Page 57 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

“Where the fuck is Roman with the ice?” Daire curses, straightening from his crouched position in front of me and scanning the rink. “I should’ve gotten it myself.”

“I’ll go check on him.” Peter presses his hands to the cold surface beneath him, but before he can stand, Veda puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay put,” she says. “I’ll check on him.”

“It’s already bruising.” Daire brushes his fingers ever so carefully over the sensitive skin around my eye. “I’m so sorry.”

My first instinct is to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to fuss over me, but I keep my mouth shut because, selfishly, Ilovethat he’s doting on me right now. Even if it took an elbow to the face to receive the affection.

Roman returns, with Veda trailing behind him.

“This was the best I could do.” He passes Daire a rag filled with ice cubes.

Daire says nothing as he takes the makeshift icepack and presses it to my face.

I wince from the icy chill of it, but it instantly dulls the throbbing.

Veda and Roman head off, leaving me with Daire and Peter.

“I’ve got this, Dad,” Daire says, frowning at Peter. “You don’t need to worry.”

Peter gives a humorless laugh. “Don’t tell me not to worry when you were just in a fistfight with your brother.”

Daire sighs, his entire body deflating. “If he wasn’t interested in fucking my wife, I wouldn’t be fighting him.”

Peter shakes his head. “Some fights aren’t worth picking. Rosie isyourwife. You already won.” He gives Daire’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be in the lobby.”

It’s strange, sitting here alone with Daire. So far, since we arrived, we’ve spent our days doing everything we can to not be alone together, and at night, we slip into bed without saying a word.

Daire’s blue eyes swim with sympathy and remorse. “I really am sorry.”

“You really need to stop fighting with your brother. Your dad’s right.”

With a sigh, he slides onto the cold surface beside me, careful to keep the ice gently pressed to my cheek.

“I don’t know why I feel so territorial,” he admits, lowering his head.

“I’m not sure either,” I say, my heart beating a strange rhythm in response to his words. “You hate me, remember?”

I hate to admit it, but at least my reasons for hating him are starting to feel a bit juvenile.

“Right,” he says softly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “How does it feel?”

“Cold.”

He laughs at my answer, the blue of his eyes lightening some. “I have to change, and then we’ll go.”

With a nod, I stand.

He rises too, his hands hovering around me like he’s afraid I might fall over.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. “I’ll wait with your dad in the lobby.”

He studies me, his lips turned down, like he wants to argue, but after a silent moment, he acquiesces.

I pull the ice away from my face and wander out of the rink. In the lobby, I find Peter sitting in one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs, so I join him, trying to ignore the pounding in my head.

He tilts forward and gently pats my knee. “I think I have ibuprofen in the car.”

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