I slung my hockey bag over one shoulder as I turned to him. “I was planning to.”

“And don’t come sneaking back here tonight.”

“I won’t.” I smiled.

He narrowed his eyes knowing that none of us believed that.

*******

Micheal’s laughter followed me all the way to the parking lot. I unlocked my car and tossed my hockey bag into the back seat before sliding behind the wheel then started the engine to life.

For the first few minutes, the drive home was exactly what I needed. Quiet roads. A familiar route. The kind of silence that let my muscles relax after two hours on the ice then suddenly, my phone lit up on the dashboard.

It was Michael Calling.

“Can’t he just let me be at peace?” I groaned as I stared at the screen then declined it.

Three seconds later… it was ringing again. Giving up,I answered with a sigh.

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“If this is about dinner, the answer’s still no.”

“It wasn’t about dinner.” there was a tiny pause before he spike again.

“…Okay, it was about dinner.”

I smiled despite myself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“So…” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Chinese?”

“No.”

“Burgers?”

“No.”

“Tacos?”

“Of course not.”

“You know, friendships require compromise,” he whined

“I compromise every day by answering your calls.”

He gasped loudly enough to make me pull the phone away from my ear.

“I give you emotional support.”

“You give me headaches.”

“They’re basically the same thing.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“There it is!” Michael shouted triumphantly. “I knew I could make you laugh.”

“You done?”

“No.”

“I figured.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

“What?”

“We’re playing the Black Eagles next week.”

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“So?”

“So…” His voice became unusually cautious.

“Maddox scored twice yesterday.”

Silence settled between uss as the smile disappeared from my face.

“I know.”

Michael hesitated. “You okay?”

“I’m driving.”

“…Brent.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he had a chance to answer, I ended the call.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

By the time I pulled into our driveway, it was evening. Great. There was a black sedan parked beside Dad’s SUV, right in my spot.

“Another guest,” I muttered under my breath.

Ever since his divorce, Dad’s social life had become impossible to keep up with. I grabbed my bag and headed inside, but the moment I stepped through the front door, the silence hit me. No television. No music from the kitchen. No Dad yelling at someone on the phone.

Absolutely nothing.

I closed the door behind me, frowning.

“Dad?” I called out to him.

No answer.

I kicked off my shoes and started toward the stairs. Halfway up, something caught my eye; red heels sitting neatly by the hallway table. They looked just like Sofia’s. My heart did a weird little flip. She’d said she was studying tonight… but maybe she’d come to surprise me. The thought of it almost made me smile.

Almost.

Then a moan drifted down the hallway. My smile died instantly. I moved slower now, as my feet felt heavy on the carpet, pulse hammering in my ears. Getting closer, the sounds grew clearer; skin slapping skin followed by a man’s grunt. Not Dad’s voice.

It was Maddox.

And right there in the living room, bent over the back of the couch like she belonged to him, was Sofia. My girlfriend. Her skirt was shoved up around her waist, panties dangling from one ankle.

Maddox stood behind her, gripping her hips hard, pounding into her with steady, brutal strokes. Her back arched, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry as her eyes rolled white.

I froze at the edge of the room, bag slipping from my fingers. The thud barely registered. My chest sank in as I felt hot and sick, like someone had punched straight through my ribs and twisted.

The betrayal burned up my throat, choking me. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Not her. Not with him. My fucking stepbrother.

Sofia’s moans cracked into desperate little whimpers, her body shaking with every thrust. She looked completely lost in it, face slack with pleasure, completely unaware I was standing there watching my whole world shatter.

Maddox glanced over, sweat glistening on his chest as a lazy smirk cutting across his face like he’d been expecting me. He didn’t stop. If anything, he drove deeper, making her cry out.

“You came home soon, brother,” he said, voice rough with effort. “I was just about to cum.”