Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2

by Dietz, Mariah

  “She has to work through it. She’s already calmer. I didn’t hear her sneak into your room last night to check on you.”

  I laugh around a bite of my spaghetti. Mom’s been coming into my room at least twice each night, resting a hand on my chest for several seconds before she tiptoes back to the stairs and goes up to the third story where their room is.

  I nod, hopeful Maggie is right. And then allow the silence that’s been following me for weeks with hundreds of unsaid words hanging over us as we discuss the weather and politics and things that matter, just none of them nearly as much as her leaving.

  Later that day, I take Maggie to the aquarium. I haven’t seen anyone since before my accident, and though they sent flowers and have sent text messages, I fear to see everyone. Will they be mad that I was irresponsible and offer the job opportunity to someone else who didn’t make an impulsive decision that proved to be hazardous?

  “I feel like I’ve corrupted you,” Maggie tells me as I park.

  “You have,” I lie. In reality, I feel the weight of the past couple of weeks adding up and becoming this giant shadow, one I just need to evade for today.

  Inside, we head to the break room, quickly finding Greta, the manager of the aquarium, tucked away in her small office, looking over some X-rays. I knock twice on her opened door.

  “Rae!” She’s out of her seat and coming toward me in a second, hugging me in the next. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” She holds me at arm’s length, examining me like so many have. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel great. Truly.”

  She exhales, like hearing this is a relief. “You know, it’s a good thing the water was so cold that night. If it had been warmer, I fear what the outcome might have been.”

  She’s right. The coldness that seemed to have soaked inside of me, causing me to remain continually freezing, is actually what I can thank for my life.

  “How’s Blue?” Lois has sent me several messages claiming he’s doing well, but for some reason, I need to hear confirmation from Greta.

  Greta blinks several times before waving a hand inches from her face, her eyes misting with tears. “I can’t wait to see his reaction to you.”

  Her comment throws me off. My fear at her tears was so automatic, my own eyes clouded, expecting terrible news. My shoulders fall as my eyes close.

  “Lois swears he saved you,” Greta continues. “She said he got super upset, and all the dolphins were really vocal and then started diving into the water.” She looks at me for confirmation.

  I shake my head. “I honestly don’t remember anything,” I tell her.

  A fleeting look of disappointment has her lips thinning. “It doesn’t matter. Regardless, I bet Blue’s going to go crazy when he sees you.”

  “I just hope he doesn’t think I was involved in him getting hurt.” I didn’t even realize it was a fear until I say the words aloud.

  Greta shakes her head adamantly. “No. Don’t forget; dolphins are smart. He knew you were there to save him, just like he knew you were in trouble.” She pulls me into another hug, this one not as tight, but longer, imparting something that feels almost like gratitude.

  “Oh, Greta, I’m sorry,” I say, glancing at Maggie, who’s watching us with rapt attention, an outsider to this massive portion of my life. “This is my sister, Maggie.”

  Greta throws her arms open to hug her as well. “It’s so great to meet you,” she says.

  Maggie smiles affectionately. “It’s nice to meet you, too. It’s great to see Rae has such a good support system here with so many that share the same love and passion.”

  “We plan to keep her as long as she’ll stay,” Greta says, assuring that niggling voice in my head that continues reprimanding my actions.

  “When you’re ready to come out, we’re all interested to see how Blue reacts. Oh, and the best news, we saw all three orca pods this past week.”

  Anticipation makes my eyes grow wide. “Really?”

  She nods, a reflection of excitement shining in her eyes. “And they all seemed to be in good health from what we could see.”

  “That’s amazing. Maggie’s leaving on Tuesday, so after that, I’ll be back.”

  Greta smiles again. “Be sure to say hi to Joel. He’s been worried about you, and I keep telling everyone to leave you alone so you can heal and come back to work.”

