Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2

SERAPHINA

I’m not sure whether I should be worried or annoyed. My brother was supposed to meet me at one o’clock to help unpack my vehicle, but I just pulled up to his place and I’m staring at an empty driveway. His black pickup is nowhere to be found.

Confused, I shift my car into park and let the engine idle while I verify the house number. Just like I thought, it matches what Chase texted me. Checking the Maps app further confirms I’m in the right place, so where the heck is he?

As I reach for my phone to call him, it lights up with a message.

Chase: Sorry, Sera. Ran over a nail and my tire is fucked. Be there as soon as I can.

Chase: If you beat me home, go ahead and let yourself in. Code is 4938.

While the delay is decidedly not his fault, I’m still irritated. Not with him, necessarily, but with life in general, or maybe with the universe. Ever since our mother’s cancer diagnosis, I’ve eaten very little, slept even less, and my sanity is hanging on by a thread. Lately, even the most minor inconveniences feel like the end of the world. Can’t one thing go right?

Heaving a sigh, I write him back and set my phone aside. Then I crane my neck, giving my new temporary home a once-over. Towering snow-covered trees frame a gray stucco two-story with sleek black trim, and modern, oversized windows. It looks nice enough from the outside. Let’s pray the inside doesn’t smell like dirty socks and sweaty athletic gear like I suspect. Hockey players are gross, which is why I have some serious reservations about living with three of them. The bathroom situation is probably a nightmare.

I let the ignition run while I sip my decaf vanilla latte, debating whether to let myself inside. Even though Chase claims it won’t be an issue, I’m worried his roommates will resent me for crashing here on zero notice. Not having my brother here makes moving in seem all that much more intimidating—but if he takes a long time, I could be sitting out here in my car for a while.

My phone rings before I can decide what to do. Instead of it being Chase like I expect, it’s Abby. Stifling a yawn, I accept the call using Bluetooth.

“You’re coming out with us tonight, right?” Abby’s high-pitched voice booms over my speaker. I’ve known her since elementary school, and while she’s five foot nothing, her personality is stronger than a shot of straight Everclear. “Kendra and Rachel are coming over at five to pregame.”

“Would love to Abbs, but I have to unpack.”

Abby huffs. “You’re no fun.”

“Let me get settled, and I’ll see.” All this change has left me feeling unnervingly adrift. Back in Arizona, I had a solid group of friends, knew most of my professors, and could navigate the campus blindfolded. It was easy. Comfortable. Familiar.

Now I’m starting all over again.

A vise wraps around my neck, and I swallow another sip of coffee that does nothing to alleviate the tension restricting my throat. On second thought, maybe going out wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would help get my mind off things, if temporarily.

“Come on, Sera.” Abby’s voice climbs. “It’s your first night back and we need to celebrate. You can unpack tomorrow. Plus, there’s an invite-only event at XS, and I can get us on the list. Maybe you’ll see your sexy Devil from Halloween again.”

“Hades,” I correct her, my face heating. The masked guy I hooked up with at a nightclub masquerade ball has reached legendary status within our friend group—probably because he gave me an impressive total of three orgasms during a quickie on the edge of a grimy bar bathroom sink.

“Fine,” she says. “Your sexy Hades.”

“Psh, I doubt I’ll ever see him again. What are the odds of that?” Our encounter fell woefully short when it came to exchanging personal details. The only things I took away from our tryst was that he’s hot (obviously), has lots of tattoos (further adding to the hotness factor), and knows where the G-spot is. Somehow, we didn’t touch on where he lived, where he went to college, or much of anything else—including his name.

In all of my twenty years on this planet, I’ve never done something like that before. Or since, actually.

Either way, I was left with the impression that unlike me, our anonymous hookup wasn’t out of character for him. He probably wouldn’t even remember me. I only wish I could say the same. That night has lived in my head rent-free ever since. Toe-curling, lip-biting, panty-soaking memories I reminisce about late at night when I’m alone in bed with a battery-operated toy in one hand.

