The Aubrey Rules

by Aven Ellis

  “We obviously informed Evan of the situation,” Tom says. “As your notes indicated you’re using Beckett to advance your career.”

  “Bullshit,” I yell, leaping up from my chair. “There is no such note like that in my entire journal. This is an invasion of my privacy. And you’re interfering with my relationship with Beckett. I won’t tolerate this. I won’t. She read my journal and copied it, and that’s a violation of my privacy.”

  “You keep saying journal,” Mallory says, pretending to be confused. “There’s only this file, Aubrey. Here, take a look.”

  I take the folder with a shaking hand and flip it open. Bile rises in my throat as I see my handwriting on the photocopies. But . . . wait. They’re altered. Only certain rules appear, and my notes and amendments are gone, they’re all gone!

  “Aubrey, as you can see, we had to make Beckett aware of this situation as it puts ChicagoConnect in a very negative light. That you would date a client with the goal of advancing your career is unacceptable.”

  “You showed this to Beckett?” I whisper.

  “Yes, and he didn’t take it well,” Mallory says. “Beckett was devastated. As you can imagine, reading about how socially awkward you thought he was, how serious he was, how you had strict rules for dating him—”

  I slam the folder down on the desk in rage. “You fucking bitch. You read my journal and altered my entries. And you did this to torpedo my career here because you are threatened by any woman who won’t put up with your crap.”

  “That’s enough, Aubrey,” Tom says.

  “No, it’s not!” I roar. “The fact that you took her word without consulting me about this file is bullshit. The fact that you can’t see through Mallory is bullshit. But most of all, the fact that you went to the man I love and tried to ruin everything between us is reprehensible.”

  I turn to Stuart, who is staring at me with bug eyes.

  “Don’t worry about terminating me. I fucking quit. I won’t work someplace as screwed up as this,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll come back for my things. But right now I need to see Beckett.”

  I walk toward the door, but before I leave, I turn and face all three of them.

  “By the way, I found my journal in your trashcan, Mallory.”

  Mallory goes white. Tom furrows his brow. And Stuart’s bug eyes get even bigger.

  “That’s right. I have it. With all my real entries. But I don’t care about sharing that with you all right now.”

  “Aubrey, pl—” Stuart says.

  “No. Beckett is my priority. God knows what you’ve twisted this into and presented to him,” I say, and I feel bile rise again at what Beckett must be thinking.

  “Just—” Tom begins, an expression of panic sweeping over his face.

  “No, I’m done with all of you. Oh, and Tom, you’ve been had. Stuart, why don’t you check Mallory’s Internet uses and charges on her corporate credit card? Because I don’t think looking at tiles eight hours a day and charging expensive spa packages as ‘client gifts’ for herself is appropriate.”

  Mallory gasps. Tom appears as if he’s about to vomit. And Stuart is probably seeing signs of a lawsuit flash in his HR eyes.

  But I don’t care about any of them.

  Beckett, I think, tears stinging my eyes. What is Beckett thinking?

  I turn and flee, as I need to get to him. If Beckett thinks I was deceiving him, that I didn’t like him for who he was, if I wasn’t genuine—

  If I wasn’t genuine.

  Oh, God. If Beckett were to read these twisted words and think they were mine as presented . . .

  A lump swells in my throat. Mallory said he was devastated. Beckett thinks I lied to him. He thinks I was using him—

  I have to get to him.

  I have to tell him the truth.

  And I’m doing it right now.

  Chapter 31

  The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #31: Relationships take work. You have to listen. Have patience. Express your own needs and make them clear. Show respect. Remember love above all else.

  **Note** Sometimes love isn’t enough, is it?

  I’m in tears while I wait for Beckett to come out after practice. I pace the hallway outside the Buffaloes’ dressing room, anxiously tugging on my Chicago Buffaloes ID on my lanyard, desperate to see Beckett and tell him the truth.

  I’m tormented by everything I’ve ever written in my journal. Why did I think I needed all these rules? Ever since I’ve met Beckett, I’ve done nothing but break them. I always thought my rules would keep me in line, keep me safe, and protect me from making mistakes.

  They were my guide for living.

  But I wasn’t living until I fell in love with Beckett.

  With Beckett, I learned you can’t go off a checklist or rule book when falling in love. Well, you can, but sometimes your heart tells you something different.

  And my heart did.

  I didn’t want the man my rules carved out for me. I wanted the hockey player my rules said I should run from. My client, who I never should have seen as a romantic interest. The man who was shy. Quiet. One who calms me and makes me feel secure. One who loves me with all my impossible, annoying flaws. One who on the surface appeared all wrong for me, but was actually the love of my life.

  I hear the door open, and I turn around, praying it’s Beckett.

  But it’s Landy.

  “Landy,” I say, hurrying up to him. “Is Beckett back there?”

  Landy smiles at me, and I can tell Beckett hasn’t said a word to him. But I knew he wouldn’t. Beckett would bury it all inside and focus on being a captain rather than share his own heartbreak in the locker room.

