Page 159 of Rules

Gulping down the lump in my throat, I look down. The pamphlet is still open. One word standing out like a lighthouse in the dark.

Abortion.

My hand grips around it, crumpling the paper in my fist. Forcing myself to lift my gaze, I give her one final look. “Thank you for your help.”

And then I run out.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

MAX

“Okay, boys,” Coach hollers, calling us all in. He looks around the room, his eyes meeting the gaze of each player on the team. “This is it. I know how hard every single one of you has been working for this. How much hard work, sweat, and blood has been put into making this team what it is. Whatever happens today out on the ice, I want you to know that I’m proud of the men you’ve become and everything you’ve accomplished. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

Finally, they land on mine. I feel the nerves rise in my body. After all, this is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life. Everything has led me to this moment, this game.

I wish Brook were here to see this.

The thought comes out of nowhere, but instead of pushing it away, I embrace it.

“Now let’s go smash some asses.”

Every single player hollers in agreement, our voices and tapping sticks echoing against the tiles in the locker room.

“Wolves on three,” Derek calls next to me. “One. Two. Three…”

“Wolves!”

* * *

It’s the third period, and the score is tied with two points for each team and two minutes and fifty-one seconds on the clock. Hawks have possession of the puck like they have for a good two minutes, and every attempt to regain it has been fruitless.

Swearing under my breath, I watch as one of the wings sends the puck to the center, who returns it, and the guy shoots at the goal.

My stomach is stuck in my throat until I see our goalie stop the damn thing from entering our net.

“That was too damn close,” Derek says as we meet on the line for the face-off.

“Two minutes,” I mutter, more for myself than anybody else. The clock is ticking, and we need to get that puck into the net.

As always, I tune everybody out as insults fly right and left, my eyes glued to the puck, watching it fall to the ice. This time, Derek manages to snatch it first, and in the next moment, our line is moving across the rink.

He sends the puck to Andrew on the left, who shoots it to the D-man almost instantly because one of the Hawk players goes at him, his stick getting between Andrew’s skates, making him trip.

The ref is between them almost immediately, calling out the penalty. Thank fuck. Hawks try to argue, but the ref doesn’t let it slide.

The sweat is dripping down my forehead as we skate over the blue line and toward the Hawk’s goalie. Johnson, our D-man, is still at our backs. He sends the puck to me, and I get it over to Hill on the left, getting between two of the Hawks players just in time to get the puck from Hill and shoot.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the goal.

One minute and thirty-seven seconds. If we can keep our hands on the puck for just a little over a minute, we’ll be champions.

* * *

If Andrew’s house doesn’t fall today, nothing will ever be able to knock it down. The music is blasting so hard, I’m sure the residents of the next town over can hear us. Every time a Wolf enters one of the rooms he’s greeted with hoots and hollers so loud they make the walls shake.

Fucking champions, baby.

Even hours after, it was still hard to wrap my head around it.

---