The Rule Maker (Boston Hawks Hockey #4)

by Gina Azzi

  “But I don’t think Steve was that guy,” I murmur, my chest squeezing painfully.

  “Then isn’t it good you didn’t marry him?” Austin’s brows bend and I know I’m confusing the hell out of him.

  I’m confusing myself but—“This weekend, I was so excited to walk down the beach with him. To hold his hand. To just be with him and show him all the places Mimi used to take me.”

  “I forgot you used to spend a few weeks here every summer.”

  “Yeah. I thought Steve would understand more about me, about my wanting to see my family as much as I do, if he could experience some of my childhood.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s so dumb that this is why I’m upset right now, isn’t it? It’s silly to be upset over something that never even happened.”

  “No,” Austin says, his thumb swiping down the center of my chin. “It’s not. You wanted to share your childhood with him and you wanted him to understand just how much this place means to you, how special your time with Mimi is to you.”

  I nod, relieved that he understands what I mean even though I’m having a difficult time explaining it.

  “So show me,” he continues and I rear back, surprised. But Austin’s hand holding my wrist tugs me closer. “Who better to share your childhood memories with than the guy who was there for most of them? We’ll visit all your old stomping grounds with Mimi this weekend. Hell, I can probably even remember a few from that trip our families took together. I promise, Chlo, we’re going to have fun. Not to hurt your feelings, but I can pretty much guarantee that you’ll have a better time with me than you would have with Steve anyway.”

  I let out a small laugh, missing the earnestness with which Austin navigates life. Steve was always overly confident and sometimes, downright pompous. But Austin’s always been so…genuine. Real. “Thank you for coming with me, Austin.”

  He moves closer and drops a quick kiss to my cheek. “Don’t mention it again, Chlo.” He pulls back and opens the driver’s side door. Glancing at me over his shoulder he says, “Now, dry your eyes and let’s get going before I blast some throwbacks and dance right here to make you cry from laughter.”

  I laugh and he smiles.

  “You know I’ll do it, Chlo.”

  “I know.” That’s the thing about Austin. He doesn’t embarrass easily and he’ll do pretty much anything to cheer someone else up. Between Savannah, Claire, Indy, and me, he’s had a lot of practice pulling mopey, emotional girls back into reality.

  I step out of the car, pausing as the breeze kicks up and wraps around me. I drink in the beautiful expanse of endless blue sky and breathe in the salty air of the sea.

  Austin plops our suitcases at our feet, drapes my garment bag on top, and slips his arm around my shoulders. I look up at him, noting the amusement and understanding in his eyes.

  “I’m ready for some fun, Aus,” I say and this time, I mean it. I need it.

  “Then let’s kick this weekend off with some drinks, Sunshine.” He holds me close for one blink before grabbing the handles of our suitcases and striding toward the hotel like a man on a mission.

  I scurry beside him.

  Right before we enter the hotel, Austin turns to me and winks. “I got your back, Chlo. Always. And I’m here because I want to be. For you.”

  A hotel staff pulls the door open for us and I step into the lobby beside Austin. My heart is still stuttering from his words, from the look in his eyes when he said them, but it pretty much stops as we enter the lobby and a silence falls.

  I note members of the bridal party and wedding guests, family members of Marissa’s, milling about and checking in. I spot the beautiful bride and the groom, Adam’s mouth hanging open as he stares at Austin.

  Whispers and gasps swarm through the lobby.

  “Holy shit, is that Austin Merrick?”

  “He’s the captain of the Hawks.”

  “He just won the Cup.”

  Austin ducks his head, I snicker, and then we both burst into laughter.

  “I’m tossing your name around alllllll weekend,” I tell him.

  Color works its way over his cheeks but he winks and this time, I think my heart skips a whole beat.

  The hotel bar is filled with patrons, mostly wedding guests, grabbing a pre-dinner drink and catching up before this evening’s festivities kick off. A man squeezes next to me, trying to grab the bartender’s attention, and I shift closer to Austin, wishing we snagged barstools. I’m about to ask him if he sees any empty seats when the air shifts.

