Broken boy the puck boys.., p.1
Broken Boy (The Puck Boys of Brooks University Book 2), page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Hannah Gray
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.authorhannahgray.com
Cover Designer: Amy Queau, Q Design
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Alternative Cover Designer: Sarah Grim Sentz, Enchanting Romance Designs
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
contents
playlist
prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
epilogue
Other Books by Hannah Gray
acknowledgments
about the author
playlist
Listen to the music that inspired Broken Boy on Spotify.
“Get to Gettin’ Gone” by Bailey Zimmerman
“Thinkin’ Bout Me” by Morgan Wallen
“Flowers” by Miley Cyrus
“10:35” by Tiësto, featuring Tate McRae
“Hate Me” by Ellie Goulding and Juice WRLD
“Just Friends” by Ally Barron
“If the World Was Ending” by JP Saxe, featuring Julia Michaels
“Friends Don’t” by Maddie & Tae
“tear myself apart” by Tate McRae
“Hold Me Closer” by Elton John and Britney Spears
“that way” by Tate McRae
“Last Night” by Morgan Wallen
prologue
Link
Age Eighteen
Her lips are cracked and dry and her skin pale. Every word she forces herself to speak seems like it hurts her, cutting deep in her throat as she wheezes and coughs. Still, it’s the same each time I come home from college to see her. We are getting closer to the end every day, and I know it. We all know it. For the most part, I’ve avoided coming in here. Not because I don’t want to see my mom, but because I can’t bear to see her this way. She has always been so happy, so beautiful. Yet I’m watching her wither away to nothing. She’s declining rapidly. And there’s no hiding the fact that she’s in agony.
“You’re going to be okay,” she says, barely whispering. “I promise.”
I suck in a breath. Emotions aren’t something I’m good at showing. Not because I don’t have them, but because showing them makes me feel weak. And awkward.
“I don’t know about that.” I feel my throat swell, and I swallow back the feeling of dread creeping up. “None of us will be.”
She shakes her head slightly. “I don’t mean losing me, baby. I know that’ll hurt. I mean, your heart.” She reaches up, putting her hand on my chest. “I know it hurts, but I promise … it’ll all be okay.” Her eyes peer up at me. I can tell she’s so exhausted. “She loves you so much. She’ll come back to you.”
I freeze, holding my breath. I haven’t told her that my best friend—the girl I love—left me behind. My mother has enough to deal with, fighting cancer—and losing. She doesn’t need me piling on to her with my issues too. So, I have kept it to myself that Tate is gone.
When I don’t answer, she clears her throat, attempting to sit up. But when she can’t find the strength, I help her. Wrapping my arms around her, I move her upward until she seems semi-comfortable.
“Nothing that’s worthwhile is ever going to come easy,” she whispers. “But that doesn’t mean you give up. It means you fight harder. You have patience. You show unconditional love.” Her hand cups my cheek. “You’ve loved her since the day she arrived here. So, when the anger and spite start to take over everything else, remember that.” I know she wants to cry but is too dehydrated to physically do it. “I don’t want to leave you, my sweet boy. But I’m going to die, Link. And you’re going to need her.”
I swallow, my own vision blurry with tears. “She left.”
She smiles the smallest smile. “She’ll come back. And when she does … let her.”
She says the words like it should be so easy to do. But I know two things to be true.
Tate probably isn’t coming back.
And if she does … I don’t think I’ll be able to just forgive her.
Three Weeks Later
Taking a fistful of dirt, I sprinkle it into the rectangular hole in the ground. Small pieces of earth hit the casket, scattering over it every which way, with no rhyme or reason. What’s supposed to be symbolic in some way seems meaningless. I don’t want to drop a handful of dirt on this cherry-colored piece of wood. I don’t want to do anything right now. I just want to wake up and have this nightmare be over. I want to travel back to when life didn’t seem so hopeless. No, actually, I’d go back to all those months ago. When it didn’t seem like everything was so fucking doomed.
My father sobs without trying to hide it. And my brothers stand beside me, looking down at where we know our mother lies, but not really seeing it. All of us knowing deep down inside that it might be her body, but that it stopped being our mother a week before, when she took her last breath.
Numb. That’s what my brothers are. Just like me.
Throughout the service today—hell, the past seven days—that’s all I’ve felt. Numb. Dead. Frozen. Dazed.
I can feel the darkness creeping in, threatening to pull me into its depths, to a place so gloomy that I’ll never escape. Yeah, it’s trying. And I’m not doing a damn thing to stop it. Honestly, I don’t care if it takes me anymore. At least in the pits of hell, nothing can get worse.
