Chapter 19
Declan
Last night, the whole world went silent for exactly three seconds.
Then it went insane.
I don't remember making the decision to run.
One second I'm standing on the pier watching Josie's face drain of color, the little red light glowing on her collar like an accusation.
The next I'm sprinting down the boardwalk after Beck, my dress shoes hammering the old planks while five hundred phones were lighting up around me like a field of fireflies documenting the worst night of my life.
"Beck! Beck, wait—"
He didn't wait. He didn't even slow down. He walked straight to Mason's car with his shoulders locked, and when I grabbed his arm he shook me off like I was a stranger.
"Don't," was all he said.
My little brother, the loudest human being I have ever known, the kid who narrates every spoonful of his own breakfast… gave me one single word and then put his headphones in.
Behind me, somewhere back in all those lights, Josie was standing in the wreckage of the thing she built, and I couldn't be in two places at once.
I had to choose. And I hated myself for every step I took away from her.
That was seventeen hours ago.
Seventeen hours, and I still haven't fixed a goddamn thing.
I can hear every decibel of ten thousand people through the locker room walls. The whole arena is sold out. The thing Josie bled for her entire life is roaring above our heads like an ocean that finally decided to show up.
But in here? Inside this locker room?
It's pure silence.
Tonight should be a celebration.
The Bear Cave is louder than I've ever heard it, but instead of celebrating, I feel like I'm at a goddamn funeral.
Beck still won't speak to me.
He hasn't even looked at me since last night.
Even on the drive home from the boardwalk, he sat in the back of Mason's Audi with his headphones in and his hood up like a kid being driven home from a funeral.
We got back to the mansion, and he just walked straight past Diego's outstretched arms and shut his door without a sound.
Beck Morrison has gone silent. And it's the most terrifying fucking thing I've ever witnessed.
And Josie.
Fuck. Josie.
I haven't spoken to her since the boardwalk went silent and Rose stood there apologizing for Josie's world falling apart before our very eyes.
My confession. Her scandal. Both of us gutted on the same broadcast, and neither of us with a single second to hold the other one together since.
I swallow down some water in my stall, nervous energy bubbling all through my body.
My knee won't stop bouncing up and down, because I know, right now, Josie is somewhere up in that building with her mother sitting beside her while the whole world whispers about the hockey scandal blowing up every news center in the country.
Fuck.
I pull my chest protector over my head and my eyes drift to Beck's stall. He's taping his stick over and over again, wrapping it so tight the blade's going to suffocate.
Mason catches my eye from beside him. He gives me the smallest shake of his head. What the hell do we do? He's been trying to bridge his brothers together all morning. He made Beck's favorite breakfast and left it outside his door like an offering to an angry god.
It's probably still sitting there.
Screw it. Enough's enough.
I cross the room and plant myself in front of my little brother's stall, folding my arms over my chest and glaring down at him.
"Beck. Come on, let's talk it out."
He keeps taping his stick.
"Beck. Look at me."
He doesn't look up. I look to Mason who shrugs his shoulders and gives me a look that says keep trying.
So… I do. I do what I've been doing my entire fucking life, and swallow my own damn pride just to keep this family functioning.
"Look, Beck. We've got sixty minutes of hockey to play. I know last night was shit, but this is the biggest game this franchise has ever had. The biggest game we've ever had." I take a breath and watch him carefully. "Whatever this is, whatever's going on, how about we park it until after?"
"Park it?" He laughs, but it's a sound I've never heard come out of Beck before. It's flat and there's no funny punchline. "Yeah. Sure. Let me just park the fact that my entire childhood was a group project everyone worked on except me."
"That's not—"
"You KNEW!" He rockets up out of the stall so fast his stick clatters to the floor.
He takes a leap forward, and now he's in my face, nostrils flaring before my eyes.
"YOU KNEW, DECLAN! Every holiday, every birthday, every time Dad stood up at dinner and gave one of his big speeches about family… You just sat there and let me clap."
"I was protecting you!" I roar, not backing down as my chest collides with his.
But Beck's face does something I'll see for the rest of my life.
It doesn't crumple. It hardens.
"And there it is." He growls, his teeth grinding through the words. "The whole fucking problem, right there. I'm not your brother, I'm your project. Poor stupid Beck, can't handle the truth, better manage him. Better keep the baby laughing so he doesn't notice the goddamn house is on fire!"
