Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection)

by A. M. Johnson

She laughed and bumped me with her shoulder. “It’s not shit. It’s… classic.”

  I grinned at the crinkle between her brows. “It sounds like shit, classic or not.” Instead of another bump on the shoulder, she squeezed my hand and I chuckled. “Is that supposed to hurt?”

  “Maybe.”

  I leaned down and kissed the back of the hand I was holding. “You’ll never overpower me,” I teased.

  Her cheeks heated and she gave me a shy smile as she whispered, “What about this morning?”

  I swallowed as I thought about how good it had felt to have her lips on me. After we’d gotten home last night, we were exhausted enough we’d both passed out. I was so tired I’d slept through my alarm, but Stevie had found a better way of waking me up. I’d thought I was dreaming, when I’d opened my eyes, the view in itself was enough to make me come. Stevie with her dark hair spilling over my thighs, her mouth—those lips surrounding the head of my…

  “Looks like we’re going to hit some weather up ahead, please keep your seatbelts fastened at all times until further notice.” The pilot’s voice pulled me from the memory.

  “You can wake me up like that tomorrow, too, if you want.”

  “No thanks, I’d like for your mom to think I’m not a total slut.”

  “And why would she think that?” I laughed at her serious expression. “My room is in the basement. We can have all the loud sex we want.”

  Stevie’s eyes darted to the seats in front of us and she squeezed my hand again. She spoke so quietly I had to lean in to hear her. “There will be no… shenanigans happening in your parents’ house.”

  “Then we’ll stay at a hotel.”

  “Mark.”

  “Stevie.”

  She bit her lip, holding back a smile as my lips separated into a winning grin.

  “Don’t be impossible. It’s disrespectful and—”

  “My family is fucking crazy, Stevie. You’ll see. My mom will try to ply you with chocolate, my dad will talk your ear off about cider and his innovations in tree grafting, while my niece will most likely make you cry at least once because she has no filter and is as honest as they come.” Stevie’s lips gradually pulled into a face-splitting smile as I rattled on about all the inadequacies of what she was about to face. “I’m not joking, Stevie, sex will be the only way you’ll make it through three days with them.”

  Her head rolled back and she laughed. “You mean the only way you’ll make it.”

  “That’s exactly what I said.”

  She leaned over the armrest and pressed her lips to my cheek. The tension that had hidden itself inside my stomach untwisted and I cupped her face with my palm.

  “They’re gonna love you.” I placed a kiss to her forehead.

  She exhaled a shaky breath as I pulled away and she whispered mostly to herself, “Sure.”

  I was about to tell her to stop worrying when a flight attendant placed her hand on the back of my seat and said, “Excuse me.” Her smile was nervous. “I’m not supposed to do this sort of thing, but…” she whispered, her eyes flicking over my shoulder to Stevie and then back to me. “But I’m a huge fan.” She blushed and I gave her a friendly smile.

  “Not a problem,” I said and offered to shake her hand.

  She took my hand in hers and shook it awkwardly a few times as she gushed, “My husband is gonna die when I tell him Mark Carmelo was on my flight.” Her formal tone slipped into a southern drawl. She reached over me and held out her hand to Stevie. “And can I say, the pictures do not do you justice. You are just as pretty as a peach in person.”

  The color of Stevie’s cheeks matched that of the flight attendant’s. “Umm… thank you.”

  “That article last month in Hockey Hunks, the one about the hockey wives and girlfriends, I thought you were the prettiest.”

  Stevie gave me a blank look and I shrugged.

  “Well, don’t let me bother you, but if you wouldn’t mind...” She released Stevie’s hand and reached into her pocket, handing me a small slip of paper. “Would you sign this?”

  “Of course.”

  She looked over my shoulder nervously as she handed me a pen. “My name’s Penelope.”

  I scribbled a personalized thank you with my name across the slip of paper and attempted to hand it back to her.

  “You too, sweetheart.” She smiled down at Stevie.

