Chapter Two - The McKay Brothers

Marcus's POV

My brothers and I stood just outside the locker room, Damian's expression was unreadable, his presence imposing, while Peter kept jostling his hockey stick between his hands. He was dressed in the Lion's team’s gear—dark blue and silver, the colors of our school.

"That i***t Reed fouled me on purpose. I saw him smirking when the ref put him on the bench," Peter growled as he continued to jostle his hockey stick, his face a mask of pure rage as a single vein ticked at the base of his temple.

"I know that, and coach knows that. How's your shoulder?" I asked as he instinctively rotated his right shoulder and then shook his head.

"Reed needs to be taught a lesson," Damian intoned softly as the sound of approaching footsteps had his gaze shifting from the floor to the adjoining hallway to the Hillcrest locker room.

The silhouette that emerged from the shadows turned out to be none other than Anna Donovan. Bouncy blonde hair tied in a single ponytail and multiple stray tendrils dancing at her cheeks as she halted in place. Her eyes took in the three of us but didn't at the same time. Her face was flushed and her eyes were red from obvious crying. Her right hand quickly rushed to swipe up at her face and she visibly flinched.

My eyes caught the bruised knuckles as she cradled the injured hand in the other before making an attempt to turn on her heel and make a run for it.

"Don't do it," came Damian's soft warning beside me, but both Peter and I ignored him and we slowly closed the short distance between where we stood and where Anna now backtracked like a deer in headlights.

“You alright?” I asked, my voice low, smooth, but there was a hardness to it that made me mentally curse myself. It was the voice he used when he spoke to his brothers. I needed to sound like someone who was genuinely concerned.

Anna blinked, surprised by his directness. She looked genuinely surprised, being approached like this, especially by someone from the opposing team. Her throat bobbed, and her feet shifted uncertainly. For a moment, I wasn't sure if she was going to answer me or run like hell.

"I—I just need some air," she finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You sure?” I asked again, my voice still steady and this time, more calm, but with an undercurrent of something… almost protective.

Peter snickered beside me and I angled my face towards him, narrowing my eyes. "Cut it out, will you?" I said through gritted teeth.

Peter then smiled sheepishly before turning towards Anna, a genuine look of concern on his face. "Do you need first aid for that? It looks pretty bad."

Anna gazed down at her cradled hand and shook her head silently before looking behind her towards the shadow of the hallway.

"I'm fine. I just...hit something dumb," she said under her breath, almost inaudibly.

"Glad that dumb something wasn't me," Peter joked and Anna's head snapped up and for a split second, I thought she was going to burst into tears, but instead, her shoulders shook and her face broke out into peels of laughter.

Peter and I stood upright and watched silently as an array of emotions flowed off Anna. Sadness. Anger. Happiness and then sadness again before her body went still once more and she took a few calming deep breaths.

“I’m fine,” Anna said, a little more firmly than she looked. She took a small step back, trying to create some distance between them, but it wasn’t just physical. There was an emotional wall she was trying to build, and the waves of vulnerability were pulsing around her like a shield. “I just… I need to get away from here.”

Peter and I didn’t move. We stood there for a moment, watching her carefully, trying to weigh her words, making sure she understood that we just wanted to make sure she was okay. Her expression became unreadable, but there was a hint of understanding there, something in the way she looked at us that made me think she knew we meant her no harm.

“Alright, but can I at least look at your hand?” I asked after a pause, nodding my chin in the direction of her right hand. "I can clean that up for you.”

Anna didn't move as I slowly closed the gap between us, Peter following close behind. I gently took her hand into mine, my eyes never leaving hers. But then, like reality slamming back into her she yanked her hand out of mine. She wasn’t ready to talk to me. She wasn’t ready to let someone in, not like that.

“I—thanks, but I can take care of myself,” Anna said, her voice faltering slightly.

I nodded silently. “Anytime,” I said quietly, and though my words were simple, they carried a weight that I couldn’t ignore. There was no pressure in my tone, no expectations. I wasn’t trying to fix her, and I wasn’t pushing her to talk. But for some reason, I wanted to be there for her if she needed me again. And my brain began to fire off like if a stream of fire alarms were being set off.

Peter coughed behind me while trying to suppress laughter and I took a step back, making sure that my right elbow slammed perfectly into his stomach as I did so.

Anna took a deep breath and a slight upward tilt at that corner of her lips had me letting go of the breath I didn't know I held for so long.

"Whoever received that right hook probably needs more help than you?" Peter asked as the small tilt in her lips became a full-on grin.

"Busted lip. He'll survive." Anna smiled and then lifted her injured hand. "I'll be fine. Some ice and ibuprofen and I'm good as new." She angled her head to look behind us, probably at Damian silently leaned against the wall and then turned down the corridor and walked out into the night, her steps much lighter than before.

Peter slapped a hand on my shoulder as I turned away from Anna's retreating form. "Damn brother. You still got a thing for Anna Donovan? Dude, it's been years. Pretty sure she doesn't even remember you."

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and walked back over to Damian, who was now on his phone. I turned my gaze to the now empty corridor and shook my head. Anna Donovan was dangerous territory. No way that was ever going to work.