Page 18 of The Rule Breaker (Colton U Playbook #1)

RYAN

T he final buzzer rings, and my stomach sinks.

Loss.

Again.

I rip my helmet off a little too fast, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through my shoulder.

My ribs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a reminder of the hits I’ve taken.

My knee’s throbbing, and there’s this pounding pressure behind my eye, like I can still feel the boards slamming into my head.

But none of that compares to the frustration eating at me.

We should’ve won this.

We had it. The plays, the setups… We were on the verge, and I blew it.

The locker room is dead silent. Not the quiet that comes after a hard-fought win, where everyone’s too wiped to talk, but the kind that makes your shoulders sag, and your fists clench, and your mind race with all the shit you wish you could’ve done differently.

Skates scrape across the floor, too loud and too sharp.

Sticks hit the walls, thrown down with way more force than they should be.

Water bottles get crushed between clenched fists, the crinkling sound cutting through the silence.

No one’s saying a word. No one’s even looking at each other.

We’re all too pissed, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

Nathan breaks the silence first, his voice attempting to sound reassuring. “Alright, I think we can all agree it was a tough game, but it was just one game,” he says, yanking his jersey over his head. “We shake it off, come back stronger.”

Easy for him to say.

I drop onto the bench, elbows on my knees, and roll my shoulder, testing the damage.

I immediately regret it. Pain shoots down my arm, burning like fire.

Every inch of me feels like it’s protesting, but it’s nothing compared to the mess inside my head.

I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.

Fuck .

Austin shoots me a concerned look. “You good, man?”

“Yeah.” The lie tastes bitter, sour.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Austin mutters under his breath. “Yeah, you got slammed into the boards. You’re not the reason we lost.”

I shake my head, the words scratching their way out like gravel. “We were already losing before then.” The hit was bad, but we were slipping before I slammed into those boards.

Cole rolls his eyes, his tone dry. “And that was on all of us. Stop whining about the loss.”

Nathan shoots him a sharp look, his brow furrowing. “Ease off, will you?”

Cole shrugs. “What? He’s acting like he cost us the whole game. We all played like shit.”

I exhale through my nose, pressing my fingers into my temple. I don’t have the energy to argue. Doesn’t change the fact that I could’ve played better. That I should have.

Cole stretches his legs out, joints popping as he leans back, then glances over at me. “Alright, I need a fucking drink. You in?”

“Pass.”

Austin raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on. One drink won’t kill you.”

“I said no.” My voice comes out sharper than I meant. The guys exchange looks, but they don’t push. One by one, they filter out of the locker room, their footsteps gradually fading until it’s just me. Alone.

The silence is deafening, pressing down on every inch of this room. I stay rooted to the spot, staring at nothing, my bruised shoulder and battered pride throbbing in perfect sync.

I sit there for a few more minutes, trying to shake off the heaviness, but then my phone buzzes on the bench beside me. I glance at the screen, seeing a text from my dad. My jaw tenses as I swipe it open.

Dad:

Not your best game. Hope that shoulder isn’t too messed up.

My fingers tighten around the phone. I know he means well, but it still stings. I feel a knot in my stomach, and the pressure in my chest grows.

I grab my phone, hesitating as my thumb hovers over Connor’s number. We don’t really talk much, and I don’t know why I’m reaching out now. Maybe it’s because I need someone to tell me this doesn’t suck as much as it feels. Maybe it’s just that I’ve got no one else.

I press the call button, and it rings twice before he picks up.

He’s quiet at first. Then, after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “Yeah?”

I close my eyes, rubbing my forehead. My shoulder’s on fire, my ribs are a mess, and my brain’s still buzzing from the hit. But none of that hits harder than the sting of knowing I let everyone down. “Saw the game?”

“I did,” he says, a pause before adding, “You alright?”

I run my hand through my hair, trying to push the frustration down. “Not really.”

Connor’s quiet for a moment, like he’s deciding if he should say something. “Talk to me.”

I hesitate, unsure how to start. “I just—fuck, I don’t know, man. I feel like I keep messing up. Like I’m never gonna be good enough.”

He exhales. “Ryan, you are good enough.”

I let out a humorless laugh, bitter and hollow. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

There’s another pause, a slight shift in the background noise on his end before he speaks again. “Look, I know it’s tough, but you’re overthinking it. Bad games happen. Doesn’t mean you’re not a good player. You know how it goes. You just gotta keep working, keep pushing through it.”

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration rising again. “It’s not just this game,” I admit, my voice coming out rougher than I want. “It’s… all of it. Feels like every time I get close to getting my shit together, something knocks me back down.”

Connor hums. “Okay. So, what are you gonna do about it?”

I frown. “What?”

“You can sit there and keep moping, telling yourself you suck… or you can get up, learn from it, and get better.”

I grind my teeth, my jaw tightening. “That’s not?—”

“It is, Ry. It’s all in your head. You play like you’ve already lost, guess what? You’re gonna lose. Let this shit linger? Next game’s gonna suck just as bad.”

I rub my forehead, frustration bubbling up again. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then do something about it,” Connor says.

I let out a long breath. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” he replies. “It’s just not easy.”

I lean back against the locker, staring up at the ceiling, my mind spinning. “You ever feel like you’re running after something that’s always just out of reach?”

Connor doesn’t answer right away. The silence hangs between us, heavy. “Yeah. I have.”

I glance at my phone, absently checking the time. It’s late—way too late to be stuck in my own head, but here I am. “What’d you do about it?”

“I stopped chasing it,” he answers. “Started focusing on what I could control. You can’t change the last game, but you can decide how you show up for the next one.”

I stay quiet, letting his words settle in. I can’t change what happened tonight, but maybe there’s something in that. Something I can work with.

Connor sighs on the other end. “Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t be pissed. Be pissed. Use it. But don’t let it define you. You’re a hell of a player, Ry, but if you let this shit mess with your head, it’s just gonna screw with your game even more.”

I swallow hard, feeling the sting of his words hit home. “Yeah, alright.”

There’s a pause, before he speaks up again. “You gonna be alright?”

Without even thinking, I lie. “Yeah.”

I can almost feel him staring through the phone, like he knows I’m full of shit, but he doesn’t push it. “Get some sleep, Ry.”

“Yeah. Night.” I hang up and toss the phone onto the bench, watching the screen fade to black. I lean back against the locker. My body aches—every muscle sore, every bruise reminding me of how much I’ve put into this game.

But it’s my pride that hurts the most.

And the worst part?

I have no idea how to fix it.