Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection)

by A. M. Johnson

  “My mom makes these every year.” My gaze slid to the rolls. “It can get crazy up there, and I wanted some privacy,” I said, mirroring her position, crossing my legs under me.

  “I like that plan.” She watched me with inquisitive eyes.

  I was about to tell her how fucking gorgeous she was, how running into her that night after she’d moved back to Tampa had changed my game, made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I wanted her to know how good it felt to trust again, to fall for her, how easy it was to breathe again, because kissing her, being with her, was the pulse point I’d lost.

  My nervous-as-hell mouth wouldn’t open though, and before I got the chance she jumped up and said, “Wait.”

  She practically hopped to her luggage and pulled out a medium-sized box wrapped in bold, royal blue paper. She set it on the floor across from my bag and settled back onto the bed.

  I couldn’t help the dopey ass grin forming on my face as she bounced in place. “You want to go first?” I asked.

  She eyed the bag, her decision made. “No, that’s okay, you can.”

  I lifted the two wrapped gifts from the bag and put them between us on the bed. She stared at them, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip.

  “Open them.”

  Stevie opened the bigger package first, her eyes flitting between me and the box until the paper was torn and strewn across the bed and floor. She gasped when she realized what it was.

  “A record player?” She raised a shaking hand to the large, white, vinyl nineteen—my number—I’d placed on the top of the lid. It was a small player, one she could move around the house if she wanted to.

  “I haven’t had a record player since I was eighteen. I sold mine when I moved to Richmond.” Her mood was a mixture of sadness and surprise, and I worried I’d screwed up. I should’ve gone the traditional route, jewelry, or a trip somewhere fun.

  “Do you like it?”

  She traced the number, my number, with her fingers and then opened the lid. “I love it,” she answered in a small voice. “I wish I hadn’t gotten rid of all my records.”

  I nudged the other gift, the unopened one sitting between us. “There’s more.”

  She removed the paper at a tortured pace. I wanted to rip it open for her, but it was the tiny squeal, the flash in her eyes when she looked up at me, that fucking sexy-as-hell grin on her face made the wait worth it.

  “Holy shit.” She looked down at the records in her lap, flipping through them furiously. “Holy... shit.” Stevie’s jaw dropped. “Mark, are these—”

  “Originals, yes.”

  “Mark.”

  I chuckled.

  “Mark, this is too much.” Her lips trembled as she flipped through the records again. The Ramones, Jawbreaker, The Vandals, Dead Kennedys, The Clash, Sex Pistols, Descendents, and a couple Misfits records Molly said were a must-have.

  “Molly helped me find them.”

  “I love Molly,” Stevie crooned, hugging the records to her chest.

  My head fell back with a laugh. “I looked up a lot of those bands online. How the hell do you listen to that shit?”

  Her pout made me chuckle.

  “Don’t ruin how much I like you right now by saying stupid things.”

  “How much do you like me right now?”

  “A lot.” She set the records in her lap and leaned over the player. I met her halfway and kissed her. My palms held her face as she opened for me with greedy lips.

  “Does this mean we get to break the rule again later?”

  “I think it might.”

  I sat back, my brows raised to the ceiling. “Really?”

  She laughed. “You’re cute when you want sex.”

  “I’m cute all the damn time.”

  “Shh.” She set the record player on the floor and grabbed the box she’d pulled out from her luggage. “Your turn.”

  Unlike Stevie, I tore into the paper, and when I opened the box, confusion had me lifting my eyes to hers. A Tampa Bay jersey was neatly folded inside the square of cardboard.

  “I overheard you talking to Bryson about Poppy a few weeks ago.” Stevie spoke, her confidence dangling from a rope as she continued, “I heard you tell him she wanted to wear the number thirteen when she got to play for the NHL.”

  Poppy had big dreams and why not? Everything started somewhere, and if anything, my niece reminded me of what I was like when I was a kid. I picked up the jersey and felt something hard in the middle.

  “What’s this?” I asked, not really expecting an answer as I parted the material, revealing a framed picture of me and Poppy when she was a year old. I’d come home on a rare weekend, my rookie year, for her birthday.

  “It was on the desk in the kitchen where you keep all your important paperwork, sitting under a few envelopes. I found it your last road trip, when you asked me to pick up your mail.” I gaped at the framed picture. Words clogged in my narrowed throat. “I wished I would’ve known she wanted to play for Boston…”

  The name GRAYSON was spelled out across the back, the number thirteen stitched underneath it. Poppy’s last name and favorite number. A small flame grew bigger, into a blaze, a five-alarm feeling consumed my chest.

  “I know how much she means to you… the camp, helping kids reach their goals. I thought it would be cool. I don’t know, it’s like a piece of the future, and you could wear it and think of her.” She dipped her chin, her smile fading as I sat there totally dumbstruck. “Poppy’s going to—”

  “Fucking love it.” I found my breath and a smile crept across her face.

  “Yeah?”

  I held Stevie’s gaze, fighting the overwhelming and strange sensation building with each thud and whoosh of my pulse. “Fuck yes.” The wrapping paper crinkled and the records in her lap fell to the side as we met in the middle. “I love it,” I whispered against her lips. “If I could, I’d wear it on game days.”

