Page 39 of The Rule Breaker (Colton U Playbook #1)

RYAN

T he sweat’s already starting to bead on my forehead, but it feels good. The game’s moving fast, like every pass and every turn are charged with energy. The rink’s cold, but I’m burning up, muscles working overtime, eyes locked on the puck.

I drop back into position, eyes on their left winger trying to sneak in behind me. He’s quick, but I’ve seen this move before. He wants to slip inside, catch me off-guard.

Not tonight.

The puck hits my stick, and I flick it up the boards.

“Wheel!” Isabella’s voice cuts through the noise from the bench.

I curl around the net, see Austin open up. I pass it toward him.

Austin catches it in stride, weaving around two Westbrook guys with that easy confidence he always has when he plays.

“Right side!” Logan calls out.

I shift left to cover, just as one of their forwards barrels in hard. I plant, shoulder him off, and he stumbles. Shoots me a look like he wants a rematch.

Bring it.

Westbrook’s scrambling, and I can feel the shift in the game. Their defense is slow to react, and Austin’s already moving, cutting through their guys like it’s second nature. He takes the pass clean, shifts left, and in one smooth motion, he’s got the perfect shot lined up.

The puck flies, and before their goalie even knows what hit him, it’s in the back of the net.

The buzzer sounds off, and the crowd erupts.

Austin skates back, a grin on his face, fists pumping in the air. “Let’s go, baby,” he yells.

He’s grinning like he’s just won the damn lottery, high-fiving everyone within reach. Nathan shoots us a quick thumbs up from the crease, his eyes locked on the puck, focused as ever, despite the score. We’re up by two, and Westbrook’s starting to get desperate.

The whistle blows, and one of their forwards ignores it—charges in and hammers Cole from behind.

He slams into the ice hard, his stick flying, his feet slipping out from under him.

“Fuck,” I grit under my breath. Instinct kicks in before thought does. I lunge forward.

Westbrook’s guy doesn’t let up, not even with Cole down on the ice.

I slam into him, hard enough that I’m pretty sure I hear his teeth rattle, but the asshole doesn’t fall, just stumbles slightly.

Cole’s up fast. He throws a punch that lands with a crack. Gloves are flying, refs are yelling, and bodies are tangled. It’s a fucking mess.

The ref’s whistle cuts through, but neither of them back down. Their elbows are flying, sticks tangled, bodies crashing on the ice.

As soon as Cole and the Westbrook guy hit the ice again, the whistle blows, and the refs pull them off each other. One of them points straight at Cole and the Westbrook player, signaling for the penalty box.

“Both of you. Box. Now.”

Cole skates off the ice, breathing hard, his eyes still locked on the guy who hit him like he’s about to rip through the glass and take another shot. I watch him as he skates past me, jaw tight, his face a mask of pure focus, blood still dripping from where he took the hit.

I follow him to the penalty box, slowing down to fall in step beside him. “You good?” I ask, as I roll my shoulders.

Cole flexes his hand, his fingers curling and uncurling like he’s still itching for a fight. He doesn’t look at me, just mutters, “Guy’s a dick.”

“You took that hit like it was personal.”

“Felt personal.” He heads into the penalty box, ripping off his helmet and throwing it to the floor. His chest heaves, eyes locked on the ice like he’s already planning round two.

“I need you on the ice, not in the box,” Coach snaps. “Stop taking the bait.”

Isabella’s already scribbling on her clipboard, her eyes meeting mine when she lifts her head. “Run play five next shift. They’re leaving the left side wide open.”

I nod and push off the boards, refocused as the game continues. The clock is ticking down and I skate back in my zone, keeping my eyes locked on the puck. Westbrook’s throwing everything they’ve got at us, but Nathan’s been a fucking wall in net. I can feel the win in my bones.

Logan meets my eyes, and he sends the puck zipping my way.

“One hard!” Isabella calls, warning me there’s pressure coming fast.

I spin on my skates and take the shot, quick and clean, just as the goalie shifts to the other side.

For a split second, everything slows down. It’s just me, the puck, and that goalie reaching out with everything he’s got, but it’s too late.

It hits the back of the net. Buzzer goes off. Game over.

We win 3–1.

The bench clears. Helmets off, sticks thrown in the air.

Everyone’s on me; hands slapping my back, yelling, high-fives flying.

They drift to the boards, waving at the crowd, pointing up at whoever showed up for them.

I pull my helmet off and swipe the sweat from my forehead. The crowd’s roar is still ringing in my ears, but I can’t help but look around, letting my eyes drift to the stands.

Yeah, I played for the team. But if I’m being honest?

A part of me was playing for her too.

And then, I find her.

She’s perched on the edge of the stands, her eyes locked on me, waiting for me to notice her. And I do. Instantly.

She’s standing with her arms in the air, and her mouth wide in a cheer I can’t hear. Her curls are pulled back in a loose ponytail, her cheeks are pink from the cold, and her smile is so damn wide it knocks the air out of my chest.

A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it, a rush of warmth spreading through my chest. My heart skips a beat as I picture myself walking toward her, grabbing her by the waist, pulling her close, kissing her right there in front of everyone.

But then, my gaze flickers to her jersey.

And even though I can’t see the back of her jersey, I know Hayes is sprawled across it in bold letters.

For a second, my stomach drops, a tight feeling creeping into my chest. I get it.

She’s here for her brother, celebrating his win like any sibling would.

But there’s a gnawing feeling at the back of my mind that won’t go away.

