Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Damon’s POV

It felt like an eternity since I had last laid eyes on my darling Micah. How long had it actually been? About... twenty-one hours? Not that I was meticulously counting every single agonizing minute, of course. After all, the fragile little boy had bolted like a frightened stray rabbit the second that incompetent nurse entered my room and injected my IV with whatever heavy, foul chemical was in that damn syringe.

I had fully assumed the sedative would knock me out for half the day, putting me into a deep, unbroken sleep. But my peace was rudely shattered when muffled shouting began echoing up from the grand foyer downstairs. The volume of the chaos forced me to drag my aching body off the mattress, fighting through the thick fog of medication that threatened to weigh down my limbs.

When I reached the top of the marble staircase, I caught sight of Noah standing in the main hall, practically roaring my name and Micah’s name at the top of his lungs. His veins were bulging against his neck, his eyes bloodshot with pure fury. It was in that very moment that I truly realized the frightening depth of Noah’s sick obsession with his little brother. To think he would actually march straight into the Silver family estate, ready to tear the mansion apart brick by brick just to track down his precious sibling, was nothing short of psychotic.

It was so amusing—so cute—watching him lose his mind that a dark, mocking smirk instantly spread across my face.

"You bastard, bring my brother out right now!" Noah had barked, his voice booming off the vaulted ceilings of the foyer.

Fortunately for me, my younger brothers managed to save my life—technically speaking—by coldly informing Noah that Micah was long gone and was no longer on the property.

Noah hadn’t wasted a single second after hearing that. He glared deep into the very depths of my soul, before turning on his heel and storming out of the estate.

I stood on the landing, quietly hoping he would actually manage to find Micah. Yet, as the quiet descended back upon the mansion, one persistent, irritating question burned inside my brain: Where on earth did Micah run off to?

I missed him so terribly that the moment I walked into the university ice rink hallway today and saw him nearly getting touched by that arrogant, smooth-talking trash from Jenson University, I almost completely flipped my lid.

Ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my fractured ribs, I charged forward without a single second of hesitation. I lunged between them, wrapping my broad arms tight around his slim waist and pulling my dear, fragile Micah flush against my chest, locking him safely in my grasp where no one else could touch him.

The exact second I lowered my head to whisper into the shell of his ear, his sweet, distinct scent whipped up into my nostrils. It hit me like a physical blow, so intensely intoxicating that my mind nearly crashed right then and there.

Fuck.

Feeling his small, soft frame trembling uncontrollably inside my tight embrace wasn’t just fear of the crowd... it was absolute, undeniable proof that something dark and scandalous had transpired between Micah and George Jenson. But what could it possibly be? What secret was my sweet little liar hiding behind those innocent, wide eyes?

"Hey! Raven from the media department here," a sharp, piercing voice suddenly cut through the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the corridor. "Can I get a quick photo of the captain and the assistant captain together?"

Almost instantly, I felt Micah’s stiff, rigid shoulders drop in a wave of profound relief as the eccentric goth girl stepped into the center of the hallway, holding up a heavy DSLR camera with an unbothered expression on her dark-painted face.

My eyes narrowed as I looked down at the top of Micah’s head. Micah... what on earth did you do? What dangerous, unforgivable mess have you dragged yourself into this time?

"I’d rather swim in a dark river crammed full of hungry sharks," Noah snapped coldly, his voice laced with venom as he flatly rejected Raven’s request for a photograph. In doing so, he made sure to reject standing anywhere near me at the exact same time.

"Wow, that was unbelievably brutal, Captain!" I called out lightly from behind him, letting a playful smirk touch my lips despite the throbbing pain in my side.

Noah finally turned his head, locking a murderous glare directly onto me. His icy blue eyes immediately dropped down to where Micah was firmly caged against my chest, his broad back pressed flush against my front. A dangerous spark flared in Noah’s gaze, and his eyes snapped back up to meet mine, flashing with pure, lethal promise.

"Let him go," Noah growled through clenched teeth, his voice dropping into a dangerous, guttural vibration.

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I didn’t release Micah immediately. Instead, I deliberately leaned down further, pressing my mouth right against the shell of Micah’s ear, feeling his entire body lock up in response.

"Whatever dark secret you share with George Jenson... I am going to uncover every single detail, my dear Micah," I whispered softly.

Micah flinched, turning his head just enough to look up at me with those massive, glossy, terrified eyes. Satisfaction rippled through me, and only then did I slowly uncoil my heavy arms from around his slender waist, finally releasing my hold on him.

"Micah," Noah barked out, refusing to acknowledge me any further.

Micah swallowed hard, quickly turning his focus toward his brother. "Y-yes, brother?" he answered hastily, his voice trembling like a leaf.

"Follow me. Now," Noah ordered, already turning his back on the chaotic crowd and striding briskly down the polished corridor.

Micah lingered for half a second, chancing a nervous glance over at Raven. The goth girl gave him a quick, dismissive wave of her hand before turning away to adjust her camera settings. To my surprise, Micah didn’t even dare to lock eyes with George Jenson again. He kept his head ducked low, practically sprinting to catch up with Noah’s long, angry strides.

I leaned back against the cool wall, slowly stroking my chin as I watched the two brothers disappear around the bend. Something was deeply wrong here.

"What the hell do you think you were doing just now? Trying to break the code of conduct?" Raven frowned deeply, shifting her dark, glare toward George Jenson.

George tilted his head to the side in a lazy, unbothered motion, casually shrugging his heavy shoulders.

"I didn’t break a single rule," George replied, a faint, sinister smirk playing on his lips. "I was merely teasing him a little. He gets flustered so easily."

His dark, calculating eyes finally drifted away from the hallway where Micah had run off, shifting over to lock onto me. The mockery in his gaze was unmistakable.

"I heard a rumor that you’re not playing in today’s friendly match because of a pathetic little injury," George said, letting out a dramatic sigh as he mockingly clicked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a absolute shame, Assistant Captain."

Without waiting for a response, George turned around, burying his hands back into his coat pockets, and casually strolled away toward the bleachers.

George Jenson.

My jaw tightened, a hot flash of anger burning through my chest. There was absolutely no logical reason for that bastard to be personally loitering around our home rink today when the official championship tournament was still nearly two full weeks away. He didn’t come here just to watch a meaningless exhibition match. He was here on a mission—scouting out our facility, hunting for structural flaws, and desperately trying to locate every single weakness in our roster so he could ruthlessly exploit it when the real games began.

"Ha... what an absolute, filthy bastard!" I cursed under my breath, my knuckles turning white as I slammed my fist against the wall.

Ignoring the intense, stabbing pain flaring up in my bruised ribs, I turned around and rushed straight down the back hallway toward the primary locker rooms. I needed to warn the rest of the varsity squad and Coach before Jenson got a chance to map out our entire tactical playbook.

There was only one logical strategy we could execute today to counter his spying: we had to play completely pathetic. We needed to look disorganized, weak, and utterly incompetent right in front of their eyes. We had to intentionally throw this friendly match and lose on purpose, giving George Jenson a false sense of security that would completely ruin them come tournament day.

I rounded the corner of the locker room door, stopping dead in my tracks as I saw Noah standing in the center of the room, surrounded by the rest of our aggressive, competitive team.

My heart sank into a dark pit of doubt as I stared at Noah’s rigid posture. A terrible realization washed over me.

Would someone as insanely proud, arrogant, and ruthlessly competitive as Noah Miller ever actually agree to lose a game on purpose? Or would his monstrous pride drag our entire team straight into George Jenson’s trap?