Page 6 of Ruthless Game

But I didn’t want a fight with the asshole right now. At sixteen, I was almost as big as he was—and if I kept training up, I’d soon be big enough that he wouldn’t mess with me anymore.

For now, I wouldn’t have to see his face for nine months.

Without a word, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car, slinging my torn-up backpack over my shoulder. He didn’t bother to help me with my “luggage” in the trunk of the car, just popped it, revealing the trash bags that held my clothes and personal belongings. My second-hand hockey gear was also in a trash bag that threatened to bust apart at any moment. I swallowed my embarrassment over how poor and pathetic I looked and grabbed them, slamming the trunk closed. Without a word, my father peeled off, and I inhaled the first clean breath I’d taken since my mom had left years ago.

Freedom.

I turned to see three dark haired people watching me from the front porch. The woman had a troubled smile on her face, the man next to her had an arm slung around her waist. Next to them, a short, scrawny kid—their son—had a big, goofy grin. His smile relaxed me, and I approached the porch as all three hurried forward to greet me.

But it was the girl on the porch swing, head buried in a book, who made me stop in my tracks.

She wasn’t a brunette like the others. Instead, her hair glowed like starlight, even from the shadows. Most of her face was hidden behind her book, but her ear, small, curved, and sweet in a way I’d never thought an ear of all things could be, was enough to make my head go a little loopy.

Look up, I pleaded in my brain. Look up from your book so I can see you.

And then she freaking did.

I swallowed, hard. Her face was delicate, with big eyes and cute, bow lips. There was something unreal about her. My mom used to love watching animated Disney movies with me, although my dad had been a dick to her about them. Reason 1,037 why she’d left. This girl looked like she belonged in one.

I didn’t give a shit about my broken family, not when this beautiful fairytale princess glanced at me, when her dark blue eyes caught on mine and held, when her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Something magical happened in that moment, something huge: some insane, painful squeeze to my heart as my whole life redirected itself from hockeyhockeyhockey to herherher.

Mine, a voice in my head said, and I caught myself before I nodded in agreement and looked like a crazy person.

She ducked her head, pushing a blonde curl behind her ear, breaking the moment between us. I blinked.

Damn. That was unexpected.

Someone cleared their throat. I glanced over. The young boy, who’d been grinning at me before, had an inexplicable scowl on his face. But it disappeared quickly, and he held up a hand to greet me.

“Hey, I’m Jeffrey.”

“Hey, Jeff,” I said, trying to focus on him and not the girl who I assumed was his sister.

“Jeffrey,” he repeated.

Ah damn. I’d been here for less than five minutes and I was already messing up.

“Jeffrey. Right. Sorry. I’m⁠—”

“David, right?” he said.

I shook my head. My father’s name was David; I wanted nothing to do with that name.

“Lawson,” I repeated firmly.

“Got it.”

It seemed like we understood each other for a moment; both with our own reasons for not wanting to go by a version of the names we hated. Maybe this would extend into a bond, maybe not.

“Lawson, hi,” said his mom, and his dad reached out a hand, grabbing mine and shaking his. I followed suit, happy to play it however this family wanted.

The mom shook her head and pulled me into a hug. I stiffened slightly. I hadn’t been hugged in years.

“Lawson, we’re so happy to have you here. Welcome! I’m Linda. This is Will, my husband. You’ve met Jeffrey. And that there,” she gestured affectionately at the girl sitting on the porch swing, “is our daughter, Emma. Can we help you with your things?”

“Uh,” I said, too busy saying Emma in my head over and over to give a normal response.

Will laughed, an easy, calming sound, and pulled my trash bags from me. No one commented on my “luggage,” even though from the size of their house and their nice clothes they were clearly rich. I shrugged, following them into the house, my eyes slipping every now and then to Emma as she peered at me over her book.