  We do. We stop and see Joel and several others, and each meeting is uncomfortable since I have to retell the same shortlist of my physical injuries as well as my even shorter list of memories. Yet somehow, when all is said and done, there’s a sense of comfort in the process, and the fact they still see me the same as before. They fill me in on the new grant we were approved for that will allow us more funds toward the sea lions that continue to be killed along the coast by angry fishermen, who view them as competition to their livelihood.

  We spend the afternoon at home with Grandpa and Camilla, watching Harry Potter four and five, eating a lasagna Camilla brought over with fresh French baguettes Grandpa baked that are still warm.

  It’s perfect, and I never want the day to end. Things are falling back into place, assurances giving me hope.

  And then it all goes to hell with a single text.

  Poppy: I just ran into Paxton. He invited us to go out tomorrow. No excuses. You owe me.

  5

  Lincoln

  If I were a betting man, I’d say the chick in front of me, pressing her body firmly against mine, has breasts as fake as the smile she’s trying to pass on to me. I’ll give her bonus points for attempting to appear genuine, though.

  Her smile. Not her breasts.

  Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against gummy bears. My grandma battled breast cancer when I was twelve and underwent a full mastectomy, followed by breast augmentation. No judging here. But, this chick wants people to notice them, and that’s why her shirt is so low and thin, exposing the full form of her breasts. “Hey, President,” she purrs. “How’s school going?”

  School is the last fucking thing on my mind as of late. Too many contesting thoughts have made classes exceptionally mundane as I work to focus my attention on two things: making sure my game is on point and forgetting about Raegan Lawson. Thankfully, the gym and the field seem to help like a medication, providing me an outlet that dims the temptation to pick up my phone and call her. But that’s not what this girl or anyone else wants to hear. They want me to tell them that my year has been nothing short of perfection, my days filled with classes and my nights with football and workouts, and the girls who ask want to hear I noticed and remember them.

  I also wish this alternate reality was real. But it’s about as real as her breasts.

  I smile. “It’s been great. How has school been treating you?”

  She leans forward, laughing though I haven’t said anything to warrant humor.

  Someone clears their throat, drawing my attention. It’s Poppy. She stares at me, arms crossed over her chest. My knowledge of Poppy could fit on a notecard. She’s Raegan’s best friend. She has a really loud laugh. Her expressions expose her feelings at all times. And, like Raegan, she’s a “good girl.”

  The stranger doesn’t seem deterred, or if she is, her smile doesn’t show it. She’s confident. I like that.

  Or I did.

  The girl in front of me ignores Poppy, and the death glare she’s shooting like daggers.

  “What’s up, Poppy,” I ask.

  “Let’s get something to drink,” Poppy says, reaching forward and snatching my hand. I don’t fight her, lifting a hand to offer a dismissive wave to the girl’s large breasts before turning my gaze forward. She leads us to the kitchen, which is mostly empty, papers taped across the fridge and cupboards warning people out of them.

  Poppy stops and spins to face me, her green eyes bright with an intention that unleashes a bite of my unease that has barely been surface-deep as of late. “Why won’t my best friend tell me what happened between you guys?”


  “Probably because nothing happened.”

  She narrows her eyes, lifting a finger that she points at me. “That’s bullshit. You care about her. I know. I’ve seen it.”

  I chuckle. “Are you part of my fan club, too?” It’s a dick move, but I can’t help myself. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to convince myself of the opposite of everything she’s claiming.

  “You know she wasn’t trying to hurt you, so why are you trying to hurt her?”

  Something inside of me, a timer of sorts, seems to go off. “Because this entire situation proved how impossible it is for us to be together. Her brother’s my best friend. My teammate. My fucking captain. What do you think will happen if he finds out? How do you think that will impact my game? My future?

  “I couldn’t go to the fucking hospital while he was there because I knew it would look too fucking obvious. And I couldn’t call her because I knew he’d be there. Hell, I couldn’t even send a fucking text because I knew their parents would probably see it because she was sleeping so damn much. And that had me realizing that this was only the beginning of sneaking around and lying to everyone.”

