Page 40 of The Rule Breaker (Colton U Playbook #1)

RYAN

W e pull into the driveway of the Airbnb, the buzz from the game still buzzing in the air. The ride back was nothing but shit-talking and post-win adrenaline, and the energy hasn’t dropped a bit.

“Man, we fucking destroyed them,” Austin says, bumping his shoulder into mine as we head up the steps. “Easily your best game of the season, Ry.”

Nathan claps me on the back, a grin pulling at his lips. “He’s right—for once—you were on fire out there.”

Coach gives me a nod as the rest of the team trickles inside. “Good work, Reed. That’s how you lead a team.”

I nod, a rare warmth settling in my chest. Praise like that doesn’t come often—not from my family, anyway.

Connor’s the one who gets all the attention, the golden boy tearing it up in the NHL, while I…

skate in his shadow. If I called my parents right now to tell them I had the best game of my season, they’d probably say “Good job” before flipping the conversation to his latest highlight reel.

But tonight? Tonight’s mine. We won.

The house is already a mess when I walk in. Austin’s raiding the fridge, Logan and Nathan are ribbing on each other, and the rest of the guys are piled up on the couch, joking around.

But I’m not paying attention to any of that. My eyes are already looking for her.

She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, watching me with that look like she’s been waiting, like she knew I’d be looking for her. And honestly, it’s all I fucking do these days.

“You killed it tonight,” she says with a smile.

I should say something back, but instead, I move. Because the second I hear her voice, and see her smile at me, I know I need to kiss her.

But not here.

Not in the middle of the kitchen, with half the team just a few feet away. Not where anyone could walk in and see Coach’s daughter pressed up against me.

So instead, I grab her wrist and tug her down the hallway, pushing open the nearest door—a dimly lit laundry room. The second the door clicks shut behind us, I press her back against it, my mouth already on hers.

My hands are in her hair, my lips on hers, full of desperation and urgency, knowing we shouldn’t be doing this—but not giving an ounce of a fuck anyway. She fists the front of my hoodie, pulling me closer, and fuck , it’s not enough. It never is.

We pull apart when my phone buzzes, and I reach for it, glancing at the screen, chest jumping before I can stop it.

But when I swipe it open, that flicker of hope crashes fast.

It’s not them.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Not even a fucking thumbs up.

I stare at the screen for a second too long, the buzz from earlier fading.

“Everything okay?” Isabella asks.

I shrug, lock the screen, and shove the phone into my pocket. “Yeah, just…” I pause. Her brows are pulled together. No point lying, not when she’s already reading me. “Thought it might be my dad congratulating me about the game or something.”

Her expression softens, and she steps in closer, her frown deepening. “He didn’t watch?”

“Oh, he probably watched,” I say, shaking my head. “He just doesn’t care enough to say anything unless it’s to critique,” I tell her with a bitter laugh. “If Connor so much as sneezes on the field, they’re calling to talk about how ‘driven’ he is. I play my best game of the season and get nothing.”

And yeah, I’m used to it by now. But it still pisses me off. Still gets under my skin like it’s the first time. Doesn’t matter how old I am or how far from home—I’m still checking my phone like an idiot, hoping this time will be different.

She doesn’t say anything for a second. Doesn’t try to give me some motivational quote or tell me my dad loves me in his own way or whatever bullshit people usually say.

She just rests her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I know I should be over it, but I’m not,” I admit, the words coming out in a rush. “Every time I think I don’t care anymore, I still check. I hate that I do, but I can’t stop.”

She reaches for my hand, laces her fingers with mine.

“Maybe he’ll never say what you want to hear, but what you did tonight was still incredible, Ryan.

Your brother was proud of you. I could see it in his eyes.

” I press my lips together, keeping my eyes on her—the only solid thing in my life right now.

“Your teammates. My dad… Me,” she finishes, giving me a sweet smile. “We’re all so proud of you.”

My hand flexes around hers. Somehow, without even trying, she’s become the one person I actually want to share shit with. The highs, the losses, the parts I usually keep buried.

I glance down at her, my fingers brushing the side of her waist. “ Fuck , I really wish you were wearing my jersey right now.” Would have turned around this shit mood seeing my name on her back.

She tilts her head, lips twitching in amusement. And then—without a word—she grabs the hem of her Midnight Wolves Jersey, with her brother’s name stitched across the back.

