Page 15 of Playing Rough

"Who you are." The blunt admission slips out before I can bite it back. "You know, besides a walking bag of dicks."

A laugh bursts out of Riot before he goes very still. Those piercing eyes study me intently. "And what do you think you've figured out?"

I take a moment, breathing in the room's leather and paper perfume. "That you're smarter than people think. And this place is your escape."

Riot's jaw tightens, those icy eyes cutting away. Guess I struck a nerve.

Can't say I blame him. I'd hate it ifhewas digging intomypersonal life.

"Nothing wrong with needing space," I add, keeping my tone casual. "Especially in a house this big, with all its… expectations."

He scrubs a hand through his dark hair roughly. "My father expects perfection. Ivy League degree, corporate gig. Anything less means failure."

Riot's mouth twists bitterly. "Hockey was my act of 'rebellion.' My father wanted me to take over the family business, not waste time on a 'pointless game.' We've been fighting about it for years. He can't stand that I didn't bow down to his grand plan for my future."

He laughs, but it's hollow. "I don't know why I just told you that."

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, considering his little confession. It reminds me of my own daddy issues. "I never even met my father. But everyone saw me as just his screw-up kid."

Shit, nowIdon’t know why I toldhimthat.

Riot lifts his gaze to mine. In the dim light of the fireplace, his eyes are almost warm. "That's why you bust your ass? To prove them wrong? Show you're more than some deadbeat's legacy?"

Hearing my struggles spoken so plainly makes me pause. "Yeah. That’s part of it, I guess."

We sit in silence awhile, two men haunted by the ghosts of fathers who cast long, useless shadows.

The patter of rain on the window fills the silence until Riot inhales slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t think I can handle this team dinner tonight, smiling like I don’t hate my parents and their judgment of my life.”

He pauses, looking me right in the eyes. "Will you sit with me? As a... buffer?"

I blink, certain I misheard. But Riot holds my gaze, his expression open in a way I've never seen. It's the closest he's shown to vulnerability. And I understand what it cost him to extend the olive branch.

It’s also a total mindfuck.

After a tense moment, I nod. "Yeah. I've got you."

Riot's shoulders loosen slightly. Our truce suddenly feels less tentative. This shifted something elemental between us. Whatever comes next this weekend, I’ve got his back.

I lift my snapback and run a hand through my messy hair before sticking it back on my head.

We chill in comfortable silence until footsteps echo down the hall. That'll be the boys coming to drag us back to the festivities.

Riot's mask clicks back into place as he stands up. But there's a new wariness in those icy eyes now. Like I've glimpsed a secret part of him he keeps locked down tight.

And in a way, I have. Beyond the swagger and bullshit. It's thrilling but unsettling, getting a peek behind that fortress door.

As we rejoin the team, the shift between us hangs thick as smoke in the air.

Whatever comes next this weekend, we're in it together now. For better or worse.

7

RIOT

"Enough!"My father's voice rings through his study, cold and clipped. His blue eyes, so much like mine, are like chips of ice behind his glasses. "This childish fixation on hockey ends now. It's time you took your place in the family business as planned."

I bite my tongue, fists clenching at my sides. We've been going in circles for the past hour in his study, a familiar battle I'm damned tired of fighting.

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