Breaking The Rules | Complete

Chapter 30

Hendrix getting plowed into by one of Brite's defensemen played on a loop in my head.

The hit had been brutal—full impact, deliberate, and unforgivable. The image of him sprawled on the ice, helmet no longer on his head, was something I couldn't shake. It wasn't just anger I felt; it was grief. Hendrix wasn't just our goalie—our assistant captain. He was the backbone of the Falcons. The idea that he might not step back onto the ice with us again made me feel like the ground had shifted beneath my skates.

I was antsy. Staying at the Hockey House wasn't an option. Not when everything reminded me of the country boy who drove me crazy with his taste in music. The guy who made sure we didn't starve and that Booker didn't eat us out of house and home. The same person who managed to keep us all level headed, even when he was going through his own bout of bad luck.

That's how I ended up at Mila's.

Mila's bedroom was too warm, forcing me to shrug out of my sweater soon after arriving. A lavender candle was lit on her dresser next to the salt lamp casting an orange hue across the walls. The little flame danced in the dimly lit room below her TV. I sank into the edge of her bed, staring at the screen mounted on the wall, but not registering anything from the sitcom she had playing. The volume blended into the static in my head.

Mila sat beside me, her back against the headboard, her legs tucked under her. She had her hair tied back, loose strands falling around her face as she sipped from a glass of wine. Her arm was entangled with mine––chest against my bicep, head on my shoulder. She had been extra affectionate since our bowling plans the other night. On any regular occasion, I'd read between the lines. But tonight, all I wanted to do was ignore them.

"This is my favourite part," Mila murmured. A brief giggle escaped her lips as the scene unfolded.

I offered her a grunt of acknowledgement. Clearly, that wasn't good enough.

"You've been quiet," she said, setting the glass down and leaning toward me, her voice cutting through the fog in my head. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Just... a lot on my mind."

She moved closer, her perfume filling the space between us as she rested a hand on my arm. Her fingers were soft, her touch gentle, but it felt distant. Like it was happening to someone else. Normally, that simple gesture would've been enough to distract me, but tonight, it only made the knot in my chest tighten.

"Well," Mila said, her tone turning playful, "maybe I can help you relax."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my neck, her fingers trailing up my arm. It was a move I'd seen a hundred times before, but this time, it didn't spark anything. No rush, no pull—just a hollow sense of guilt I couldn't shake.

"Mila," I said, reaching up to stop her, my hand wrapping around hers. "I can't."

She pulled back slightly, her brows furrowing. "Can't, or don't want to?"

I pursed my lips. "I've got a lot going on right now. Hendrix, the team...." I replied, my voice low and rough.

Mila leaned back. "You know, lately you haven't been doing a very good job of holding up your end of the bargain."

It wasn't a bargain, I wanted to remind her. It was more like an arrangement. A convenience. But I didn't want to delve into the messiness of our relationship. We had an agreement that made sense, no expectations or emotional baggage. That's what I thought I needed when I made my way over that night. But it wasn't what I was getting.

"Are you sure it isn't anything else?" Mila's smudged out liner made her gaze appear more narrowed. "Perhaps, something to do with a certain housemate of yours?"

Celeste.

That was the last thing I needed to add to my mental load. Yet, I was constantly reminded of it.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing with her. Casual was supposed to mean simple—something without strings, without weight. But with Celeste, nothing felt simple. It wasn't just the physical stuff that had me twisted up. It was her laugh, her smile, the way her eyes softened when she looked at me, like I was someone worth trusting. She was starting to slip into places in my head where she didn't belong, and I didn't know how to stop it.

Her expression hardened when I didn't respond. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Celeste," she said, her tone sharp. "This is about her, isn't it?"

"It's not about her," I tried, willing to keep my voice calm. "This is about the team––about my career. I'm stretched thin, Mila. I can't do this right now."

A bitter laugh echoed through her room. She shook her head. "Can't, or won't? Because it feels like ever since she showed up, you've been somewhere else entirely."

"It's not like that," I said, though the words felt empty even to me. "I just need to take a step back. From everything."

There was a beat of silence.

"You mean, from me," she bit, standing up and standing next to her bed. It was like I had physically burned her. "Just say it, Maverick. Let's not beat around the bush anymore. You don't want me because you have her."

I didn't have Celeste––not in the way I sometimes dreamt about. But it also wasn't something I wanted to plague my thoughts with until things with the Falcons were stabilized. While my head was a mess, Celeste seemed very much content with where we stood.

Mila on the other hand was losing sight of our arrangement.

I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face as I stood. "It's not personal, Mila."

I grabbed my sweater at the end of her bed, tugging it on. There had been a mistake made when I decided to come here tonight.

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Not personal? You've turned me down twice in a week, and now you're walking out. If it's not personal, then what the hell is it?"

"It's me," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "I'm trying to get my head on straight, and I can't do that with you trying to hop on my dick every chance you get."

"And Celeste?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you telling me she hasn't been hopping on your dick?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because while I was a lot of things, the one thing I was not was a liar. Yes, Celeste and I had sex a couple of times now. But more concerning than that, she was slipping into places in my head where she didn't belong, and no matter how much I tried to push her out, she kept coming back.

"If I'm not doing it for you anymore, don't bother wasting my time," Mila ground out.

I fixed the hem of my sweater shirt. "I don't have time for this," I muttered, grabbing my jacket from the chair by the door.

"Of course you don't," Mila said, her voice bitter. "You're a fucking asshole, Maverick Sousa!"

I didn't respond. I couldn't. Instead, I pulled open the door and walked out, the sound of it slamming shut behind me echoing in my ears. I made my way down the stairs to find Mila's housemates in the front room. They all regarded me with concerned looks.

I guess the conversation Mila and I were having upstairs was a little louder than I thought.

I stuffed my hands deeper in my pocket. The most I could do was offer a half-assed goodbye as I walked out the front door.

My week had just gone from bad to worse.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

Well, crap. Any predictions on how this is going to turn out?

I'm only a couple chapters away from finishing the first draft of this story and I'm so excited to be able to mark it complete. This will be my second full story of 2024, which is huge for me. Want to read the rest of Breaking The Rules before anyone else? Head over to Ream!

Happy reading!