Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection)

by A. M. Johnson

  He chuffed. “Not likely.”

  I ignored him. “You never know…”

  “No, thank you.” He stretched his injured hand and winced.

  “That looks bad.”

  “Hurts like a motherfucker…”

  I smirked. “Good.”

  “Now who’s being a dick?”

  “You gonna be able to hold your stick tomorrow?” I asked.

  His thumb looked jacked, but knowing Bryson, he’d downplay it.

  “I’m fine. But what about you? I thought you were gonna start crying on the bench after that hit.”

  I avoided his eyes as I regurgitated his words. “I’m fine. It’s not like I’ve never been hit hard before.”

  “About that picture…”

  He snickered and gave me a goofy-ass grin.

  “Bryson, I swear to God, go back to your seat, I want to try to sleep off some of this pain.”

  His smile fell. “You gonna be able to play tomorrow?”

  My lips settled into a flat line. “What the hell do you think?”

  He stood and moved to the seat in front of me. He tapped his fist lightly on the headrest, and before he sat down he said, “Hardcore, Melo, always have been. It’s why I like you.”

  “I thought you liked me for my rack.” I waggled my brows and he frowned.

  “Go to sleep, idiot.”

  Bryson was rattling off stats about San Jose to our left winger when I finally closed my eyes. My stomach dropped as the plane climbed to its cruising altitude, and when I began to doze off, it wasn’t the image Stevie had sent me that occupied my thoughts. It was what the picture represented. I was thinking about it all too hard, but I liked how she’d made herself vulnerable for me. Did something totally out of her comfort zone to make me happy. And that was pretty fucking cool in my book.

  The noise of the cabin faded, and the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep was how, for the first time in months, I felt totally content.

  The next morning I was still reeling from the previous night’s text messages from Mark. I’d never been a girl to strip down naked and take a picture, let alone send it in a text. The Internet was forever, but he’d deleted it, like I’d figured, or more like hoped he would. I trusted Mark. You didn’t have to know a guy for months or years to know if they were a good person. That’s one thing I’d inherited from my mom, the ability to read people and see through bullshit. A trait that had saved Ben and me a few times back when we’d been building our clientele at the firm in Richmond. Shady people, they were shifty, tight-spined, and gave off the impression the world owed them something. Entitlement stunk, and I could smell it from at least a mile away.

  Mark wasn’t entitled. He was laid back, fun, and open. A guy like him, a successful, professional athlete, had a lot to lose when it came to his image. He hadn’t held back with me. He wasn’t hiding me behind some velvet VIP rope where no one would see us, and the fact he trusted me already made it much easier for me to give into the feelings I was developing. He was a good guy. Mark made me want to “live a little” like Reagan had suggested when I’d told her that I’d planned to send him a “not suitable for work” picture. And when I’d taken the picture, when I’d hit send with shaking fingers, it was confirmation enough that I was ready to explore this new side of myself. The side that was dating a younger, tattooed, and way too good with his hands, hockey player.

  It wasn’t until after lunch that I finally stopped overanalyzing everything and fell into my usual work-day routine. Alec had stepped back, allowing me to work on the Bruin Brothers account with hardly any supervision. I’d been nosing through their tax–deductible purchases all morning. Income tax season was fast approaching, and after Christmas, Alec had assured me I’d be so busy I’d start to dream about credits and write offs. I’d dream in numerical sequence every night if I had to. I was ecstatic to finally have a chance to prove to myself I could do this on my own.

  “When you come up for air, you might want to take a look at this.” David’s sing-song voice made me smile as I lifted my eyes from the spreadsheet I’d been staring at for the past thirty minutes.

  He was standing in my doorway, impeccably dressed in tailored Burberry slacks and a light beige V-neck sweater, waving what looked like an air-express mail envelope in his hand.

  “Looks important,” he quipped, his light eyes twinkling at the corners.

  I used the interruption to stand and stretch my legs. “Bruin Brothers?” I asked, eyeing the envelope as he walked toward me.

