the problem with the rules

At 3:12 a.m., Nora was still awake when she heard the front door open.

It wasn’t a slam. Instead, she heard three slow clicks as the locks turned back one by one, followed by the soft scrape of someone trying to be quiet.

She slid out of bed, wincing when her injured knee protested. After opening her bedroom door a crack, she peered down the hall.

Liam stood in the dark living room wearing a black suit. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked older like that, sharper and more intimidating. He looked like someone she would cross the street to avoid.

Then he noticed her, and the stranger disappeared behind a smirk that came a fraction of a second too late.

“Shaw. Can’t sleep?” Liam asked.

“It’s three in the morning,” Nora replied.

“I know. I live here.”

“Where were you?”

“Team banquet.”

Nora glanced at his suit. “In a suit?”

“It was fancy,” he said.

“At three in the morning?”

“They run long.”

She ignored him and looked at his sleeve. A dark stain spread across the white cuff, its edges stiff and dried.

“That’s blood,” she said.

“It’s wine,” Liam replied.

“I grew up in places where people got hurt at night.” She kept her voice steady. “I know what blood looks like on dark cotton. I also know what it looks like when someone is trying to hide it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. A car passed outside, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling before disappearing.

Nora looked at him. “Is it yours?”

“No.”

The single word was worse than a lie.

Liam slowly brought his hand out from behind his back. His knuckles were split open, the skin raw and red. He stared at her as though daring her to ask another question.

She wanted to. Every instinct told her to demand answers, to find out where he had been and what had happened.

But Liam’s expression stopped her.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Go to bed.”

It was the please that changed everything.

Nora turned without another word, walked back to her bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

By 6:47 a.m., Nora had decided that living with Liam Carter was a terrible idea.

She grabbed her towel and stepped into the hallway, exhausted from a sleepless night, only to freeze when she heard the shower running. Steam seeped from beneath the bathroom door.

She checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t misread the time.

6:47 a.m.

“You have got to be kidding me.” She banged on the door. “Liam!”

The water stopped, and his deep morning voice came through the door. “Yeah?”

“You said you showered before seven!”

“It’s before seven.”

“Barely!”

“That counts.”

Nora leaned her forehead against the wall. “Some of us have classes to get to.”

“So do I. Give me two minutes, Shaw,” he replied.

She stalked into the kitchen before she lost her temper. As she stared at the coffee machine, she made a promise to herself.

Rule #1: Don’t fall for Liam Carter.

Not the roommate. Not the hockey captain. Not the guy who walked around half-dressed. And definitely not the guy who came home at three in the morning with blood on his cuff.

She added a second rule because she was tired, annoyed, and determined to keep her life uncomplicated.

Rule #2: Mind your own business.

That rule lasted until Liam walked out of the bathroom.

He wore black athletic shorts and a gray hockey shirt. His hair was still damp, and fresh tape covered his injured wrist. He looked perfectly rested, as though he hadn’t been awake half the night.

It was infuriating.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Like a baby,” Nora replied.

“Liar.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Something flickered across his face, but he said nothing. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down as though nothing had happened during the night.

Nora opened her laptop and tried to ignore him. Liam grabbed a banana and peeled it with one hand, pretending his left wrist wasn’t twice its normal size.

“You’re staring,” he remarked.

“I’m looking at your wrist.”

“Are you studying me now?”

“I’m studying athletic training.”

“Same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

She watched him press his thumb against the banana peel and noticed how badly the joint had swollen. Unable to ignore it any longer, she closed her laptop and held out her hand.

“Let me see.”

“No,” Liam replied.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll tell me to sit out practice.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Liam, give me your arm,” she insisted.

He studied her open palm as though it were a trap. Then he looked at her face and seemed to realize she wasn’t going to let the matter go. With a slow sigh, he placed his forearm on the table.

Nora turned his hand over. His skin was warm, and the tape had been wrapped too tightly near his palm without providing adequate support for the injured joint. She carefully unwound it, keeping her eyes on the task as Liam went completely still.

When she removed the last strip, the bruising was worse than she had expected. Deep purple discoloration spread from the joint toward his thumb.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I blocked a shot,” he answered.

“With your bare wrist?”

