Page 2 of Breaking the Rules
Maybe it was just intimidation.Anyone would feel small under that kind of gaze.
Maybe.
But the thought settled in my gut, heavy and unwelcome: it hadn't felt like he was judging my slap shot or my plus-minus rating.
It had felt like he was...choosing.
Chapter 2
The buzz in the lockerroom hadn't slowed since Henry Emerson’s departure.The guys were still dissecting him—the cut of his suit, the ice in his voice, the way he’d looked at us like we were both players and investment portfolios.
Shay flopped onto the bench beside me, still shirtless, his hair sticking up in sweaty spikes."If I get traded because of that salute, I'm haunting your ass," he told Felix, pointing a finger.
Felix just shrugged, peeling off his chest protector."Haunt me all you want.You'll be living rent-free, and we both know you can't afford that."
"Emerson could," Shay said, waggling his eyebrows."Guy probably tips more than I make in a month."
I chuckled, tugging at the stubborn knot on my skate.The laughter was a good shield, but the knot in my stomach from Henry’s targeted look hadn’t loosened.There’d been something in it—a specific, focused interest that felt like being filed under ‘to be examined later.’
"Charlie."
The voice snapped me out of it.One of the rookies hovered in the doorway, clutching a clipboard like it might bite him."Uh...GM wants to see you.In his office.Now."
A chorus of oooohs and whistles rose instantly.
"Holt's in trouble," Shay sang, banging his locker shut for emphasis."What'd you do, steal Emerson's parking spot?"
"Maybe they're giving you a raise," Felix said, a smirk in his voice."Owner's pet already."
"Shut up," I shot back, trying to sound bored, but my pulse had other ideas, kicking up a notch.
The walk to the GM's office felt about three miles longer than usual.The sterile hallway seemed to amplify every doubt.I knocked once and pushed the heavy door open.
The GM sat behind his massive desk, grinning the way he always did when he was about to sell someone a car they didn't need.And across from him—because apparently my day wasn’t stressful enough—sat Henry Emerson.
He leaned back in the leather guest chair, one ankle resting casually on his knee.The man looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad for controlled danger.
