Chapter 84: Fuck The Rules

KNOX’S POV

Twenty-four hours.

That was how long I had lasted.

Twenty-four fucking hours.

I stood on the ice at Rink 1 during Thursday morning’s optional skate, my composite stick resting across my knees as cold arena mist rose around my blades.

The rink was quiet except for the scrape of Bear’s skates and the hollow thwack of pucks hitting the boards.

Coach Brennan had given us a light recovery session, but my head was nowhere near the drills. Every time I looked up at the empty spectator benches, my mind searched for a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses and a girl buried under an oversized coat.

Every time I breathed in the cold rink air, I didn’t smell ice or rubber. I smelled warm vanilla and roasted cinnamon.

"Yo, Knox!" Bear yelled from the blue line, snapping a pass toward my tape. "Wake up! You’ve missed three one-timers in a row!"

I trapped the puck against the ice, but I didn’t shoot.

I looked at the clock above the scoreboard: 11:30 AM.

Four days. She had said four whole days.

And only one had passed.

A restless, suffocating heat burned in my chest. I skated to the bench, unstrapped my helmet, and tossed it onto the rubber mat.

"I’m out, Coach," I called toward the tunnel.

"Practice isn’t over for twenty minutes, Sheridan," Brennan barked from the bench boards.

"I’ve got somewhere I need to be," I answered, without breaking stride as I walked down the rubber mat toward the locker room.

Thirty minutes later, I threw my gear bag into the passenger seat of my black truck, backed out of the athletic center parking lot, and hit the highway.

—

The drive from Briar to Oakhaven was ninety miles of winding mountain highway.

The two-lane road cut through dense forests painted in fiery reds, amber golds, and deep autumn oranges. Heavy gray clouds threatened rain from above, but I was too preoccupied to notice the scenery.

My knuckles were white against the leather steering wheel as the needle hovered at seventy-five.

I knew I was acting like a maniac.

I was the captain of a Division I varsity hockey team, a prospective first-round NHL draft pick, a Sheridan with a hundred responsibilities waiting for me on campus.

I had no business driving two counties away to a quiet mountain town where I didn’t belong.

We had rules. We had boundaries. We were supposed to be fake.

Fuck the rules.

The memory of lifting her off the pavement outside the student union flashed vividly in my head... the sound of her laugh, the way her small hands had gripped my shoulders, the flush on her neck when my thumb brushed her jaw.

I needed to see her. Just five minutes. Just to hear her bossy voice tell me I was an idiot for driving all this way.

On the passenger seat sat a paper bakery box from the high-end Italian café near campus, the same almond biscotti she had once mentioned loving when we studied late at Rusty’s Diner, alongside a fresh iced vanilla latte resting in the cup holder.

At one-thirty, I crossed the county line into Oakhaven.

The town was tiny.

Main Street consisted of two-story brick storefronts, vintage lampposts, and a central town square surrounded by ancient oak trees. There were no digital signs, no parking garages, and no campus landmarks.

I slowed the truck down, pulling up to the curb beside a small independent service station near the town square.

I stepped out into the mountain air, shutting the truck door.

An older mechanic in oil-stained navy coveralls was wiping down a wrench near the garage bay.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping across the cracked asphalt.

The mechanic looked up, squinting at my six-foot-three frame and the dark leather jacket over my black henley.

"Afternoon, son," the man said, wiping his hands on a blue rag. "Passing through?"

"Looking for a bakery," I said, keeping my tone polite. "Sugar and Spice. Do you know where it is?"

"Sure do," the mechanic smiled, pointing a grease-stained thumb down the street. "Take Main Street down three blocks past the hardware store. It’s on the right, right across from the old clock tower. Can’t miss the green awning."

"Appreciate it."

"Take care now."

I climbed back into the truck, shifting into drive.

Three blocks down, exactly where the mechanic had said, I spotted the dark-green canvas awning with gold script: Sugar & Spice Bakery.

I parked at the curb across the street, grabbed the bakery box and the iced latte from the cup holder, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

My heart thumped with strange, nervous anticipation as I crossed the street.

I pushed open the glass door.

Chime.

A brass bell chimed overhead as I entered. The mouthwatering scent of freshly baked sourdough, sweet sugar glaze, and roasted cinnamon filled my lungs... the very same aroma that seemed to cling to Nora’s hair every single day.

Behind the glass pastry counter, a woman with warm hazel eyes, chestnut curls streaked with silver, and a flour-dusted dark green apron looked up from wiping down a tray.

The resemblance took the air straight out of my lungs.

She had Nora’s eyes. Nora’s soft jawline. Nora’s gentle, welcoming smile.

"Afternoon!" Mrs. Bennett greeted warmly, setting down her towel. "Welcome to Sugar and Spice. What can I get for you today, young man?"

