The Rule Maker (Boston Hawks Hockey #4)

by Gina Azzi

  “What if you’re always playing second fiddle?” my brother asks quietly.

  I nod, rolling my lips together.

  Drew shifts to wrap his arm around my shoulders. “Then he’s not the one.”

  I close my eyes, not wanting to admit the truth in Drew’s words. I can’t even consider the possibility that Austin isn’t the right guy for me. That I’ve chosen wrong yet again.

  “But,” Drew continues, “you making a big assumption on a single incident wouldn’t be fair to him. Or to you.”

  I glance up, staring into my brother’s warm eyes. “When did you start giving such great advice?”

  The corner of his mouth pulls up. “Yeah, well, it seems I can give it, but not take it myself. Come on.” He stands and grips my suitcase handle. “You don’t want to miss your train.”

  I huff out a breath and force myself to stand. I pick up the garment bag with my dress and lay it over my arm. “Thanks, Drew.”

  “You’ll be okay, Chlo. For now, try to enjoy your weekend in New York. At least you’ll see Abbi.”

  “Yeah, I will,” I say, knowing he’s right. I need to shift my perspective, enjoy this weekend for what else it offers. Like time with my best friend. A meeting with my boss. A chance to be back in the city.

  Still, as I follow my brother out of my room, a pit of disappointment swells in my stomach.

  When I’m on the train to New York, it grows. By the time I check into the hotel, it’s climbing up my throat.

  I feel too many things too powerfully. Anger, hurt, betrayal, guilt, frustration.

  The only thing I know for certain is I am not in the right frame of mind to celebrate a blissful union. I am not in the mood to dance at a wedding reception. And I am definitely not prepared to see Brittney flash a diamond engagement ring.

  I check my phone one last time before the wedding ceremony starts.

  Abbi gives me a side look but I shake my head.

  There’s still no word from Austin. No explanation. No missed call.

  It’s like he’s forgotten I exist at all.

  Marissa and Adam have a beautiful wedding ceremony that causes nearly every guest to cry. Including me, although I’m fairly certain I’m shedding tears for the wrong reasons. Because as shitty as it is, I’m crying for myself.

  Watching my friend kiss her husband for the first time should be joyous.

  Witnessing the union of two people, made in love, is a miracle of sorts.

  But as Marissa and Adam throw their arms in the air and walk down the aisle, accepting hugs and well wishes from their family and friends, I catch sight of Steve. He’s winking at Brittney and she’s smiling like the happiest woman on the planet.

  And something inside of me cracks.

  Why can’t that be me? Not looking at Steve but looking at Austin. Why can’t I ever be madly in love with a man who looks at me and doesn’t see the rest of the room?

  A sob rattles in my chest and I pinch my lips together to keep it there.

  Because I am madly in love with Austin Merrick. And he didn’t show up. He didn’t even give a reason as to why he bailed on today, knowing how important it is to me that he be here.

  My man forgot all about me.

  “Hey.” Abbi appears behind me and I turn. When she reads my expression, she winces. “Want to get drunk?”

  I close my eyes and nod. Abbi leads me to the bar and I don’t protest when she pushes a shot of vodka in my direction. Instead, I toss it back and wait for the numbness I need to take over.

  I’m another two shots of vodka and too many flutes of champagne in when Steve drops his elbows to the bar in the space next to mine.

  I peer at him from the corner of my eye, muttering a curse word and tipping back my fourth shot.

  His eyes narrow and he twists in my direction. “New man couldn’t make it?”

  I roll my eyes, hating the fake concern in his tone. Hating that he put me in this position, showing up to an event alone after he bailed at the last minute, several times too. “Fuck you, Steve.”

  He jerks back, surprised. He should be. I’ve been waiting months, hell, maybe even years, to say those words to him.

  “Jealous?” He tilts his head and I snort.

  It’s not a delicate or feminine sound. Nope, it’s loud and obnoxious and leads to a burst of laughter that pours out of my mouth like a waterfall. My shoulders shake with laughter and I hunch forward, clutching my stomach.

