Rules Of Our Own (Rule Breaker Series Book 3)

“TWO MORE. MOVE IT,” Coach’s voice booms over the ice.

My quads burn with the buildup of lactic acid as I do my thirtieth consecutive lap. I hiss in deep breaths, fighting my body’s response to hyperventilate. I take the corner around the back of the net with sharp crossovers.

You’d think playing hockey since I could walk would make the transition back from summer easier, but it fucking doesn’t. During our off-season, River and I focus on muscle training instead of endurance, building up the additional strength without having to fight against the constant cardio.

It’s a fucking sound plan that’s kept us on the first line year after year, but man does it suck the first few weeks back.

My legs grow heavy, and my speed dissipates against my will. River’s right behind me, shouting for me to move my ass. He may not talk much in public, but he has no problem telling me what to do on the rink, or in bed for that matter. Images of him directing me on how to touch Mia take over my head, and I miss a step, nearly taking myself out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” River comes up beside me.

You, asshole. 

“Fuck off.” I pant out the words.

“You two stop giving each other fuck-me eyes and get moving.” Lucas passes me on my left, and I groan.

River looks away the second my eyes meet his, and I get the distinct feeling he’d been watching me. He’s facing forward, eyes anywhere else, but I don’t miss the hint of pink crawling up his neck. My dick twitches in my cup, and I drop back a few paces. I need to get my shit together.

A whistle pierces the air. “Alright, boys. Hit the shower.”

Fuck me. I brace myself on my knees, taking in heaving breaths, and glide on my skates toward the bench. That’s going to fucking hurt later. I wonder if I can convince Mia to rub it better. I groan.

A glove smacks into the back of my helmet, and one of the new trades gestures for me to move out of the way. “Wake up, buddy.”

Shit. I scramble through the gate in the boards and head down the hall toward our locker room.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Before I can make it, a young reporter steps forward. “Hey, Alex. Got a minute for a few quick questions? Need to get a start on the season soundbites.”

I glance to where the rest of the guys disappear down the hall and internally groan. No, I don’t want to do an interview, but I know it would make Coach happy, so I plaster on a smile. “Of course. What do you have for me?”

She asks the standard questions. How was my summer? How are my legs feeling? Do I think we stand a chance at the cup this year? All easy answers until she turns the question personal. “There’s been a lot of chatter going around about how no one sees you out on the town anymore. Has the Alex Grayson finally settled down?”

My stomach dips and curls because I want to be able to scream yes from the rooftops. Yes, I’ve settled down because I’m head over fucking heels for a girl and have no plans of ever changing that. But I can’t say any of that because the girl in question isn’t even mine, even though I’m sure the fuck hers.

River steps up beside me and speaks for me. “We’ve been keeping our head down and getting ready for the season. You know how it is.”

The reporter looks disappointed she didn’t get the answer she obviously wanted, but I can’t turn myself away from Riv. I’ve always been the one to field all the questions, and here he is, stepping in to protect me. Something twitches hard in my chest, and I don’t look away from his back as he heads down the hall.

“…Good game next week.” I turn to face the reporter, just now clueing in to the fact that she’s still talking.

“Thanks. Ah, have a good one.” I don’t look back as I head toward the dressing room.

The Bruins train at the Warrior Ice Arena, and it’s mint as fuck. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t practice where we play; instead, we spend ninety percent of our time in our training facility. There are multiple arenas here, making it easy to split us into different groups.

I make my way to my locker, sit on the hardwood bench, snap off my helmet, and dump the entire contents of my water bottle on my head. I groan as the ice-cold liquid cools me down.

Lucas chuckles from across the room. “You looked rough out there.”

“How are you so fast? You’re a fucking defenseman,” I bark out.

“Just means I’m faster than you going forward and backward, man.” He balls up a piece of tape and shoots it in a perfect arc, landing in the garbage. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, man. No one expects you to be faster than me.”

“If you don’t cut that shit out, I’ll tell your girl, and she’ll kick your ass for me.” I wink and barely duck the ball of tape he throws at my head.

“Good luck with that. How’s your girl doing? Or are you still pretending she’s not yours?” Lucas asks, and his eyes dart between River and me.

River tenses beside me, and I push down on his thigh, holding him in place. He might be the most rational out of all of us, but there’s nothing rational about him when it comes to her. The room’s chatter grows eerily silent as the tension grows thick between them.

