Page 74 of The Bad Boy Rule

There’s only before and after.

Taking another bite of my burrito, I reach past him and set what’s left in the open box. “What about you? Are you close with your parents?”

I feel his body pull taut beside me as he reaches up and drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. It’s longer now, floppy and falling in his eyes, so dark that it seems to cast a shadow.

“Complicated question, complicated answer,” he finally murmurs. His voice has gone rough, and I feel the shift in him, the way that he’s tense and on edge, shutting down, reinforcing that wall he’s so expertly constructed.

“You don’t have to tell me, Saint. I know how hard it is to be vulnerable, and I know how much it sucks,” I say softly.

Silence meets what I say, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.

Except he breaks the silence with a deep, shaky exhale. “My old man’s a piece of shit. A waste of space that makes my life fucking difficult just by breathing.”

The sharp edge to his voice is mixed with something a lot like… anguish. His brows are cinched tight, jaw tense and working as he grits his teeth together, eyes blazing with a tortured pain.

“Looks like we’ve both got daddy issues, Golden Girl.”

My gaze drops to his hand that rests on the tailgate beside mine, and I brush my pinky against his, holding those dark, intense eyes that are a window into all of the things he tries to bury.

Except I see him more clearly than I ever have before, and it’s both terrifying and overwhelming.

I see the Saint who colored superheroes with a sick little boy in a hospital simply because he asked him to.

I see the Saint who works his ass off every week on the ice just to be the best he can be.

I see the Saint who gives his rare, real laugh when he’s ribbing the old mechanic he clearly loves and respects.

I see the version of him that he hides from the world, and I want to reach out and hold on to it.

Savor it.

Lifting my hand, I gently place it over his, and we stay that way, silence stretching between us, neither of us speaking or even moving.

Just… existing in the quiet.

Breathing beneath a starlit sky on the back of an old, rusted truck in an auto shop parking lot.

Until he turns his hand over and threads his fingers tightly through mine, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.

THIRTY-FIVE

SAINT

GOLDEN GIRL: I blame you for my pizza burrito addiction.

GOLDEN GIRL: I can’t stop thinking about it.

SAINT: And here I thought you were going to say you couldn’t stop thinking about the locker room. Guess I need to step my game up.

GOLDEN GIRL: That was… memorable. Just not as much as that delicious burrito.

SAINT: We’ll see about that, Golden Girl.

GOLDEN GIRL: See you later, Satan.

Grabbing my hoodie off my desk chair, I pull it over my head and shove my phone in the front pocket, then grab my hockey bag before walking out of my bedroom.

It’s rare that I get to come home between class and the rink, but there wasn’t an option today. I had to drop off the rentcheck to our landlord before tomorrow’s deadline, which means heading all the way back to campus.

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