  Humor lit her eyes as I handed her the pen and piece of paper. She signed her initials under mine and something I didn’t have a name for settled inside my chest as I looked at our names together on the strip of paper. Proud. Warm. Unsteady.

  The attendant practically squealed as she said thank you, and once she was well out of earshot, Stevie sank into her chair. “That was surreal.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to strangers getting excited about my signature. I mean, I understand they admire the talent I have, the game, but who cares if I sign some random piece of paper.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “It’s a piece of you, Mark, and they get to keep it forever.”

  Her words sucked the air out of my lungs, or maybe it was the thoughtful look inside her eyes, either way, the way she was looking at me… I wanted to keep that feeling forever.

  She raised her gaze to the ceiling and puffed out a laugh. “I don’t understand why she wanted me to sign something. That was weird. Famous by association, I guess.”

  “You’re prettier than a peach, that’s why.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I’ll have to look up that article when we land.”

  “I never read anything I didn’t commission myself through my agent. It’s why I don’t parade my life on social media. I’ll give answers when I want, on my time, and anything else they choose to say about me or you, it’s all speculation, don’t bark up that tree, babe.”

  A few weeks ago Bryson had shown me a thread in some forum where a bunch of women were discussing whether or not Stevie was considered “plus-sized.” I didn’t even know what that meant, and from the few comments I’d read, most were negative. It pissed me off. I couldn’t imagine what Stevie would’ve thought if she read that shit, or any woman, for that matter. Size was a number, and whether Stevie was plus or not, she was sexy as fuck. Bryson had boiled it down, though, when he’d said the women in that feed were envious trolls.

  I rested my palm on her thigh and I liked how perfect it fit there.

  “It’s something I’m adjusting to. Ray tells me the same thing, ignore it.”

  “Have I told you how much I like Reagan?”

  She gasped as she sat up, giving me a megawatt smile. “I almost forgot. She texted me.” Stevie tapped the top of my hands with her fingers. “Bryson shared a cab with her, and when she invited him in to her place… get this… he said no.”

  “He said no?” The surprise in my voice made her giggle.

  “He took her home, walked her to the door, kissed her on the cheek, and sent her packing. Crazy, right?”

  “I’m speechless.”

  And grateful.

  I definitely needed to thank him for not fucking around with my girlfriend’s best friend.

  “You’re gonna give him crap, aren’t you?”

  “So much shit.”

  The frozen earth crunched under the rental car tires as we pulled up the long driveway to Mark’s family’s home. The bent tree branches hovered over the car, and the weight of the snow burdened the damp wood as we drove underneath them. My stomach was jumping rope, and my heart pounded as the first glimpse of the house came into view. It was smaller than I’d expected and incredibly quaint. White vinyl siding covered the majority of the box-shaped, two-story farmhouse. Black shutters hung alongside the front windows that were adorned with pine garland and red bows for Christmas.

  “This is it.” Mark’s husky voice pulled my eyes to his.

  He was smiling, and it could’ve been the bright white of the snow that blanketed the ground reflecting in his gaze, but he was absolutely be
aming. Mark was home, and the way the corners of his mouth reached and stretched into his eyes, my heart squeezed and sighed with something I wasn’t ready for.

  My lips parted in reaction to the handsome spectacle sitting next to me. “It’s beautiful.”

  He reached across the console, his fingers toying with a piece of my hair. “It’s small, but it never felt like that to me growing up. My mom was really good at making everything seem larger than life.”

  I took in the wide expanse of land on either side of his home. I could see another structure to the left sitting far back from the main house. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s the cider house and…” he pointed to the left and then to the right, “All of that behind it is our orchard.”

  Trees stretched for what seemed like a mile or more behind the cider house. “Wow.”

  He chuckled. “It’s a shitload of work, but my dad is good at what he does. I always felt guilty growing up. Farming isn’t known for its big salaries, and with a daughter in figure skating and a son in hockey, he worked hard for us.” Mark stared at the house. The lights were on and the clouds rolled in making the noon sun disappear. The yellow glow from the windows seemed to invite us in. “I helped pay off the mortgage after my first two years with the NHL.”

