The Rule Maker (Boston Hawks Hockey #4)

by Gina Azzi

  “Chlo—” I step toward her but she holds up a hand.

  “Please, let’s just sleep now, okay? I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to feel like, like this”—she gestures to herself—“anymore right now.” Her eyes are pleading when they meet mine and even though I want to hash everything out, convince her that we can fix this, that we can do better, I nod.

  She swings her legs back into the bed and pulls the comforter over her shoulders. I flip off the lights and lose my suit pants and shirt. Sliding into bed beside her, an ocean of space exists between us. We both hover on the edges of the mattress, our backs to each other, our silence hovering over the bed like an oppressive weight. Things between us, always so effortless and fun, now seem strained and stressful.

  How the hell did this happen? How did I let this happen?

  25

  Chloe

  I feel like death.

  Even worse really because on top of my raw emotions and old hurts, I’m hungover as fuck. My head throbs, my lips are chapped dry, and my body feels like I’ve done CrossFit when I really spent the evening slamming back vodka shots and silently fuming.

  I crack an eye slowly, closing it the second I catch sight of Austin. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, his back to me. His elbows are resting on his knees and he’s staring out the window, thinking, or perhaps, silently fuming.

  I force my eyes open and shift my weight. The rustle of the sheets has Austin turning and his gaze sweeps over me, guarded. The nausea that rolls through my stomach as I sit up intensifies at his expression.

  I fucked up. I feel it all the way down to my toes and yet…did I? I mean, yeah, I definitely, one hundred percent, went about everything all wrong. But is it wrong to want to be an equal in your own relationship? To have your significant other confide in you about what’s going on instead of leaving you hanging? To be worthy of more than a text message?

  My throat is achingly dry and it takes me a moment to work a swallow.

  “Here.” Austin uncaps a hotel water bottle and passes it to me.

  I accept it, muttering a thanks. His kindness scrapes at me, at odds with my insecurities. Insecurities I thought I had a handle on until last night, when the scabs were ripped off, shining a spotlight on my vulnerabilities. On the hurts I can’t fully conceal no matter how hard I tried to bury them.

  “I’m sorry, Austin,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

  His eyes soften slightly. He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s on me too. I should have told you what was going on with East.”

  I shrug, scraping a hand down my face. Makeup smears across my palm and I know I must look like a train wreck. I bite my lower lip, my stomach roiling. I grasp the base of my throat and Austin’s eyes narrow.

  “Where do we go from here?” I ask.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “I want this with you, Chlo. I want to be all in with you…”

  “But?”

  “But while I admit I should have handled yesterday better, I’m not ever going to bail on a friend, on a teammate, when he needs me.” He says the words clearly, a hint of apology in his blue eyes.

  “I know. I don’t want you to. I love how much you care about your friends and family and team. It’s just when you bailed on me at the last minute, without any explanation, it brought up a lot from my relationship with Steve and—”

  “I’m nothing like that douchebag.”

  “I know that. But yesterday morning, I felt the same way I did with him. Unseen, forgotten about.”

  Austin’s eyes flash. “But you know I’d never leave you hanging unless it was something important. An emergency.”

  I shrug, taking another sip of water. “Do I? Sure, that would be my natural assumption but when you didn’t answer my messages or leave me with a real explanation, I didn’t have much to go off of, Austin.”

  “I was worried about this happening,” he mutters.

  “Worried about what?” I say, much more defensively than I planned to.

  He gestures between us. “Our entire relationship has existed in the bubble of Boston. We’ve been insulated by our families, our history, our past. But in real life? Does our summer together even stand a chance against all these external pressures?”

  “I hoped it would,” I bite out, wincing on the past tense.

  Austin catches it too because his face pales. “What are you even planning to do after summer ends? Are you sticking around in Boston or coming back here?” He raises an arm to the window, to the expanse of Manhattan, before letting it drop.

  Shit. I glance at my phone. “I’m meeting my boss in a few hours to discuss options.”

  “You are?” His tone hardens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was something I was going to discuss with you on our train ride here,” I snap back.

  Austin grips the back of his neck and swears. “Chloe, I need to get back to Boston this morning. I have a meeting later today with Coach Phillips. Training camp starts next week…”

  I nod, feeling the backs of my eyes sting. “I understand.”

  He sighs. “If I knew about your meeting—”

  “It’s fine. We both have things we need to do. We should get up, shower, and start our days.”

  “I don’t want to leave you in New York,” he bites out.

  “Why? It’s practically my home.” The moment I say the words, I regret them. Because hurt flares across Austin’s face and I feel it like a kick to my stomach. “Austin, I, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Didn’t you? Is this how you and Steve used to fight? Just throw out barbs to hurt each other?”

  I wince, hating myself in this moment. My mind flips back through Steve’s and my disagreements and it’s like a wakeup call. Because Austin is right. This is exactly the kind of unhealthy, unproductive shit Steve and I used to do.

