Page 129 of Rules

One tear slips down, a broken, strangled sob breaking out of my lungs before I get a chance to muffle it behind my hand.

Tilting my head back, I look at the ceiling.

What now? What the hell am I going to do now?

I was supposed to leave. Get the hell away from this town and never look back. Getting off the grid was the only way I could start over. The only way I could get away from Josephine and the shitshow that’s my life. Get away from Dan and his threats.

Making Brook Taylor disappear was the only way to protect my friends, to protect Max. But I know that’s not a possibility anymore. I can’t keep this to myself. I can’t walk away, not after everything I witnessed yesterday. Not when I can still see Max’s broken gray eyes staring into mine like they were last night in the hospital.

If you’re pregnant, I need to know.

He sounded almost desperate when he said those words. So broken over what happened to his sister. I could feel his pain like my own.

How could I hide something like this from him knowing the pain he’d be in if he were ever to find out?

Turning, I look around the beat-down bathroom. Broken tiles. Old furniture. Mold in the corners. Color peeling off the ceiling. I take it all in until it becomes too hard to breathe.

Josephine was right after all. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The image of Max holding on to Lia earlier today comes back to haunt me. The way he clung to her, like his life depended on it.

Your all, Brook… It all belongs to me.

He says one thing, but his actions… His actions constantly prove otherwise. Max doesn’t love me, and I’m carrying his baby. The second generation of Taylor women to fall for a guy too far out of their reach.

Maybe if it weren’t so hard to breathe I’d be able to laugh. Laugh at the irony that’s my life.

I tried so hard not to become my mother, and subsequently, I became just that.

Chapter Forty-Nine

MAX

Dear Mr. Sanders,

We’re sorry to inform you…

The rest of the letters blur together in front of me, but I don’t have to read to the end to know what they say. Another rejection letter.

Dammit.

Curling the paper in my hand, I toss it away before I fall down into my chair. The open book on my desk mocks me, the list of things that has piled up in the last few days growing by the second. I was hoping for good news, but apparently I was hoping for too much. My life has been one giant shitstorm, so why would this be any different? And the worst thing? I don’t even have it in me to care.

Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes, my fingers slowly rubbing my throbbing temples.

I can’t concentrate for shit. I can’t sleep. I can’tbreathe.

I haven’t been able to for days.

It feels like all I can do is rehash everything that has happened lately. The accident, seeing Jeanette as broken as she was, lying in that bed, breaking in Brook’s arms. Why is it always her that’s there when I’m at my lowest?

Things were supposed to go back to normal now that Jeanette is safe at home, but it’s like my body didn’t get the memo, and it’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When we got home from the hospital, Dad was already gone, along with his things. Nobody said anything about it as we continued with our lives like nothing happened. That was the Sanders’ way of dealing with things. I wanted to stay with Jeanette while she recovered, but then Coach called.

When both Andrew and I didn’t make it to the morning skate on Monday, Coach made it a point to call and see what the hell was going on and where his two star players were.

With playoffs approaching, I couldn’t blame him for being a hard-ass, but with everything going on, I didn’t have it in me to care about hockey or anything else. Before the accident, I’d be pumped to start preparing for the playoffs, but now, it just doesn’t matter. How can I think about hockey when my sister almost died?

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