  “You did?” I asked in disbelief, letting my eyes roam all that land, it must have cost a small fortune.

  “It was the least I could do.” He swallowed and his mouth tipped into my favorite crooked smile. “Wait till you see the rink out back, my dad built it when I was little and the fucking thing still stands. Poppy loves coming here to skate when it’s cold enough to have ice.”

  His warm timbre soothed away my anxiety, and the way he spoke about his family, he made me want to know them, to be a part of something like that. I’d never had what he did, but I wanted it. Wanted them. “Should we go inside?”

  “You ready?”

  I nodded. “I think I am.”

  Mark cut the engine. “Wait here,” he said and opened the driver side door. The cold blast of air made the hair on my arms stand at attention, and I watched as he walked around the car. He opened my door and held out his hand. “This driveway gets icy as hell. I’ll have my dad help with our bags later.”

  I was wearing skinny jeans, a thin green sweater, and Converse. Looking at the piled snow on either side of the drive, I immediately realized I hadn’t packed appropriately. “This Florida girl is not prepared.” I laughed as I took his hand in a death grip and stepped out of the car.

  “I probably should’ve given you a heads up on how cold it gets here.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m sure my mom or my sister has a pair of boots and a coat you can borrow if you need it.” He kissed my cold cheek. “It’s only three days, I don’t plan on doing much more than relaxing on the couch and stuffing my face with food.”

  “And no shenanigans?” I asked dryly.

  “I make no promises.”

  I took a deep breath as we moved toward the house.

  Ignoring, or more like pretending my heart wasn’t spazzing out, I flashed Mark a smile as he reached for the door knob.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Warm, spiced air pooled inside my lungs as we stepped inside. Laughter filtered into the small foyer from the back of the house. The living room, colored in earth tones and dark wood, was empty. The television was on, the volume low, playing hockey highlights. Mark released my hand long enough to pull off his jacket and hang it on the coat rack installed into the wall next to the front door.

  He laced his fingers through mine again and yelled, “Mom? Dad?” It made me jump and he laughed under his breath. “Easy, girl.”

  I smacked his shoulder, giving him my “definitely no damn shenanigans for you” glare.

  “I’m sure he deserved that.” A woman who looked about my age stood by the couch, a wide grin on her round face. She was shorter than me, but not petite by any means. Her athletic shape was apparent in her black leggings and tight, long-sleeved thermal. “The prodigal son returns.”

  “More like Mom’s favorite. Get your ass over here, Mol.”

  Her soft features became almost childlike as her smile grew beyond broad. She hopped in place before bounding toward Mark. He swallowed her into his arms, a deep laugh, and… was she crying?

  She sniffed as he set her onto her feet. A laugh mixed with a sob barked from her full lips as she wiped under her eyes. “It’s been too long.” She hugged him again and he ruffled her long chestnut-colored hair.

  Mark tugged on her sleeve. “You guys went skating without me?”

  “You know how Poppy is.” She glanced at me, and then back at Mark, biting back a smile. “My brother has the worst manners, you can thank all the years he spent on a bus with a bunch of hooligan hockey players.” She held out her hand. “I’m Molly.”

  “Shit, sorry. This is my sister and Molly; this is my girlfriend, Stevie.”

  I took her hand and she pulled me into a hug. My spine straightened for the briefest of seconds and she whispered, “Don’t let us scare you, Mark is a keeper.”

  I relaxed as she released me and gave her a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Where’s Dax?” Mark asked and Molly groaned.

  “He’s stuck in Denver, nothing is flying out with the storm.”

  “Work?” Mark asked and Molly nodded.

  Mark had told me Dax sold farming equipment and traveled a lot for work. He’d said it was hard for his sister that her husband was gone all the time.

  “Will he miss Christmas?” I found myself asking and watched as Molly’s smile wavered.

  “His first,” she said.

  An annoyed grunt sounded in the back of Mark’s throat. “You’d think Denver would have their shit together when it comes to snow.”