  I frown, recognizing for the first time that I played a much larger role in Steve’s and my demise than I previously admitted. Yes, he was completely wrong for cheating on me. But if I really think about it, without hurt-tinted glasses, I wasn’t exactly blameless. We didn’t have the relationship I tricked myself into believing. We sure as hell didn’t have the connection or the chemistry that I share with Austin.

  I look at him again, noting the tightness in his jaw, the hurt in his eyes. Unworthiness floods through me. I did this to him. I hurt him. From the first day, Austin has been nothing but open and honest with me. I pushed him into this relationship, knowing full well that his priority was hockey, and now, I’m crying because he stepped up for his team the way he’s supposed to?

  Shame swirls through my body and I duck my head. “I’m sorry, Austin. Truly.” I shake my head, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have dragged you into all of this.”

  He frowns and shifts closer to me. “Chlo, I want to be here for you. I want to do this with you.”

  I reach for his hand and link my fingers with his. Just his touch settles some of my nerves, my fears. “I don’t know how,” I tell him honestly. “I’m emotionally raw. I thought I was ready but the truth is, I lashed out at you because of my history with Steve. If I was done working through all those insecurities, last night never would have went down the way it did. And you need to have your head in the game, you said it straight from the start, not worrying if you hurt your girlfriend’s feelings.”

  His eyes shutter closed for a second and when they meet mine again, they’re filled with regret. The air between us shifts, a melancholy resignation. It’s stuffy, pressing down on me.

  I suck in an inhale. “I should get ready to head to the office. And you need to head out if you’re going to make your meeting on time.”

  “I hate this,” Austin’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this for us, Sunshine.”

  “I know.” I squeeze his hand once before letting it go. Offering up a small smile, I add, “This was one of the best summers ever, Aus. So thank you
for that.”

  “Where do we go from here?” he murmurs, glancing at our intertwined fingers.

  “I think we both need to take some space, some time. We should figure out what we want, what we need.”

  He nods slowly, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “If you stay in Boston…”

  “I’ll see you around,” I promise.

  He leans forward until he can press a kiss to my forehead. His lips linger over my skin and I inhale deeply, breathing him in, memorizing his scent and the brush of his lips.

  “If you ever need anything, you call me.” He pulls back, looking me in the eye.

  I nod, even though I won’t call him. From the expression on his face, he knows it too. I lay my hands on his cheeks and he dips his neck to kiss my lips one last time.

  It’s too short but sweet enough to be one of the most heartbreaking kisses of my life. Because it’s filled with regret. Apology. And I know this is goodbye.

  I watch Austin change, pack his bag, and leave the hotel room. When the door closes behind him, I succumb to the tears layered in my chest. I cry them all out, a tumultuous river of hurt and heartache, until there’s nothing left but my own disappointment in myself.

  I drag myself to the bathroom and take a scalding hot shower. Two hours later, after Advil, coffee, and a strict talking-to by Abbi, I step on a subway and head downtown to my office.

  When I enter the building, I square my shoulders and blow out an exhale. Five years ago, I stopped chasing my professional dreams because of Steve. Just last week, I considered relocating to Boston to be closer to Austin. Maybe the reason why I have no luck in relationships is because I’m not happy with where I’m at as an individual. As Chloe Crawford.

  I push into Janie’s office and smile when she greets me hello.

  It’s time I stop defining myself by my association to others. It’s time for me to grow up. One thing I learned from Austin was to put everything on the line.

  And right now, that’s exactly what I do.

  “You’re going to El Salvador,” Abbi repeats, her eyes wide.

  I nod, blowing on my tea. “I’m going to El Salvador,” I say again, still waiting for the news to sink in.

  “Janie gave you an assignment, just like that?” Abbi narrows her eyes.

  I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “Hell no. It wasn’t just like that. It was me basically having a moment in her office where I questioned what the hell I was doing with my life and why I’m always running after a man…”

  Abbi’s mouth drops open. “And that worked?”

  “Apparently. Janie understood because she wallowed through a similar situation. Ben, the guy that was supposed to travel with Marni, had a family emergency and Janie and Marni agreed I could take his place. It’s only for two weeks but if I can prove myself, Janie said we could discuss a more permanent shift into investigative journalism. Real reporting, Abbi.”

  “But you love writing crossword puzzles.”

  “I do. But I’m ready for something else. Something that makes me feel…more. Alive. Part of something bigger. I spend a lot of time on my own. I’ve made my world a lot smaller than it should be. Austin showed me that and if I’m honest, being with him gave me the boost to dip my toe in this new pool. I want to give it a shot.”

  “Then you should. You one hundred percent should.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about Austin?” she asks just as I take a sip of my tea.

  I cough and Abbi smirks.

  I clear my throat. “Nothing. Austin has hockey. He starts training camp next week. He was clear what his priorities were from the start and I need to respect them.”

  Abbi narrows her eyes at me, as if she’s searching for some secret I’m not telling her. “So, that’s it? It’s done, just like that?”

  I tip my head, unwilling to voice the words aloud.

  “And his gala in September?”

