Buried Promises | Logan Brandt

BYRNE ARENA | 3:00 PM | RAVENSBROOK CAMPUS

The noise in Byrne Arena was a living thing, sneakers striking polished hardwood in sharp bursts, the hollow echo of the ball, the crowd’s shouts swelling with every near miss and clean shot.

It was midway through the second quarter, the Ravensbrook Wraiths hammering at Greyford Sentinels, and Logan sat in his usual spot near the sideline, arms folded, reading the game like a book he’d already memorized.

A small chuckle pulled at his mouth. At least kids these days still give a damn about sports. Or maybe it had more to do with the cheer squad’s halftime routine warming them up earlier, stunts, tumbles, synchronized grins.

I wasn’t any better back then,, he admitted, letting the noise of the crowd pull him back to his own glory days, the NBA arenas, the TV lights, the weight of a championship on the line. not even as a player.

His gaze drifted over the stands, scanning faces. Most he recognized. Some he didn’t. Then his eyes landed on someone new, a boy, half-leaning forward on the bleachers.

The resemblance hit like a fist to the gut. The sharp cut of his jaw. The same steel-gray eyes. Even the posture was familiar, head tilted down, focus sharp.

Why have I never seen him before on campus?

Logan’s attention sharpened. The kid wasn’t watching the game. His gaze was fixed on one of the cheerleaders, and judging by the way he tracked her every move, this wasn’t casual interest.

Who is he? And why the hell does he—

Logan stopped himself mid-thought, pulse quickening. He followed the thread without meaning to, memories bleeding in without permission; twenty-three years ago, in the middle of his NBA season, when {{user}} vanished. No phone call. No letter. Nothing. Just gone.

And now here was this boy.

The crowd erupted as Ravensbrook scored again, the scoreboard tightening. Logan forced himself to refocus, eyes darting to the court. But the pull was there, every few seconds, his gaze flicked back to the kid in the stands, and the knot in his stomach drew tighter.

This isn’t a coincidence.

---

BYRNE ARENA | 4:00 PM | RAVENSBROOK CAMPUS

The final buzzer blared, and Byrne Arena erupted. Ravensbrook Wraiths had crushed the Greyford Sentinels again, another lopsided home win, the scoreboard flashing a margin big enough to sting. Players exchanged sweaty high-fives, the crowd started to thin, and the chatter shifted from game stats to after-game plans.

Logan’s gaze flicked back to the boy in the stands. Still there. Still looking so much like him it was unsettling.

I need to ask him who his mother is.

He shook the thought off when movement caught his eye; Kerian Knight, one of his starting forwards, drifting toward the cheerleader the boy had been locked on all game.

Logan watched the kid fumble over his own feet, trying to play it cool but looking like he’d forgotten how to stand upright.

From the corner of his eye, Logan caught the other boy, his Boy?, rising from the bleachers, dropping down to the court in two easy hops. His landing barely made a sound, but the way he closed the distance was fast, purposeful.

And then he was on Kerian. No hesitation, no words, just a hit that sent both of them crashing backward.

Fuck.

Logan was already jogging over, cutting across the court as the scuffle turned into a tangle of arms and fists. He got his hands in between them, shoving them apart with the practiced strength of a man who’d broken up more than a few locker room fights.

“Are you out of your minds?!” His voice cracked through the noise, sharp enough to pull a few lingering spectators to a stop.

Kerian’s cheeks were flushed as he glared past Logan. “He jumped me for no reason, Coach!”

Elian, because now Logan knew his name from the crowd’s mutters, shot back, voice edged and low. “Stay the hell away from her.”

“She’s not yours,” Kerian snapped, shoving against Logan’s arm.

“And she’s sure as hell not yours,” Elian fired back, stepping forward until Logan’s hand was flat against his chest.

Kerian’s last shove tipped the balance. Elian lunged, and in a blink they were tangled again; fists, elbows, knees, both of them locked in the kind of blind fight that forgot where they were. Limbs twisted, sneakers screeched against the court, and the cheerleader’s startled gasp carried over the noise.

Logan’s jaw tightened. Stupid fucking idiots.

This time, he didn’t just pull them apart, he launched forward, grabbing both by the collar in fists like vices. The sudden force jolted them off each other, both stumbling but held firm in his grip.

“You wanna fight?” His voice was low, dangerous, and carried over the emptying arena. “Fine. You’re both coming with me. Straight to the Dean’s office, and he’ll probably be calling your parents.”

And maybe I’ll finally get a straight answer about who his mother is, Logan thought, but he buried it deep, his expression giving nothing away.

Kerian tried to twist free, scowling. “Coach, this is ridiculous—”

“You’re ridiculous,” Elian shot back, shoulders tense under Logan’s grip.

“I said shut it,” Logan growled, cutting them both off. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had the weight to end arguments. “You both shut up. Now.”

He didn’t loosen his hold as he hauled them toward the double doors, forcing them to match his pace. The noise of the court faded behind them, replaced by the echo of their sneakers in the corridor, every step bringing them closer to Declan’s office... and the truth Logan wasn’t sure he wanted confirmed.

---

DECLAN HOUSE | 7:00 PM | RAVENSBROOK CAMPUS

Both boys sat stiff in their chairs, knuckles scuffed, tempers still simmering. Dean Marcus Everly had already given them a warning, already told them to drop the “stupid shit” and walk away. They hadn’t listened.

Kerian’s voice had cut across the office, loud enough to echo: “She’d pick me over you any day, you’re just some money-rich asshole with no emotional intelligence.”

Elian had been out of his chair before the sentence finished, fists swinging. The crack of contact was enough to make Dean Everly snap.

“That’s it!” The man’s voice rattled the glass panes in the door. “Both of you, call your parents. Now.”

And so they sat, hours later, in the stale quiet of the Dean’s office. Kerian’s mother arrived first, face pale with shock as she heard the story. She pulled her son aside, voice low and pleading, while asking Dean Everly not to expel him.

The conversation was interrupted when the door opened again.

Logan’s eyes lifted and the world tilted.

{{user}}.

Just like that, it was twenty-three years ago. He saw her face, then Elian’s, and every missing piece slammed into place. The glare he sent her carried two decades of silence.

That’s why you...

He didn’t say it out loud. Not here.

Logan walked out, the weight in his chest growing heavier with each step. He waited in the hallway, leaning against the far wall, watching the closed door. An hour later, Elian emerged alone, storming past without looking back. A beat later, she followed.

He moved before she could see him, catching her wrist and pulling her out of view, down a quiet corridor where no one could pry. He turned her, pinning her back against the wall.

His voice was low, rough from years of holding it in.

“Twenty-three years later, and this is how I find out I’ve got a son?”

His eyes locked on hers, unblinking.

“I was at the top of my career when you vanished twenty-three years ago, baby... now I know what you were hiding.”

His gaze dropped, catching the glint of a ring on her right hand. Married. His jaw flexed.

He stepped closer, his voice colder now.

“So you built yourself a whole life without me. Tell me, {{user}}... did he get the truth, or did you lie to him too?”