  “That’s what I said.” Molly laughed and she ran her hand through her hair. “Oh well, he does what he does so I can stay at home with Poppy. Sacrifice, it’s part of life.”

  “Where is Poppy anyway?”

  “In the kitchen… Dad’s driving Mom crazy, hovering over the damn turkey, as per usual. Poppy is trying to distract him with Boston stats.” Molly smirked.

  “Oh, yeah? What year?” Mark asked.

  “Nineteen-seventy-nine.”

  “Nice.” Mark leaned down and kissed my cheek. “My niece is a walking hockey encyclopedia. I tease her that she should work at the hockey hall of fame.”

  “And she promptly reminds Mark that she’s only eight.”

  “Almost nine.”

  I laughed and any remaining weariness I had about meeting the family faded. Molly smiled at me and it was the real deal. Her eyes were curious, but open and friendly. Mark beamed again as he lowered his eyes to mine.

  “I’m excited to meet her,” I admitted.

  Molly snorted, but there was humor in her eyes when she said, “I’ll remind you of that very statement after she offends you the first time.” She waved her thumb over her shoulder. “Come on, they’re all probably in there eavesdropping anyway.”

  She turned first and Mark leaned down to kiss me with tender lips, leaving me a bit light in the knees.

  “Hey,” I whispered.

  He kissed me again, but this time his free hand cupped the back of my head, pulling me into the warmth of his body. When I opened my eyes, his sister was gone. “Thanks for braving this.”

  I curled the fingers of my right hand into the fabric of his shirt. “So far I feel like you’ve oversold the crazy.” I grinned.

  Mark tipped his chin, his lips brushing my forehead as the heat of his breath washed over me making me shiver. “I care about you, and they know it, they’ll be on their best behavior.”

  I care about you.

  I knew he cared about me, and I cared about him, more than I thought possible, but he’d never said it outright.

  He chuckled as he leaned back and considered me. “Don’t look so fre
aked. I promise, my family is harmless, I like messing with you.”

  “I know.” I breathed in and out letting those four words feed my pulse.

  “Come on.”

  Mark had been truthful in his assessment of his family. They were completely harmless. And pretty damn cute, if I was being honest. His mother made the word jolly seem sweeter in person. She had dark brown hair cut to her chin and was about the same height as her daughter but softer in the hips. She’d accosted me with hugs when we’d walked into the kitchen an hour ago. His dad, a bear of man, and the spitting image of his son, had given me the same reception as his wife. His hug had practically crushed me, and it hadn’t been until Mark cleared his throat, twice, that his father set me back on my feet.

  The only person who hadn’t yet warmed up to me was Poppy. She’d given me a wave, a once over, and had been quiet while Mark’s parents and sister asked me about my life over sandwiches and cider. Poppy’s dark eyes had followed my every move and I’d been too nervous, spewing all the details about my hippy mother, to get a chance to engage her in conversation. She sat on the breakfast nook bench, lacing up her skates, eyeing me from under her black lashes. Mark and his sister were upstairs digging through a trunk filled with Molly’s old skates in hopes to match me with a pair. His mother had lent me a coat and I fiddled anxiously with the zipper, trying to listen to Mark’s parents talk in the other room. Their words were muffled and I laughed to myself when I heard his mother grumble about the amount of sage her husband put in the stuffing for tomorrow.

  “It’s every year.” Poppy’s stoic voice commanded attention.

  I turned and fell into the gaze of the little girl. “Christmas?” I asked and her features crumbled into a scowl that made me feel stupid.

  “The Great Turkey Debate. Grand Dad always puts too much sage in the stuffing. And Grandma always makes a separate batch.” She blinks a few times. “Do not eat Grand Dad’s stuffing.”

  I wait for a smile that never comes, giving her one of my own. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Do you know how to skate?” I shook my head. “Mia knew how to skate.”

  My heart fell to the floor and I almost looked down at the mess. Mark had warned me Poppy was implacable when it came to facts, truths, and honesty.