  “Nope,” he said with a sly grin, and I was distracted by the sound of my phone vibrating against the top of my desk.

  I looked at the lit lock screen and Mark’s name flashed in bold. I didn’t want it to go to voicemail. He’d told me his time was limited on road trips, and I liked that he saved some of it for me. David leaned over my desk. “Answer it.”

  “Thanks, give me a second?” I asked with a wave of my hand. A not-so-subtle dismissal.

  I picked up my phone as David dropped the express mail down in front of me. “I want all the details…” He darted his gaze to the envelope and then to the phone in my hand. “You know where to find me.” His smile was devious as he turned to leave.

  Once David had closed my office door, I answered the call.

  “Hey.”

  “I was worried I’d get your voicemail.” Mark’s voice was warm and gruff and a little breathless. “We just finished with practice, and I only have a few minutes before Maddox hauls us in to watch game tape.”

  “What time do you play tonight?”

  “Puck drops at seven. Ten your time. Kind of late for a work night. If you can’t watch—”

  My laugh was soft as I said, “I’d watch if the game started at one in the morning. I’m addicted and it’s all your fault.”

  His chuckle heated my cheeks and stirred the butterflies in my stomach. “Addicted enough to fly out on a plane and watch me play in L.A.?”

  I wished.

  I’d never been west of the Mississippi river. If it wasn’t for my brand new mortgage payment, I’d jump on the first jet out of here. Unfortunately, being a single adult sucked and was damn expensive, too.

  “Sure. Let me crack open my piggy bank,” I teased, keeping a smile in my tone, hiding my disappointment. His lifestyle wasn’t something I’d ever be able to afford.

  “How about you open your mail instead?”

  My eyes fell to the air express envelope sitting on my desk. “Mark?” I paused as I lifted it and read the sender’s information. “What did you do?”

  “Open it.” As I pulled the strip open on the back of the package, he said, “I’ll be busy, Stevie, but if you fly out Saturday morning, by the time you get here, practice and shit will be over. We can run around town if you want, sightsee, have dinner with the team, and then we’d have the whole night to chill.”

  My heart was beating all the way to the tips of my fingers as I pulled out a plane ticket along with a pass to his game on Sunday night against Los Angeles.

  “Mark…” I stumbled over his name. “This is too much, I can’t—”

  Mark’s voice dropped to a velvet calm. “That plane ticket is pocket change for me. I know for most people it’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth.” I almost snorted. A nonstop, first-class flight. Pocket change. “I can hear you freaking out… stop. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  I shook my head, my smile spreading at his nonchalant tone. “I won’t be a distraction?”

  “Only the good kind.” He laughed, and I exhaled the breath I was holding. “It’s only a weekend. That ticket will have your fine ass safely back on the plane in time for work Tuesday morning.”

  Tuesday.

  “I’ll have to ask Trent if I can have Monday off, I hope the ticket is refundable because it’s busy and—”

  “You have Monday off,” he said matter-of-fact. “Trent is a reason
able guy when you bribe him with a few rink-side seats.”

  I choked on an inhale. “What?”

  Mark’s laughter was distant as if he pulled the phone away. I heard him mumble, “Give me a second” to someone. Meanwhile, my pulse had spiked to an all-time high. He took a deep breath. “That picture you sent last night… I want the real thing.”

  “You know you could’ve saved yourself the trouble and just Skyped me.”

  My laugh was more of the nervous variety and he keyed in on it as he assured me, “It’s just a weekend.”

  I’d gone from wading in the kiddy pool to deep-sea-diving overnight. It was only a weekend, but in comparison to how long we’ve known each other, a weekend was a lot. We hadn’t even slept together yet, literally and sexually speaking.

  “I’ve been told I’m a bed hog.” I added to my list of cons.

  “I hope so,” he answered with another chuckle.

  “Just a weekend?”

  “Melo, come the fuck on already, we don’t have all goddamn day,” another booming male voice yelled, and I heard Mark exhale noisily into the phone before he said, “I have to go. If staying the weekend makes you uncomfortable, I can refund the ticket, alright, but think about it, if I was home this weekend, where would you be?”

