Page 110 of The Rule Breaker
“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 knowHayesis 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 winlike 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 waysince—hell, I don’t even know—probably since I was eleven or so. So, seeing him here? Yeah, it’s throwing me off.
