Breaking The Rules | Complete

Chapter 8

Hendrix was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing away at a heavy duty pan he had used to make dinner that evening. I was a few feet away from him, carefully stacking the clean plates and glasses in the cupboard as I dried them. The evening had wound down, the usual chaos fading into the background as the house settled. The only noise came from clanking dishes, and Booker and Maverick bickering over whatever video game they were playing. While they were verbally assaulting each other, it was peaceful in comparison to the racing thoughts in my own head.

Since my text conversation with Miles that morning, I'd been trying to scrape together a plan to get my things. The best idea I could come up with was ordering an Uber to make the round trip. But every time I considered going over to the apartment Miles and I once shared, the knot in my chest tightened.

It wasn't just the awkwardness of seeing him again—it was the fear that he'd try to convince me to stay. Talk things out like we had so many times before. If I didn't have someone there waiting for me, would he be able to pull me back in?

Hendrix hummed a tune under his breath as he added another glass to the drying rack. Out of the corner of my eye I marveled at how he managed to single handedly keep this place afloat. Cooking dinner and cleaning up after three other grown men wasn't an easy feat. Especially when they ate enough food to feed a village.

I had experienced a sliver of that while living with Miles and Sean for a few short weeks. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. While it didn't seem very substantial on a calendar, it felt much longer. Balancing everything was difficult. Especially when Miles was very particular about when and what he wanted to eat.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts away, but they clung to me like a persistent fog. While these memories served as a good reminder as to why I shouldn't go back to them, I tried not to think about them until I was alone in the confines of my room. Miles had already dictated so much of my life. I wasn't about to allow him to take anymore of my energy.

I moved to grab a plate from the drying rack. But before I could get a good grasp on it my hand slipped, causing it to crash onto the floor with a loud, sharp shatter.

"Shit," I muttered, crouching down within the next moment to pick up the pieces.

Hendrix's voice came from behind me. "You okay, Celeste?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just...distracted," I said, trying to gather the larger shards into a pile.

It was just a plate, I tried to remind myself as I drew in a shuddering breath.

It was too late. The dark cloud loomed over me again. It whispered all the things that Miles had ever said to me. Promising it was all true. The same ideals that Maverick had repeated the day he found out I was moving into the Hockey House.

Drawing in a deep breath, I willed the negative thoughts away and hoped none of the other boys had heard the commotion. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to make a big deal out of it.

But, of course, Easton had left his laptop at the island and was kneeling down to help me within seconds.

"I don't want you cutting yourself. I'll take care of this," he said, his voice gentle.

"It's fine––"

Easton took the jagged piece from my hand. "Go put some shoes on."

Unlike the rest of the people who lived there, I didn't like to keep shoes on inside the house. Maybe it was just the way my parents raised me, but walking around outside and then trekking through the house felt wrong.

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded, standing up to give him more space.

"Thanks," I mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. It wasn't the dishware that bothered me—it was the fact that I'd let my thoughts get so tangled that I'd let it slip in the first place.