There’re only two people who could pull me away from it, bringing me back to safety. One of them was my mother. And since she’s lying six feet in the ground, about to be covered with earth … I guess I can count her out.
The other, the one who had been my favorite person in the world since I was twelve, disappeared without a trace a month prior, only to send me an email a few days ago.
An email.
A measly three-lined fucking email.
When I saw Tate Tracy’s name appear in my inbox, I thought she’d say she was coming home to be with me for the funeral. To stand by my side and help me through this agony. I assumed she’d tell me she was sorry for leaving the way she had. But she said none of that. Instead, she wrote how fond of my mother she was and that she was so sorry for my loss. She even wrote that fucking line that she was thinking of me and my family. Like I was a random fucking person on Facebook who’d just endured a loss and she was commenting on it with some generic message.
Like I meant nothing to her. As if I never had.
So, as far as I’m concerned, Tate Tracy is nobody to me. Not that she has been since she left. But that email was the final nail in the Tate and Link coffin. And now, I hate her. And that hate is growing every single day. Like a disease, deep-rooted inside of me, spreading throughout every single cell in my body with no cure to stop it.
One day, she’ll come back. She’ll realize she fucked up.
And despite my mother’s wishes, that’s the day I’ll look her in her deep brown eyes, and I’ll tell her to fuck off.
Nobody’s pulling me away from the darkness now. So, I guess I’d better get used to it.
Because that’s where I’ll always be.
1
Link
Age Twenty-One
“Yo, little brother,” Logan says on the other end of the phone. “The fuck you been up to? I was talking to Carter, and he agrees that your punk ass never calls. You don’t text. Nothin’.”
“Y’all need to find a life besides worrying about me,” I joke, throwing my duffel bag into the backseat before climbing into my truck. “I’ve been busy training. Something you’d know about if you played for a real team.”
“Oh, fuck right off,” he tosses back. “We’ll see who’s the better team when we play you, won’t we? We’ll mop the ice with your asses.”
“Oh, we’ll see all right.”
“Have you talked to the old man lately?” Logan’s voice grows serious. “I keep thinking, one day, he’ll get better, but I think he’s just getting worse.”
“Not since I was home six weeks ago,” I say quietly. “Been meaning to call, but, you know … life.”
“Yeah, maybe we can take him on a fishing trip for a few days this spring, once hockey season is over,” Logan chimes in, sounding hopeful. “I think he’d like that.”
“Yeah, that’d be good,” I answer, knowing it’s likely never going to happen.
He’d never leave our house overnight. Since our mom died, he’s done the same thing every single day. Wakes up, drinks one cup of cof
“Well, look, I just wanted to make sure you were still alive and all.” He chuckles softly. “Don’t be a stranger. You’re giving me a dang complex here.”
“My bad.” I turn the key to my truck’s ignition and listen to it rumble to life. “I’m headed to the gym. You behave yourself and keep trying to make that shitty team look better.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you,” he grunts. “Bye.”
“Later,” I say before ending the call and pulling out of the driveway.
Out of the four of us brothers, Logan and I were the ones who took to hockey at a young age. Eating, breathing, and living for the game. Only being a year apart also made for some serious competitiveness between him and me. And those few times a year when we get to play against each other, we make sure to bring all the shit-talking, just like the good old days.
For Carter, the oldest of us, football was his life. That was, until an injury took him out his senior year of high school. And Travis, the baby, is in school to be a doctor. He’s the brains of the family for sure.
And then there is me. I am the quiet one. The one who takes life way too seriously and lives solely for hockey. Hockey has been good to me, so it deserves my full attention. It was there for me as a kid, when my mother got sick the first time, when my best friend left me, and when my mother died. Proving itself the only true love of my life. That isn’t changing anytime soon.
Tate
Taking a long, heavenly sip from my fountain Diet Coke, I sigh. So. Damn. Good.
Who really cares that it’s filled with aspartame and other bad crap that’s probably going to rot my brain and cause bloating or that it has absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever? It’s pure perfection. No matter what my friends always say, warning me of how awful it really is. Some people choose tanning beds while they are young even though it’ll make them look like a dried-up prune later in life. I choose the goodness that is Diet Coke despite how it’s basically poison. The crisp bubbles are something I just can’t get enough of.
My phone rings, and on the screen in my car, I see my mom’s name. Clicking the Accept button, I wait for her voice to fill my car.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, smiling, as I continue to drive toward campus. “Calling to check on me for the thousandth time, are ya?”
“Ha-ha. It hasn’t been that many times. And I know traffic is crazy at this time of the day. I just wanted to see how you’re making it.”
