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The Rules We Broke
publish date:
2026-10-19 13:52:29
Latest chapter
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term The Things Fathers Know
SLOANERiley was sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed with a heating pad on her lap and the expression of a woman who had been waiting since 9:26 p.m."Close the door," she said.I closed the door."Lock it."I locked it."Sit."I sat on the edge of the bed in last night's green dress. She looked me up and down very slowly, from the tangled hair to the snow-stained hem to the heels hanging from two fingers."Your dress is on inside out," she said.I looked down. The seams were facing out. The zipper was on the wrong side."Oh, fuck.""How long have you been downstairs like that?"I did the math. The kitchen. Victoria. Dad and the orange juice. Brittany and her suitcase. Twenty minutes of concealer. The rules. The oat milk."An hour," I said faintly."Who saw you?""Everyone. Everyone saw me. Victoria. My father. Brittany Calloway." I put my face in my hands. "Brittany looked right at me and said 'analytics.'""Brittany Calloway saw your dress on inside out and chose mercy?" Ri
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term The Rules We Broke
SLOANEVictoria was at the kitchen island in a silk robe, holding a coffee, looking at me.I was in last night's green dress, holding my heels, with snow on my ankles and, I was fairly sure, a throw-pillow seam still printed on my face.Neither of us spoke.The coffee maker gurgled. The clock on the stove said 6:41. Outside the window over the sink, the sky was going from gray to pink over the hedges, and over the hedges was the pool house, and in the pool house there was absolutely nothing for her to see, except that we'd left the lights on, which meant there was everything for her to see."Good morning," Victoria said."Morning.""You're up early.""Couldn't sleep.""In the dress.""It's a very comfortable dress.""You're holding your shoes.""They're very uncomfortable shoes."She took a slow sip of her coffee and didn't say anything else, which was worse than anything she could have said.Then the basement door opened. Chase walked in.He was wearing last night's suit pants, last
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term The Secret on Paper
SLOANENeither of us said anything for a long time.Then he laughed. Quietly. Into my hair."What?" I said."You traced it." His fingers moved slowly along my spine. "The tattoo. You traced the whole thing. Twice.""It's well done. Tank has a gift.""You traced her hair three times.""I was checking the texture.""You were checking the texture," he repeated, and the way he said it, warm and wrecked and so fond, made something in my chest crack open all over again."Chase.""Mm.""What did your mother lie to you about?"His hand stopped on my back."I texted you," he said finally. "Last Saturday. After the steakhouse. Nothing came up under it.""I blocked you.""I know you blocked me. I sent it anyway." He took a breath. "I have a brother. Owen. He's seventeen. And a sister. You've met her. And a stepmother who's been sending me Christmas cards since I was five that I never got."I lifted my head."Kira Walsh," he said.The blue light rippled over his face."Kira," I said. "Kira from t
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term Beneath the Blue Light
SLOANEHe stood up and took me with him. Just scooped me off the sectional like I weighed nothing, my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. His cock pressed hard against my bare ass."Where are we going?""Bar.""*The bar?* Chase, that's where your mother keeps the good gin.""Then the gin's going to see some things." He carried me across the room. "She put a bar in the pool house, Sloane. She put a wine fridge in the laundry room. She's a woman of priorities."He set me down on it. A long counter in honey-colored teak, the edge of it hitting right at his hips. Cold under me.I yelped. “It’s freezing.”“It’s teak.”“I don’t care what species of tree it is, Chase, it’s *February*.”He grabbed a folded pool towel off the shelf behind the counter and slid it under me with one hand, lifting me with the other, the way he’d lift a stick off the rack. Efficient. Easy. Like he’d planned it.“Better?”“You *planned* this.”“I’ve had weeks of nothing to do but skate and think.” He eas
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term All Night, No Hiding
SLOANEHe kissed me like he was trying to memorize the shape of it.No rush. No teeth. Just his mouth on mine, slow and open, like we had a hundred years and he’d decided to spend the first one right here. I got two buttons undone. Then three. My fingers kept slipping because he kept doing this thing with his tongue that made my brain stop sending signals to my hands—deep, deliberate strokes that made heat pool low in my belly.“You’re terrible at this,” he murmured against my lips.“You’re distracting me.”“I’m kissing you.”“That’s the distracting part.”He smiled against my mouth. Then he sat back on his heels, right there between my knees, and undid the rest of the buttons himself. One at a time. Not fast. Watching me watch him. The hard line of his cock pressed against the front of his pants, already thick and obvious.The shirt came off his shoulders.And I saw it.I'd felt it under my palm on Brittany's bed an hour ago. I'd traced the edges of it through cotton. But I had never
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term The Longest Held Breath
SLOANEDownstairs, someone had turned the music up.Motown. Somebody laughing too loudly. Glasses clinking. The party was trying very hard to forget that the captain of the Vancouver Titans had just publicly ended things with a model in the middle of his mother's toast and walked out. Forty people pretending they hadn't seen anything. Victoria would be managing it. I could picture her smile from here.Up here, it was just us.Chase had stopped crying a while ago. He was still leaning into me, his face in the curve of my neck, breathing slow and wet against my skin. My collar was soaked through. His hand was still fisted in the back of my dress like he thought I might evaporate if he let go.I hadn't moved my hand from between his shoulder blades. I could feel the tattoo through his shirt. Not the lines, just the warmth of the skin there, and his heartbeat underneath it, finally slowing down."This is Brittany's room," I said.He laughed. Hoarse and wrecked, right into my neck. "Yeah."
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term Collision Course
SLOANERevenge tasted like shirtless pettiness and the faint scent of cedar body wash.I was starving for anything that wasn’t Victoria’s artfully plated grilled salmon, so I’d claimed the kitchen while the happy couple was out “finalizing wedding details.” The massive marble island gleamed under r
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term Morning After
CHASEThe bed was empty when I woke. Sheets tangled, pillow still dented from where she’d collapsed. Amber—Ashley?—had ghosted around 3 a.m., heels clicking softly down the hall like she thought stealth was an option. It wasn’t. Thin walls go both ways.Sunlight sliced through the curtains like a
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term Thin Walls
SLOANEDinner had been a declaration of war. Now I was dragging my suitcases up the curved staircase to the second floor, Victoria trailing behind with apologies about “the best room available” and promises of “plenty of space for everyone.”The hallway stretched long and quiet, cream walls, dark
Hate Should Be A Hockey Term The Shift
SLOANEThe Hartley place screamed money the second we pulled up—sleek modern lines, two-and-a-half stories of glass and stone, the kind of house that cost more than most people’s entire lives. It smelled like fresh rosemary and old wealth when we stepped inside.Dad and I hauled our suitcases from
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