Chapter 3 – Trevor
chapter
three
Trevor
Fuck me.
Memories never stayed buried for long. One whiff of her coconut shampoo and a long ago memory rose to the surface.
I'd been late for practice, cutting through the empty hallway near the east gym of Lincoln Park High.
The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, casting long rectangles of golden light across the scuffed linoleum floor.
The building had that particular after-school emptiness, hollow echoes, distant locker slams, the squeak of the janitor's mop bucket somewhere down the hall.
I was rushing, hockey bag slung over my shoulder, the familiar pre-practice ritual playing in my head.
Twelve taps on the left post. Kiss the pendant.
Twenty-three seconds of meditation. Coach Teegs would make me skate suicides if I was late again.
Worth it if it killed me. At least then I’d stop thinking about her.
That's when I heard voices around the corner. Trevor's hockey buddies, Jason Meeks and Connor Dillon, talking shit like they always did. Their voices bounced off the blue metal lockers, the acoustics of the empty hallway carrying their words clearly to where I stood.
"So Coulter's really keeping that one to himself, huh?" Jason's voice echoed.
"Lena Hartwell? Yeah." Connor laughed, that distinctive braying sound that always set my teeth on edge. "Don't know why he bothers. Word is she's frigid as ice. Won't even put out."
My hand tightened on the strap of my bag. Hearing her name in their mouths felt wrong, like they were smudging something precious with their dirty hands.
Tell them. Go around that corner and shut them up.
"Bet that's why he's still sneaking around with Brianna," Jason said. "Smart, though. Keep the smart girl for show, nail the cheerleader on the side."
My blood went cold. I knew Trevor had been seeing Brianna again. I'd caught them in his car last week in the far corner of the mall parking lot, her blonde head bobbing in his lap. The image had burned itself into my retinas, not because of Brianna, but because of what it meant for Lena.
I'd cornered Trevor in our basement that night, the hockey game on the TV nothing but background noise as I'd demanded answers.
"What the fuck, Trev? You're still with Lena, right?" I'd kept my voice level despite the anger churning in my gut.
He'd smirked, that careless Fox Coulter smile our dad was famous for. "Relax, baby bro. It's just a little fun. Lena doesn't need to know."
"She deserves better than that shit."
"Since when are you so concerned about my girlfriend?" His eyes had narrowed then, something calculating in them that made me step back.
"She's my friend too."
"Right." The way he'd said it made my skin crawl. "Just a friend."
He'd promised he would end things with Brianna, that he really did care about Lena. I should have known better. Trevor never kept promises that inconvenienced him.
Now, hearing Connor and Jason, I knew it had been another lie.
"Bet the Hartwell girl doesn't suspect a thing." Connor's voice dripped with mockery, pulling me back to the hallway. "Too busy with her nose in those books. Probably thinks Trevor's gonna marry her or some shit."
The mental image of Lena hunched over her textbooks in the library flashed through my mind.
The way she'd twist one braid around her finger when she was concentrating.
How the tip of her tongue would peek out when she was solving a particularly difficult problem.
The way she'd look up when she finally cracked it, this grin spreading across her face like she'd just won something, and I'd have to look away before she caught me staring.
I'd spent hours pretending to study, just watching her from across the table, my textbook open to the same page for forty-five minutes straight.
"Dude, she's lucky he even looks at her." Jason again. "I mean, she's hot for a nerd, but the Coulters can get literally anyone."
"You seen that ass, though?" Connor dropped his voice like he was sharing state secrets. "If she wasn't Trevor's, I'd—"
I stepped around the corner, my gym bag hitting the floor with a thud that made them both jump. The sound echoed in the empty hallway like a gunshot.
"You'd what, exactly?" My voice came out as a low growl, dangerous enough that both boys took an instinctive step back.
Jason's eyes widened. "Trace! Hey, man, we were just—"
"Just what? Talking shit? Spreading rumors?" I took a step closer, closing the distance between us. The overhead fluorescents cast harsh shadows across their suddenly nervous faces. "Because it sounds like you're disrespecting Lena, and that's not happening."
Connor tried to recover, straightening his shoulders. "Come on, it's just locker room talk." He backed up until his spine hit the lockers with a metallic clang. "Everyone does it."