  It tightens with a tension that causes the back of my neck to tingle. I draw in a breath and hold it, my limbs locking down. I don’t want to turn around to confirm that Steve and Brittney just entered the bar but part of me is desperate to see if it’s really them.

  The looks in my direction, the whispers that ripple down the bar, teeming with wedding guests, is confirmation enough.

  “He’s here,” Austin murmurs, lifting his Negroni to his lips and taking a sip. His eyes harden and narrow as he glares at the man I almost married. “Relax, Sunshine.” Austin places his glass down on the bar and leans closer to me, his hand landing on my thigh. “Look at me.”

  I meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, filled with an understanding that settles my nerves. His touch on my leg comforts me, grounding me in this moment. I exhale slowly and Austin smirks, shooting me one of his knowing grins that affects me, the same way it did in high school.

  “We got this,” he declares before picking his glass back up and draining it. His fingertips brush back and forth over the material of my summer dress, little reassurances that I’m not doing this alone. We’re going to face Steve as a team and then, the moment I’ve been dreading, will be over and I’ll get to enjoy the rest of my weekend with Austin.

  I can do this. I’m ready to—

  “Chloe,” Steve’s voice interrupts my silent pep talk and I turn, glancing at him over my shoulder.

  Brittney is at his side, her hand clutched in his. She gives me a tight, nervous smile, her eyes begging me not to make a scene.

  As if that’s ever been my style. I’m not the scene-making type of girl. I’m more of a hide-in-a-closet-and-sob kind of chick. But not today. Right now, I’m a confident, bold woman laughing at a bar with the sexy guy who took Boston to a Cup win. That girl doesn’t slink away and cry. That girl smiles nonchalantly and says, “Oh, hi, Steve. Brittney.”

  Steve clears his throat, his gaze darting from mine to Austin and back again.

  Brittney shamelessly stares at my date. I tamp down the swirl of anger building in my chest. She’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. Plus, it’s Marissa’s wedding weekend and our happiness for her and Adam needs to be stronger than my desire to smack those googly eyes off of Brittney’s face.

  Austin shifts his weight, angling closer to me, as he sticks out a hand. “How’s it going, man?”

  Steve’s posture straightens as his gaze drops to Austin’s hand. I can tell it’s killing him to shake it but he does so, his mouth thinning into a line. “Austin, right?”

  “That’s right,” Austin says easily. “Can we get you a round?”

  “Oh,” Brittney gasps, “I’ll have—”

  “We’re fine, thanks.” Steve cuts her off and I dip my head to hide the giggle that bubbles to my lips.

  Instead, I pick up my old-fashioned and take a long drink.

  “How are you?” Steve asks me, his hand lifting to my shoulder before he thinks better of it and lets it fall back to his side.

  “Good, you?” I respond breezily. See, I can do this? I am doing this.

  Steve dips his chin, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come on your own but…” He turns back toward Austin. “It was nice of you to step in this weekend so Chlo didn’t have to come solo. I know this can be a lot,” he says contritely, gesturing to the wedding guests aka, bar patrons, watching this showdown like prime-time TV.

  Austin shakes his head, that winning smile that appeared on magazine
s across the country, flashing. “Nah, man. I didn’t step in for anything. You did me a solid, dude. I should probably thank you.” He chuckles, raising his glass to his lips.

  I swivel toward Austin, not missing the open mouths of two of Marissa’s bridesmaids. Her cousins, I think.

  “Thank him?” I repeat, wondering what the hell is happening. I know Austin and I were going to make this look couple-y, but we never talked about the lengths we were willing to go to make things believable.

  Austin’s hand slides from my thigh to my hip. He pinches my side affectionately and I hear Steve grunt at the gesture.

