You are going to Hawthorne

Sebastian POV

The final buzzer had sounded minutes ago, but the adrenaline still coursed through my veins. We’d won. Westfield had beaten Hawthorne 4-3 in a game that felt more like a war than a high school matchup. I glanced across the hallway toward the Hawthorne side, where Brad Walker stood surrounded by his teammates, his face was brimming with anger and his eyes dark with frustration. Meeting him today would definitely piss him off more, so the farther I could stay away, the better. Though it would be amusing to watch his drama unfold back at home.

My phone rang, cutting through the post-game chatter. My eyes lit up when I saw Mom’s name on the screen. I picked up immediately, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Ma, I won my game today,” I said, pride slipping into my voice. “But I might be a little late because I want to grab some KFC with the buddies from the team.”

There was a brief pause. Mom’s voice cracked slightly before she cleared her throat and spoke calmly. “Oh, congratulations, honey. That’s wonderful. But… could you suspend your plans today? Your stepfather wants to have a family dinner, all of us. With Brad.”

“Right?” I echoed, the joy I felt diminished a little.

“Yeah. I know it might be uncomfortable for you, but he’s your stepdad now. Can you make a little adjustment for me?”

I clutched my gear bag tighter, my knucklesturned white. The last thing I wanted was another forced evening pretending we were one big happy family. “Sure, Mom. Anything for you.”

I sighed as the call ended and tucked the phone into my bag. Before heading to my car, I sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. Then I slammed my hands against it once, hard.

“Why is it always about Brad?”

I started the car and left the driveway. Eight months ago, Mom met Carlos Walker at some charity event. Flash marriage. Whirlwind romance. Suddenly we were living in this massive house that screamed old money, and everyone assumed Mom and I were gold diggers chasing the Walker fortune.

That’s why I needed this hockey scholarship so badly. To prove I could make it on my own. To show everyone, especially Brad and his father, that we weren’t here for handouts. I loved the game, but it had become my ticket out.

I drove home in silence, the city lights blurring past. When I pulled into the driveway of the sprawling Walker estate, Brad’s car was already there. I walked inside and spotted him chilling on the massive leather sofa in the living room, sipping a can of beer like the loss hadn’t just happened. I nodded at him politely.

He ignored me completely, eyes glued to his phone.

Fine by me. It was better when we didn’t talk. We didn’t see eye to eye on anything, hockey, family, life. He was the entitled golden boy who thought the world owed him everything. I was the outsider trying to carve my own path.

I headed straight to my room, decorated in calming shades of blue with some fancy ribbons and accents Mom had added to make me feel welcome. It still felt weird sometimes, like stepping into someone else’s life—but it was oddly captivating. I dropped my bag on the bed and headed for the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the tension.

Halfway through, a soft knock sounded. Mom opened the door a crack.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, son.” She stepped inside, her smile warm but tired. “Congratulations on the game. You brought the win home again. You always do.”

I smiled, toweling off my hair. “Thanks. Felt good out there.”

She nervously fidgeted with her hands, twisting her wedding ring. “I know you and Carlos have never really seen eye to eye… but for my sake, can you not argue with him tonight? Brad seems to be in a bad mood after the loss, and it’s rubbing off on everyone. I don’t want things to escalate. I’m trying to make this marriage work, Sebastian. I need your help.”

Mom had suffered through too many heartbreaks before Carlos, absent fathers, unstable relationships, financial struggles. He was the first stable thing she’d had in years. I wasn’t going to be the one to mess it up for her.

“I know,” I said softly, patting her back. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll behave.”

She exhaled in relief. “Thank you. Dinner’s ready in a few minutes. Come down when you’re set.”

“Be right there.”

About thirty minutes later, I came downstairs in a simple black t-shirt and comfortable joggers. The dining room smelled amazing, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, the works. I sat beside Mom. Brad sat opposite her, next to his father at the head of the table. The tension was already thick enough to cut with a knife.

Carlos cleared his throat, looking every bit the successful businessman in his crisp shirt. “Brad, how was your game? I heard Hawthorne played Westfield today.”

Brad hung his head low, poking at his food. “It was a good game. Though…”

He didn’t need to finish. If Brad had won, he’d be flaunting it, replaying every highlight. The humble tone said everything: they’d lost. I stayed quiet, not wanting to rub salt in the wound.

Carlos turned to me instead, his expression more measured. “Sebastian, I heard your hockey team made you captain. You’re making Westfield proud.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied evenly. “I love playing. It’s always been my dream to make it far, finals, maybe even scholarships.”

“Very good. That’s ambitious.” Carlos took a sip of wine, then set his glass down. “I don’t know how to say this, and it may come as a shock to you… but you will be transferred to Hawthorne.”

The words landed like a slapshot to the chest.

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. “Transferred? To Hawthorne?”

Brad’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in surprise before changing to irritation. For once, we shared the same reaction.

Carlos nodded, unfazed. “Yes. Starting next week. I’ve already spoken with the administration.