Page 36 of Unwritten Rules
Oh, God. How the hell have I found myself in a situation where I slept with a guy who has agirlfriend?
My mind is so scrambled right now, I can’t think straight. Nothing is making sense. Throw in the warning from Raya, and I’m as clueless as a concussed bird.
“Steering clear,” I murmur, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth.
“But hey, consider this an official invite to be my friend,” Raya says, voice light. “I don’t let people in who I don’t know well, but you seem like you could use a friend.”
God, is it that obvious I have no friends?
“I would love that,” I say instead, trying to smile through the inner turmoil of the clusterfuck I have found myself in. “I mean, after the help you’ve just given me, how could I turn you down?”
Raya grins, all straight teeth and warmth. “Exactly. I mean, I did just save you from having your eyes clawed out by some crazy woman, so it’s the least you can do.”
I know Raya is joking—at least, I hope she is—but I don’t consider myself out of the woods just yet.
If this Zoe girl catches wind of the fact that I slept with her boyfriend, I’m going to be in deep shit. And if she’s as intense as Raya makes her out to be, then I may as well claw out my own eyes and return to Barrenridge.
Chapter Ten
SINNETT
It’s fucking hard watching your closest friends kill it on the field while being stuck on the sideline, wishing you were out there with them. Biting my tongue and smiling through every second until the siren blares after eighty minutes is torture. Hearing the roar of the fans when the Wolves won against the South Sydney Titans, nearly blowing my eardrums, and knowing I wasn’t part of the teams win tears at my insides, creating a wound I’m not sure I can fix.
Rugby is my whole life, and without it, I feel lost. I no longer feel excited to start the day if all I’m doing is following a recovery plan in the hopes I can be back on the field in three weeks. Each day feels unknown with a multitude of different outcomes that could see me sidelined for longer, and the thought fucking kills me each time. I’m fighting the urge to go off the deep end and say fuck it. Because what am I good for if I’m not there for my team, helping them win or encouraging them to continue fighting?
Nothing.
If it wasn’t for Khai keeping me distracted by forcing me into the gym—a reprieve from the exhausting thoughts circling my mind every second of the day—or reminding me that I need to stay in shape for when I do get cleared to play, I would be rottingaway in bed with no purpose. But because he’s stubborn as fuck and loyal to a fault, I’m holding myself back from the edge—barely.
It doesn’t help that a certain strawberry-blonde with jade eyes continues to pop into my head when I least expect it, demanding my attention when I know damn well I can’t give it to her. I need to stay focused, but she’s making it fucking difficult to do so.
“You okay, Sin?”
I lift my head at the sound of Khai’s voice. He’s standing in front of me with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his dirty jersey and shorts replaced with dark blue chino shorts and a white long-sleeved button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Water sticks to brown hair, the strands styled neatly atop his head.
I exhale a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, fine.”
“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”
“I’m not,” I bite out, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just…”
“Thinking too much,” Khai finishes for me, not an ounce of judgement in his voice. “I get it, Sin, I do. If I were in your position, I would be the same. Hell, I’d probably be worse.”
“How is that even possible,” I muse, biting back a smile.
Khai rolls his eyes and shoves his free hand into his pockets. “My point is, you’re allowed to dwell on the fact that you’re upset about the injury, but don’t feel sorry for yourself. If you start doing that, you’ll give up, and I refuse to let you throw away your future because you couldn’t get through the recovery period.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the retort dies on my tongue because he’s right. For once, Khai is speaking words of wisdom that embed themselves deep in my bones.
The more I feel sorry for myself and debate whether or not I can get through this injury, the more I’m digging myself into ahole that I might not be able to get out of. Doubting myself and my ability to recover from this injury is a mental game that could see me out on the field in three weeks or sidelined for longer than planned. If I stop being a fucking bitch and focus, I know I can get through this.
“You’re right… for once.” I huff out a breath and stand, my quad groaning in protest. “I need to get out of my head.”
“Yeah, and preferably under a hottie that makes you forget your name.” Khai wiggles his brows at me, lips turned up in a smirk.
I shake my head, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my Wolves’ hoodie. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your favourite idiot, right?”
