The Love That Broke Us (Havoc Hockey Trilogy #1)

1. Lilah

LILAH

SEPTEMBER

SENIOR YEAR

Two months was all it had taken for me to fall for him. And in two weeks, he’d made me long to once again be the invisible scholarship girl who barely registered on anyone’s radar.

Mason Shaw. The hockey god who I’d realized loved to torture ants for fun. And lucky me, I was ants.

He’d be home soon, if he wasn’t there already.

“As much as I hate him and his team, even though they can’t help but get their asses kicked by us year after year, he’s got a crazy nice house.

” Rye, my best friend since first grade, pressed back into his seat so I could lean out the driver’s side window to punch in the estate’s gate security code.

“Sucks you’re living in enemy territory. ”

He had no idea.

I pretended to not understand, but I was keenly aware. “I’ve been going to Hawthorne Prep since sophomore year.”

Rye stared at the ten-foot gate as it swung open. “I’m talking about living behind these walls with Mason Shaw.”

I suppressed a flinch at his name being said out loud. “We barely even see each other.”

“Good, but it’s finally senior year, and you moved a million miles away.” Rye shook his head, lips tight with disappointment.

Over the summer, my dad and I had moved into the gardener’s cottage tucked behind Willowcrest—Mason’s fifteen-thousand-square-foot tristate darling magazine-featured house with extensive gardens.

“What exactly did you think I had planned for my senior year? My high school existence has been wildly different than yours, Mr. Double State Hockey Champion.”

“What about all those big-brain nerds and their ‘study sessions’?” He shot me a smirk along with one-handed air quotes.

I rolled my eyes. “I must’ve missed those invitations. Taking the bus four hours every day to get to school didn’t leave a lot of time for unimportant things like shirtless study sessions.”

“Good, at least that means I don’t have to beat the crap out of any guys at your school.”

“Keep it on the ice. And what would you care if I were having shirtless study sessions?” Please don’t let Mason be home.

I hugged my knees—tucked up in Rye’s sweatshirt—a little tighter, pretending it was the cranked AC that got to me, not those blade-sharp Mason memories.

A pungent hit of Biofreeze mixed with sweat-stink wafted up from the green fabric.

What would all the girls who swooned at Rye’s six-two frame, sandy-blond hair, and mossy green eyes think of his supposed “hotness” if their nasal cavities were melted like mine?

“I’ve got to protect my rep as best friend by giving any guys getting near you a hard time.”

If he got tangled up in my not-so-cold war with Mason, he’d put his college hockey prospects in jeopardy, and that wasn’t part of The Plan.

A shiver rushed down my spine as I thought of all those nights with Mason over the summer.

“Don’t worry. No suitors have dropped a handkerchief on my doorstep to ask for a promenade,” I said with a terrible Southern belle accent. “Why are you worried about that anyway? Focus on being a big important hockey player.”

“I don’t feel so big or important when I’m busting my ass at practice day and night.

My whole summer got swallowed up by travel team insanity.

And if we don’t win the championship again, they might burn my beast Roxy down to her tires.

” He patted the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you. ”

“Your adoring fans would never.”

He cough-scoffed. “Every time I miss a pass, ten guys who’ve never been on skates want to tell me what I should’ve done.

They will turn on me, but I’m used to it now.

Get my scholarship, play my ass off, go pro, collect bags of cash, and bail—hopefully without too many concussions and most of my teeth.

” He listed his meticulous plan finger by finger.

“You’ve got it all figured out.”

“Learned it from you.” He tried to noogie me.

I jerked away and glared.

“You need to worry less,” he said. “No one’s trying to put you in dentures. Loosen the hell up and have some fun this year.”

As far as he knew, I was stressed about my crazy class schedule, winning the Windsor Award, and surviving college application purgatory.

“How do you know I don’t have fun? We haven’t even been in school together since sixth grade. I’m a fun-freaking-factory.”

“So fun, you only have time to come to one of my games this season.”

“One is better than none. I hate watching you get beat up on the ice and skate off bleeding.”

“I’m the one kicking ass and making people bleed. If you came to more than one game, you’d know that.” He stressed the “one” like this was the most offensive thing I’d ever done in our friendship.

“You’re such a whiny baby. The stands are filled with hundreds of screaming Verona fans. Not like it even registers when I show up.”

He shot me a smug grin. “Who gets the first post-game hug?”

“Only because you’re extra sweaty and bear-hug me and smear your dirty-sock-smelling self all over me.”

