Breaking The Rules | Complete

Chapter 38

 The answer to all of Hendrix's problems was meat.

Barbequed, smoked, roasted...it didn't matter. His stance was that it solved everything. Which is probably why he had a pan of bacon roaring at seven-thirty in the morning when I stepped into the kitchen. Hendrix was at the stove, flipping the protein pancakes that tasted more like cardboard. His hair was a mess, and the faint yellowing-bruise along his temple was a reminder of how close we'd come to losing him on the ice.

"Smells good in here," I said, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. The bitter aroma wafted up, and I took a slow sip, letting the heat settle in my chest.

I wasn't one for caffeine, but the lack of sleep had been catching up to me. I leaned back into the counter, my eyes heavy as I tried to get myself up and ready for the day. For the past week, it had been a struggle to even get out of bed. The rumor of the atrocity I supposedly committed had spread like wildfire around campus. I couldn't even walk between classes without people staring.

Anxiety welled up in my chest and I forced the thoughts away before they crippled me again. I eyed my teammates still by the stove. "You sure you should be up and doing things around the house this soon?"

I already knew the answer to the question. Hendrix was a lot like me in the sense that he got antsy if he wasn't able to do anything for too long.

He glanced over his shoulder with a short grin. "The doc said I can start doing light stuff, so I figured I'd make myself useful."

"Thank god," Easton muttered from the table, his laptop open in front of him. "It was getting dark there for a moment."

He wasn't wrong. Besides the times when it was Celeste's turn to cook, we were living off overcooked eggs, mushy rice, and bland chicken breast.

The kitchen settled into a comfortable silence with the sizzling on the stove and Oliver's meowing as the background track to our morning. I brought my coffee to the island and pulled up a seat while breakfast was being prepared.

Oliver's meowing was relentless, a sharp, demanding cry that echoed through the kitchen. He was perched on the table beside Easton, pawing at his arm as a way to get his attention. As if the constant meowing wasn't enough.

"Alright, alright," Easton muttered, abandoning his work to grab a can of cat food. He popped it open, the metallic smell wafting out as he spooned it into Oliver's dish. The cat immediately dove in, purring as if he hadn't been fed in weeks.

"He acts like he's never been fed in his life," I muttered, peering down at my phone.

"He's just dramatic. Apparently it's an orange cat thing," Easton replied, shaking his head. "By the way, has anyone heard from Celeste? She didn't come home last night."

The question hit me like a brick to the chest, though I kept my expression neutral. "What do you mean she didn't come home?"

Easton shrugged, sitting back down. "Her room's empty. And she wasn't in film class yesterday afternoon either."

My stomach tightened, the coffee suddenly tasting burnt on my tongue. A dozen scenarios ran through my mind, none of them good. Was she okay? Had something happened? I wanted to swipe to my messages and text her, but my pride held me back. She probably didn't want to hear from me.

"Maybe she stayed with a friend," Hendrix drawled as he slid a plate of pancakes onto the table.

"Yeah, probably," Easton said, though his tone wasn't convincing.

It wasn't like Celeste to not come home––especially without saying anything to him. The tension in my chest grew heavier, but I forced myself to focus on the plate of food I was piling up.