Chapter 25 RULES OF THE GAME
RYAN
The kitchen smells like coffee grounds and leftover cookies when I let myself in walking or, actually, wobbling on my double crutches today. Ty is slouched against the counter in sweats, Zach is already raiding the fridge, and Mason—of all people—is standing by the stove like he owns the place, frying something that looks suspiciously competent.
"So let me get this straight," I say, bracing my elbows on the counter. "You guys are one game away from... what exactly? Frozen Four? Beanpot? Hockey Hunger Games?"
Zach smirks, a piece of cheese hanging from his mouth. "Jesus, McKenna. It's like you're allergic to Googling hockey terms."
"I did Google," I shoot back. "And then I got five different acronyms and four different trophies, and my brain exploded. You're all obsessed with making it sound like rocket science."
Mason, spatula in hand, actually pauses to look at me. "It's not rocket science. It's structure. There's the Beanpot, which is Boston schools only. Then there's Hockey East, which is our conference. Then you've got NCAA regionals, which lead into the Frozen Four—basically the semi-final and final for the national championship."
I blink. "And you kept all that straight in your head?"
"Of course." He shrugs, flipping whatever's sizzling in the pan. "I'm a defenseman. We live in the details."
"Details," Zach scoffs, mouth full. "Guy just memorized the NCAA wiki page."
"Shut up," Mason says without heat. He keeps going, steady like he actually enjoys explaining this. "Frozen Four's the big one. It's the Final Four of college hockey. You get through that, you're in the national championship. One game away—that's where we're at."
Ty pipes up, waving a spoon. "Translation: if we win against Boston College, we're basically heroes."
"Heroes with bruises," Zach adds. "Those guys play dirty."
I sip the water Emma left for me earlier and glance at Mason. "So this semi-final—it matters more than Beanpot?"
"Way more," Mason says firmly. "Beanpot's bragging rights in Boston. Frozen Four puts you in the national spotlight. Scouts. Draft stock. Legacy. All of it."
He says it so matter-of-fact, it almost doesn't sound like bragging. Just fact.
Zach leans on the fridge, grinning. "Don't let him fool you. He's been practicing his TED Talk voice in the mirror."
"Shut up," Mason mutters again, but he doesn't stop. "If we beat BC, we move on. That close to the championship—people remember that. Forever."
And for a second, his eyes flick to me, like maybe he knows I understand what it means to have your entire identity measured in fractions of a second, medals, titles.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the counter. Once. Twice.
I glance down. Email notification. Goldman Sachs Recruiting.
My breath catches.
I swipe it open with shaking hands.
Congratulations, Ryan McKenna. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to advance to the second round of interviews for our 2025 Summer Investment Banking Analyst Internship Program.
"Oh my god."
All three boys stop mid-banter, eyes swiveling to me.
"What?" Ty asks, straightening.
I look up at them, wide-eyed, the words tumbling out too fast. "I—I made it. Goldman. Second round."
Zach whistles low. "Damn, McKenna. That's like... Frozen Four for nerds."
Ty laughs, smacking the counter. "Hell yeah! Go off, finance queen!"
Mason actually smiles—rare, small, but real. "Congrats. That's huge."
My throat tightens as I stare down at the screen again, the words glowing like gold. For the first time in weeks, the future doesn't look like just a blank wall. It looks like possibility.
I'm still staring at the email when it clicks. My head snaps up. "Wait. Hold on. You guys are playing against Gallo, Drew, and Matthews?"
Ty grins like a cat caught raiding the cream. "Yup. How does that feel, MK?"
"Like karma, I bet." Zach adds with a wicked smirk. "You ready to wear Ty's jersey again for that one?"
I blink. "Excuse me?"
Mason, without looking up from plating his perfectly fried whatever-it-is, mutters, "Pretty sure Matthews wouldn't allow that."
I slam my water bottle on the counter, glaring. "Hey, hey! Matthews doesn't need to allow anything. And for the record—" I shoot Ty a wink, "—wearing Ty's jersey is an honor. With all his goalie greatness and all."
Ty straightens like I've just knighted him. "See? MK gets it."
Zach groans. "Unbelievable. She is gonna inflate his ego until he floats out of Agganis like a balloon."
"It's already inflated," Mason deadpans.
"Shut up, Cross," Ty shoots back, though he's still grinning like a maniac.
I roll my eyes, fighting a laugh. "When's the game again?"
"This Friday," Zach says, tossing a grape into his mouth like it's nothing. "7 p.m. Agganis. Biggest crowd of the season."
Mason cuts in, voice calm, almost professor-like. "BC's top line is stacked. Gallo on the wing, Kaplan at center, and Matthews on the other wing. Chemistry like you wouldn't believe."
"Chemistry my ass," Ty mutters. "We'll shut them down."
"Big words," Zach says. "You gonna keep the puck out of the net when Matthews comes barreling in?"
Ty points his spoon at him. "I'll keep Matthews out. I'll keep you out if you don't stay out of the penalty box, Hughes."
I snort, leaning back in my chair, letting the sound of their voices wash over me. The teasing, the confidence, the way they argue like brothers and teammates all at once.
〰️〰️〰️
The dorm smells like a blend of old popcorn, Victoria Secrets and Febreze. They say odours are gatekeepers of memories and the one that belongs to this place reminds me of Rae bribing me with ramen and Emma swearing she'd ace organic chem if she studied with candles lit like a séance.