  “Hey, Aubrey, how are you?” Landy says. Then his expression goes serious. “What’s wrong? You’re crying.”

  I can’t find the words to speak. I nod over the lump in my throat, and seeing my distress, Landy goes into action.

  “Stay right here. I’ll get him,” Landy says.

  “Thanks,” I manage to say.

  Landy retreats back to the dressing room, and I stay rooted to the floor, staring at the door, willing Beckett to come out.

  The door opens again, and I hold my breath.

  It’s Beckett.

  He’s dressed in a navy Chicago Buffaloes Hockey hoodie and jeans, his hair still tousled and damp from a shower.

  But the expression on his face shatters me inside.

  Beckett’s eyes—the dark-chocolate eyes that sparkle whenever he sees me—are dead. I see nothing there when his eyes meet mine.

  Nothing at all.

  “Beckett,” I say, my voice breaking as I approach him, “we need to talk.”

  “Outside,” Beckett says quietly. “Not here.”

  I follow him out the side door, to the parking garage. It’s cold and raining outside, and the garage is freezing. But I don’t care. I’d stand on the surface of the Arctic Circle if it meant talking to Beckett.

  He stops and turns around, folding his arms cross his chest.

  “Beck—”

  “How could you do this to me?” Beckett explodes, his eyes desperately searching mine for an answer. “I believed you. I believed every word you said to me, and it was all a fucking lie.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t,” I say, putting my hand out to stop him, but he jerks away from me. “You didn’t see my journal entries in their entirety. Mal—”

  “You wrote those things,” Beckett interrupts angrily. “You think I’m awkward. That I would cheat on you. You wanted to hide me. I was an idiot to think you could like me without some ulterior motive. Which turned out to be to further your career.”

  “You know that’s not true!” I cry, frustrated. “How could you even believe this, Beckett? You k
now me better than anyone else. You know the real me.”

  “Stop saying that!” Beckett roars, his voice echoing in the concrete garage. “I thought I knew you. But I don’t. I don’t know the person who wrote these fucking rules. But I do now. And I don’t like her.”

  My pain gives way to anger, and while a rational part of my brain knows I should be patient with him, I’m not.

  “You know what? This is crap,” I yell at him. “You’re so methodical when it comes to hockey, but with me you’re drawing all kinds of stupid conclusions,” I say, jerking a hand across my face to wipe away the tears. “You know me. And you should know I would never say these things about you now.”

  “So, what, Aubrey? You had a gun to your head when you wrote all this shit about me?”

  “Of course not,” I snap. “But I had written amendments to all the rules. Notes. And they were all about breaking them because of you.”

  “Right. You had to have rules to date me. Otherwise you couldn’t get through being with a painfully serious, awkward guy like me, right?”

  “You’re being an idiot,” I say, my voice shaking. “That’s your own insecurity, Beckett. You can’t see what an amazing man you are, that someone could like you for the real you, so you can’t believe I could see it, either. But I did. I still do. So don’t you dare shove that off on to me.”

  “I’m not doing this,” Beckett says. “I’m more than a page in a rule book. I should be grateful I discovered this now, before I said something I’d regret.”

  It hits me that Beckett is choosing to walk away. He’s not going to believe me, or hear me, or work this out.

  And that infuriates me.

  “So you’ll fight for your teammates on the ice, but you won’t fight for us?” I yell at him, hearing the anguish in my own voice.

  Beckett’s eyes widen in shock, as if I reached out and slapped him. I can tell that accusation hit home. I thrust my hand into my tote and pull out my notebook. I hurl it at him, and it strikes him smack in the middle of his chest.

  “That’s my fucking rule book,” I sob. I can’t hold it back anymore. “The real one, the one Mallory didn’t alter for your benefit. You see, that’s what happened. Mallory photocopied certain pages and edited out my notes on how the rules didn’t work anymore. Go ahead and read it. You’ll be enlightened by my real feelings.”

  I turn around and storm off, the tears streaming down my face as I do.

  “Aubrey!” Beckett calls after me.

  But it’s too late. The damage has been done.

  I whirl around and speak to him for the last time.

  “I broke every rule I ever created because of you,” I say, my voice breaking. “And now you’ve broken my heart.”

  With those words, I leave Beckett behind.

  Forever.

  I reach for another Kleenex, and the last one pops out of the box. Fantastic. I’ve officially cried my way through a brand-new box of tissues, and it’s only seven o’clock at night.

  Maybe it’s a clue it’s time to stop crying over Beckett.

  Beckett.

  The mere thought of his name brings fresh tears to my eyes.

  I have been on an emotional roller coaster since I left him in the parking garage. I’ve sobbed at the thought of losing the man I love. Despaired over the fact that my words—stupid words I scribbled in a journal about impossible rules that I tried to use to define my life—caused him so much pain.

  But then anger followed the initial wave of heartbreak. That Beckett chose to believe photocopies over me. Fury that he wouldn’t hear me out. That the serious captain didn’t follow logic—hearing my version of events, believing in all my words and actions and gestures toward him—and shut me out. Anger at Beckett for not wanting to work through this.

