Page 61 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

“You don’t want to know.”

She opens the door wider, crossing her arms over her chest. “Try me.”

“It was selfish.”

“You’re a selfish person. I’m not surprised you’d have selfish thoughts.”

The mouth on this girl.

I breathe through the guilt and the trepidation and the annoyance and force the words out. “I was thinking about how your black eye might be used against me.”

“Used against—oh. Please.” She rolls her eyes. “As if I wouldn’t be honest about how it happened. Besides, there were witnesses. You don’t think your dad would explain it? Or any of your brothers? You do realize you have to tell them about Junior eventually, right?”

“But they’re my family—people will think they’re lying to help me. Even if they do believe me, I still look shitty, since the truth is that it happened because I was fighting with my brother.”

I ignore her question about telling my family. Obviously, I should have broken the news while we were there, but after the declaration of our marriage gave my dad a literal heart attack? No way was I going to risk killing him by telling him about my son.

Rosie throws her hands up. “You’re borrowing trouble. Nothing has been said or done yet, so try not to worry until you have a reason to. Think you can manage that?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” With a wink, she adds, “Lighten up, buttercup. Night.”

“Buttercup?” I mutter to myself after she’s gone.

Shuddering at the nickname, I replay her words in my head, considering her advice. She’s right. Worrying about it now won’t do me any good.

But I keep fucking up at every turn.

And it feels like my chance of getting any sort of custody is slipping from my fingers.

16

ROSIE

Bertieand I navigate the stands, searching for our seats near the box the guys will be in after they come out. As we get settled, my heart hammers with excitement. I’ve been called a puck bunny in the past, and sure, I have slept with several of the guys on the team, but I grew up around the sport thanks to Daire and his brothers. And I love it. I crave the thrill of the game.

I keep my jacket on for now because the arena is chilly, but once the game gets going, I’ll warm right up. Sitting still at a game is virtually impossible for me. Through all three periods, I’m up and down. Cheering and yelling my annoyance when the ref makes a bad call.

Daire and I drove separately since he needed to be at the rink early and I was picking up Bertie.

Before I left, I expertly applied makeup to my bruised eye, following a tutorial I found online. Surprisingly, it worked well.

The attention of girls around us weighs on me, but I ignore their scrutiny. I’ve gotten good at it over the years. I’ve had to in order to stay sane. Girls are jealous, vapid creatures. It’s why I’ve held on tight to Bertie. A truly good friend is a rarity; there’s no way I’ll let her go.

“These bleachers are so uncomfortable,” she gripes, wiggling her butt. “You’d think Aldridge could invest in actual arena seats.”

“They have plans to replace them, but they keep putting it off.”

“How do you know that?”

I shrug, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt down to the tips of my fingers. It’s less out of a need to warm my hands and more of a nervous habit—like a turtle burrowing into its shell.

“Slut.” The word is a low hiss behind me.

It’s directed at me, which is beyond laughable because these same girls have slept with multiple players too.

The difference?

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