  “What about camp?”

  “I’ll wear it every day I’m there, Poppy will never stop smiling… I’ll have to get her one of her own.”

  She giggled. “Maybe get her a Boston one.”

  I gently placed the jersey and framed picture on top of the record player, off the side of the bed, as I scoffed. “Screw that, if I get her a jersey it will be Tampa or Toronto.”

  “Matching jerseys would be kind of adorable.”

  My lips silenced her worry over team loyalty and my arms folded around her waist. She bit my bottom lip as my hands found the round curve of her ass. In one easy move, I had her on her back and the rest of her vinyl collection fell off the mattress and onto the floor. I kissed her hard and her knees gripped the sides of my hips. She didn’t push me away, or spout out rules, she surrendered to my touch. Taking a breath, I held her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her eyes searched mine and the weight of her gaze plummeted down onto my shoulders. I wanted to surrender, too. I wanted to show her how much I fucking loved her gift… loved that she was mine, loved it more than I normally allowed myself.

  The hot silk of her palm caressed my face and I kissed her. I closed my eyes as her mouth melded to mine, and I let the addictive weight take me under.

  “She hugged you?”

  “Yup,” I said and I switched my phone to my other ear.

  “Wow, that’s pretty epic.” I didn’t miss the sarcasm in Reagan’s tone.

  “It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Mark said Poppy isn’t a hugger. I feel like I’ve been officially welcomed into the pack.”

  I thought about the day we’d left to come back to Florida and my lips split into a wide smile. Mark’s entire family had given me bear hugs, including Poppy.

  “You’re in and now you can never leave.” Reagan’s laugh was overly dramatic with a villainess flare.

  “I’d be happy to stay forever.” Once the words left my mouth, there was no taking them back. “You know what I mean… the whole trip, it was perfect. I’ve never had the whole family dynamic thing. They trea
ted me like they’ve known me forever. His mom cried when Mark came up wearing the jersey I’d gotten for him… and you should’ve seen Poppy’s face.” I laughed as I continued, “It was a mixture of excitement and horror. When Mark showed her the back of the jersey she’d smiled at first and then frowned. I asked her if she liked it and she’d said ‘it’s cool, but it should’ve been a Boston jersey.’”

  “She said that?” Reagan giggled.

  “Straight up, honest… she’s a freaking pistol.” And I love her, I wanted to say, but I’d already admitted too much out loud for one morning. “I know it’s not a great idea to get too attached so soon, but I had a great time.”

  She exhaled a breathy sigh reading me like she always did. “Stevie… you’re happy. You don’t have to defend it to anyone.”

  I was happy, elated, lost in the haze of Mark and his family. Mark and I had flown back to Tampa on Wednesday. He had to be back to practice Thursday, and had a New Year’s Eve home game this Sunday. In New Hampshire, we’d been in our own personal snow globe, life had been smooth and unhurried, and now it was just another Friday. I sat in my office alone, and everything was rush, rush, rush again. I’d give anything to go back to our Christmas morning, to be wrapped in Mark’s warmth, his strong arms, looking into his smiling eyes, and running my fingers through his sleep and sex-tousled hair. Instead, I had to deal with Ben’s nitpicking hissy fit as soon as I’d walked through the office doors.

  “Ben makes me feel guilty. It was like he chose to be an asshole as a way to show me how much he disapproved of my smiles and contentment.”

  “Your happiness isn’t something you should have to explain, and if Ben can’t deal, then that’s his problem.”

  “I should tell Trent I can’t work on this audit.” My words came out in a strangled string of worry.

  “Is that what you want? I thought you needed the experience?”

  I rested my forehead in the palm of my free hand. “I don’t know.”

  “You need to talk to Trent.”

  “I will.” I lifted my head to stare up at the ceiling, and wet my lips, letting a small smile infuse my tone as I not-so-subtly changed the subject. “You coming to the game with me Sunday?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? The best way to get a man out of your system is to surround yourself with opportunities to test your strength.”

  “And watching Bryson play hockey is testing your strength?”

  “Yes, because damn, he’s hot when he’s sweaty, and I can’t even say that from personal experience. How does the team man whore turn me down, Stevie? How?”

  I giggled. “You sound insulted.”

  “I am.”

  “Mark said, and I quote ‘he’s probably trying to keep his dick out of the family cookie jar’.”

  “What if I want his—”

  “Hey,” I cut her off not really wanting to talk about my boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life, or body parts, for that matter. “You could bring Pete to the game?”

  “Ugh.”

  “You guys love each other, and you both are stubborn asses and are too chicken to admit it.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds. I’d picked away at her defenses, and her silence proved I’d hit a little too deep this time.

  She took a long breath. “Ask Mark for an extra ticket… just in case.”

  A knowing smile sprawled across my lips. “Of course.”

  “I’ll call you later,” she said, her good humor distracted and shaken.

  She hung up and my guilt clouded over me. She was always throwing in her two cents about my life, and what I said wasn’t really a secret. You can only be on-again, off-again with the same person so many times before someone has the guts to slap you in the face and say, “Hey, idiot, look, your chance is right there.” Mark was my slap in the face and my chance. I only wanted the same thing for her.

