Page 30 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

KODIE

E verything about tonight has been a disaster. Long before I even arrived at the arena, things were spinning out of my control.

Sutton accidentally dropped a carton of OJ on the kitchen floor. It went fucking everywhere, and I’m ashamed to say I lost my shit.

I was already running late, and the last thing I needed was to get on my hands and knees and clean that shit up.

I felt like a piece of shit the second I snapped at her, but I couldn’t hold it in.

I’ve been trying to put a brave face on it, but the truth is, I’ve been drowning since the moment I sent Casey away.

The guilt of doing that on top of what I was already dealing with has been too much.

She deserves to be treated so much better than that.

She deserves so much better than me.

That’s exactly why Coach warns every player off her.

He knows what assholes we can be, and he wants us as far away from her as possible.

It’s understandable. I’d want the same for Sutton.

Although, something tells me that I’m not going to stand a chance.

Hockey is just as much her life as it is mine.

I just have to hope that the only playing she’ll do with them will be on the ice while proving to them that she’s better than they are.

Anger from tonight’s game burns through my veins. My muscles are tense, and my fists clench and unclench as I think about how good it would have felt to throw one into that asshole’s face.

I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but he was gunning for me from the moment he hit the ice.

I’m not a fighter. I never have been. But every now and then, even I can admit that it’s the only way to shatter the tension.

I slam my palms into the dressing room door, and it swings back and crashes into the wall.

The atmosphere in here is tense, the weight of the loss hanging over every single member of the team.

There is only one person who seems to be in high spirits, and the second he speaks, my eyes shoot to him.

“Tell me she didn’t look hot as fuck, wearing my number,” Marilyn announces, a cocky fucking grin on his lips.

My teeth grind, instantly knowing who he’s talking about.

There is only one reason why Casey was wearing the rookie’s fucking number tonight.

Because I’m a weak-ass prick who couldn’t do the right thing.

“Oh come on, you can’t honestly tell me that none of you have tapped that? She’s fucking banging.”

I’m moving before I’ve considered the consequences.

Monroe’s back collides with the wall. He’s already shed his pads, and the force of the hit knocks the air from his lungs. My forearm presses against his throat as I pin him with a dark look.

“The fuck did you just say?”

He attempts to swallow before his lips part, his eyes wide and shocked.

“Well?” I prompt.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” he forces out. “I-I didn’t?—”

“Leave it, Big D,” Linc says, attempting to drag me back.

I give Monroe another warning glare before taking a step back. As I do, the dressing room door swings open and Coach stands there, his eyes scanning the room as he assesses the mood.

“Well,” he starts as he walks deeper into the room. He eyes Monroe standing flat against the wall with his chest heaving before giving each of us an accusatory look. “That wasn’t great.”

I shake my head as I rip my pads off before dropping my ass to my stall, while Coach points out our failures on the ice tonight.

By the time he’s done, all I want to do is go home, kiss my girl good night, and crawl into bed. But it’s not going to happen yet.

I made Coach a promise, and I fully intend to follow through. Turning up for a few drinks for team bonding is easy. Even if it does very little to soothe the guilt over breaking another more serious promise I once made him.

The mood in the friends and family suite isn’t all that much better than in the dressing room, but at least most of them have had a few drinks to take the edge off the loss.

I scan the room, looking for the one person who can brighten my mood no matter what, but then I remember that it’s Sunday night and Mom has already taken her home.

With Sutton not here, I quickly find myself searching for someone else.

I shouldn’t. I should forget about her. But I can’t.

There is so much I want to say to her, but most importantly, I need to apologize.

Honestly, I don’t even know where to start when it comes to trying to explain the other night. I’m just hoping that a simple, “I’m sorry,” will be enough.

It fucking won’t. Nowhere close. But what else am I meant to say?

I can hardly tell her the truth.

Shaking my head, I make my way through the crowd, still searching for her.

But she’s not here.

My heart slams against my ribs as disappointment rocks through me.

I just needed to see her.

With my chest tight and my muscles heavy, I make my way to an empty table at the back of the room. I nod at a few people who attempt to interact, hoping that my expression will be enough to scare them away.

They all watched me play tonight. They know that I’m in a bad place.

Fuck. I knew it long before I stepped onto the ice.

I couldn’t get out of my own head, and I knew it was going to affect my game.

And I only have myself to blame.

What I did Friday night…

How I hurt her.

It’s driving me fucking crazy.

I’m alone with nothing but my thoughts for a blissful four minutes until a familiar voice asks, “The fuck was that about in the dressing room?”

I look up as Linc slides a beer in my direction.

“He was being disrespectful,” I grunt.

