Breaking The Rules

Chapter 11

"How's the hand?" Booker said as he threw his arm over my shoulders. We were making our way through the parking lot, heading into the arena for another one of our early morning practices.

I stretched out my fingers, raising my hand to show my teammate the discolouration that formed around my knuckles. There was a small cut over one of them, slicing through some old ink I got in freshman year while I was wild with freedom.

It had been a couple of days since I had punched Miles in the face. The crunch of my fist meeting his jaw still echoed in my memory. There was nothing more satisfying than knocking the words out of someone who enjoyed running their mouth. Miles had fallen into a state of shock when he realized what I had done. And honestly, so was I.

On the ice we left that privilege up to Cole. I didn't like to get involved with the drama on the ice unless absolutely necessary. Plus, he was much more proficient at throwing his weight around.

For once, I didn't mind getting my hands dirty.

When the load between my hockey equipment and Booker became too much, I shrugged him off. "The swelling has definitely gone down."

"I still wish I was there to witness it." Booker straightened the backwards cap on his head.

"Witness what? Me punching that hoser in the face?"

"More like you protecting Celeste."

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't protecting her. He annoyed the fuck out of me."

He snorted a laugh. "When did you make it a habit to beat on guys who run their mouth? Because I can't remember the last time you were involved in a battle on the ice, Pretty Boy."

I tsked at him, but let the conversation drop. Booker was a persistent child and there was no changing his mind if he thought he was on to something. I was hoping that if I didn't feed into his prying that he would leave the whole thing alone.

I was wrong.

"Does this mean you're warming up to our new roommate?"

I sighed. We were so close to the locker rooms. So close to me no longer having to entertain this conversation.

"No. It doesn't."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," I promised. "Sure, I helped move her stuff in, but if she found a new place you know I'd be the first person moving that shit back out."

Booker shook his head. "You're savage. That or you've got some deep seeded denial."

Pushing on the locker room door I said, "Call it what you want."

The room was buzzing with the usual conversation. Seeing as I agreed to ride with Booker that day, the rest of the team was already there. A few of the guys were already lacing up their skates, clad in the navy blue practice jerseys.

"There's our white knight," Easton announced with a grin.

I pointed a finger in his direction as I dropped my bag to the floor. "Don't you start now too."

All that did was earn me a round of chuckles. Thankfully, there attention was soon dragged o

I used that to my advantage and began getting ready for whatever beating Coach Miller had waiting for us. I only managed to slip off the jacket of my tracksuit when a gruff voice called for me across the locker room.

Coach's face was a mask of concealed fury. His eyes zeroed in on me. "Sousa," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter like a knife. "A word?"

Even though it was phased as a question, I knew it was anything but a request. Nothing ever was. A goosebumps rushed over the back of my neck and suddenly I wanted to slip my jacket back on. For the better part of the four years I've been a Falcon, I had managed to stay on Coach's good side. But something about the tone of his voice made my blood run cold.