This is still my second home. I still have part of my stuff here somewhere, so knocking is underrated. At least, it used to be.
But when I push the door open, the world tilts.
Sean and Julie.
Julie and Sean.
Her hands tangled in his hair. His mouth on hers. The kind of kiss that's all teeth and urgency.
The air leaves me in one ugly rush. "Oh—" My voice cracks, sharp and brittle. "Sorry. Wrong...time?" Wrong everything, actually.
They break apart. Julie blinks, wiping at her mouth, unapologetic. Sean jerks back like he's been caught stealing. "Ry—" he starts, reaching toward me.
But I'm already retreating, one crutch clattering against the doorframe as I back out. "No, it's fine...Erm, totally fine." My words tumble over themselves. "I was just... yeah. Sorry."
I yank the door shut behind me, the click too loud in the stale hallway. My arms tremble as I move, slow and uneven, the crutches scraping against the floor. I want to disappear. To vanish into the linoleum. And the worst thing is that I have no right feeling like this. I knew they were together and as a together kind of couple kissing is part of it, right? Right.
"Ryan, wait!"
Of course he catches me. He doesn't even have to try. I'm too slow, and his strides are long and steady. In seconds, he's in front of me, blocking the way like he always does when he won't let me bolt.
I look anywhere but his face. But the tear slips out anyway, hot against my cheek.
The moment he sees it, something shifts in his expression. His jaw tightens, his eyes flicker like he's just been hit with a puck to the chest. He reaches out, then hesitates, his hand hovering inches from mine on the crutch.
I grit my teeth. "You don't have to explain. You don't owe me anything."
"Ry—" His voice is rough. Too rough.
"No, really." My voice cracks, too sharp, too brittle. "You don't have to run after me every time I stumble across you and Julie. She's your girlfriend, or your PR coach, or whatever she is, and it's none of my business."
He flinches at that. Just barely. But I see it.
"I wasn't—" he starts, then swallows, searching. "It's not what you think."
I laugh, bitter, ugly. "Really? Because it looked exactly like what I thought."
Silence stretches between us. My crutches dig into the linoleum as I shift my weight, wishing I could walk away faster, cleaner. But he's standing there, broad shoulders blocking the hallway like a damn wall.
"You always do this," I snap, my voice low and shaking. "You run after me like you've got something to say, and then you don't. You just... look at me. Like I'm supposed to read your mind."
Sean's jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists and release. "Because every time I try to say it, you act like you don't want to hear it."
My chest squeezes. "Maybe I don't."
His eyes flash, sharp and wounded all at once. "Then why does it hurt you when you see me with her?"
That lands like a body check. I want to deny it, to laugh it off, but my throat burns too hot for humor. A tear slips free before I can stop it.
"Because—" My voice breaks. I shake my head, forcing the words out. "Because I want you to be with someone who actually sees you. Not someone who just sees a captain. Or a draft pick. Or a walking headline. Someone who knows you're more than that."
His chest rises, shaky. "And what about you, Ryan?" His voice drops, low and rough. "Who do you want to be seen by?"
It's too much. Too close. My breath shudders, and I tighten my grip on the crutches like they can hold me up against the weight of what he's really asking.
"Not by you," I whisper. It's a lie, and we both know it.
The words hang between us, brittle as glass. But Sean's eyes don't flinch. They burn, steady and unrelenting, pinning me in place.
"Liar," he breathes. His voice is low, rough, like gravel dragged across asphalt. "Don't say that to me. Not with the way your body reacts every time I'm near you. Not with the way mine reacts to you."
My throat locks. I don't even have time to push him back before his hand slips around the side of my neck, warm and firm, pulling me in. His mouth crashes against mine.
It isn't tentative. It isn't careful. It's hungry, desperate—like he's been holding back for months and just decided to break the dam.
And God help me, I kiss him back. For one suspended second, I forget Julie. I forget Matthews. I forget the pain in my hip and the crutches biting into my palms. It's just Sean—his lips, his heat, his chest pressed against mine like he's staking a claim he has no right to.
Then reality slams into me.
I shove him back, my chest heaving. "How dare you?" The words rip out of me, sharp enough to cut. "How dare you kiss me when you were shoving your tongue down her throat five minutes ago?"
His eyes widen, then narrow, guilt and fire warring in his expression. "Ryan—"
"No!" My voice cracks, too loud in the empty hallway. My hands tremble on the crutches, but I hold my ground. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to run after me like I matter, then go back to her like I don't. You can't have both, Sean."
His chest rises, falls, like he's fighting himself. "I don't want both."
"Then what do you want?" My throat burns. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you want anyone who'll make you feel good for five minutes."
That hits him. His jaw clenches, eyes flickering like I'd just slashed open something raw.
I swallow, blinking back tears. "And maybe that's fine. Maybe that's who you are. But I can't—" My voice falters. "I can't be your second choice. Not again."
The silence that follows is so sharp I can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
Sean takes one slow step toward me, his voice barely a whisper now. "You were never second, Ry."
But I don't trust myself to stay if I let him say anything else. I pivot on the crutches, awkward and clumsy, and start down the hall, each uneven step echoing like a gavel.
This time, he doesn't stop me.
And I don't look back.