Rule #1

by T. A Richards Neville

  Any other time, that’s exactly what I would do. Now, though, all I want is to leave this house and Berlin and reintroduce distance between me and Kimberly.

  “Come on. I’ll take you.” Steph turns and places the folded dish towel on the dining table that’s been set for dinner already, a vase of fresh-cut lilies in the center. “We can talk on the way there. Brooke will be fine here with Kimberly. Those girls are friends now. They don’t need you hanging around.”

  I drive us to the rink. Out of all the rinks and arenas I can remember playing hockey in, this one is the dampest smelling of them all. Even worse now it’s getting older and in need of a major overhaul. It’s all good memories, though. Mostly.

  I sit in the stands looking down at the home ice I played all my varsity games on. I hated Berlin when I first moved here, resistant to anything Uncle Paul and Aunt Steph tried to put me into. But I loved hockey too much not to naturally start gelling with my team and looking forward to game days and practices, and life here started to settle on its own, and I stopped fighting everyone who was on my side.

  It’s pucks and sticks today, and I watch the scrimmage that breaks out at one end of the ice, teams unofficially forming as a voice yells out for the puck and the play rushes down ice. Jace gets a pass off, and Uncle Paul and the other adults glide over to the wall to let the kids control the game.

  “She told you, didn’t she?” Steph’s breath floats up from her mouth, the temperature in here lower than it is outside. In the winter, it’s brutal.

  “Yeah.” I lower my head, staring at the half-sunken floor mats beneath my feet. “She told me, but I asked. I should’ve known not to be so fucking stupid.” I’m as toxic for Kimberly as she is to me. Without real parents, we don’t know how to behave around each other, so we do our worst and we’re stuck in the spin-cycle. Punishing each other for what neither of us is responsible for.

  “I guess I should have been the one to break the news. But I couldn’t risk embarrassing her further or interfering in your life when you’re so busy these days. I knew it would upset you. It upset me, and honestly, I had to convince Paul every day for a week not to go to the police and have him arrested. He was livid. He still is.”

  “I bet. What’s his name? do I know him?” I hope I don’t fucking know him.

  “That’s not important, and no, you don’t know him. I’m putting Kimberly back into counselling.” Steph’s unsure tone makes it sound like she’s only just now confirmed that decision. “She’ll hate it, and she’ll fight me every step of the way, but I don’t know what else to do. She’s a law unto herself, and I’m running out of ways to help her.” I glance up from the floor as Steph’s lower lip trembles and she brings her hand up and swipes away the tears with the tips of her gloved fingers. “This isn’t what Alana would have wanted for her. If she could see how I’ve messed things up…” she sniffs back tears, then caves around them when it becomes too much, ducking her head into her hand, shoulders heaving in her red, puffy coat. “I’m so sorry, Roman.”

  “Don’t do that.” I put my arm around her, bringing her head to my chest. “Don’t blame yourself. You and Paul have given her everything. Kimberly made her choices. I can drop out of college and come home.”

  “Not happening.” Steph squeezes my wrist. “I won’t hear you mention dropping out again. Your education’s too important, and how can I brag to the other hockey moms about how amazing you are if you cut your future short now?”

  I probably could have got past Kimberly sleeping with a thirty-five-year-old man who may or may not have a wife. The vindictive way she chose to tell me? That’s the side of Kimberly I don’t recognize or relate to anymore. She’s changing, even when I thought by now things with her would have started to improve. She’s hurting, but so is most of the fucking world. Until she actively starts trying to help herself, I don’t care what she does or how many new and inventive ways she comes up with for derailing her life.

  Right now, I don’t want anything to do with her.

  The animosity surrounding my fallout with Kimberly follows Brooke into the truck, and whatever Kimberly’s told her, it’s won Brooke over enough she barely even glances in my direction. It isn’t until we’ve made a small dent in the two-and-half hour journey, and we’re on Main Street, driving by the Androscoggin Reservoir, that Brooke severs the silence and decides to speak to me.

  “This is why she was afraid to tell you.”

  Yeah, not a great starter.

