Page 101 of Ruthless Game

I never, ever drank. My father had been a drunk—in the end, it’s what killed him. It also exacerbated what a mean son of a bitch he’d been, and I had no interest in traveling down his path.

But I needed to get Emma’s broken sobs out of my head, the shocked look on her face out of my mind. The way she’d jerked like I’d shot her when I called her a whore.

She’d lied, betrayed me, and become a good as-fuck actress, and I wanted nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the sharp pain in my chest that made me feel like I was dying. Aside from jumping off a cliff or giving myself a lobotomy, alcohol seemed like the only way to block all that shit out.

I sat in the room the Schwartzes had lent me. I didn’t belong here. The season was over, I’d graduated that morning, and there was nowhere for me to be until I started Reina University in the fall. I had nothing to my name, and nothing to live for. Not in a suicidal way, but I’d never felt so down in my life. Losing Emma was by far the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I’d been abused, abandoned, and had drowned and died as a kid.

Someone knocked on the door. For a moment, my heart stopped. Was it Emma? Could⁠—

“It’s Jeffrey,” my host brother said on the other side of the door. “Want to tell me why my sister ran out of here, sobbing? Do I need to kick your ass?”

I stiffened. Jeffrey and I had never gotten along. He was way too up in his sister’s business, and I always got the sense that he felt like I’d stolen something from him, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what. After all, the guy had everything: money, a family that doted on him, hockey, a sure future. Even a girlfriend.

“I’m kidding man,” Jeffrey said. “Whatever is going on between you and my sister, you two will fix it. Want to let me in?”

We weren’t going to be fixing shit. I knew that, deep in my rubbed raw heart.

Still, I opened the door to let him in.

“Shit, you look like someone just ran over your dog,” he said. “What the hell did my sister do?”

“Cheated on me,” I said flatly. “There’s video evidence, although I doubt you want to see your sister fucking anyone.”

A dark look filled his eyes. “Pass,” he said. “You sure it’s her?”

“Positive. Down to the star birthmark on the back of her neck.”

He whistled. “Look, my sister adores you, and this doesn’t sound like her, except …”

I froze. “Except what?”

He sighed, joining me on the bed. “She told me the other day she felt like things were getting too intense between you guys. That she was worried you were going to ask her to marry her, and you’re both too young for that, and she wanted to explore other things, experience other people. I thought she was just scared, but I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry, man.”

Any remaining hope I’d had that I was wrong popped like a balloon. No, worse. The truth slapped me like a puck to the face without a cage to block it.

While I’d been buying her engagement ring, Emma had been searching for an escape hatch.

As if he’d read my mind, Jeffrey smacked my leg. “C’mon, man. There’s a party at Rick Elliot’s tonight.” Rick was a defenseman on our team. He and Jeffrey were friends. “There are going to be a ton of hot girls there. College girls, from what I hear. Let’s go get trashed and get you a distraction.”

I didn’t want a fucking distraction. I wanted his sister. But I wasn’t foolish enough to say that, so I said, “Sure. Let’s get trashed and get pussy.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jeffrey said. “Go shower off the depression. You stink.”

The house was already packed when we got there. Jeffrey led me inside, slapping various players’ backs. I knew none of them liked him very much, but I was with him, which probably helped. I didn’t give a shit though and beelined directly for the booze.

I was gulping down my second beer by the time Jeffrey caught up with me.

“Whoa, slow down,” he laughed.

“Wanna get trashed,” I told him between gulps.

He eyed the beer. “It’s going to take a lot of that to get you there. Hang on.”

Disappearing further into the kitchen, he grabbed a few bottles of liquor and mixed them in a Solo cup before handing it back to me.

“Drink up, bro,” he said, and I didn’t care enough to tell him I wasn’t really his “bro.” Instead, I chugged the too sour, too sweet drink back, because even though it tasted like shit, it burned on its way down in a way I needed.

“More,” I said, and Jeffrey went to make me another one.