The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

We get to her favorite coffee spot and I point. “I want some. You?”

She nods eagerly. “I’m going to need it if you expect me to study in the car—riding in cars make me sleepy,” she admits with a sheepish smile.

I smile down at her. Her face is clear of makeup, showing a small smattering of freckles across her nose, and her hair is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She’s beautiful. She’s always beautiful. And I actually like being around her—which is something I didn’t expect.

We head into the coffee shop and place our order. Grace tries to fight me on paying for hers—arguing that I bring her coffee every morning—but then I remind her that I dragged her out of her room for a three-hour long road trip and then she stopped arguing.

With our coffees in hand, we walk the last little bit to the garage where I park my car.

I drop my gym bag and Grace’s into the trunk and start the car. We sit there for a few minutes while I put in the address.

I’ve calmed down some since finding out what Matthews did, but I know my temper will rise once more when I get to his place.

Confronting the fucker is probably the last thing I should ever do, but I can’t sit idly by while he destroys everything I’ve worked for—so that my word counts for nothing against his. I’ve already done a good enough job destroying my image, but he’s determined to make sure I never play in a professional game ever again. I promised to keep my mouth shut about what I saw, but my promise must count for nothing and he wants to silence me forever.

“What has you so worked up?” Grace asks as I fix my phone in its spot to navigate me.

“Hockey stuff.”

She crosses her legs and pulls out a textbook from her backpack, plopping it in her lap. “That’s the most evasive answer you could’ve possibly given. Elaborate.” She flips through her textbook, looking for the right page.

“I got suspended for drug use. Steroids.”

She slams the textbook closed. “What?”

I pull out of the garage and into traffic. “I’m not on anything,” I tell her.

“I know,” she replies immediately. “That’s why I’m confused.”

My head whips to her. “How do you know?”

She looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Because I know you.”

I glance at her briefly before my eyes dart back to the road.

Because she knows me? My own sister didn’t believe me.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?” She begins flipping through her textbook again.

“Why do you think you know me?”

She snorts. “Bennett, I pretty much spend every waking moment with you that I’m not in class or studying. I know you pretty damn well at this point—and I’m not an idiot. I’d know if you were abusing anything.” She reaches over then and jabs me in the chest.

“What the hell was that for?” I nearly run off the road trying to get away from her before she can poke me again.

“Checking to see if your boobs are sensitive. Isn’t that what happens if you’re taking steroids. You become a woman?”

“First, off they’re not boobs—they’re pecs, get it right, woman

. Secondly, I have no fucking clue.”

She shrugs and sits back in the seat. “I was just making a point.” A playful smile tugs on her lips. I knock her textbook off her lap and onto the floor. “What was that for?” she cries, quickly picking it up and looking it over like it’s an injured bird.

“Forget studying. Distract me.”

“Bennett,” she groans. “I have to study.”