  I shrug. “That’s still weeks away,” I respond, also not willing to think that far in the future.

  Because if I do, I’ll have to admit that I ruined things between Austin and me far beyond repair.

  26

  Austin

  Yeager slams into me, pushing me up against the boards.

  “Fuck off.” I elbow him as Coach Phillips blows the whistle.

  “Stop horsing around. Get your heads in the goddamn scrimmage,” Coach bellows.

  I skate to the line and drop into position, forcing my mind back to the play. East gains control of the puck and flips it toward me. I handle it easily, weaving down the ice before flicking it to Noah who has a clean shot on goal. He takes it and scores. The guys throw their arms in the air, cheering. I smack Noah on the back. “Nice shot.”

  We all skate to the bench to guzzle some water and sports drinks. Coach makes some line changes and calls out instructions. Jerseys and skates whirl around me, both familiar and not.

  For as long as I can remember, hockey, the ice, has been an outlet for me. It’s the one place that I can go to and everything in my head quiets. The worry I carry in the pit of my stomach dissipates. The unknowns of the future fade away.

  Playing hockey has always been my respite from real life. But right now, no matter how much I try to zone in, my head’s not in it. My head’s not in it because my heart’s not in it and I don’t know what the hell to do with that. We’re four days into training and I feel unbalanced when I should feel focused.

  “Yo.” East shoulder bumps me.

  I glance at him and he raises his eyebrows.

  “We got one hour left,” he says low, so no one can hear him. It’s as if he understands my mental turmoil, can sense my emotional anguish.

  I give him a curt nod and skate back to the center of the ice, mentally berating myself to pull it together. But my head feels foggy, my vision unclear. My palms itch and worry for Chloe, losing herself in the streets of El Salvador, spikes. I miss a clean pass, my head caught up on my lost girl, restless energy pulsing through my limbs. Except there’s nowhere for it to go because I can’t focus the way I used to. My concern for Chloe, my need to learn everything about the adventure she’s having, my desire to just hear her voice, overshadows everything else, even my game.

  The next hour drags as I make a series of fuckups that should have Coach Phillips benching my ass. When practice is over, I yank off my helmet and skate to the side.

  Coach gives me a long, hard look but doesn’t comment on my piss poor performance. The team clears out and I stay on the ice, rethinking the shots I missed, the plays I fucked up. I skate up and down the ice several times, the cool air washing over my face, and wait for the sense of peace to flood my body the way it usually does. Instead, more images of Chloe fill my mind and I stop abruptly, wondering where the hell I go from here. Will this agony ever end?

  She’s in El Salvador. I dropped the phone when Diane told me the news, sounding as happy about it as I felt. Even though I hate that she left, just disappeared from my life, without a real goodbye, a sense of pride swelled in my chest that she was chasing her dream. That she was still putting herself out there in a way that’s brave.

  But God, I miss her. I miss the way her presence put me at ease. I miss the way her smile lit up a room, bright like sunshine. I miss the effortless way she stitched her life into mine.

  “Hey,” Easton calls out, tapping the end of his fist against the glass.

  I skate over to him and exit the ice. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me.”

  I shrug.

  “I fucked shit up for you and Chlo, didn’t I?” he asks directly, making me rear back.

  I didn’t tell Easton about what went down between Chloe and me at the wedding in New York. He doesn’t need to carry around misplaced guilt and I didn’t want to share shit with anyone because then I’d have to admit that I let Chloe go. Instead of sitting down and having the conversation we should have had, I hustled back to Boston for hockey and she chased a dream she
’s put on hold for far too long.

  “Nah, man. It wasn’t going to work out anyway.”

  “Bullshit,” East spits, his eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t with me, you would have been with her, and whatever the hell happened between you guys would have been avoided.”

  “Maybe,” I admit, gripping the back of my neck. “But for how long?”

  Easton furrows his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.

  “Hockey being my number one priority was always going to be an issue for us,” I admit. “And if I’m putting my career first, I can’t blame her for doing the same.” I drop my arm and bend to unlace my skates. “She’s in El Salvador.”

  “What?”

  I glance up. “For two weeks. She comes back next weekend. It’s a reporting gig. It’s something she always wanted and…” I trail off, not bothering with the rest. “I’m happy for her.”

  “Bullshit.”

  This time, my look is sharper. “No, I am. I’m proud as hell that she—”

  “Yeah, fine. You’re proud of her and you’re happy for her that she went after what she wanted. But you’re moping around, fucking shit up on the ice, because your head is still tangled up on her. So don’t give me some shit that you’re happy about you being here and her being in Central America and you guys not being together.”

  I swear and stomp off to the locker room. East stays on my heels, waiting patiently while I rinse off and toss on some sweats.

  When I’m finished getting dressed, I turn to him, leaning up against the lockers with his arms crossed over his chest. “You ready to talk now?” he asks.

  “I was honest with her from the beginning,” I say, defensive as hell. “I told her that hockey, the team, this season, all of that was going to be my priority.”