  I turn on my headlights, the first twinges of dusk closing in over the New Hampshire sky. Milky fog slithers through the trees, hovering above the asphalt and reducing visibility.

  “Did she tell you?” I ask Brooke.

  Out the corner of my eye, I see her nod. Brooke’s upset on Kimberly’s behalf, but she’s judging the situation for what it is now. Kimberly’s been working her way up to her latest debut, and I can’t stop myself from imagining how bad she’ll become. Her shitty attitude and devious behavior are disingenuous, every premediated move all for attention and how many people’s feathers she can ruffle. She’s lucky she isn’t pregnant by now, a stray thought I shut down the instant it slips into my head.

  “What were your parents’ names?” Brooke asks. “If you don’t mind me asking that.”

  I clear the niggling in my throat, wishing I had a bottle of water with me. I’ll need to stop at a 7-Eleven or a gas station, whichever comes first.

  “Alana and Richard.” I couldn’t tell you when the last time I’d spoken those names out loud was. It’s like opening a dusty old vault I’ve only just found the keys to.

  “How old were you when they died?”

  “Killed,” I say, because it’s not the same. It’s not like they went to sleep one night and just never woke up. “They were killed. And I was ten, Kimberly was six or seven. I don’t remember every detail.”

  “How did it happen?” Brooke raises the question quietly, like she doesn’t want to ask, but can’t avoid it.

  “The short version?” I glance at her, then look back at the road because I’ve seen enough of the expression on her face from other people to last me a lifetime. “They were stopped at a red light and someone decided the Jeep my dad was driving was worth more than their lives. My dad fought back, though, and that was probably what got him, then my mom, killed. The guy was nineteen, only had a tire iron with him. They found him, the bloody tire iron, and the Jeep wrapped around a tree less than an hour after he stole it, and a mile from my house. He was dead at the scene, so no one survived it.”

  Brooke’s silent. Probably doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and upset me, but I’m past that stage now, breaking down over the slightest mention of them or that night. Not willing to accept like a big fucking baby that they aren’t coming back, that it’s real. Hating that everyone knew, people I didn’t even know, had never seen before. Hating the pats on the back and endless condolences and sad smiles even more.

  “Seems like an easy way out for him after what he took from you. Do you wish he’d gone to prison?”

  I stare at the road, at the fog. Squeeze the steering wheel in one hand just a little bit harder, then let my fingers go loose again. “No. I wish he hadn’t done it. I wish he’d just stayed home that night, or I wish the Jeep’s doors had been locked. I wish the light had been green and I wish I’d said bye first.”

  I wish I’d been there.

  Brooke diverts her gaze to the passenger window, and the foggy greenery beyond. “Kimberly’s not as strong as you, Roman. She’s going through a really tough time right now.”

  “So she has to drag everyone else through a tough time with her?” I ease off the gas when I notice my speed creeping up, tearing away from the limit. “Steph cried today. Because of Kimberly. At the fucking ice rink. What if Jace had seen that?” Luckily, he hadn’t.

  “I’m not the best person for advice, anyway. I don’t have siblings, so…” Brooke draws in a shaky breath through her mouth. “I knew about the older
guy. Kimberly told me before I realized she was your sister. She told me the night I met her.”

  I can’t come up with a response to that, too worn down off today to even try. Everyone knew but me. Coming to Maine for school was the worst decision I could have made. I should’ve stayed in New Hampshire and close to Kimberly. Instead, I left her behind as swiftly as I left my past, and now she hates me for it. Maybe I am to blame for the way she’s acting out. It’s like I can’t do anything right.

  Brooke’s phone pings, a second alert following seconds after, and then another. Opening the zipper on her coat pocket, she slips out the phone. It starts ringing in her hand.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask her.

  Staring at the screen, she lets the call ring off.

  “Someone you don’t want to talk to?”

  “I…” Her eyebrows momentarily crimp, then she turns the phone over on her lap and looks at me. “It was Luke.”

  “Luke? The football player?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Has he been doing that a lot?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Calling you.”

  “And texting.”

  “And you’re avoiding him?”