  Her stare is quizzical as she remains silent, allowing me to finish my laundry list of reasons that prove things between Raegan and I would end like most Ancient Roman stories: packed with betrayal and heartache.

  “You were willing to take these risks just hours before the accident, so something obviously changed your mind.”

  “Her jumping.” The admission leaves my mouth in two punctuated words, the defining moment where everything in my life seemed to tip from what could be to what is.

  “You feel guilty because she jumped,” Poppy says the words in a whisper like it’s a revelation. A secret.

  “Don’t start with your psychobabble bullshit. I hear enough of that shit at home from Caleb.” I shake my head, working to dislodge the words that keep breathing new embers into my chest, feeding a fire I keep working to smother because it makes me want to break every fucking wall in this house and the next.

  “You should talk to her. She doesn’t remember you being at the hospital at all.”

  Another burst of oxygen blows on the flame. “I wasn’t.”

  She raises her eyebrows and puckers her lips like my words create a sour taste. “I saw you, you idiot. So did Maggie. We made friends with the night nurse, brought her some Chick-fil-A, and she was more than happy to tell us about your nightly visits.” She tilts her chin, annoyance clear. “You should tell her. Even if you’re too afraid to admit you like her as more than a friend, you should at least admit to her that you cared enough to be one when she needed you. She deserves that.” She stares at me, daring me to insist I didn’t show up again. I consider calling her bluff, but that could take us down pathways guaranteed to make this rage inside of me come barreling out.

  Satisfied, she starts to turn around and then stops, her ruffled brow confirming she’s about to deliver more upsetting news. “By the way, I thought you should know that Maggie leaves Tuesday. If you’ve learned anything about Raegan in the past month or so that you’ve been doing … whatever … you’ll know that means something.” She cocks a single brow with a challenge, then turns back toward the crowds and disappears.

  I breathe out a long and heavy sigh. Alcohol feeds fire, yet even with this knowledge, I’m ripping the duct tape that holds the freezer door shut in an attempt to keep people from raiding their food, and dig for a bottle of alcohol. I find a half-empty bottle of whiskey that I grip by the neck and unscrew before bothering with closing the door.

  I drink from the bottle like I’m at my first high school party, chugging the alcohol like I have something to prove. The heat of the drink plucks at the memories of Raegan, like Post-it notes torn from a wall. With each one, I’m forced to relive a memory of her smile, the humor that flashed in her eyes, the vulnerability she entrusted me with. I’m drunk on the memory of her when her voice filters through the past moments I’m burying myself in. She’s less than ten feet away, dressed in long sleeves and jeans though like every party, it’s uncomfortably hot in here. In front of her is a guy I don’t recognize, passing her a glass that she accepts, but lowers. He says something to her, and she smiles, but her eyes wander, and I briefly consider if she’s looking for me before I drop the mostly empty bottle to the counter and make my way over to where she’s now laughing at something he’s said.

  Her eyes land on me, reading my pursuit. She lowers her brows and says something to the guy who turns to look at me as well. I stop in front of them, my shoulder connecting with his. It wasn’t entirely intentional. It’s been a while since I’ve drunk so much.

  “Ben, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, Ben,” Raegan introduces us with a wave of the red Solo cup still in her hand.

  He nods, offering his hand to me.

  I don’t accept his handshake. I know I’d do something douchey like try to squeeze too hard, and I made a pact with myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t be that asshole—especially when I contend for so many other asshole titles.

  “Did you guys meet tonight?” I ask, looking between them.

  “We have a class together.” There’s a warning in Raegan’s tone that has me trying to focus on her.

  “I’m not going to punch him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I tell her.

  Ben blinks several times, trying to catch up to the maze of unspoken words. Luckily, Ben seems to be a smart guy and takes a straight shot of shut-the-fuck-up.