“Lady, it’s only a two-hour drive, not across the country,” I point out. “But I’m about two minutes out. Just stopped and got my second Mickey D’s Diet Coke of the day.”
“Oh, I’m jealous.” She sighs. “Love me a good Diet Coke straight from the fountain. It just tastes different, you know?”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
I gaze out the window at the streets I’m vaguely familiar with. I remember when I was in sixth grade, we took a field trip to the Astronomy Center here at Brooks University. I love this place. I always thought I’d end up here for my entire college career, but I guess plans change.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come down and help you settle in?” She pauses. “I should be there. Damn you for being so independent.”
“I’m good, I promise. I don’t have much unpacking to do, seeing’s this apartment is fully furnished.” My eyes find Oak Street, and I put my blinker on. “I’m pulling into the place now. So, as long as this dude doesn’t kidnap me, I’ll call you later.”
“You are so not funny!” she hisses before she blows out a breath. “It just doesn’t feel right, not being with you, babe. Your father or I—or, heck, even both of us—should be there. I hate this. I feel like a shit parent.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but …” I say harshly before laughing. “Seriously, Mom, y’all have done enough. Well, you have done enough.”
While I wait for my mom’s answer, I park in front of the adorable apartment that was listed online for rent a few months ago, which was when I decided to come back to Georgia after spending my freshman and sophomore years in Boston. I hated it there. But I was determined to give it a real, honest try before coming back to the only state I’d ever known.
“Your dad loves you,” is all she says. “Just be careful, Tate. And if you need anything, call.”
“I was in Boston for the past two years. Trust me, Brooks University will be a cakewalk compared to that place. You should see some of the side streets there.” I chuckle. “I’ll call you later and let you know once I’m settled in. Love you.”
“Love you more. Call your daddy too. He worries.”
I freeze up at the thought of having to call my father.
“Okay, I will. Bye,” I answer quickly before ending the call.
Shifting my car into park, I throw my head back against the leather headrest and exhale, closing my eyes.
For twenty years, my mom put up with my father’s shit. His cheating scandals, his eyes that couldn’t help but check out every girl who walked by him, and the fact that he was a self-centered asshole for their entire marriage.
Being the wife of a famous hockey player had taken its toll on my mother. And though she wasn’t the perfect parent, as she went through times of hitting really low lows, followed by the highest highs, she did her best. And even during the periods she struggled to love herself, she always wanted better for my sister, Meyer, and me. She cared so much that when she knew I was struggling with the hell that came with being the daughter of a professional athlete, she pushed for us to move to Appleton, Georgia. A small town where we could live a more ordinary life. We had gone from living in a mansion to a semi-normal house. Sure, it was still much larger than the average home—no doubt about that. But it was a much homier feel than what I’d had before. And for that, I loved it.
Meyer never minded the attention of reporters following us around at outings. She’d simply smile and wave, being her charismatic self. Me? I hated it. And thanks to having a fainting condition, I was always scared one of my passing-out episodes would be caught on camera.
And then there were the untold number of affairs on my dad’s end. And once I became old enough to understand the tabloids, I resented my father for embarrassing our family the way that he had. And for treating my mom the way that he had. And even though we lived in Georgia, he spent the majority of his time in Florida, even during the offseason. God only knows what else he was up to behind my mom’s back.
All of this left Meyer and me with daddy issues. Both of us swearing off men who were athletes in the limelight—even if that meant I couldn’t be with the person my heart had always longed for.
It didn’t help that every time our dad messed up, our mother would mentally check out for a while. She’d lose weight and get depressed. She’d stay locked inside our house. And even though she wanted to be there for us … she couldn’t. She’d attempt to smile and pretend to be listening. But we both knew her mind was somewhere else.
But just like a wave crashing on the beach, she’d eventually settle and come back to us. Always. And in my eyes, it’s sort of a blessing that he asked for a divorce two years ago. But given he was a retired center for the Tampa Bay Lightning, their marital trouble and divorce were extremely and painfully publicized. Which certainly didn’t make it easier on any of us.
So, while it seemed simple enough to swear off athletes, that rule became harder to follow when I was twelve years old, Meyer eleven, and we moved to Appleton. Because right across the street from our house was a mother and father who had not one, not two … but four sons. All unusually good-looking and stupidly athletic. But one in particular, Link, who fell third in the Sterns boy lineup, instantly took me in as a friend from the moment my sneakers hit the pavement of our new driveway. And from then on, we were inseparable.
At first, Link Sterns might have been just the boy who saved me a seat on the bus, invited me frog catching in the pond in his backyard, and bought me a milkshake after school most days, but as he grew up, he became the epitome of what every teenage girl’s dreams were made of. Except mine.