“She’s not with either of us. Her asshole ex just tried to break into her place, for fuck’s sake,” River growls, and Lucas puts his hands up.

“You’re right. Fuck, I’m sorry, man. You know she and I are good, and Piper fucking loves her. She going to be okay?”

“Yes.” River clips out his reply. “We’ll take care of her.”

Lucas gets up and walks over to us, leaning close so only we can hear. “I’m telling you this because when I was being a complete dipshit with Piper, you tried to tell me. That girl is perfect for you. Both of you. Don’t fuck it up.”

I let my head drop back against my locker. Like any of it is that simple.

I rip the rest of my gear off and grab my stuff to head to the shower.

“Don’t bother. We’ve got an hour in the gym.”

My head whips around to River. “I didn’t hear the coach say that!”

He shuts his locker and folds his arms across his chest. “’Cause he didn’t. I’m saying it.”

“Fuck, man. We’re supposed to lay off now that the season’s starting.”

“Get your shit.” He turns and walks out the door, as if it’s a given I’d follow.

I groan and grab my shit, proving the fucker right. This is going to be brutal.

A bead of sweat trails down my bare chest, and my back sticks to the leather bench as I lower the weights behind my head.

“Five. You’ve got three more in you.” River’s voice is a low rumble that sets my nerves on edge. He stands behind me, so close the fabric of his shorts skim the bench. I can smell the sharp tang of salt with each inhale. He’s spotting for me, and his hands hover below mine, ready to catch the weights if I fail the set.

There’s a distant sound of clanging metal, but the world is muffled, like we’re in our own little bubble. Exercise always makes me tune in to my body, to narrow down on each movement, but this is different. This is like the world paused, and all there is, is River and me, inches away from each other.

My arms drop an inch, and his fingertips graze my knuckles, sending an electric shock up the back of my arms. I swallow hard. My heart thuds in my chest, the tempo ringing in my ears, and I try to focus on the steel ceiling and not on River’s sweat-soaked hair. If I shift my gaze a millimeter back, I’ll be able to see the firm lines of his abs and the dusting of black hair that runs down their center and tucks into the band of his gray gym shorts. My gaze moves there instinctively, and I catch the hard bulge outlined beneath the thin fabric. I lose concentration, and my arms drop. I swallow hard, getting my shit together. Slowly, I continue to lower the weight until my arms are extended back parallel to my head and then bring them up above my face.

“Good. That’s six.”

I ignore the way River’s voice reels in my attention, and I push through the intense burn in my arms. Exercise is all about precision. Control. Which is exactly why I need to get my head on straight before I fuck my shit up.

“Seven. There you go. Give me one more,” River says encouragingly, and a minuscule shiver trails down my neck. Fuck, why do I like that so much?

I drop my arms back again, even though they ache like crazy. My muscles twitch, and my arms shake at the bottom of my rep as I struggle to bring them back up. The burn shifts into a ripping sensation, and I tense, allowing my back to bow off the bench. Fuck. 

Hands so hot they practically sear my skin grab my arms just above my elbows. “I’ve got you.”

He supports my arms, instantly curing the pain, but the only thing my mind registers is him. It’s like every fucking molecule of my being is focused on his touch. His callused fingers scrape my skin, leaving me feeling raw. I’m coated in sweat, and his hands glide, creating a deliciously wicked sensation as he changes his grip to support my elbows.

The motion allows him to take off the weight, and my eyes meet his. He’s looking down, and where I expected a raised eyebrow for dropping a rep that should’ve been easy, he’s watching me. His mouth is open, and his chest rises and falls in small pants. His black eyes dance between mine, trying to find whatever he’s looking for. Sweat pools at the top of his lip, and I groan when his pink tongue comes out to lick it off.

His expression goes blank, and he adjusts to help me up. “I’m sorry. I pushed you too hard.”

“It’s fine.” I grab a cloth off the floor beside the bench and wipe the sweat from my face. My heart is still beating a fucking mile a minute, and I use the fabric to help hide the reaction while I take a few calming breaths.

“How’s your arm? Did you tear anything? We can pick you up some ice on the way out.” River’s practically rambling, and I drop my cloth to look at him.

Why did he sound like he cares so fucking much? Like he felt responsible for the outcome and guilty about how it went. People tear muscles lifting weights every day, but it wouldn’t have been his fault. So why is he so intent on checking to make sure I’m okay, and why do I like it so much?