All Chapters of PUCK ME, STEPBROTHER: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Roy Bryson POVI sit in the back seat beside Julian while his father drives in total silence.The air feels thick enough to choke on.I can feel Julian's tension radiating off him in waves. I know he's spiraling, thinking the silence means judgment. That his father is disgusted, angry, or planning something terrible.But I can't focus on that right now. I can only think about one thing.My mother.The fear is eating me alive from the inside out.The kiss keeps replaying in my head.And then the door opens.Julian's father is standing there. His phone hit the floor. The shock on his face. The confusion. The silence that said everything and nothing all at once.I've dealt with anger before. Shouting. Accusations. Slammed doors.But silence terrifies me more.The drive feels endless. Julian keeps shifting beside me like he wants to touch me but doesn't know if he should. I want to take his hand. Want to lean into him. Want to feel something other than this crushing fear.But his father'

GoneJulian POVThe car ride is painfully quiet.Dad keeps both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, jaw tight. Not a single comment about what he walked in on earlier. No questions. No accusations. Just silence.The silence is worse than yelling.I sit in the back seat beside Bryson, guilt twisting in my stomach. I keep replaying the moment Dad opened that door.I want to rewind the entire morning. Want to go back and lock the door properly. Want to have this conversation on my own terms instead of having it forced on us like this.But there's no going back now.Bryson sits stiff beside me, his hands clenched in his lap. He stares out the window, his mind clearly somewhere else. On his mother. On Roy. On what might be happening to her right now.I reach over and take his hand. He doesn't look at me but his fingers tighten around mine immediately.Dad's eyes flick to the rearview mirror. He sees our joined hands but says nothing. Just returns his focus to the road.The police station fee

The RescueJulian POVI sit in the back of a police vehicle with Dad beside me, both of us are tense and silent. The officers are heading toward the cabin based on the leads they gathered overnight.My leg won't stop bouncing. Dad notices but doesn't say anything. Just sits there with his jaw tight while staring out the window.The landscape passes by in a blur,The detective, Jarvis sits in the front passenger seat, coordinating with other units over the radio. Her voice is calm and professional, giving directions and updates.I can barely focus on her words. My mind keeps replaying the moment I woke up and found Bryson's room empty. A sick feeling in my stomach when I realized what he'd done.He went alone. After everything we talked about, and promising each other we'd face things together.I'm terrified and furious in equal measure.My phone buzzes suddenly, making me jump.I pull it out and my heart stops completely.Pictures. Multiple pictures are loading one after another.A ca

LossJulian POVI sit in the ambulance holding Bryson's mother's hand, my fingers wrapped gently around her cold ones."Stay awake," I whisper, leaning close. "Please stay awake. Stay with us, please”Her eyes flutter occasionally, but she doesn't focus on anything. Her breathing is shallow, labored, and each breath sounds like it takes everything she has.The medic works steadily beside me, checking monitors and adjusting the IV. "Vitals are holding," he says, but his voice is tight with concern. "She's critical but stable for now."Critical but stable.The words mean nothing to me. Nothing feels stable. Not her cold hand in mine, not the blood soaking through the bandages, not the frantic beeping of the machines.My hands shake as I hold onto her. I keep replaying everything that had just happened even if I try not to.Behind us, in a police car, Bryson is probably thinking this is all his fault. That he should have gotten there sooner or that he should have done more.But he saved

TouchJulian POVTraining is heavier than usual today. I can tell from the moment we step onto the ice that something is different about Bryson.He skates hard and fast, pushing himself past what seems reasonable. His movements are sharp, almost violent. Every stride looks like he's trying to outrun something and every shot fired at the goal is like he's punishing it.Coach notices too. I see him watching Bryson with a concerned expression, but he doesn't say anything. Just let him burn through whatever this is.I stay close, keeping a close eye on Bryson's corner vision during drills. Partly to spot him if he needs it and to be there if needed.But I can see the moments where he zones out. Where his eyes go distant and dark, like he's not even on the ice anymore. Like he's back in that cabin or sitting beside his mother's hospital bed.When practice finally ends, everyone else leaves laughing and chatting about plans for the weekend. Their voices echo off the walls, gradually fading