Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(32)

Rob opens the front door and lingers with it ajar like he’s hoping it’ll help expedite their departure. Cold air rushes inside, but I guess he doesn’t give a shit about our heating bill—or the fact he’s too old to be inviting a college sophomore for sleepovers.

Ignoring him, I hold her gaze. “Call me if you need anything, Ser.”

And then she’s gone.





My floor is clean as fuck. My head is still a mess.

I hit the power switch on the vacuum handle to shut it off, and the whir of the motor fades out. Since Seraphina left, I’ve been too full of restless energy to stay still for longer than a couple of seconds. I’ve washed, dried, and folded every item of clothing I own; changed my sheets; and I just finished angrily vacuuming the entire lower level. Some people find stress cleaning weird, but it keeps me from resorting to other, less constructive coping strategies.

I receive two texts within quick succession, but it’s false hope followed by immediate disappointment. They’re both from girls I haven’t spoken to in months—well before that night at XS. Why they’re both hitting me up now is anyone’s guess.

Alyssa: wyd? let’s meet up.





Jasmine: u busy later?





Mission Control reports zero response down south. My dick is broken. Or maybe my brain is the problem because my cock worked just fine last night when I was thinking about Seraphina.

Then my phone vibrates again with another group text from the team trying to encourage me to join them. Drowning my sorrows sounds tempting, but there’s a risk I’ll do something after like drunk dial Seraphina. Or punch a hole in the wall when I get home, which I was already perilously close to doing after she left.

Plus, I can’t shake the nagging feeling I was supposed to do something else.

As I’m putting the vacuum back inside the hall closet on the main level, footfalls thud on the front step. For a brief, foolish second, I think maybe Seraphina changed her mind and came home early. Then the doorbell rings, and disappointment kicks me in the face.

I open the door to find Reid standing outside. Right… That’s the other thing I was supposed to do.

He nods at me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy winter coat. “Hey, man.”

“Mind coming in for a sec?” I ask. “I have to figure out where Carter left your stuff.”

Reid kicks the snow off his boots before he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My gaze darts around the room in search of his watch, but I have no idea where Chase put it. I forgot Reid was even coming.

I scrub my jaw with my hand. “Do you want a beer? I might have to text him to ask what he did with your watch.”

Ten minutes later, we’re halfway into our bottles of Stella. Per Chase’s text, the watch was sitting on the kitchen counter in plain sight all along. I just happened to miss it—four times. If that doesn’t sum up my mental state, I don’t know what does.

“You look pressed,” Reid remarks.

“Little bit,” I mutter, peeling the label off my beer.

“You going out with the team later?”

“Nah,” I say. “Not feeling it tonight.”

“Wish I could say the same. I could use at least ten drinks after today’s practice.”

My brows lift because I’m usually pretty dialed-in, and I didn’t notice anything on the ice. “Coach Miller up your ass?”

“Miller’s fine. Better than fucking Grady.” He rolls his neck, reaching for his bottle. “It’s hard coming in mid-season like this. A few of the second and third liners haven’t exactly been welcoming. They seem to think I’m the reason they’re not starting.”

Of course they do. Some of the guys on our team are such entitled fucks. They wouldn’t last a day with the pressure of being goalie.

“They’re not starting because they’re not good enough.”

“You and I know that but try telling them.” Reid smirks.

I snort. “I will if you want. I have no problem bringing them back down to reality.”

On the counter where it’s charging, my phone rings with an incoming call. I glance over my shoulder, confused. No one calls me, and for good reason—I never answer.

“Sorry. Hang on.” I push back my chair to retrieve my cell, expecting a wrong number. When I pick it up, the display says Tinker Bell.

Nerves rattled, I swipe to accept the call. “Ser?”

“Ty? Are you there?” Seraphina’s voice is nearly drowned out by pounding bass in the background. It’s hard to tell, but it sounds like she’s crying.

“Tink.” I plug my other ear in an attempt to hear better. “I can’t hear you. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry…” She cuts out. “…loud...” The call cuts out again. “…more quiet.”

Reid catches my eye and jerks a thumb to the front door, giving me a questioning look as if to ask whether he should leave. Grateful he picked up on it, I nod and silently mouth “thank you”.

Trailing behind him, I lock the deadbolt and pace circles in the kitchen, waiting for Sera to continue. Seconds crawl by that feel like hours. The music slowly fades to a more manageable volume, and a door clicks shut on the other end of the line. All I can hear are her gasping breaths, interspersed with sniffles.