  I’d finished typing out a quick text to Mark, asking him if he could grab an extra ticket for Pete, when a knock sounded on my office door. Trent didn’t wait for an answer before he walked in.

  “These are for you,” he said, laying three large, overstuffed folders onto my desk. “Ben needs these postal receipts put into the expenses spreadsheet.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I teased and Trent’s frown curled up at the corners.

  He lowered himself into the chair across from me without any grace, a long exhale shuffling the blond mop of bangs over his forehead.

  “I know.” He groaned. “I haven’t had enough coffee, my manners don’t take effect until after the fourth cup.”

  I opened one of the folders and wanted to groan as well as I milled through the receipts. “What’s my deadline?”

  He cringed. “Tomorrow?”

  “That’s impossible.”

  He scrubbed his palm down his face. “I know... but Ben said—”

  “Trent. There are hundreds of receipts here. This will take me all weekend.” I shut the folder, summoning my good grace. He was overworked, stressed out, and apparently delusional. There was no way I could get this finished by tomorrow. “The soonest I could have this finished is Monday, and that’s a holiday.”

  “Unfortunately, it’ll be a working holiday.” His brows dipped deeply, anxiety crinkling and aging his handsome face. “I’ll let Ben know you’ll have them ready by Monday.” He gave me his charming smile, the one he’d used on David when he knew he was in trouble. “You’re an angel, Stevie.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” He stood to leave and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I struggled to find the right words to say. “Before you go...” Trent stilled. “I wanted to talk to you about Ben… it’s been difficult working with him again.”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets with a resigned set to his shoulders. “I think the Mark thing is getting to him. He’s not himself.”

  “It’s too hard,” I whispered and Trent’s eyes met mine. I blinked past the burn and harnessed the strength I’d found inside myself the day I told Ben I was done. “I don’t think we should work together on this audit.”

  “What if you reported to me? I need your help with this account, all hands on deck, Stevie. I’ll take Ben off expenses, reallocate his experience.”

  “I think that’s a great plan.”

  The air in the room seemed less thin, and I gave him a reassuring smile, lowering my shaking hands to my lap before he turned to leave. Rocking the boat wasn’t my forte, but Ben and I working together was toxic for everyone. Having him here was like opening a scab, picking at it every day until it bled, and I was out of ways to stop the bleeding.

  He tipped his chin. “Consider it done.”

  There were several theories online about disaster premonition. People who’d reported seeing a man who looked like a moth days before a catastrophe, interviews with survivors who felt like something was off before they boarded that plane or that train. Women who had sensed danger, some special type of fear before they picked up the phone only to receive bad news. Heartbreak was supposed to come with some sort of prerequisite Spidey Sense, but in hindsight, nothing had appeared out of place when I’d woken up that morning.

  I’d gotten up early enough to kiss my boyfriend goodbye before he left for practice. I walked Atlas around the block like I did every day. Mark had his own apartment, but when he was in town, we were always at my house. I loved how easily our puzzle pieces fit together. I loved waking up next to him, having his suits in my closet, his sweats in my drawer, and our dog at my side. I loved the sweet and dirty Post-it promises he’d leave on my coffee mug before he left for the rink. Today’s promise still had me smiling when I’d arrived to work ten minutes earlier than usual. I loved that no matter how thick the tension between Ben and I had become, the fog of it never hindered my vision. I’d fallen in love with Mark, and this morning, when he kissed me for those few achingly perfect seconds, if I had known how the day was going to play out, I would’ve never let either of us get out of bed.

  I’d
been prepared for a bittersweet day. Mark had to leave for another road trip tonight, and after almost three months of hard work, the final meeting wrapping up the audit had been scheduled for nine this morning. It was the second week in March, and even though Ben and I hadn’t been working on the account together since the New Year, he’d still been there every day, in every meeting, and the coldness he’d worn as armor weakened the closer we got to the end of his stay. He’d find reasons to pop by my office, reasons to linger after meetings, reasons to call me at least twice a week; usually, and I’d begun to think premeditatedly, when I was with Mark. If anything, Ben’s silence during the meeting should have been an indicator that this day was about to go up in flames.

  It was almost noon when Trent switched off his laptop, ending the meeting. Alec was the first to stand and his smile was tired as he swatted my arm with a folder. “Shit, girl, it’s done.”

  “Congratulations,” I said as I stood, fighting the urge to raise my arms over my head and stretch away the last few hours.

  “We earned it. I don’t think we could’ve gotten through this without your help.” Alec wasn’t one to give compliments. I found myself smiling a little bigger than necessary and he laughed. “Don’t let your ego get too big, remember, I was the one who trained you.”

  “You’re always going to remind me of that, aren’t you?”

  “Would you expect anything less?” He tapped his folder on my arm again, his smile sincere as he asked, “You coming to lunch with us?”

  “I’m meeting Mark, he’s leaving tonight.”

  “How long this time?”

  “Ten days,” I whined.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know how he does it. He’s a better man than me.”