  Steve shifts his weight awkwardly.

  “Oh God.” I breathe out, dabbing the tears from the corners of my eyes with a bar napkin. I turn toward my ex-fiancé, relieved his ring isn’t still on my finger. I feel so strongly about it that I tell him as much, ending with, “You and Brittney deserve each other. Really, congratulations. Now fuck off and let me drink in peace.”

  Steve stares like he doesn’t know me. Because he doesn’t know this version of me, it’s one I’ve never showed him. But damn does it feel good to put Steve in his place after all the hurt he dragged me through.

  Abbi appears at his side. She clicks her tongue and tips her head, indicating he should get lost. He glances between us and huffs away.

  I chuckle. “That was like out of a movie.”

  We both crack up but my laughter quickly morphs into tears.

  “Oh, Chlo,” Abbi says sympathetically, angling her body to shield my emotional meltdown from the guests and dance floor.

  Fortunately for me, the wedding is starting to wind down and people are already trickling out.

  “Has he messaged you? Anything?” she asks.

  I shrug, turning back to the bartender. I’m about to order another shot when Abbi intervenes and suggests water.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, stabbing a straw into the water glass. “After the ceremony, I stashed my phone in my hotel room. Otherwise, I knew I’d be the pathetic girl checking it every three seconds and trying to swallow back my disappointment.” I sigh. “That wouldn’t have been fair to Marissa.” I glance down at the beautiful bridesmaid dress. It’s a light blush color with a fitted, sexy bodice that flares out into a soft, chiffon skirt. It’s sexy and flirty and the first time I tried it on, I felt like a princess.

  Too bad I’m worse off than Cinderella.

  I’m more like one of her cast-off stepsisters.

  I definitely want one more shot.

  Abbi grabs my wrist, causing me to look up.

  “Austin isn’t Steve,” Abbi says.

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” She tilts her head, studying me. “I know at first I had my concerns about him but after I saw you two together… Chloe, the way he looks at you… He wouldn’t just bail if there wasn’t a good reason.”

  “Sure.” I brush it off.

  “Chloe.”

  “Abbi, I get what you’re doing. And I appreciate it. But I can’t keep falling for guys who put every other aspect of their lives before ours. Before the life we’re supposed to be building together. The only reason why I know he has a real reason for bailing is because I called his sister. Austin hasn’t given me anything to go off of except a brush-off.”

  Abbi sighs, swiping up my water glass and taking a long pull. “I just don’t want to see you stop a good thing before it has the chance to take off.”

  “He’s starting training camp soon anyway. Then he’ll be back to his hockey life, travel schedule, team captain commitments.” I shake my head. “He told me, you know? Right from the start, he told me. I don’t know why I expected anything different but… I did. I expected more from him than this.” I toss a hand toward the dance floor, where only twenty or so people are left swaying to the music.

  Abbi’s expression changes, surprise rippling across her face. “Maybe he’s delivering anyway.”

  “What?” I ask, starting to turn to follow her line of vision.

  “Austin’s here,” she says.

  I turn fully and gasp, my fingers rising to my mouth.

  Austin Michael Mer
rick stands inside the Grand Ballroom dressed in a simple navy suit. His hands are stuffed in his pockets. A sexy stubble coats his jawline and he bites the corner of his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the space. Until they find mine. Then, they spark and hold. Intensity rolls in their depths, keeping me rooted in place.

  He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in two days. But affection sweeps his expression when he sees me. His eyes scan my frame, widening appreciatively as they take in my dress, then darkening with regret when they recognize the disappointment in my eyes.

  Austin walks toward me and Abbi scurries away, leaving me posted up at a bar with a lineup of empty shot glasses as witnesses to what suddenly feels like a defining moment in my life.

  “Chloe,” he murmurs.

  I heave out a breath and shake my head, partly in disbelief and partly in hurt. “What are you doing here?”

  24

  Austin

  I’m not prepared for the animosity in her tone.

  Sure, I knew she’d be upset. Maybe even angry.