  “Yeah, Sunshine—” My childhood nickname, affectionately used by my dad before catching on with the Merricks, rolls off his tongue effortlessly. Except right now, it sounds like a sweet term of endearment and at Steve’s pinched lips, I’m beyond grateful. “If Steve didn’t fuck himself over, we never would have had the chance to reconnect.”

  “Reconnect?” Steve repeats, his tone irritated.

  Austin calmly takes a swig of his fresh Negroni and nods. “Everyone who knows me knows I’ve always had a thing for Chlo. Stars finally aligned. I’m in Boston all summer, she came back to the city with her family, and we were able to catch up. The second I heard about the party this weekend, in Martha’s Vineyard, where Chlo used to spend her summers with Mimi”—Austin whistles—“no way was I missing the opportunity to spend a weekend with my girl in one of her favorite places.” His eyes hold mine as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. He grins, slow and lazy, letting it spread across his face like he can’t help himself.

  I smile back, loving that he’s playing this role so well. Loving that he’s helping me find my footing in Steve’s presence when the thought of seeing him again filled me with such anguish.

  I wrinkle my nose. What are you doing?

  Austin’s grin grows larger. Go with it.

  We have an entire conversation through our eyes and after a moment, I chuckle and pick my drink back up.

  “Um, we should say hi to Marissa and Adam,” Brittney says awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She looks between the little huddle with confusion etched into the lines of her face. But Steve, Steve looks furious. Patches of red crawl up his neck and his hands curl into fists and I have the sudden image of a toddler about to stomp his foot and throw a hissy fit because he didn’t get his way.

  “Steve,” Brittney repeats.

  Steve nods but doesn’t tear his eyes away from where Austin’s hand is resting on my hip. Austin slips his hand higher and Steve flinches. I inch closer to Austin, who has touched me throughout this entire exchange. Regardless of the motivation behind his hand on me, I don’t want him to remove it. I like his touch, his warmth, the ease that washes over me in his presence.

  Brittney tugs Steve toward the bride and groom.

  “We’ll see you around,” I say, keeping my gaze focused on Austin.

  Austin rolls his lips together to hold back his laughter.

  Steve and Brittney relocate to a small high-top table where one of Adam’s friends welcomes them. But I don’t turn to look because right now, I don’t care. Austin’s grin, the glint in his eyes, the focus with which his gaze scans my face, is a stronger pull.

  With Austin’s eyes on me, I feel it again. The spark, the zing, the understated confidence of being desired. Desirable. It fills me up with a self-assuredness I’ve been lacking for too long. I’m not a role in Steve’s life but the star of my own. I smile back at Austin, realizing that I’m ready to start living it.

  7

  Austin

  “Forget hockey. You should have gone into acting,” Chloe mutters, her green eyes slamming into mine, hijacking my thoughts.

  Because a second ago, I was cursing myself out for being so reckless. For spinning a lie that has the potential to get out and spread, grow into a rumor. I was wondering if I pushed too hard and if Chloe was frustrated with me for insinuating that we always had a thing between us.

  But now, right now, with her eyes shimmering with gratitude and the apples of her cheeks coated in the softest pink, I can only think about what a douchebag Steve is.

  “I’m happy you didn’t marry him,” I say instead, meaning it.

  “Thank you for that. You were…you didn’t have to do that.”

  “He never deserved you,” I say instead.

  Chloe wrinkles her nose and nudges one of the shot glasses she ordered closer to me.

  I pick it up and hold it toward her. “What are we drinking to, Chlo?”

  “To saying yes.”

  I clink my glass against hers and toss back the chilled vodka. “Lemon drop?”

  She shrugs. “It’s a good starter.”

  “Starter? How many shots are we taking tonight?”

  Chloe shrugs again, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Night’s young, Aus. We haven’t even started the evening itinerary.”

  I snicker. “You’re a troublemaker, Chloe Crawford.”

  Her mouth drops open in protest. “Me? I create crossword puzzles, Austin. I’m a rule follower. You’re the one icing perfectly pleasant players and—”

  “Perfectly pleasant?”