  “I feel awkward. There’s you, and…” Brooke shakes her head, her gaze straying back to her window. “I don’t know, really. There is no valid reason.”

  “Brooke, you can see whoever you want to. I’m not standing in the way of that. It’s fine. Go out with him, or just answer the guy’s calls and put him out of his misery.”

  “Right,” is all Brooke says, her tone icing over.

  “Act natural,” Maddie directs through barely parted lips and an uncanny act of ventriloquism. “Colin is right over there.”

  Despite Maddie acting like her neck’s in a brace and she’s lost the flexibility of her muscles, I turn my head freely to scope out the athletics fields and see precisely where he is.

  Playing keep-ups with the ball, alternating between the top of his foot, the side of his foot, and his thigh, Colin’s garnered a small audience of guys all wearing the school’s Warriors T-shirts and shorts.

  Dragging my gaze over the ruddy, sweaty faces, one in particular stands out from the rest. Luke’s sitting on the grass with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms draped over them as she dangles a half-drunk bottle of water between his spread legs. Beneath his white shorts, his thighs are tanned, toned, and all muscle, a smattering of fine dark hair covering his shins. Gold and black cleats are on his feet, his white socks partially pulled up, and his shirt’s draped around his neck. Sweat glistens on his chest and stomach in the hazy sunlight, and I wind my neck back into place and put my eyes forward.

  “I could watch Colin playing soccer all day,” Maddie swoons, sneaking long glances at the field.

  “He isn’t playing soccer.”

  “Can we stop here and look like we’re talking about something so I can spy on him?”

  “If we can sit in the bleachers.” I point my eyes at the stands farthest away from where Luke’s sitting.

  Booker’s voice reaches my ears, but I don’t look to see whereabouts on the field he is. Don’t think I want to know.

  “Oh my gosh. Do I look okay?” Maddie turns her head and looks at me, cheeks sucked in with pouted lips and slightly wider than normal eyes.

  “You always look okay,” I tell her. Slanting a look sideways, Colin’s got the soccer ball in his hands. “He’s looking at you.” I smile at the frozen fear stretching Maddie’s eye sockets. “Just keep walking,” I command discreetly. She wouldn’t appreciate my laughter during such a crucial moment.

  When we’re safely climbing the bleacher steps, Maddie choosing which row will provide ample viewing opportunities, footsteps clang against metal behind me.

  There’s no one sitting up here other than us, and I turn around, only half-surprised but wholly unprepared for Luke jogging up the last two steps before he’s standing in front of me.

  He’s gripping either end of his T-shirt in each hand, his white football gloves fastened at his wrists. His eyes dart to Maddie, one side of his mouth rising in a friendly smile. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Maddie lifts her hand and finger waves. Then she settles into her seat and gives Colin her undivided attention, leaving me to deal with Luke on my own.

  Some friend.

  “So, ah…” Luke’s smile grows, sunlight reflecting off his blue eyes. “I don’t usually see you out here.” Perfect. He does think I’m here for him. “I’d have noticed you, for sure.”

  “Killing time between classes. It’s not worth trailing all the way home and then driving back.” No. Not good enough. “And she’s friends with Colin O’Shae.” I slip a finger toward Maddie, her stricken look satisfying in so many ways.

  Luke glances down at the field, hands clutching his shirt ends. “Never heard of the guy. But I’m glad he brought you here.”

  Heat licks at my skin, spreading over my neck to my face.

  “Okay, I can’t deny that’s cute. What I’d really like to know though is how many other girls you’ve used a similar line on.”

  “I don’t do lines. I tell the truth.”

  A faint smile tugs at my mouth, and I lift a cynical eyebrow. “Sure you do.”

  Luke’s raised eyebrow is even more cynical. “Do you give everyone the cold shoulder? Or is just me who gets that honor?”

  “Everybody,” Maddie sticks her nose in and answers for me. “Don’t think you’re special.”

