A Maxley Story

Chapter 1

Bradley Uppercrust III woke to a world that felt cold, sterile, and unwelcoming. The hospital room reeked of antiseptic, a sharp, medicinal scent that clung to his senses, pulling him fully into consciousness. Harsh fluorescent lights glared down at him, turning every surface into a gleaming reminder of where he was-and how far he had fallen.

For a long moment, he lay still, letting the weight of his injuries anchor him to the bed, his mind groggy, as though it were wading through thick fog. Slowly, the memories began to piece themselves together. The College X Games. The blimp. Tank's betrayal.

The collision.

Bradley could almost hear the distant roar of the crowd morph into horrified gasps as he was flung through the air like some discarded doll. His chest tightened with the memory, ribs aching in concert with the mental blow.

So close. So damn close.

The window beside him framed a dismal, gray morning. Rain drizzled down the glass in lazy streaks, blurring the outline of Lakewood University in the distance. Those familiar brick buildings, once symbols of his control, now seemed unreachable-mocking him from across the skyline. The very campus where he had reigned supreme had become a distant monument to his failure.

His mind drifted back to Tank's face in the final seconds before impact. There had been no hesitation, no remorse-just betrayal. That brief sensation of weightlessness, followed by the brutal reality of the crash.

A throb pulsed through his ribs, a dull ache radiating from his right ankle, his head still swimming from the concussion. At least the swelling from his black eye had gone down. But these were just the physical scars-he could manage those. It was the deeper wounds, the invisible ones, gnawing at him from the inside, that would take far longer to heal.

He glanced out the window again, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Go back to that? Face the whispers, the stares, the smug looks? The thought twisted inside him, sharp and cruel. At Lakewood, Bradley had always dictated the rules, held all the cards. Now, he was reduced to this-broken, humiliated, and completely unsure of his next move.

The steady rhythm of the rain against the window filled the silence. Part of him itched to return, to prove that Bradley Uppercrust III was still a force to be reckoned with. But another part, a quieter, unfamiliar part, simply wanted to disappear and never go back.

He shifted in the bed, biting back a wince as pain flared in his side. The nurse had rattled off the list of his injuries earlier, but it had all been a blur. Concussion. Bruised ribs. Sprained ankle. And then, of course, the tooth.

Bradley's tongue flicked absently against the newly reimplanted tooth, the sensitivity still fresh and raw.

A damn horseshoe, he thought bitterly. Goofy's ridiculous luck had knocked his tooth clean out. Now it was back, but nothing about it felt right.

The concussion was why they were keeping him for observation, another day or two under the fluorescent lights and constant check-ins. The idea of being here longer-trapped in this lifeless room-made his skin crawl.

Then there was the sprained ankle. Bradley clenched his jaw at the thought of hobbling around campus on crutches. He didn't do weakness. He didn't do vulnerable. But now, it felt like that's all he was.

His fists tightened beneath the sheets, rage simmering just beneath the surface. He had come so close to winning again, to securing another year of bragging rights, not just for him but for his fraternity at Lakewood. And Tank-his own supposed best friend-had ripped that away.