Page 65 of The Rule Breaker
I can’t help but let out a small laugh, despite the lump in my throat. “Me neither,” I confess, my heart hammering. I want him to stay. I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him down beside me. I want to pretend this is something more. I want to believe that look in his eyes means what Iwishit meant.
But we both know it doesn’t.
With a resigned sigh, Ryan starts pulling his clothes back on.
I grab the sheet, pulling it over myself, but even that feels ridiculous. He’s seen every part of me, been inside me, moaned my name into my neck. But now… It’s over.
Once he’s dressed, he looks back at me. His gaze is heavy, his eyes tracing the curve of my face, studying every detail like he’s trying to hold onto it. He sighs again, a low curse slipping out, and then, before I can say anything, he crosses the space between us with long strides, and kisses me one last time.
It’s different this time. This kiss is soft, slow—nothing like the urgent, hungry kisses from earlier. This one feels like a goodbye.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes over my cheek, just like before. His gaze locks onto mine. “Are we good?”
I nod, offering him a shaky smile, trying to push past the ache in my chest. “That was a hell of a rebound,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood, but the knot in my stomach tightens all over again.
Ryan scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “And an amazing way to end my dry spell.”
I laugh, but the sound feels hollow as his smile slips, and he leans closer, pressing his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my skin, and it sends a jolt straight to my heart.
“I’m glad it was me,” he whispers, pulling back just enough for his lips to brush against my forehead.
And then he pulls away.
He gives me one last smile, then he turns toward the door. My chest tightens as he opens it, and without another word, he walks out and shuts the door behind him.
19
RYAN
The rink is freezing, but I’m sweating my fucking balls off like it’s mid-July.
Practice is always brutal, but today? Feels like Coach is actively trying to kill us. My legs burn, my lungs are on fire, and my jersey sticks to my back as I push off, carving deep into the ice just as the whistle shrieks through the arena.
“Again!” Coach shouts from the bench.
I grit my teeth and dig in, lungs screaming as we run yet another breakout drill. I set up at the blue line, stick on the ice, tracking the play as Logan carries the puck through the neutral zone. He’s quick on his edges, shifty as hell, but I match him stride for stride, forcing him wide toward the boards.
The second he shifts, I drop my right knee and extend my stick—poke check, clean, puck gone. I sweep it off his blade and transition instantly, snapping a pass up to Austin, who’s streaking up the weak side.
“Nice fucking try.” I smirk, gliding backward as Logan groans.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, coasting past me. “Still faster than your slow ass.”
I snort, pivoting to shield the puck before threading a crisp pass back to Austin, who’s cutting toward the slot.
“Back door!” I call, reading the play before it happens.
Austin one-times it, but Nathan is already there, tracking the puck like a goddamn hawk. He drops into a perfect butterfly, glove snapping up like lightning, and robs him blind.
“Fucking hell,” Austin groans, throwing his head back as Nathan smirks behind his mask. “Take a goddamn break, man.”
“Maybe shoot better,” Nathan taunts, casually tossing the puck aside like it wasn’t the filthiest save of the day.
Logan skates by, patting Austin on the helmet. “He’s got a point, buddy.”
Austin shoves him. “Eat shit.”
Coach blows the whistle. “Switch it up! Power play unit, get on the ice!”