"No, it's not." I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, a steady drumbeat of rage.
"Lena Hartwell is twice as smart as both of you combined.
And she deserves better than your bullshit rumors.
" I moved into Connor's space, close enough that I could smell the stale weed on his breath, could see the flicker of fear in his eyes.
"And whatever's going on with Trevor, that's between them.
Not for you to gossip about like fucking middle schoolers. "
Connor raised his hands, palms out. "Whoa, dude. Didn't know you cared so much."
Something in his tone set me off. I grabbed his jersey, bunching the fabric in my fist, slamming him back against the lockers hard enough that the entire row rattled.
The sound reverberated down the empty hallway like thunder.
His head bounced off the metal and his eyes went glassy for a second.
I didn't care. My forearm was across his chest and I could feel his heartbeat jackhammering under my arm, could feel the sweat breaking out on his skin through the jersey fabric.
The hallway smelled like floor wax and fear.
"Let me make this really clear." I kept my voice low, controlled, the way I'd learned watching our father handle press after tough losses. "You don't talk about her. Not her looks, not her relationship, not anything. Far as you're concerned, she doesn't exist. Got it?"
He nodded quickly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Yeah, got it."
I released him with a slight shove, then looked at Jason, who was watching with wide eyes, pressing himself against the wall like he was trying to melt into it.
"Same goes for you."
"Sure, man. No problem." Jason's voice cracked. "Didn't realize she was off-limits for talk too."
The "too" hung in the air between us, loaded with implication. Everyone knew the unspoken rule, you don't touch a Coulter's girl. But now I was extending that protection to even talking about her, and the distinction wasn't lost on them.
I picked up my bag, the adrenaline still coursing through me. "Now you know."
As I walked away, spine straight, shoulders tense, I heard Connor mutter behind me, "Damn, you think he's got a thing for his brother's girl?"
I pretended not to hear, my footsteps measured and deliberate on the linoleum. Because he wasn't entirely wrong, and that terrified me.
He’s not wrong. And you know it.
I don't remember practice that afternoon.
Don't remember the drills or the scrimmage or the locker room afterward.
I do remember the drive home, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white, the radio off, the silence in the car thick enough to choke on.
I knew what I had to do. Confront Trevor again.
And I knew, somewhere deep in my gut, that this time it wouldn't end with a promise he'd never keep.
Congratulations on your confrontation skills, Coulter. Really nailed it the first time.
That night, I found him sprawled on the leather couch in our basement rec room, controller in hand, the blue light of the TV screen casting shadows across his face.
The basement had always been our space, walls lined with Coulter memorabilia, hockey sticks mounted like trophies, the glass case with Dad's first championship ring.
A shrine to the family legacy we were both supposed to uphold.
"You promised you'd stop with Brianna." No preamble, just straight to the point.
He paused the game, looking up at me with annoyance. "Jesus, Trace. What are you, the relationship police?"
I leaned against the pool table, running my fingers along the felt edge. "Your friends are talking. Everyone knows." I crossed my arms, standing over him. "Lena's going to find out."
"So?" He shrugged, and in that moment, I'd never felt further from my brother. "She'll get over it. They always do."
"She won't." I knew Lena better than he did, knew how deeply she felt things, how seriously she took promises. "And she shouldn't have to."
For a fleeting moment, guilt crossed his face, quickly replaced by defensiveness. "Look, I'm trying, okay? It's just... complicated."
"It's not complicated. You either want to be with her or you don't."
"What are you, fucking Dr. Phil now?" He tossed the controller aside and stood up. Even then, Trevor had two inches on me, but I didn't back down. "Lena's great, but she's always studying or taking care of her mom or whatever. A guy has needs."
I stared at my brother. The guy I'd shared a room with until we were twelve, who'd taught me how to tape a stick, who I'd fought beside in every tournament since Pee Wees. And right now I didn't recognize him at all.
Disgust rose like bile in my throat. "So break up with her. Let her find someone who deserves her."
Something flickered in his eyes then. Possessiveness, maybe. Or suspicion. He took a step toward me. "You seem awfully concerned about my girlfriend's happiness. Got something you want to share with the class, baby brother?"
I schooled my features into careful neutrality. "I just don't think she deserves to be treated like shit. She's my friend too."