The Game That Breaks Us

THE GAME THAT BREAKS US

Copyright 2016 Micalea Smeltzer

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover design and photo: Regina Wamba at Mae I Design

Edited and Formatted by Wendi Temporado at Ready, Set, Edit

Hockey’s bad boy needs to clean up his reputation…

Bennett James has built his career at being the best, on and off the ice, and now it’s come back to bite him. The media has turned against him, and with a near career-ending injury, he needs to clean up his act and prove that he’s serious about the game. For Bennett, working with his old coach at his alma mater feels like a step back, but it might be just what he needs.

…and she’s going to help him do it.

Grace Wentworth has always been the good girl, and she’s tired of that stigma. She wants to prove that she can get down and dirty with the best of them. The problem? She doesn’t know how. 

Bennett will teach the good girl how to be bad, if she pretends to be his goody two-shoes girlfriend in front of the media.

But what happens when the game becomes real? 

“You’ve got to get your act together.”

I glare at my manager, wishing I could set the fucker on fire with my gaze alone. Bernard Wright might be one of the best sports managers in the business, but he’s also an asshole. I’ve come to learn most people are. 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“This—” he shoves a finger onto the front cover of some tabloid “—is unacceptable.”

The photo shows me making out with some random puck bunny at a bar. The picture is nothing new. Photographers follow me just about everywhere nowadays, so they’re always catching me doing something they deem
scandalous.
I call it normal. I’m aware that makes me as much of an asshole as Bernard, but in a different way. 

“It was just a kiss,” I say. “It’s not like I fucked her right there on the bar. Give me a break. I don’t even remember her name.”

Bernard snaps his fingers together. “Exactly, you don’t even know her name. You’re not new to this business, and I know that there’re plenty of other guys out there just like you, but most of them aren’t in your predicament.” He glances down at my casted leg. I try to pretend the cast isn’t there and him drawing attention to it only sours my mood even more. “You’re about five seconds away from losing your career between this injury and your personal life. Hockey should be more important than chasing tail. Figure out your priorities and clean up your act, Bennett, or I won’t be able to help you.” He raises his hands, signaling that he’s done.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. 

Hockey is my life. I can’t lose that—I
won’t
lose it. 

“What do you propose I do then?”

He shrugs. “You figure it out, Bennett. I’ve cleaned up too many of your messes, made it easy for you, and I’m not doing it anymore. You need to do what you can to get back out on the ice, and while you’re at it, you need to change the media’s perception of you. Think you can do that?”

I grin. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

He smiles and leans back in his plush leather chair. “Right. I have faith in you. You’re a good player, so don’t throw away your career.”

I sigh and stand up. “Are we done here?”

“Yes.” He nods and stands to shake my hand.

I leave, already knowing what I have to do to get back on track. 

“Fucking hell, of course they’d give me an uppity bitch for a roommate.”

I pause in the doorway to my dorm. “
Excuse me?
” I gasp. I haven’t set one foot into my dorm room and my roommate already appears to hate me. 

The girl—Elle, according to the information packet I got—has long, wavy, dark-brown hair that looks like it hasn’t ever seen a brush. Her eyes are slightly slanted, giving her an exotic look, and her top lip is slightly larger than her bottom. On someone else it might look odd, but it suits her. Freckles are sprinkled across her nose and she’s dressed in a thin black tank top, black skinny jeans, and black boots. 

She points to my outfit. “Who dresses like that? It must take you all day to get ready.”

I look down at my black tights, light-gray skirt, pink blouse, and black heels. I look like a preppy beauty queen next to her simple outfit, which I guess is what I am, but I’m definitely
not
a bitch. My hair is curled to perfection and I know my makeup looks flawless. I spend enough time watching YouTube tutorials that I know my way around makeup brushes. 

“Not really,” I say, wheeling my suitcase and duffle bag into the room and over to the empty bed. “When you know what you’re doing it doesn’t take time.”

She huffs in disbelief.

I hike my suitcase onto the bed that will be mine for the remainder of the school year.

My parents begged me to go to school near home, but I wanted to get away. Growing up the middle child, surrounded by two annoying—but awesome—brothers and an overprotective dad, I just needed to get away. I ended up picking a school in Massachusetts—Addams University sits about three hours away from Boston—which means I’m still close enough to my parents in Northern Virginia to see them for holidays, but far enough away to avoid random visits. 

“I’m Elle, by the way, but I guess you knew that.” She turns her head to the side, appraising me. I feel like a bug under a microscope. 

“Grace.” I glance at her over my shoulder and give her a smile. It doesn’t seem to be appreciated.

“Not Grac
ie
?” she asks with a little smirk.

My brows narrow in irritation and I whip around. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?” I snap, my patience having reached its limit with her snark. I point to her all black ensemble. “You think you’re some kind of rebel, but you’re exactly like everyone else, whereas I—” I point to myself “—dare to be myself. I guess originality is under appreciated where you come from.”

Her face remains neutral, and then little by little her lips begin to lift into a smile. She claps. “I underestimated you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Her lips twist. “But I guess we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well considering we’re
roomies
.” She says the word like it’s dirty. She bounces on her bed, which is covered in an old quilt in colors of purples and reds. She already has a tapestry hung on the wall beside her bed, and so far, that seems to be as far as her decorations go—unless the clothes strewn across the bed and on the floor count as decorations.

She crosses her legs and flips through a magazine.

I turn my back on her and open my duffle bag. My bedspread is stuffed in there, and when I pull it out it’s all wrinkled, which irks me, but I try to pretend like it doesn’t because it would only give her more ammunition against me. We don’t have to like each other, but it would make things easier. I don’t want to have to be worried about her slipping blue hair dye into my shampoo or something.

I make my bed with the clean white sheets and spread out the teal-and-white printed comforter. I’ll need to buy some throw pillows since I didn’t have room to pack any and I can’t stand a bare bed. My bed at home was so full of pillows you could barely see the bed itself. My older brother, Dean, used to joke that I liked so many pillows because I could get lost and never found in them. 

When I finish with my bed, I start to unpack my things. Elle and I each have a tiny closet that will barely hold anything. Thankfully, we’re also provided with a dresser. It’s small, but it’ll help with the storage problem. We have two oak desks with two rickety chairs that were provided along with a small refrigerator tucked into the corner. Our dorm room floor is in need of a rug to brighten up the place since the carpet is a drab gray color. Everything in this room is small, but at least I’m on my own for once. Well, kind of on my own since I have to share the room with
Elle
.