  Blindly, I reach behind me to smack Maddie in her shoulder. The tips of my fingers graze the edge of her wool coat, my aim off by a quarter of an inch. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “You haven’t answered a single call. Is that my cue to give up now?” Luke’s smiling, but there’s a hollowness to it. Or maybe I’m looking too deeply into something that isn’t there. Disbelieving of Luke’s motives because I can’t figure out where I should place my trust, or if I should at all.

  While I’m deep in my internal conflict, my gaze slides from Luke to the parking lot outside Kolstar Arena. Slanting my eyes against the sun, I pick apart the distant features and body shape until they fuse and mold into Roman. His Warriors duffel bag’s slung over his shoulder, a black and white wool hat on his head. He walks between parked cars, stopping at his truck and unlocking it. Fingers on the door handle, his head turns, and his eyes rise and seem to settle on me.

  Forgetting Luke’s there, it takes me a minute to realize he’s talking to me when he says, “You and him, huh?” Head angled toward the parking lot, Luke’s gaze is on the same thing as mine.

  Roman opens the door and climbs in the driver’s seat of his truck. He backs out of the space, and I draw in a breath, readjusting my focus. But a weird sensation’s settled over me, and now I just feel irritable.

  “Can I text you later?” The impatience I’ve adopted leaks into my voice.

  Luke doesn’t hide his surprise to hear I’m finally willing to talk. “Sure,” he says. “We’ll talk later. What time?”

  I ignore his question.

  “Great.” My smile feels too big for my face.

  I flip down the seat next to Maddie, relaxing when Luke jogs back down the steps and onto the football field.

  “Why are you ghosting him?” Maddie asks.

  Good question.

  I shrug. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “Babe, this isn’t jackass. No one’s pranking you. Do you think he’s cute?”

  “It’s not about whether he’s cute. I know he’s hot. I’m not denying that. It’s just…” I stare out over the field, reabsorbing what I’m not ready—won’t ever be ready—to say. “I don’t know.” It’s the best I can come with while avoiding interrogation.

  “You don’t trust him, do you?” Maddie observes with a keen eye. “Why can’t you see in yourself what the rest of us do? Why do you insist on being so complicated? It’s not quirky, Brooke. It’s exhausting and annoying. I hate t
he way you can’t just love yourself as much as I do.” I meet Maddie’s eyes with humor in mine. She steps on the toe of my boots. “As much as I love you, not myself!”

  “I do love myself,” I say, slipping my boot from under the sole of Maddie’s shoe.

  I just rarely like what I see.

  On Wednesday night, I’m invited for drinks at Champ’s to celebrate Mark’s 35th birthday. Neither me nor Maddie really feel up to it on a school night, but I don’t have crit tomorrow until three p.m., so I can afford a lie-in if my head feels too fuzzy.

  I’ve been drinking too much too often. But the freeness of not caring is an addictive one, and the appeal of going out tonight and chasing that same high trumps being sensible and staying home.

  For the first time in what I hope is a new me, I choose an outfit I would have given myself a stomach ulcer over only a few weeks ago. Pasted-on, distressed stonewash jeans, and a pale-pink lace bodysuit to match my hair.

  I’ve styled my loosely curled hair into a half-updo, and I don’t know if it’s the two vodka coolers I’ve already had, or how I can get on with my day without constantly reminding myself I’m meant to be sucking in my belly every minute, but I’m feeling… confident. Not completely repulsed by my reflection when I catch myself on an odd, unflattering angle.

  I feel like any other girl dressing up and going out tonight. Not superior or stand-out. I feel the same. Not different in any way. And it feels amazing.

  “Are you ready, Brooke?” Maddie sticks her head around my door and asks. “Holy cow, you look sexy.” Her eyes drag over my lace-covered torso, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you hoping a certain Roman King will be there?” Her smile turns into a droopy pout. “Because it’s a Wednesday, so I sincerely doubt it.”

  “This isn’t for Roman, or any other guy.” I’m aware I sound all feminist queen, but is it any better that even though I do want to look nice for myself, it’s ultimately so I can be like everyone else?

  I grab my purse, phone and keys. I’ve got no intentions of driving, but Maddie’s already ordered us an Uber and the car’s outside right on time.