Page 11 of Ruled Out

Even if I have to work all hours, I’m doing it. I’m standing on my own two feet and being the independent woman my mom always was. She loved my dad with her entire heart, but she always taught me to follow my dreams and not waver for anyone. I know if she were still here now, she’d be right behind me, encouraging me to go for it.

When she passed, I was a teenager with no real idea of what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be when I grew up. Mom had always asked me what my dreams were, but I could never answer, instead shrugging my shoulders and turning up the volume on the TV.

Her death almost broke me and Dad, but to this day, I feel like losing her finally showed me the path I wanted my life to take. I want to help people. When I get home at night, I want to feel like I made a difference for someone. Just like the people who helped me deal with and process Mom’s death did for me.

Opening my own practice is my dream, but it would also be a legacy to the woman who repeatedly told me I had the ability to achieve whatever I wanted.

With no siblings and a dad at his breaking point, I had to grow up fast. I supported him with the Destroyers and tried to step up at home, too, offering to help with the household tasks my mom used to take on since she hated employing people to do them. But a career in hockey was never what I wanted, and the years I spent as his assistant made that all too clear.

The warmth of the library hits me square in the face when I push through the heavy doors. It’s virtually empty as I scan myself in and make my way to a booth at the back. Even the librarians look like they’ve gone home for the holidays.

There’s something about a library. The smell of old and new books mingling in the air soothes my senses in the best way. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in the world or even what decade we’re in; the moment I walk through those doors, life feels timeless, weightless, and peaceful.

I dump my bag of books down on the table in front of me and I take a seat on the hard wooden chair, but quickly stand and shove my red winter jacket onto it and sit on that. I plan to be here until this assignment is complete, and a numb ass will not help my concentration.

As I pull out my laptop, I gaze around the vast space, only two other booths are taken, way ahead of me, and near the front. One of the guys, who I assume is a senior, leans back and cracks his knuckles above his head. He must sense me staring and smiles over his shoulder at me.

Immediately, I avert my eyes back to my open laptop and focus on the screen.

Two thousand words down so far. I need to double that today to have a shot at getting this assignment turned in on time.

Two hoursand two packets of Chips Ahoy!—which were small, I might add—later, and I’ve only written a thousand words.

I’m going to be here all day, aren’t I?

I reach into my bag and root around for the textbook I need next, but I can’t see the bright purple spine I’m looking for.

Shit.

I left it back at the dorm, probably under my bed. Either that or Tara “borrowed” it.

I’m sure as shit not heading back in the pouring snow, so my best hope right now is that there’s a spare copy around here somewhere.

Finding the reference number is easy enough, and I start to search the long shelves. The intoxicating aroma of pages fill the air as I eventually make it to the psychology section and turn the corner at the end of the stack to head down the right row.

And that’s when I see it. With their back to me, another student is in the same section.

Please, oh please, don’t be after the same book as me.

The black Scorpions cap he’s wearing backward is the first thing I notice, and then it hits me—his spicy cologne—and I stop dead in my tracks. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn’t.

And even with his back to me, I know exactly who it is. Who that hand belongs to as he examines the books.

“Jessie?” I whisper, my voice barely audible, even in the silence of the library.

The second he turns to face me, I know he’s not okay. I saw him a couple of weeks ago before he fled the café, but in those few moments, at least I knew he was doing alright.

Not right now though.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days—like he did when he was with the Destroyers.

His face is… haunted.

His usual piercing blue eyes are dark and sunken, the blond scruff on his jaw is longer than I think I’ve ever seen it, and his complexion looks gray.

But somehow, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

You wouldn’t think he was an NHL hockey player and definitely not the most gifted of a generation—or maybe even several.