Page 17 of Rulebreaker (Gamebreakers #4)

SEVENTEEN

Atlas

I think you’re worth it too.

I hear Lily’s words on repeat over the next couple of days, and I hold tight to them as she’s pulled away from me time and again.

For her shows. For interviews and meetings with her agent, with her producer, with sponsors that want to pitch her ideas. Even for her fucking stylist so they could plan outfits for the next leg of her tour–something that’s a waste of time as far as I’m concerned.

She looks beautiful in everything.

And who the fuck cares if the sequin arrangement on her leotard during her fourth outfit change foreshadows a future single?

I roll my shoulders, shake out the tension.

This is what I signed up for.

And further that, Lily cares about the outfit, along with her fans, so I can’t be too grumpy about it .

What I can be surly over is my family horning in on my time with her.

Yeah, it’s Sunday Dinner.

Yeah, it’s tradition.

Yeah, I value it and like spending time with them and love the fuckers and all…

But Lily finally has a solid twenty-four hours off before her final show in L.A. and I want them all to myself, want her to myself before she’s back on the road again.

But Briar is not to be denied.

Nor Frankie.

And truthfully, Lily was excited when I got the text from Briar demanding a specific bottle of wine to go with her roast, and…I wouldn’t deny her this.

Wouldn’t deny her anything.

Plus, this is her life, and she’s alone too much–well, alone aside from the people who work for her…but more than that, I know how close to the edge I was without Banks and Dash, Royal and Briar, without…Colt.

I don’t want that for Lily.

So, here we are.

Sunday Dinner. Two empty bottles of my expensive wine on the counter.

A thick, fudgy chocolate pie with homemade whipped cream and chocolate curls that Lily spent several hours perfecting.

Maybe I should be grumpy about that because it was more hours away that weren’t solely mine, especially when it came to those chocolate curls.

But I got to be her official taste-tester–and that pie is fucking delicious–and I got to sit in the kitchen with her and glean a few more details about her.

She’s a coffee addict.

She loves trash TV.

She works to obsession, is a perfectionist (circle back to the precise chocolate curls adorning the pie), and yet is quick to smile, to tease, to poke fun at herself.

And she’s kind.

I knew a lot of that before.

But I’ve never been with her before when she talked about visiting a children’s hospital, never brushed her tears away when she recalled a favorite patient passing, never got to hold her as she pulled herself together.

And I never saw how much she truly cared about her fans, about her work–not until I sat across from her at my desk, both of us furiously typing, calls coming rapidly, decisions needing to be made in an instant, people trying to pull us both in a hundred different directions.

Succeeding sometimes–hence me being a grumpy ass.

But coming right back together, finding each other again through a quick text, a quiet word…a scorching kiss that led to me shoving our laptops to the side and fucking her right there on my desk.

Yeah, I’ll hold that memory close too.

Especially as Lily–the latest loser in Frankie’s Connect Four tournament–steps close to my side, all lush curves and feminine scent.

Hold that memory close.

And find a way to top it.

“…you’ll never believe where Hudson and I are going tomorrow,” Willow says, drawing me out of my thoughts and back into the room.

“Where?” Jade asks, nibbling on the edge of one of Briar’s homemade rolls.

I don’t know where she’s putting it–I’m stuffed full of bread and vegetables and mashed potatoes and roast that complimented my wine perfectly (not a surprise since Briar’s a perfectionist too) .

And I was pacing myself, knowing that chocolate pie was coming.

A pie she eyes eagerly as Briar pulls it out of the fridge and sets it on the counter next to a stack of plates and knife.

Hmm , I think as she takes the first piece Briar offers up–a huge slab that almost dwarfs the plate.

I glance at Royal, study the protective position he’s taken up.

Or maybe there’s another reason she’s so hungry.

Like she’s eating for two.

I keep that thought to myself.

Mostly because Aspen is rubbing a hand over her swollen belly, looking tired and very, very done with being pregnant as she asks, “Where?”

Willow smiles and it’s so nice to see her settled, confident, growing stronger and stronger by the day. She bumps her shoulder against Dash’s shoulder and says, “To a dog funeral.”

The room goes quiet–Banks, who was squaring off with Frankie, glancing over his shoulder.

“What’s a funeral?” she asks right on cue.

And I can almost see Briar groan.

Willow freezes then winces, clearly having forgotten Frankie’s little–or big, in this case–ears.

“It’s a way to remember people–or pets,” she adds, handing Willow a piece of pie and tugging at her ponytail, catching her eyes. I know she’s silently telling her it’s fine, and that’s another reason I need to make sure West doesn’t fuck over Briar.

Because my sister has a big heart that needs to be handled with care.

“Oh,” Frankie says, immediately uninterested as she focuses back on the game. “Like we had for Mr. Stinky.”

There’s a pause as the collective puzzles that out .

All except for Royal who says, “The preschool’s goldfish.” A beat. “Frankie’s class had a memorial for him last week.”

I feel a shaking against my side and glance down, seeing that Lily’s trying not to laugh, her beautiful blue eyes dancing. “Mr. Stinky?” she mouths.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “What else would you name a goldfish?”

“ Anything else?” she whispers.

I snort.

“Who’s the dog funeral for?” Aspen asks.

“Martika’s ancient schnauzer passed,” Willow says. “We’ll have the service and burial and then a full tea at her house.”

Dash’s expression tells me how little he’s looking forward to all of that. “She says you’re all invited.” He shrugs. “Likely the food will be good because Mrs. Davis knows how to throw a party.”

“I’ve never been to a dog funeral before,” Jade says. “So, Royal and I are in.”

“Us too,” Aspen says.

“But—” Banks and Royal begin.

I tune them out.

Because I feel Lily shifting beside me again.

And there’s no fucking way.

No fucking way I’m going.

“Better you lot than me,” I say over the din. “Because Colt’s funeral is the last one I’m ever going to.”