  Yet the anger didn’t last long. I spent all day on the sofa, going over everything in my head, trying to put myself in Beckett’s shoes. I know I hit on his deepest internal fear—that nobody can love him for the man he is off the ice. And with the information he was blindsided with, it made sense to him.

  I wince as I relive the fight. I threw the journal at him out of frustration, but I also hoped he would read my words and see I was telling him the truth. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care if he walked away from hockey tomorrow.

  I’m not in love with Captain Riley.

  I’m in love with Captain Smart Ass.

  I glance at my phone, which has rung non-stop today. I’ve talked to my mom who urged me to come back to Seattle. Livy, who drove up to Milwaukee and spent hours trying to help me sort through it.

  Neither one could console me.

  I told my mom while my heart was broken, my spirit wasn’t. I would create a new life here in Chicago, with a new job. A new home.

  But I wouldn’t say new love.

  Beckett might have broken my heart, but he still has it.

  And he always will.

  At least I can still call Super Stagers and tell them once this home sells, they can find me another one. I can stay in Milwaukee as long as they need me to now that I don’t have a job or a boyfriend.

  Because obviously Beckett won’t want to rent me a condo in his building now.

  Not that he’s told me that. I haven’t heard from Beckett since I walked away from him.

  Another lump rises in my throat at the idea of the man I love hating me. If only Beckett would read the journal and see the way he changed everything in me. That he taught me how to live without the rules. To be brave. To feel with abandon and without constraints.

  To love.

  My phone beeps again, this time alerting me to a new Connectivity message. Although I know Beckett would never use social media to contact me, I can’t help but pick up the phone and have a tiny flicker of hope.

  It’s a PM from Landon Holder.

  I freeze. Landy? Is he going to tell me off for hurting Beckett?

  With dread, I open the message.

  Please call me ASAP. Need to talk to you about Beckett. It’s important.

  I stare at Landy’s cell number in shock. Landy wants to talk to me? About his best friend? Did Beckett say anything to him? He must have. But what?

  What if something has happened to Beckett?

  Panic fills me. I have to talk to Landy. I have to make sure Beckett is okay if nothing else.

  I dial Landy’s cell and wait for him to answer.

  One ring, two rings . . .

  Come on, Landy! Answer the damn phone!

  “Hello?” he finally says.

  “Landy, it’s Aubrey.”

  “Hey, Aubrey, thanks for calling me back,” Landy says. “I know—”

  “Is Beckett okay?” I blurt out. “Is he hurt? Has he been in a car accident? Mugged? Oh, God, he hasn’t been shot or anything, has he? Tell me, Landy! Tell me he’s fine!”

  “Shot?” Landy asks, an incredulous tone in his voice. “What the hell are you talking about? No, he’s physically fine. Why would you go there?”

  I feel my cheeks grow warm. “Well, Chicago has a high crime rate and . . . never mind. He’s okay, though, right?”

  Landy laughs. “I can see why Becks is crazy about you. He said your brain works fast and you go places most people don’t even think of in the course of a single conversation.”

  I pause for a moment. “Landy, Beckett hates me.”

  Landy clears his throat. “Aubrey, I have no business doing this. And Becks will kick my fucking ass for calling you, but you have to work it out with him. Whatever happened, it can be worked out.”

  I’m silent for a moment while I process his words. “He . . . didn’t tell you what happened?”

  “Becks came back in after you left. I waited for him because I knew something was going
on with you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I smile for the first time today. I know Landy is an impossible flirt, but there’s a sweetness underneath the pretty boy, tattooed exterior.

  “Anyway,” Landy continues, “Becks comes in, and I’ve never seen him so . . . crushed. I knew something was up with him at practice because he was super quiet and intense, and he hasn’t been like that since you came on the scene.”

  “He hasn’t?” I ask, surprised.

  “Aubrey, I don’t know any other way to say this, but you’ve given him the freedom to loosen up. Not take everything so seriously. Becks has always had fun on the ice, but now he’s having a life off the ice, too. And he never wanted that until he met you.”

  My heart fills with hope for a brief second, but then I remember Beckett hates me.

  “Landy, he thinks I’m using him,” I manage to get out.

  “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Landy says, “and the truth is, it’s none of my business. I asked him what was wrong and all he said was, ‘I fucked this up. I really fucked this up, Landy.’”

  I gasp. Hope fills me. Did Beckett realize I was telling the truth? Did he read my eyes and believe them over the photocopies?

  “We can work this out,” I say aloud.

  “Hell yeah, you can,” Landy urges. “Talk to him. Don’t let him pull the stoic captain shit on you. You’re a redhead. Something tells me you can go toe to toe with him and get him to listen. And if that doesn’t work, tell him I’ll kick his ass at practice if he continues to be an idiot.”

  I laugh, and Landy does, too.

  “Landy, I think I love you,” I say honestly.

  “Oh, shit, don’t say that.” Landy laughs. “Becks will bury me if he knew you loved me.”

  “I love you like a brother,” I correct.

  Landy laughs. “Okay, that’s fine.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “But we didn’t have this conversation, okay?”