  His confidence was remarkable. I couldn’t predict the future, but if I thought about it, if he was here, I’d want to spend as much time with him as possible. And, he was right, if I was sitting in his apartment this weekend, I’d be hoping for a repeat of our last date, and possibly more. Los Angeles was just a zip code change.

  And a pricey flight without a way to head home at the end of the night…

  In truth, I hadn’t wanted to go home the other night anyway.

  “Should I pack something nice to wear for this team dinner?” I surrendered.

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded to no one in particular, a slow smile spreading across my cheeks. “Pocket change, right?”

  He chuckled again. “Right.” He was quiet for a few seconds and I let this crazy idea steep. “I’ll text you specifics when I get back to the hotel tonight.”

  “You have to win tonight. I don’t want to fly all the way out to Los Angeles and get stuck spending the weekend with a bunch of grumpy guys.”

  “Grumpy guy,” he amended. “I’m only subjecting you to these idiots for a couple hours. And if we lose, I’ll let you lick my wounds.”

  A laugh tipped my head back. “You’ll let me, huh?”

  He whispered, “I’m at your mercy, babe.”

  When it came to Mark, I was like Alice, falling fast and hard down the rabbit hole. My eyes fell to the tickets in my hand. It seemed I was at his mercy, too. “Play hard, kick some ass or whatever hockey players like to hear, I’ll be here cheering, either way.”

  “Play hard works.” He laughed. “Saturday…”

  I closed my eyes allowing honest words to part my lips as I whispered, “Can’t wait to see you.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Indeed, hockey was going to be the death of me. I was not a puck aficionado and even I could tell both teams had played sloppy last night. The final score, five to six. Mark’s team had won by the skin of their teeth. Their coach had pulled the goalie in the second period after he’d allowed three goals into his net, and as much as I hated to admit it, if it wasn’t for the backup guy, they might’ve lost the game. At lunch, Trent and Alec had been arguing over whether hockey was more of a mental or physical game, and I’d rallied on the side with Trent. Hockey relied on both. Last night, Mark’s goalie had lost his mental battle, or it had appeared that way, at least. Alec ranted about how Karlsson “couldn’t shut his five hole to save his own damn life” and how he was “outmatched against the San Jose lines.” I’d sat there quietly eating my turkey sandwich, feeling out of my depth but grateful they’d won. I couldn’t imagine what that guy Karlsson was feeling today. When Mark’s team was on the ice, if I didn’t pop a blood vessel cheering I’d probably die by anxious asphyxiation, if that was even a thing, and I wasn’t even a player.

  After a night like that, this day crawled, dragging me behind with it. The excitement had died down and the wait had begun. It was three o’clock, and I wished it was tomorrow morning already. Mark had promised to try and finish up with practice in enough time to pick me up himself at LAX, but assured me he’d send a car if he couldn’t.

  Every second that ticked by equated to one hour. I was too preoccupied by all the possibilities—the outcomes—this weekend had to offer. Combing through the latest batch of Bruin Brothers purchases was the last thing I wanted to do. I was mindlessly tapping my pen on the desk when my boss walked into my office.

  “You all set for this weekend?” he asked with his signature charming smile.

  His blond hair ruffled through his fingers as he plopped down into the chair across from me with a long, exaggerated exhale.

  “I am. Thank you, Trent, for letting Mark bully you into giving me Monday off.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not a problem. I’ll let him bully me for hockey tickets any day.”

  He ran his hand through his hair again and I raised my eyebrows. “What’s up? You seem frazzled.”

  His tie was askew, his hair mussed and not in an on purpose sort of way, and I might’ve gasped at the wrinkles in his shirt if it wouldn’t have been overly dramatic to do so. Trent was a put together kind of guy. Pressed and starched and handsome as hell. Never a hair out of place.

  He stared at me as if gauging whether or not he was going to trust me with an answer. His shoulders sagged. “Remember that account I was telling you about…”

  “The big audit?”