Slowly, she pulls it over her head and lets it drop to the floor, revealing another jersey underneath.

For a second, all I see is her—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. But then she moves, turning just enough for me to catch the name across her back.

The deep blue fabric, the white sleeves, the sharp silver detailing along the edges. And across her back, stitched in bold block letters. Reed.

My breath catches. My pulse stutters.

Because fuck , there’s something about seeing her in it, about knowing she put it on under her brother’s jersey, knowing she wanted me to see.

A rough sound escapes me, low in my throat. My hands are on her before I even think about it, my fingers gripping her waist, feeling the heat of her skin through my jersey.

“You’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I mutter, voice rough.

She bites her lip, fingers toying with the fabric. “You like it?”

My gaze drags over my name stretching across her back, and something tightens in my chest.

“You have no idea what this is doing to me,” I mutter, my hands sliding over her waist.

“I think I do,” she murmurs, biting her lip.

I step in, closing the space between us, pressing against her. She shifts just slightly—just enough for her ass to brush against me.

“Reed? Where are you, man?”

Austin’s voice makes us both freeze. Isabella’s eyes widen in panic, and she steps back, her fingers scrambling to pull her brother’s Westbrook jersey over mine, covering up my name.

Fuck. This is stupid. Too risky. Sneaking around in a house full of people who’d kill us if they knew what was going on.

I can’t help but glance at her—her hair’s a mess, her cheeks flushed. She looks so beautiful.

“Uh, just a second!” I shout, my voice coming out way too high.

She mutters a quiet, “Shit” under her breath as she adjusts her hair.

I just wanna pull her back in my arms and kiss the shit out of her, mess her hair up all over again.

My forehead lightly presses against hers for a second, and I close my eyes. “I just wanna be alone with you,” I whisper against her skin.

She nods against me, her fingers curling around the nape of my neck.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and pull away from her, pushing open the door, making sure the coast is clear.

I step into the empty hallway and head toward the living room.

Austin’s lounging on the couch, and as soon as he spots me, he throws his head. “Fucking finally. Where the hell were you? Never mind, forget it. Get dressed. We’re hitting the bar to celebrate.”

Coach looks over at me a hint of a smile crossing his broody face. “You guys did good tonight. You deserve a little fun. I’ll even turn a blind eye to the drinking.”

Nathan lifts his brows. “You in?”

A grin pulls at my lips, the guys’ excitement about celebrating our win hits me.

But the idea of being at a bar, girls hitting on me left and right when the only girl I want is one I can’t have?

Yeah, that doesn’t sound like celebrating.

I just want to be with her. But obviously, I can’t tell them that.

“Uh, nah. I think I’ll stay in tonight,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

Coach gives me a hard look. “You good, kid?”

I feel the heat rise in my skin under his stare, and I scramble for something that sounds halfway believable. “Yeah, yeah. Just… feel like staying inside.” I clear my throat and fake a cough, hoping that sells it.

His frown deepens. “Are you sick? You gonna be good for the next game?”

Shit. “No. I’m fine. Just a… uh, day cough.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Day cough?”

“Yeah.” Christ. This sounds fucking dumb. “Must be the dust or something. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

Coach doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push it. He studies me for a second longer. “You want me to stay?”

Since I want to fuck your daughter in every position imaginable, I’d say that’s a big fat fucking no.

I clear my throat. “Nah, I’m good.”

Austin lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Well, your loss, man. The bar’s gonna be a blast.”

“Have fun,” I mutter as the guys head toward the door, my mind already back on Isabella. I can’t wait until I can get back to her.

Coach looks over at Isabella, his lips twitching into a proud smile. “You coming, princess? You should be celebrating too. Your plays helped us win this one.”

Isabella shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s been a long night. I think I’ll just stay in and watch a movie or something.”

“Yeah, I might join you for that,” I lie through my teeth. We both know we won’t be watching a damn movie once they leave. Hopefully Coach doesn’t catch on.

To my surprise, Coach just nods, wrapping his arm around Isabella’s shoulders. “Alright. Get some rest. You killed it tonight. Proud of you.”

She smiles back, that usual warmth in her eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

He walks out and the second we hear the door close, I’m on her, pulling her into another kiss.