The whole room is silent as Beck's words echo around us.
"You know what the worst part is? It's not even Dad. Dad's just an asshole with a yoga membership. It's YOU. Because he lied to Mom, but you lied to me."
Beck gets right in my face again, and my fists curl at my sides. My blood is boiling, and if he wasn't my brother, I swear to fucking God—
"Every day you lied to me! And yet somehow, you still managed to tell a stranger before you told me!"
"She's not a stranger."
"NO, apparently she's the love of your life, which the ENTIRE PACIFIC COAST knows now. So congratulations on your communication breakthrough, Captain Dipshit—"
"Hey—" Mason steps between us, one hand on each of our chests. "Both of you just back up. We're not doing this here. Not—"
"Like hell we're not." Beck shoves Mason's arm off, and Mason—who absorbs everything, who has never once pushed back in his life—shoves him back.
They stare at each other for a split second, then Beck's gloves hit the floor.
It's on, faster than if I was on the ice. My hands are fisted in Beck's jersey as all three of us scuffle backwards until we're wrestling against the wall. Fists start flying and the whole goddamn room explodes around us, with Finn shouting and Sawyer lunging off the bench to split us up.
It doesn't help.
My knuckles connect with Beck's shoulder, or maybe his jaw. I can't tell anymore, but pain starts shooting up my arm as we crash into a row of stalls. Someone's helmet clatters across the tile as Mason's forearm locks around my throat from behind, dragging me backward.
"FUCK OFF!" I roar, and I plant my heel and drive us both into the bench, splintering it.
Beck's on the floor now, scrambling, blood at his lip, and I can taste it in my own mouth before Finn's weight finally slams into all three of us at once.
"ENOUGH!"
Coach Pearson's roar silences the room.
He's standing in the doorway, and behind him, faintly, I can hear the media scrum in the corridor. The fucking vultures have been circling since last night, cameras and questions and Morrison on every tongue.
Coach steps into the room and kicks the door shut. He looks at the three of us tangled together in the middle of his locker room.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he spits out. "Let go of each other. Now."
We let go and Coach walks a circle around us, stepping over Beck's stick before kicking the random helmet across the room.
"I don't care what's happening out there.
I don't care what's happening in here. I've got a daughter, so believe me, I know families are complicated.
Yours just went primetime, and that's a raw deal, and I'm sorry.
" He stops in front of Beck and gets right in his face.
"But in four minutes, you put on that jersey, and out there you're not brothers. You're a fucking team!"
"Yes, Coach," Beck mutters.
"Ten thousand people bought tickets to watch you play hockey tonight," Coach continues, moving from Beck to Mason. "So you're gonna go out there and give it to them. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Mason nods stiffly.
Coach's face scrunches some more, looking at each of us from head to toe. Then he plants himself directly in front of me, holding my gaze before shaking his head.
"And you. You're supposed to be the smart one.
The one who holds this whole circus together.
" He gestures vaguely at Beck and Mason, both still breathing hard, both still refusing to look at each other.
"And instead I walk in here and find you three going at it like a bunch of golden retrievers fighting over the last tennis ball. "
"Coach—"
"I'm not finished." He plants a hand on my shoulder, and the weight of it is enough to make my knees want to buckle.
"You're the captain, Morrison. That means when the room's on fire, you're the one who's supposed to be holding the hose.
Not throwing gasoline on it because your little brother hurt your feelings. "
"Understood," I mutter.
"Good." Coach straightens, tugging at the collar of his suit. "Because in about three minutes, ten thousand people are gonna be screaming your names, and every single camera in that building is gonna be pointed at this room's dirty laundry, hoping it flaps in the wind a little more."
I nod, but remain silent.
"You want to have your little feud? Fine.
Have it after. Bleed all over each other in the parking lot for all I care.
But for the next sixty minutes, you're the Beachside Bears, and the Beachside Bears do not implode in front of a sold-out crowd because somebody's got their panties in a twist. Now fix your faces, because right now you all look like shit. "
The rest of the room holds still, like they're waiting for the motivational speech we usually get. Coach just flaps a hand in the air and heads for the door.
"That's the whole speech. I had a better one but those assholes ruined the mood."