  But the Chloe before me, looking like she just stepped off a goddamn runway, is fuming. Red splotches appear on her cheeks and her shoulders stiffen, waves of hurt emanating from her frame.

  Shit. I swallow, hoping to ease the dryness in my throat. I reach to grab her wrist but she yanks it away.

  “Hear me out, Chlo.”

  “Why?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I say defensively. Yeah, it was shitty of me to bail on the wedding but Easton needed me and I thought Chloe of all people would understand that. She’s always been caring and compassionate, always one to jump in and help when needed. I mean, here she is, a bridesmaid in a wedding with the woman her ex-fiancé cheated on her with.

  She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, picking up a shot glass and waving it at the bartender.

  Damn. Concern blazes through me. Did I cause her to react like this? She’s already unsteady on her feet and the gleam in her eyes, feverish and hazy, is a good indicator that she crossed over from tipsy to drunk a while ago.

  “Why are you here, Austin?”

  My eyebrows snap together. “Because I want to be here. With you.”

  She shakes her head. “Try again.”

  “What?” I move closer to her, trying to get a read on the wild expression in her eyes.

  It’s reckless and exasperated and unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed in her before.

  I have a hell of a lot of experience, too much really, with irate women.

  But Chloe’s never been irrational…

  “You’re here because you feel guilty,” she murmurs quietly, not picking up the shot glass the bartender placed down before making himself scarce. Smart man. “You promised you’d come to this wedding with me and so here you are. And I appreciate it, Austin. I appreciate the gesture and you being here when you’re clearly exhausted. But you didn’t show up for the right reason. You didn’t show up for me; you showed up for you.” She points at me accusingly, her words slurring.

  “Baby, that’s not true.” I grip the underside of her elbow, my tone pleading.

  Tears collect in the corners of her eyes and nausea twists my stomach as the full realization of just how much I hurt Chloe rocks through me.

  “Chloe, please. Let’s head up to the room. It’s been a long day. We can talk in the morning.”

  She lets out another humorless sound. “Right. Because now I’m drunk and emotional and who wants to have a real conversation about real things with the insecure bridesmaid, never the bride.” She hiccups.

  I stare at her for a long moment, as if I’m seeing her for the first time. Gone is my charming friend. Gone is the confident woman I’m stupidly in love with.

  Instead, I see the hurt, scared, somewhat broken woman who Steve knocked down and I just kicked over. I close my eyes, tipping my head skyward as the damage I caused sinks in.

  “Sunshine,” I reason, “I’m so fucking sorry about today. Okay? I really am. But baby, Easton needed me and—”

  “I needed you,” she cuts me off. “And I know that’s selfish and unfair. I know that, Austin. Admitting it out loud makes me hate myself a little bit. But I’m never anyone’s first choice. I’m never anyone’s real concern. I’m always the afterthought. I mean, you didn’t even message to tell me about East. I heard about everything from Claire. And maybe it’s me and my insecurities, but I don’t want to be this person anymore.” She shakes her head. “Is East okay?”

  I nod.

  “Claire?”

  “They’re both fine. Back home.”

  “Good.” She nods and moves to sidestep me. “I’m tired.”

  “Okay,” I say, catching her hand. I walk with her to the elevators, shooting side glances her way. My anxiety spikes, crawling up into my throat and making my tongue thicken, too fat to form words.

  Will Chloe forgive me? Can she see past this moment? This misunderstanding?

  My heart races and the back of my neck prickles as my thoughts splinter off in different directions. I try to focus on the moment, on Chloe. But her distracted expression only increases my concern.

  Her head is somewhere else entirely. Her emotions are twisted up, causing little sighs and sniffles to sound out. But the resignation in her expression, the coolness in her eyes, is what scares the hell out of me.

  She’s just drunk.

  She’s just tired.

  You’ll talk in the morning.

  I mentally flip through rationalizations as Chloe kicks off her stunning dress that I waited all week to see her in. She doesn’t bother pulling hairpins from her updo or washing her face. Instead, she pulls on a T-shirt, slides into the bed, and ignores me completely.