“Giving you a taste of the athlete’s life.”

“More like athlete’s foot.”

Apple blossom trees lined the herringbone brick driveway that swept around the tiered fountain to the grand staircase leading to the double doors of Willowcrest.

Strange that they hadn’t used willow trees to line the driveway, given the name of the house, but rich people did what rich people do—whatever they wanted. Now more than ever, that truth was stitched into my brain.

The only car under the shaded overhang was Mason’s stepmom’s navy blue Range Rover. A little relief swept over me. Mason was out or had parked in the garage, so we wouldn’t run into him. As long as we got to my house quickly.

Rye parked Roxy in a designated staff parking spot off the circular driveway.

“I’ll carry in all your crap.”

“It’s not crap, jerk. That’s half a semester’s worth of textbook money back there.”

He climbed out, picked up one of the bins of uniforms from the trunk, and marched it to my house before I dislodged my backpack from the back seat.

He bumped me aside. “You need to start lifting weights, Lilah, or you’re not going to be able to carry all those big-brain med school books.”

The driving bass of a car’s sound system broke through the moment like a clap of thunder.

Mason. Coming home.

My stomach dropped, twisting and knotting. Run.

“Grab the rest later. Let’s go.”

I grabbed Rye’s arm, trying to look calm while my insides were going ping-pong somersault crazy.

Rye glanced at the black Bentley Bentayga barreling toward us. “You running away from them?”

A noise escaped my throat that was more cat-versus-hairball than nonchalance. “No, not running.”

His eyebrows dipped, lasering in on the car. “Is he giving you shit because we’re friends?”

Creeping vines of unease unfurled in my stomach. “Let’s go. Stop trying to dodge studying. Chemistry time,” I said, trying to keep a frantic clip out of my tone.

He grabbed my backpack, hiked it onto his shoulder, and yanked another tub of uniforms out. At least his hands were full, which meant no throwing fists.

But why was Rye so slow? Molasses poured faster than he closed his door.

My gaze darted to the path we needed to disappear down.

I was a rabbit, and predators were racing across the meadow toward us.

The squeal of tires got closer.

“Rye, hurry up.”

He walked toward me as if every leaf, every stone, every step had never been more fascinating.

On my own, running away was easy. But with Rye here, my confusing mess of a life was seconds from becoming a roadkill carcass.

Cords in Rye’s neck tensed, and a mottled redness crept up his jaw. His gaze locked on Galen’s car as it parked beside the Rover with Mason and the rest of Havoc inside.

From the first time I saw Mason Shaw, there were a lot of words I associated with him. Rich, gorgeous, athletic, cocky. Now there was only one word I associated with him. Run.

Run from that crackling feeling in my chest. Run from the barbed looks. Run from the memories of the weeks he made me believe I was the girl he wanted.

The doors to the Bentley swung open, and music spilled out, vibrating the air and ground, sending nauseous waves to my stomach.

A Mount-Everest-sized ball of dread lodged in my throat. “Rye, we’re going.” I tugged on his arm and got not an inch of movement.

“The more you try to get me to leave, the more I know something’s off.” He planted his feet. Stone-faced, with barely contained anger, he turned toward the new arrivals.

“You’re right.” I licked my lips and wrapped both hands around his arm, which bunched under my touch.

“Something is off. Kelsey and Eliza are going to be home right after we study, so I need to sort through the groceries my dad got and figure out dinner. Come on.” I widened my smile, the corners of my mouth close to splitting.

Mason stared down at Rye’s Verona High sweatshirt I was wearing, and his jaw ticked.

“Didn’t Alena tell you not to dump trash in our driveway, Little Byrd?” Mason’s nickname for me spiked my heart rate, but not in the fluttery, nerve-cited way.

He smiled at me like a devil come to collect an IOU on my soul.

The rest of Havoc lingered. Calder stared like he was biting back a snarl, offended by my presence, but I’d never seen him look any different.

Galen’s blinding flawlessness might’ve given off vampire if he weren’t standing in broad daylight.

Not a sparkle or wisp of smoke in sight.

He was a different kind of scary to Calder as he leaned against the large square brick post at the bottom of the steps that led to the front door.

He toyed with a coin, the light catching it as he moved it between his fingers.

Erik jumped from the Bentley running board to the bottom step of the house in full golden-retriever mode, shaggy brown hair flopping into his eyes. Oblivious to the choking tension in the air, he earned a displeased look from Galen. And a sharper glare from Calder.