Rules Of Our Own (Rule Breaker Series Book 3)

MY PHONE RINGS on the end table beside my sofa for the millionth time, and I flip it over, facing it down. I’ve been hiding in my apartment, only leaving to stock up on ice cream since Olivia called me into that conference room and ruined my life.

I know it’s Sidney, who somehow used her Spidey senses to find out I’d been let go and is now freaking out on vacation. I swear that girl has more connections than Beyoncé.

If I answer that phone, I know she’ll be full of understanding and ideas. That’s who she is. She’s a solver. But I just want to lie here and wallow in self-pity. Is that really that bad?

Anger sears my veins, thinking about my dickhead of a controlling bastard ex. I can’t believe I fell for all the shit he used to say. He loves me. Bleh. I can’t even blame being distracted in medical school because even then, a little voice in the back of my head was telling me there was something off about him. By the time we graduated, it just made sense for me to follow him to Ottawa. It was easy, especially with Sidney and Jax living here. Well, it was supposed to be easy. I was supposed to have the boyfriend, the friends, the career. 

Now I’m careerless, all because my psycho of an ex is a spoiled rotten brat that’s never been told no and has completely screwed up my life.

I can’t believe he got me fired!

On top of all of that, I haven’t gone a single second without thinking about Alex and River.

At first, I tried to brush it off as a need for sexual release, but I’ve never been good at lying to myself. There’s a rightness when I’m with them, and that little voice inside my head screams to stay. To never let them go.

Knowing it can’t happen just makes everything worse. I keep telling myself that time will ease the ache in my chest, but if anything, I feel a constant tug to be near them. Which is a total bitch because that’s not happening.

Texting them had turned out to be a new level of torture I’m not sure I’d survive again. And yet, I’ve had to force my masochistic self not to reach out.

I pull my blanket higher on my lap, covering my teddy-bear-print flannel pajamas I’ve been wearing for three days straight—Why do I need to shower anyway? No one’s going to see me—and scoop a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into my mouth, letting the sugary goodness numb my brain.

Nope, I don’t want solutions. Not for another solid week, at least.

I have enough money for two months’ rent, which should be just enough time for a good sulk before I have to go scrounge for another job. Only the rich have the luxury of being jobless; the rest of us would be out on the streets. An increasingly sinister thought dawns on me: Was this  Jason’s plan all along? 

Memories of what he said to me outside the hospital have the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “You don’t have time? We’ll see about that.”

He likes me helpless and dependent. The terrifying feeling of powerlessness paralyzes me. So, instead of thinking about any of it, I cuddle further into the couch cushion and swallow a spoonful of creamy goodness.

My phone vibrates again, and I switch it to Do Not Disturb without looking at who it is. Can’t a girl just eat a few pints of ice cream while crying about her lost job while simultaneously planning on how to get away with murder? Actually, once my pity party’s over, I’ll definitely recruit the girls with that. Nothing says friendship better than figuring out how to hide a body. The last mafia book I read highly implied hungry pigs are the way to go.

Ice cream tub in one hand and remote in the other, I flip through Netflix mindlessly. I haven’t watched more than thirty seconds of a show for the last hour.

Crookshanks licks one of his orange paws, staring at me from across the room, where he’s perched on one of the cardboard boxes I haven’t gotten around to unpacking. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he has judgment written across his face. Sometimes he seems just a little too smart to be a cat, but then he’d lick his orange furry butt, and I’d snap out of it.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

My spoon hits the bottom of my container, and I get up, leaving it on the coffee table with the others on my way to get a new one. I pad the five feet to my kitchen and open the white plastic freezer door that still has marker stains all over from the previous tenant and groan when all that’s left is a bag of peas.

A loud bang on the door has me snapping out of my daze and a prickle of unease crawling up my neck.

“Mia, let me in,” Jason says. He sounds cocky, like he already knows I don’t have a choice. Screw that. 

I cross my arms over my chest. “Go away, Jason.”

“Mia, we both know you’re opening this door eventually. No need to be stubborn.”

The audacity. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you know I’m your best shot to get your internship back.” There’s a chuckle in his voice that makes me grind my teeth.

“You think I don’t know you’re the reason I was let go?” My hands squeeze around my upper arms as I hold myself tighter. Something feels off, and a creeping sense that I’m not safe settles around me.

“Come on,” he croons, and I fight back a shudder. “Don’t be like that. All you have to do is come back to me, and it’ll all work itself out.” There’s a soft thud on the wall beside the door, and I can almost picture him leaning against it.

Delusional, controlling, narcissistic prick.

“Just leave.”

“Stop pretending you don’t want this. The hard to get act was fun at first, but knock it the fuck off,” he yells through the door, punctuating his words with a pounding fist. “Open this fucking door, Mia, or I’ll break it down.”

I swallow hard, my nails digging into the back of my arms hard enough to bruise through my sleep shirt. He wouldn’t break in here, would he? Fear laces my veins because Jason doesn’t live in a world with consequences. He’s spent his whole life with daddy’s money getting him anything he wanted. He probably thinks he’s impervious to being arrested, and God knows money rules the world.

There’s a loud bang against my door, and it rattles on its hinges. It happens again, and I have to fight against freezing.

I inhale deeply and try to hide the shaking in my voice as I say in a soothing tone, “Okay, I’ll let you in. Just give me a minute.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” he replies, but some of the urgency has dissipated.

Not for me though. I rush and grab my phone, dialing 911. At this point, I don’t even care if he gets charged. I just need him to leave.

My thumb hovers over the button when a familiar voice growls, “Get the fuck away from her.”

River. River is here.