“Think it over?” Abby pleads, snapping me out of my dirty daydream. “XS will be way more fun than opening boxes.”

It’s hard to argue with that. As impractical as it would be, a night out sounds a lot more appealing than drowning in a sea of cardboard.

“Sure,” I concede, knowing I shouldn’t. “I’ll come for a while.”

My brother pulls up beside me and gets out of his truck. He strides around the front and raps on my window impatiently, his deep brown eyes fixed on me.

“Let’s go, Sera. I have to leave for practice soon.” His voice is muffled through the glass.

“Gotta run,” I tell Abby, unfastening my seatbelt. “I’ll text you later so we can make plans.”

Ending the call, I slide out of the car and wrap my arms around my torso to combat the bitter wind howling at my back. Note to self: buy a massive winter coat, stat. The bigger, the better.

Chase raises his dark eyebrows. “Let me guess. That was Abby?”

It isn’t really a guess when she talks loud enough to render a megaphone unnecessary.

“Yup.” I press the rear hatch release, watching him in my peripheral vision. He opens his mouth to speak before closing it again without saying anything further. We both know where he stands on the Abby issue. He claims she’s a bad influence, but that’s ironic considering the source.

“Why didn’t you let yourself inside?” he asks, his tone softening. “It’s your home too now.”

“I don’t know. I wanted to wait for you.”

We circle around to the back of my SUV to find the oversized trunk and backseat crammed to the roof, which means we have our work cut out for us. In retrospect, I won’t need glittery cocktail dresses from sorority formals or out-of-season linen pants any time soon. Should’ve left some of it in storage, but it’s too late.

“Brr.” I shiver, bouncing on the spot for warmth. It’s the type of cold you feel right down to your bones. The minute we finish, I’m going to boil myself in an hour-long bath with an audiobook. “Let’s get this over with. If we work quickly, maybe we won’t freeze to death.”

My brother pinches the sleeve of my lightweight white jacket, giving me a withering look. “A real coat might help.”

“I have a hoodie underneath.”

“A windbreaker still won’t cut it in the middle of a Massachusetts winter.”

“Did you forget I’m moving from Arizona? Forgive me if I’m a little ill-prepared.”

“Don’t worry.” He hoists up a large box with a grunt. “I’ll introduce you to Dallas’s girlfriend, Shiv, and you can hit the mall until your credit cards melt. Bailey will be ecstatic to be spared from shopping duty.”

“It’s a deal.” Branching out socially would be a good idea. I love Abby, but she’s a little intense, bordering on overbearing at times, and it bleeds into the dynamic with the rest of our friend group. She also parties seven nights a week, which means hanging out with her requires doing the same.

When we get inside, Chase gives me a quick tour of the main and upper levels, both of which are passably clean. A few video game controllers are strewn around the living room, and someone left a carton of orange juice on the kitchen counter, but the dirty sock smell I’d feared is blessedly absent.

Then we move on to my temporary bedroom. Located off the living area, it formerly served as an office I suspect no one ever used and the glass-panel door leaves much to be desired in terms of privacy. It also lacks a closet, which is a fairly serious deficiency in light of my shopping habits. But the price is right (as in, practically free) and both of those problems can be easily rectified by a trip to IKEA.

As we pass the main floor bathroom, I poke my head in to find only a pedestal sink and toilet. “Um… where’s the shower? Did I miss it?”

“Both of the upstairs bathrooms are ensuites, so the closest shower is on the lower level. You’ll have to share with Ty,” Chase says apologetically. “But don’t worry, he’s not messy.”

Called it. Nightmare bathroom situation confirmed.

After two more trips to unload my car, the lower level is packed with cardboard boxes, reusable shopping bags, and stray items I shoved into the front seat. Mysteriously, my trunk is still as full as when we started.

Overwhelm barrels into me, and my stomach crumples. Now that I’m here, reality is sinking faster than I can process it. I have so much to do in so little time. Unpacking, finishing course registrations, filling out miscellaneous paperwork, handling my change of address, learning my way around an unfamiliar campus, making new friends, attending as many doctor’s appointments with Mom as possible…

“Sera.” Chase gently touches my arm, and only then do I realize I’m crying.

