Page 33 of The Breakaway

Mark exhaled. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides.”

I rolled my eyes at the dramatic Pulp Fiction quote and took up a position on the goalie and defender bars. “You care if I take these?”

Crystal shook her head. “Please. I want striker.”

Maddie perched on the arm of a threadbare couch to cheer us on, safely away from the rowdy group of guys already arguing over who got to face the winners.

Rory dropped the ball, and the rest of the room, besides my handles and spinning men, ceased to exist.

Axel flicked his wrists like his life depended on it. “Mark, cover the midfield! You’re letting them penetrate.”

Mark snorted. “They can penetrate me anytime.”

Crystal smirked. “I hope you like it deep.”

Maddie made a sound in her throat. “Crystal! Gross!”

“What! They started it!” Crystal missed a ball and swore under her breath.

“All part of my master plan.” Axel clenched his teeth in concentration. “Just distract them with innuendo and?—”

“Yes!” Mark’s arms shot up as the ball dropped into our goal.

I pulled the ball out of the box and set it at the entry slide. “Don’t get comfy.”

We battled it out, trading goals until Crystal whipped one into their goal, putting us at ten to nine. “Suck it!” Crystal laughed in their faces, and Axel didn’t seem to mind. If I were to hazard a guess, based on the way he was watching Crystal, he would’ve been happy to lose again and again to get that kind of reaction out of her.

"Alright, alright," Rory called out, shouldering his way to the table with a cocky grin. "My turn to defend the house’s honour."

He turned to scan the room, eyes alighting on Rob lurking in the corner, nursing a beer. "Thompson!" he barked. "Get your ass over here and help me school these girls."

For a moment, Rob looked like he might refuse, his expression darkening. But then he shrugged, putting something in his pocket and sauntering over with a smirk that looked more practiced than indicative of any real emotion.

“You get a page or something?” Rory asked. Rob nodded. “Who from?”

He wet his lips. “It only gives a number. It’s not like you can send a novel.”

“You’re not going to call it?” Rory’s eyes widened.

Maddie leaned in. “You have a pager?”

Rob shrugged. “Yes I have a pager, and no. I don’t recognize the number.”

“Can I see it?” Maddie held out her hand as if she couldn’t imagine a world where a guy wouldn’t just hand something over to her because she asked.

Rob solidified that theory. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beeper with the footprint of a debit card. Maddie plucked it from his hands and pressed a button to make the display light up.

She grinned. “What’s your number?”

Rob opened his mouth, but Rory was faster. “403-772-7272.”

I gave him a look. “Who’d you bribe to get that number?”

Rob didn’t answer, just wrapped his fingers around the handles as Maddie took his pager with her back to the couch. His knuckles were already scabbing. New bruises bloomed over the green-tinged ones. The image of him screaming past me and knocking that guy to the ground was cued up and ready to roll.

My chest settled like someone had draped a heated blanket over me. Safe. A word I never would’ve thought to use with Rob Thompson, but there it was. I felt safe with him. He had protected me. Thrown himself in harm’s way. I’d tried to protect a hunk of bronze, and Rob . . . He’d run out into the November night in a T-shirt and punched the hell out of a hockey player. For me.

“Ready?” Rory scanned our faces. Rob grunted. Crystal nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. I stared a little too hard at the plastic uni-footed men in front of me to keep my eyes from wandering over Rob’s hands a second time. Or possibly migrating up his forearms to the place where his T-shirt sleeve bisected his biceps.

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