A small part of me wants it to be my name she’s wearing.

My jersey. Just once. Just to see what it feels like.

It’s stupid, I know. I’ve never cared about who wore my jersey before. Hell, a lot of girls have had my name across their backs, but I never gave two shits. But with Isabella? I want it. I don’t even know why.

The crowd shifts all of a sudden, and I feel the attention move away from me. Reporters start huddling around someone, and I squint, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Then, through the crack of people, I spot him.

Connor .

The hell? What’s he doing here?

Confusion hits me first, but then it quickly morphs into a sharp, uncomfortable twist in my chest. I watch as a swarm of reporters, teammates, and fans crowd around him, jealousy curling in my gut.

Everyone’s scrambling to get close, trying to get his attention. It stings more than I care to admit. I just scored, just won the game, but it feels like I’m an afterthought now. Like everything I worked for in that moment is already forgotten.

Connor catches my eye from across the rink, and a smile spreads across his face as he waves the reporters off, and in a few quick steps, he’s making his way toward me.

When he reaches me, he lifts his chin, his cap shifting a little. “Nice goal.”

I shake my head, half-smiling. “Yeah, thanks.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You looked good out there.”

I shrug, not sure what to say to that. “What are you doing here?” I ask. No one ever comes to my games. It’s been that way since—hell, I don’t even know—probably since I was eleven or so. So, seeing him here? Yeah, it’s throwing me off.

His hand drops from my shoulder, and he shrugs. “Had some time off. Wanted to see my little brother do his thing.”

I laugh, dryly, cocking my head. “You flew in to watch a college game?”

“No,” he says. “I flew in to watch your game.”

I freeze.

His lips twitch. “I’m glad I did. You played like a beast out there.”

I let out a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Took your advice. I put all that aggression on the ice.”

Connor gives me a once-over, his eyes lingering on my face for a beat longer than usual. “Glad to hear it. Your shoulder feeling better?”

I roll it, the ache gone now. “Yeah. It’s good.”

He nods, but then before he can say anything else, I hear the sound of my girl’s laugh and turn to see her running toward me.

“I told you you’d do amazing,” she says, grinning so brightly that it almost knocks the air from my lungs. She throws her arms around my neck before I even have the chance to react, she pulls me in close.

I close my eyes as I feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, her familiar scent filling my senses. I can’t help but sink into the feeling, one hand instinctively reaching to her head, my fingers getting tangled in those gorgeous curls of hers.

I breathe her in, the familiar scent of her shampoo making the stupid flip in my chest happen all over again. The world could burn down around us, and I wouldn’t care.

I just want to hold her.

“It was all you, Curls,” I murmur as I pull back to look at her. “Your strategy kicked ass.”

She chuckles, and my gaze drops to her lips, lingering for a second too long, the urge to kiss her overwhelming.

Fuck.

But then, I hear a throat clear, and I glance at my brother, and realizing we’re in the middle of a room full of people. Coaches, players, and of course—her dad and brother.

I swallow as I shift away from her.

I clear my throat and force a smile. “This is Isabella. My… friend,” I say, though the word feels awkward on my tongue.

That word doesn’t belong beside her name.

Because Isabella is so much more than a friend.

But I can’t say that right now. Not with everyone surrounding us.

Connor looks between us, his expression unreadable for a beat, before he finally shifts his focus to her. “Nice to meet you.”

She grins at him. “Yeah, you too. You’re amazing, by the way. I grew up watching your games.”

My brother chuckles, but a groan leaves my lips. “Bels. Can you not fawn over my brother? Please?”

She laughs, shrugging innocently. “Hockey legend, Ryan. What do you expect?”

I roll my eyes. “He gets enough of that.” Part of me doesn’t like how easy it is for her to gush over Connor. Another part of me knows it’s just how it goes—he’s been a pro for years, and I’m just… me.

“Izzy!”

At the sound of Nathan’s voice, Isabella’s face lights up, and she grins before waving goodbye to me. Then she rushes toward him, and he pulls her into a quick hug.

A grin pulls at my lips as I watch them. They have the kind of sibling relationship I’ve always envied.

“Friend?” Connor’s voice slices through my thoughts, a smirk tugging at his lips as he raises an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes, but there’s no hiding it. He’s right. I’m lying to myself

“She’s Nathan’s sister,” I clarify.

Connor’s brows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything. He just waits for me to say more.

“And Coach’s daughter,” I add, and I can feel my jaw tighten when his eyes go wide.

“Fuck.”

I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah.”

Connor chuckles, crossing his arms. “That’s… brave.”

“Stupid, probably,” I admit, shaking my head. Because, yeah, that’s what it is. Stupid. Reckless. Dangerous. And so fucking worth it.

He doesn’t argue, and I’m kind of grateful for that. It’s not like I need anyone to tell me what a mess this is.

I press my lips together, the urge to get out of here hitting me. “I should go,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Connor nods. “Yeah, go celebrate. You earned it.”

A smile tugs at my lips, and I turn to leave. But then I stop, glancing back at him. “Thanks. For… you know, coming out here to see me.”

“Anytime,” he says with a smile.

I head toward the guys, still thinking about the one girl I can’t have. I glance back at her. She’s laughing with Nathan and her dad, her smile lighting up the whole space.

“Alright, alright!” Austin calls out, cutting through the noise. “Who’s getting some tonight?” He winks, and the guys all laugh.

But I look at her again, and I can’t focus on anything but her.

She’s the one I want to see tonight.

And maybe every night after that.