I sniffle, wiping away a stray tear with my finger. “Huh?”

He steps closer and wraps me in a hug, squeezing me tightly against his oversized frame. “I know it’s a lot to deal with. I’m here, and we’re going to do all we can as a family. But if I’m late for practice, Coach Miller will have my ass so let’s keep this moving.”

This is his nice way of telling me to suck it up. Unlike him, I wasn’t blessed with expert level compartmentalization skills. Any worries I have inevitably bleed into all areas of my life, hanging over my head until they resolve or blow up in my face.

I laugh-sob into his shoulder. “Okay.”

“Have you eaten? Did you take your meds?” Chase releases me and holds me at arm’s length, giving me a concerned once over.

“Yes, and yes.” It’s half true. Technically, I haven’t eaten—unless liquid breakfast counts—but I did remember to take my ADHD medication.

He nudges an overstuffed Lululemon tote with the toe of his white sneaker. “Good. We can order dinner later. Unpacking is gonna take you a while, though. You have enough blow dryers and curling irons to start your own salon.”

“It’s called self-care, Chase.” My extensive collection of professional hair tools is worth every penny. Besides, you can’t put a price tag on feeling good. Not a small one, at least.

“Sure.” He smirks, and his gaze falls to the pile of gigantic men’s shoes in the entry, recognition glancing across his face. “Hold on a sec, I didn’t think anyone was home.”

Brushing past me, he strides over to a closed door next to the stairs and yanks it open. He cups his mouth with his hand, leaning through the doorway. “Yo, Ty! You here? Come give me a hand bringing everything inside.”

Trepidation seizes hold of me. While I’ve known Dallas for years, Chase’s other roommate is a complete mystery.

Turning back to face me, Chase gestures with his keys. “We’ll finish unpacking your car while you organize stuff in your room. That way you can stay inside where it’s warm, snowflake.”

Wait a minute. Who’s he calling a snowflake?

The front door slams shut behind him before I can formulate a sassy retort. It’s impossible to match his level of verbal agility. I’ve been trying ever since I learned how to talk.

Hanging up my jacket, I scan the room and try to prioritize my next sequence of tasks. Should I begin by unpacking my clothes or shoes? Or maybe I should start with my makeup stash. I have a bunch of new products I haven’t unboxed yet.

Am I obsessing over minor details to distract myself from all the things in my life I can’t control? Yes. Will I continue to do so? Also yes.

Heavy footsteps echo in the downstairs stairwell. Nerves spiking, I glance up as a guy steps through the open doorway. He’s tall, with full-sleeve tattoos on both arms visible from a distance.

Our eyes lock and I freeze, clutching a hot pink Lululemon duffel bag in one hand.

Holy hell. My new roommate is hot enough to melt the ice on a rink. Piercing slate-gray eyes; a strong, square jawline; and a full, slightly sulky mouth. His sandy hair is cropped short at the sides, tousled on top in a way that invites you to rake your fingers through it.

Forget everything I ever said about hockey players being unappealing. He’s the very definition of appealing.

Something about him is also strikingly familiar, but I can’t place what it is.

My focus lingers on his face before drifting lower, methodically searching for some sort of identifying characteristic. A black fitted T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and clings to his lean, V-shaped torso, the sleeves showcasing sinewy biceps and forearms. Gray joggers emphasize his thick hockey thighs; that one’s to be expected, since Chase said he’s a goalie.

Catching myself blatantly checking him out, I force my eyes back up to meet his. He draws closer, running a hand through his hair, drawing my attention to the dark, ornate designs that run all the way along the length of both muscular arms. My gaze snags on the compass etched onto the back of his hand, and my heart comes to a screeching halt.

That tattoo. I remember it.

He might’ve been wearing a mask the night we met, but I’d recognize those hands anywhere.

Hades.