Page 1 of The Rule Breaker
1
RYAN
Ithink my virginity is growing back.
I don’t even know if that’s possible, but honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
I haven’t hooked up with anyone in months.Months. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve forgotten how to talk to girls altogether.
Not that I haven’t had opportunities. Because I have—plenty. But every time, something pulls me back. Hockey’s basically taken over my brain. I can’t stop thinking about how to improve my wrist shot or how to skate faster. Hell, I even dream about drills sometimes. It’s sad, I know.
My life is one giant loop of eat, sleep, hockey, repeat. I can’t even remember the last time I went to a party, or went out, or… well, did anything that didn’t involve breaking my body in half on the ice.
The familiar smell of sweat and hockey gear fills the locker room as skates come off with a click. I yank mine off, place the guard on, and toss them into my locker.
As usual, Austin’s phone is blasting some obnoxiously upbeat pop song as he bobs his head along, grinning, while half the guys groan in protest.
“Fuck, I’m dead,” Logan exhales dramatically as he drops onto the bench, shooting a look at Nathan. “Hayes, you think you can convince your dad to cut us some slack tomorrow?”
Nathan scoffs, shaking his head as he peels off his jersey. “Yeah, that’s not happening. My dad’s a beast.”
And he is. Coach Hayes is a goddamn legend, one of the best in the game. I respect the hell out of him, especially when he pushes us like that. We need it, especially after a practice like today.
“Heads up!” someone shouts.
I glance up just in time to catch a water bottle flying my way. Twisting off the cap, I take a long gulp, letting the cold water slice through the dryness in my throat. Around me, the guys are chirping each other, tossing jabs, but I can’t shake the weight of practice. It’s stuck to me like the sweat on my back.
“You sure you’re not getting a contact high from your socks?” Logan laughs as he hurls his skates into his locker. “Pretty sure they could walk themselves to the laundry room.”
Austin scoffs, flipping Logan off. “Who told the rook he could talk trash? Worry about making the starting lineup, buddy.”
“Someone needs to tame your ego,” Cole says, raising a brow, his voice dripping with the usual deadpan sarcasm. His tattoos, which cover pretty much every inch of his neck and arms, make him look like he just stepped out of a biker gang—if biker gangs wore hockey jerseys and chewed gum 24/7.
The rest of the guys erupt into laughter, but I’ve already zoned out. My eyes drop to the floor as I yank off my pads with a harsh breath. Practice was rough. Our game against Crestmont is tomorrow and I’m still making dumb mistakes. My strides were too slow; I missed the puck a handful of times. I even somehow let the rookie knock me into the glass.
Fuck. I feel like I’m stuck on a broken record, repeating the same shit over and over. Skate faster, hit harder, play smarter.Always chasing the next win. And yet, somehow, it still feels like I’m not doing enough.
“We played like shit out there,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. The frustration spills out before I can stop it. “Maybe if you guys stopped bickering and actually pulled your weight, we’d play better.”
The laughter dies, leaving only the faint buzz of Austin’s playlist. A couple of guys glance at each other, awkward and unsure, before Austin—becauseof courseit’s Austin—breaks the tension.
“Relax. We’ll get the win.” He flashes that cocky grin that makes me want to either roll my eyes or punch him. Sometimes both.
I settle for the former. “Yeah? You do realize if you fail your classes, we’re out a center forward, right?”
He leans back, crossing his arms. “I’ll pass… eventually,” he says, his smirk way too confident for someone who’s an F away from sitting on the bench for an entire season. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.”
“Control?” I snort, zipping up my bag. “The only thing you’ve got control over is the playlist in here.”
“Hey.” Austin points a finger at me. “That’s important, and you know it. Helps keep morale up and shit.”
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head. Morale my fucking ass. His pre- and postgame rituals are so ridiculous they belong in a case study.
“Yeah, well, maybe start showing up to class,” I fire back. “I’m not kidding, Austin. If you tank your grades, we’re screwed.”
His grin falters for a split second, just long enough for me to notice. But then he shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. “Relax, Reed. I got this.”
I shake my head, stuffing my gear in my bag. As much as I want to just let it go, I can’t. Hockey’s not just a game to me. It’s my future. If one of us slips, it hurts the whole team. He should know that by now.