  “We should go. I have to get up early. Ben, it was nice seeing you.” Raegan sets that fucking cup I’ve been watching like a live grenade down and moves to my side where she takes my hand. It causes a chain reaction of conflicting emotions as the fire rages and then quakes at her touch. I follow her through the house and several feet out the front door before she stops and pivots to face me. She looks the way I want to remember her, the way I wish to think about her rather than of the lifeless person being Life Flighted by a helicopter we chased across town, dialing every hospital in an attempt to figure out where they were taking her. Those couple of hours it took until they had her registered and could confirm her location were utter hell—a hell that hasn’t ended.

  The wind blows, pulling her scent and hair toward me as I trace over each inch of her, searching for any sign of the accident again.

  “I’m fine,” she bites, standing a little straighter.

  I’m about to fire back, match Raegan’s attitude with my own, but before I can, a guy bumps into her, making her stumble. I reflexively reach out, balancing her as I pull her closer. The guy laughs, saying something to his friends who are nearby. He’s not sober, but he’s not drunk. He’s just an asshole.

  “Hey,” I growl.

  He looks at me and stops, his jaw going slack and his eyes wide. “You’re the President.”

  “You just ran into my friend.”

  “What?” he asks, looking around and then at Raegan. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t see you. I was just trying to—”

  I grab the front of his shirt in my fist. I want to hit him. I’ve never wanted to punch someone so badly in my life. Yet, just as quickly as I pull my arm back, Reagan’s reading my intentions and moving so I can’t strike him without potentially hitting her as well.

  I release my grip on his shirt and shove him backward, watching him stagger several feet. The contact provides only a sliver of the satisfaction I was seeking.

  Raegan gasps, grabbing my hand again, her attention on the asshat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says. I want to dispute her words, tell this asshole that I’m not even a little sorry for my actions, then prove the point by drilling my fist into his face.

  But before I can react, Raegan’s tugging me forward.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Taking you home. You’re drunk.”

  “He ran into you.”

  She stops trying to pull me forward, her eyes connecting with mine. “That shouldn’t matter to you, jus
t like it shouldn’t matter if I talk to some guy.”

  “There’s a handbook for all these situations?”

  “Yes. It’s called common sense. Get some.”

  “I didn’t do or say anything.” My voice is exasperated. “I came over and said hello.”

  “You wouldn’t even shake his hand. You looked like a complete asshole.”

  “Who cares? I’m never going to see the guy again.”

  “You can’t treat people like they’re disposable. He matters, and that guy you shoved matters.”

  I tear my hand free. “Oh, God. Stop. Please.” I place both of my hands on my head. I can’t accept a speech right now about ethics or morals, not when my entire life has been twisted and turned upside down over the last couple of months.

  She huffs, folding her arms over her chest. “You need to go home. You’re going to do something stupid and have to pay for it on the field.”

  “Doesn’t your handbook tell you not to care?”

  Raegan narrows her eyes, glaring at me.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  “After all this, you’re still fucking filtering yourself.”

  Her nostrils flare, and her lips flatten. “I can’t believe I never recognized how big of an asshole you are.”

  I hold her stare, a thousand words fighting to be strung together in offerings of excuses and blame, promises and lies. “Why can’t I just be your friend?” I ask her.

  She winces like the words are an assault. “Because I don’t want to be your friend.”

  She doesn’t say why, and I don’t ask. Neither of us is ready to cross that bridge.

  “Just get in my car. Let me take you home.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like something a friend would do.” I bait her.

  “Will you just walk?”

  I remain rooted in place, her hair blowing across her face. She reaches up to slide the loose strands behind one ear, the edge of a cut a stark contrast against her light skin. Reason doesn’t have a voice. I’m not sure reason even has thoughts because before I realize what I’m doing, I’m grasping her arm and pulling her shirt up so I can see the entirety of the cut that had been covered each time I’d seen her in the hospital. I had no idea what caused it, but I sure as shit didn’t except a wound of this size to be hiding beneath.