  She smirks. “The Charles Crows.”

  This time, my mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me?” I snort, amazed she remembered who our high school played in the finals my freshman year. And impressed. More impressed than I want to be. “How do you even remember that?”

  “You practically took out their center!” she accuses, gesturing toward me. “How could I forget it?”

  There’s laughter in her tone but at the reminder of how damn reckless I used to be, I still. She’s right, of course. I did almost take out their center. Why? Over some cheap shot and smack talk? Another memory, one with a hell of a lot worse consequences, rolls over me and I shudder.

  “Hey.” Chloe’s laughter dies and she reaches out, touching my forearm. “I’m just messing with you, Austin.” She frowns, her brows pulling together in a line I want to smooth out. Because she shouldn’t feel bad about bringing up all my past stupid mistakes.

  Is it better to be with someone who already knows all your fuckups but also the challenges you overcame? Or is it better to start fresh, to have a clean slate to keep pristine or fuck up whatever way you see fit?

  I shake the thoughts away. Who the hell even cares? This thing, this summer, between Chloe and me, is just that. A fun summer to keep our scheming mothers at bay while having a few laughs at our social obligations.

  “Austin?”

  I force a grin. “I know.”

  “Nope.” She shakes her head.

  “Nope what?”

  “You’re not getting off that easy. There’s no way in hell you would react like, like that”—she gestures at me—“over some high school hockey game when you were a freshman.”

  I gesture to the bartender that we’ll take another round.

  “That bad, huh?” Chloe comments, pursing her lips.

  “What are you talking about?” I chuckle, shifting my weight toward the bar.

  She shakes her head again, her touch on my arm morphing into a grasp.

  I glance down at where she’s holding me. Her fingernails are manicured, short, neat, and polished a neutral beige. She squeezes my arm and I meet her gaze again.

  “What happened?” she murmurs, her voice softer this time. There’s empathy in her eyes that lures me closer.

  Because it’s genuine.

  A lot of women have looked at me with bedroom eyes. Irises colored with hope, edged out with just a glint of ruthlessness. It’s the glint that’s always held me back. The knowledge that deep down, they want me for the status, for the title, for what I am more than who I am.

  Most women would sell my secret to the highest bidder for a payday. Not that my secret is a secret. The game that landed Sammy Snell in the hospital is public knowledge. Worse, it wasn’t by my hands but by my goddamn stupidity.

  Chloe an
gles her head, waiting for me to respond. Her gaze is patient, caring. Not urgent and curious.

  “It’s not worth getting into right now. Honest,” I say, dipping my head. I don’t want to talk about that night, about college, about letting so many people down. Not when my thoughts are already twisted up about this season. Not when I’m sitting next to Chloe, enjoying being with her. “Besides, we’re on our trial run.”

  “Trial run?”

  I nod. “Gotta practice for all our social events. Especially if we’re to be the talk of the season.”

  Chloe snickers. “Talk of the season? You watched Bridgerton, didn’t you?”

  I groan, hating that she already called me out. “I have two sisters and a cousin who might as well be my third.”

  “You live alone!”

  I snort and hold my hands up in surrender. “Fine. I watched Bridgerton. But so did Easton and Noah.”

  Chloe laughs harder, shaking her head at me. “That’s even worse. You’re not supposed to give your friends up like that.”

  “Hey! I thought I can trust you.”

  She nods, her cheeks ruddy. “You can,” she swears, crossing her heart like the nine-year-old girl with pigtails and gap teeth I still remember.

  I grasp her finger and tug her flush against my chest. She comes easily, falling into my arms like it’s something she does every day. Any lingering doubts or awkwardness between us has dissipated. Chloe and I have fallen into old habits effortlessly, like no time has passed at all.

  And I like it. I like being with her, laughing and joking.

  I like how easily she pulls me into the now, keeps me rooted in the present, when I have a habit of getting hung up on the past or worrying about the future.