  He nodded. “I’m in crisis mode, Stevie. This is one of our biggest clients, and this audit, it makes us look bad. Their finance guy was recently fired after they found out he’d been screwing with their books, maybe even taking a little off the top. Fake purchases, falsified documentation. Daniel is worried we might be in a shit load of hot water. Maybe we didn’t pay enough attention. Either way, they’re depending on us to keep the IRS off their backs.” Daniel Elm was Trent’s partner here at the firm. He was a surly older guy who never spoke much and I was okay with that. He was always frowning and ordering people around. I stuck with David mostly, but Trent and Alec were closer to my age and much less intimidating. Elm had partnered with Trent after Mr. Byron, Trent’s father, passed away a few years ago.

  He leaned forward in the chair resting his elbows on his knees. He raised tentative eyes to mine. “I had our lawyer come in and assess the damage, looks like we’re going to need a lot more help than I previously thought to work through this crap show.”

  “Put me to work, I’m ready Trent.”

  He swallowed and shifted his gaze to the floor. “I know, and I’m happy to have your capable hands on deck, Stevie, but I’m thinking we need to look outside the firm, get some fresh eyes. Daniel has a few associates coming in to help, and I’ve…” He sat up straight and squared his shoulders, his eyes finding mine. “I’ve asked Ben if he’d be willing to help.”

  My lips were numb, the first sign I’d stopped breathing. The light of the room had tunneled in around Trent, making everything seem fuzzy at the edges. Dread seeped into my stomach. Ben… that was a horrible idea. No, horrible was not a sufficient enough word for how bad this was… how about catastrophically freaking awkward.

  I took a few short breaths through my nose before I asked, “What did he say?”

  Surely he would be too busy, his firm was small, but always busy, especially during this time of year.

  “He said yes.”

  Yes.

  The air in my office was impenetrable as I tried to pull in a breath.

  “We’re obviously going to compensate him for his time, match the wages he’d usually earn, as well as a pretty sweet housing set up.”

  “H-housing,” I stuttered. “How long will he be here?”

  Panic beaded acros
s my forehead in the form of sweat. I didn’t hate Ben, he’d once been my best friend, but when we divorced, I’d expected a clean break. Having him here complicated so many things. I was finally starting to get my feet wet and having my ex-husband around, hovering, wasn’t ideal. I wanted my own life, I’d given him thirteen years, and I’d thought I was getting a new beginning.

  “He’s set to come the week before Christmas. Ben said he could give us three months. That gives us plenty of time to get all of our ducks in a tidy row. The apartment building Daniel owns will have an opening then, as well. So it all works out nicely, I think.”

  Nicely for you.

  Three months was an eternity.

  Trent gave me a meek smile and guilt soured inside my stomach. I was being a selfish brat. Trent had brought me in, under Ben’s advisement, and I was sulking like a tween. Three months wasn’t that long, and I wouldn’t necessarily be working one-on-one with him anyway.

  “I know this isn’t ideal, considering…” He held up his hand gesturing in my direction. “You should know, Ben was worried about how you’d feel.”

  Suddenly my throat felt hot and tight. “He was?”

  Trent leaned to the edge of his chair. “He really was, he almost told me no. He said you’d wanted time, and he didn’t want to throw a wrench in that.” He chuckled. “But then I told him you’d already started dating, and he didn’t have to worry about time. After that, he agreed to everything right away.”

  Ben knew I was dating, and he didn’t care. Maybe this wouldn’t be awkward after all.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “This has the potential to be a train wreck,” I conceded.

  “I’ll keep you busy with current accounts while we work on the audit. Would that work?”

  I exhaled and sank against the back of my chair. “I think it’s the only way to make it work.”

  I would’ve loved the experience of a large-scale audit like this, but giving me a few current accounts was undeniably a great way for me to show my skills, as well as show Trent and Daniel I was a good investment. I wanted them to look at me as a valuable colleague and not the accountant they’d taken on as a favor to a friend.