I took a steadying breath and stepped up to the polished wooden counter.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Bennett," I greeted. "I’m... I’m looking for Nora."

Mrs. Bennett blinked, her eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise as her gaze traveled over my broad shoulders and the café box in my hand.

"You’re a friend of Nora’s from Briar?" she asked, her smile turning curious and bright.

"Yes, ma’am. Knox Sheridan."

Mrs. Bennett’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Knox! Oh, of course! Nora’s mentioned how hard you two have been working on your economics prep. And Denise from the diner told me all about your big festival on Friday."

A faint, modest smile touched my lips. "Nora’s the reason I passed."

"She’s very proud of you, Knox," Mrs. Bennett said kindly.

"Is she upstairs?" I asked, glancing toward the wooden staircase near the back of the shop.

"Oh, no, honey," Mrs. Bennett replied, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "You just missed her. She left about an hour ago. Drew Miller came by with his truck to pick her up. They went over to Oakhaven Lake Park to walk along the old trail."

The name hit my chest like a physical blow.

Drew Miller.

The room seemed to drop ten degrees in a single heartbeat.

A cold, suffocating tightness gripped my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

Drew.

"The lake park?" I heard myself ask.

"Yes," Mrs. Bennett smiled warmly, completely unaware of the knife twisting in my gut. "Take Main Street all the way to the end, turn left onto Lakeview Drive, and follow it straight into the park. The walking path starts right by the old high school track."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennett," I forced out, offering a tight, polite nod. "Have a good afternoon."

"You too, Knox! Tell Nora I said hello."

I walked out of the bakery, the brass bell chiming softly behind me.

The autumn air felt freezing against my skin as I crossed the street. I set the paper café box and the iced latte on the passenger seat of my truck, closed the door, and stood on the sidewalk for several seconds.

’Don’t do this, Sheridan,’ a voice in my head warned. ’Get in the truck. Drive back to Briar.’

My feet moved anyway.

I didn’t take the truck.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, walking down Main Street with long, aggressive strides. The anger in my veins felt like liquid ice, burning and freezing me at the same time.

I followed Lakeview Drive as the street paved away into towering pine trees and dense forest.

Ahead, the entrance to Oakhaven Lake Park opened up.

The gravel parking lot held only one vehicle: a dark-green pickup truck with a State University parking permit on the rear windshield.

My teeth ground together so hard my jaw ached.

I walked past the empty truck, stepping onto the paved walking path that circled the water.

The woods were quiet, with only the wind rustling the dry, colorful leaves. The lake was still and empty under the cloudy sky.

I followed the curve of the shoreline toward the wooden dock extending out over the water.

And then, fifty yards ahead, I saw them.

My boots stopped dead on the gravel trail, freezing me in the shadows of the pine trees.

Standing at the very end of the wooden dock, framed against the gray water, were Nora and Drew.

Nora wore her dark navy wool coat, her chestnut curls spilling across her shoulders. Drew stood inches in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

As I watched, paralyzed in the cold shadows of the forest, Drew stepped in close and leaned down.

Nora didn’t pull away, dodge him, or push his hands from her coat. Instead, she raised her chin, closed her eyes, and leaned into the kiss.

Drew’s mouth pressed firmly against hers, his hands tightening on her shoulders as the autumn wind whipped around them on the empty dock.

Something inside my chest shattered into a thousand bleeding pieces.

The world went completely silent.

Every word she had ever said to me... every smile across a library table, every touch on the ice, the way she had looked at me outside the student union yesterday when she said she had to go home to her mom, shriveled into a sick, pathetic lie.

’My bus leaves in fifteen minutes, Knox. I promised Mom I’d be home for break.’

She hadn’t run home for quiet study time.

She hadn’t run home for her mother’s bakery.

She had run home to him.

She had used my money to pay her mother’s mortgage penalty. She had used my reputation to protect her academic honors.

And the second she crossed the county line, she threw herself straight into the arms of the boy who wore the blue sweater.

A dark, bitter, venomous rage flooded my veins, burning away every trace of warmth, every trace of hope, every trace of the softness she had spent weeks coaxing out of me.

I was an idiot.

A dumb, trusting jock who thought a girl like Nora Bennett could actually look past the Sheridan name and see a man worth loving.

I didn’t yell, nor did I storm down the wooden dock to demand an explanation. I refused to grant them the satisfaction of my presence or the sight of my devastation.

Instead, I simply turned back toward the gravel path, through the pine trees till I reached my own vehicle.

I grabbed the paper café box and the iced latte from the passenger seat, threw them into the trash can beside the curb, and slammed the truck door shut.

I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I slammed the truck into reverse, spun the wheel, and floored it, tearing out of Oakhaven.