Seeing Casey wearing Linc’s jersey was one thing. I could deal with that; she was taunting me, and I got it. But seeing her wearing the rookie’s? It fucking got to me.

Hell, she could have been wearing anyone’s but mine tonight and it would have fucking got to me.

Linc studies me, and I’m fucking terrified of what he can see.

I’m fucking this all up. Coach is gonna find out, and I’m gonna find myself traded.

My heart races and my hands tremble. Reaching for my beer, I wrap my fingers around it and hold tight, hoping to quash it.

It doesn’t fucking work.

“You’ve been off all night,” he notes. “Did you want to talk about it?”

A laugh threatens to bubble up, although there is no joy in it. Just pain and bitter disappointment in myself.

“Just feeling the pressure of the season, I guess,” I mutter, finally feeling brave enough to lift my beer from the table. Thankfully, my hand is a little steadier and I don’t slosh it all over myself.

Instead, I swallow a couple of large mouthfuls in the hope the cool liquid will settle me.

From the way Linc sits back and studies me, I’d say that he doesn’t believe a word of it.

His lips part to say something that I’m sure to hate, but the words never break free. I never thought I'd be thankful to see Rett, especially after he’s been riding my ass all night, but he storms across the room at the perfect time, stealing Linc’s attention.

It’s not unusual to see members of the opposing team after a game in here. Hockey families are tight, and I’m not surprised that he’s here on the search for Linc and his sister.

“Dude,” he hollers, earning everyone’s attention. “Great game.”

His demeanor is the complete opposite of mine.

“Not exactly true,” Linc says as Rett joins us.

“The best team won, I think you’ll agree. Your offense was off tonight.” Rett slides his eyes to me, but I don’t back down.

Sure, I might not have had my best game tonight, but I refuse to sit here and get shit for it.

“Whatever,” Linc scoffs. “It’ll be different next time we meet. When it really matters.”

“Sure, bro. You keep telling yourself that.” Rett claps him on the shoulder before looking around your room. “You seen my sister?”

“Nah, not since she crawled out of my bed this morning,” Linc deadpans.

Internally, I do a little celebration as anger and pure disbelief flicker across Rett’s face. He quickly covers it before slugging Linc in the arm.

They do this little skit every time they’re together. Linc riles him up about sleeping with Parker, and Rett attempts to pretend he doesn’t care.

I smother the sigh that wants to pass my lips.

“I thought she was gonna be up here. We fly out first thing in the morning,” Rett explains.

“Don’t know what to tell you, man,” Linc says before offering to get him a beer.

I sit there silently, fearing that I might be the reason for Parker’s absence. She’ll be with Casey, staying as far away from me as possible.

As Linc stands, I drain my beer and get to my feet.

“I’m heading out.”

“What?” Linc gasps, we’ve barely just got here.

“I know, but I’m wiped. And I want to be up to take Sutton to school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” Linc agrees, as if he has any fucking idea what I’m dealing with right now.

“See you at practice?”

“You got it, man.”

I look at Rett and my nostrils flare. What I want to do is flip him the fuck off. But what I settle on is a curt nod before I make my way from the room.

Thankfully, Coach has registered my attendance, but he doesn’t attempt to talk to me. He’s also searching the room for someone he isn’t going to find.

Just over an hour later, I finally strip down to my boxers and crawl into bed.

Mom was still waiting for me and, much to my delight, wanted to know why I was so off my game tonight. I pacified her by saying I was exhausted after traveling and quickly got the hell out of there.

I gently kissed Sutton good night before closing myself in my bedroom.

But the second I’m alone, my head starts spinning, and all the images flickering around like a movie are of her.

Casey Watson.

She left straight after the game because of me.

Guilt twists around me like barbed wire, making my skin prick and my chest tight.

Before I know what I’m doing, I reach for my abandoned slacks and pull my cell free. Her Instagram page is the last one I searched, and I pull it up in only seconds.

My teeth grind when I find a picture of her and Parker from tonight. Casey proudly wears her Monroe jersey.

That should be your number , a little voice screams in my head.

I scroll through the other images she posted of tonight. She and Parker drinking margaritas bigger than their heads. A platter full of tacos, the game, and then ones from later this evening eating dessert together.

While Parker might be in many of the images, I barely register her existence. My attention is locked on my troublemaker.

The longer I stare at her, the more my temperature picks up.

I’d hoped letting myself have her once I knew her identity would have given me some closure and got her out of my system. But I fear it’s done the opposite.

Now, all I can think about is apologizing for my bullshit and proving to her over and over again why she should forgive me.

It would break every goddamn rule…

But isn’t that what they’re made for?

I battle with my conscience, my thumb hovering over the message button.

The need to reach out burns through me, and eventually, it becomes too much to ignore.