  “Chloe—”

  “I’m not in the mood, Austin,” she cuts me off, turning her back.

  I swear, gripping the back of my neck. Turning away from her, I stride to the window and stare out into the darkness. The windowpane is cool against my palm but it doesn’t center me the way I need.

  Instead, my worry gives way to anger at Chloe’s dismissal. The fatigue I’ve been battling all day crashes over me. I’m fucking exhausted.

  I’ve been up since nearly 2 a.m. My nerves are rattled, trying to talk Easton off a proverbial ledge. I’m emotionally drained from running interference between my best friend and his sponsor, between Easton and Claire.

  Not to mention, I spent over five hours driving from Boston to Manhattan to show up for Chloe. To show her how much I care about her, that I want to be here for her, that I’m committed to our relationship.

  And she throws it in my fucking face? Says I’m making it all about me?

  “No.” I turn away from the window and stride back toward the bed, flipping the lights on in the process.

  “What?” She sits straight up.

  And fuck, I hate the damn mascara streaks on her face, giving away that she was silently crying while feigning sleep. But I’m hurt too. And angry. And frustrated.

  “You don’t get to shut me out like this. I spent five hours driving to be here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Easton in my message. There wasn’t a lot of time and I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “You didn’t want me to worry?” She leaps out of bed, surprisingly spright for someone slurring their words so badly.

  I know I should let it go. She’s drunk and I’m scared. We’re both exhausted and pissed off. Whatever we say now isn’t going to be well-thought-out and level-headed. No, we’re going to hurl angry barbs at each other that are only going to make us both feel like shit in the morning.

  But my hockey captain’s levelheadedness is irrelevant when I’m dealing with women. Especially with the woman. The only one I’ve ever truly cared about.

  “I’m sorry, Chloe! Okay, how many times do you want me to say it? I know I should have been more upfront with you. But I’ve been trying to call you since 4 p.m. You could have picked up too, ya know?”

&n
bsp; Regret flares in her eyes and she glances at her phone, discarded on the desk.

  I snort, moving to pick it up before she can. When the screen lights up, I see the list of my unanswered messages and missed calls.

  “I left my phone here,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Mature. Real fucking mature,” I snap back, raking a hand over my face.

  “This was never going to work,” she murmurs.

  “What?” I narrow my eyes at her. My fingers tremble as an icy coldness slithers down my spine.

  “Me and you,” she continues. “We fell back into old habits, something comfortable and familiar.”

  “There’s nothing familiar or comfortable about this.” I gesture between us, faced off and arguing. “We never fought. Ever. And I’ve never felt the way I do before you came back into my life. You make me feel like I’m fucking flying. You make me feel…” I trail off, heaving out a sigh. “How did we fuck this up so badly, baby?”

  She dashes a tear off of her cheek, some of the fight leaving her body. “I don’t know, Austin. Maybe because I’m not ready. Maybe I’m more hurt and twisted up over my past than I thought. Or maybe because you’re holding back. And you’re not as ready to be in a real relationship as you thought. Or wanted.”

  I stare at her, witnessing the hurt ripple across her face. It’s deep and potent. But her words strike a nerve because she’s right. The shakiness of my hands, the sickness roiling in my stomach, is proof of that. Maybe I’m not as ready as I need to be, not for a woman like her. Not for a relationship like ours.

  “I want to be,” I murmur, clearing my throat.

  She nods and compassion floods her eyes. “I know. But sometimes wanting it just isn’t enough.” She sits back down on the mattress and closes her eyes, heaving out a sigh. When she opens them, she just looks sad. Deflated. “I’m tired, Austin.”

  “I know.”

  “No, I mean I’m tired. Exhausted and drained and empty. I can’t keep doing this.” She throws an arm in my direction before letting it fall limp next to her on the bed. “Part of my reaction today is because of my history with Steve. We both know it.” She glances at me and I dip my chin in agreement. She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, resigned. “This was never going to work.”