“With whatever was closest.”

“That’s not how you block a shot.”

“It is when the other team is about to score.”

Nora looked up at him, expecting a smirk. He wasn’t smiling. She forced herself to look back at his wrist, but her attention shifted to his right hand resting beside the banana peel.

The split knuckles had been cleaned and covered with two small bandages.

“And those?” she asked.

“A door,” Liam replied.

“Which door?”

“A stubborn one.”

Nora almost smiled. She hated that she almost did.

She stood, retrieved the gel ice pack from the freezer, and handed it to him. His fingers closed around hers, and for a moment, neither of them let go.

She pulled her hand away first.

“Twenty minutes,” she instructed. “And don’t push yourself during drills.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Liam replied.

“Are you always this bad at following directions?”

“Only the ones I don’t like.”

Nora grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. “Good luck with that attitude.”

“Nora.”

She stopped at the door and turned around.

Liam sat at the table with the ice pack pressed against his wrist, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“Good luck in class,” he said quietly.

His voice held none of its usual teasing. He sounded sincere, and that caught her off guard.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Then she escaped before he could say anything else.

By 10:30 a.m., Nora was sitting in her athletic training seminar with her notebook open and her mind somewhere else.

This class was critical to her future. She needed every clinical hour and signature to maintain her reduced scholarship. One mistake could put everything she had worked for at risk.

Professor Collins stood at the front of the classroom.

“This week, each of you will be assigned to one of the university’s sports programs,” she announced. “You’ll assist with injury prevention, therapy, and game-day support.”

Nora wrote down the instructions, waiting to hear which team she would be assigned to.

“The hockey program needs extra help this season,” Professor Collins continued. “Their schedule is packed, and several players are managing injuries.”

Nora’s pen stopped moving.

Please don’t say it.

“Nora Shaw,” Professor Collins called. “You’ll report to the hockey team.”

Several classmates turned to look at her. Professor Collins offered her an encouraging smile.

“Rink training room. Three o’clock sharp.”

Nora forced a smile. “Great.”

She had moved in with Liam Carter because she couldn’t afford the rent anywhere else. Now the university was sending her to his rink every afternoon.

As far as Rule #1 was concerned, things couldn’t have gone much worse.

The rink was loud and freezing. Pucks cracked against the glass, skate blades scraped across the ice, and someone shouted instructions about a line change.

The head trainer handed Nora a clipboard as she entered the training area.

“You’ll be helping with basic treatments and muscle recovery,” he explained. “If a player seems more injured than he admits, document it immediately. Don’t let anyone talk you out of recording what you observe.”

“Got it,” Nora replied.

As she walked toward the training room, a bronze plaque mounted beside the door caught her attention. It was polished to a shine, its lettering clearly visible.

THE CARTER FAMILY ICE CENTER

A gift of the Carter Foundation.

Nora read it twice.

Then Liam walked in, already wearing one skate while tying the other. He glanced at her and grinned.

“What a coincidence,” he said.

“I’m here for my class placement,” Nora reminded him.

“I know. Collins emailed the staff this morning.”

Of course he knew.

Nora nodded toward the plaque. “Carter. Is that a coincidence, too?”

Liam barely glanced at it. “Common name.”

“Sure it is,” Jake remarked from behind her.

He leaned against the doorframe with a gear bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that suggested he knew more than he was saying.

“Real common,” Jake added. “Especially in this building.”

“Jake,” Liam warned.

“What?” Jake asked innocently. “I’m agreeing with you.”

The head trainer called out from his desk without looking up. “She’s an athletic training student, Carter. Behave yourself.”

Liam stood, picked up his hockey stick, and tapped Nora’s clipboard twice with his fingers.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” he replied.

Then he headed onto the ice.

Nora watched him go, reminding herself that she was there to work. Nothing more.

But the moment Liam joined the team, something about him changed. His lazy smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp focus she hadn’t seen in the apartment. He took a hard pass without looking and moved through the drill with the confidence of someone who belonged on the ice.

When a defenseman approached from his left, Liam twisted sharply to protect his taped wrist.

Nora lowered her gaze to the clipboard and recorded the movement.

It was her job to observe the players and document anything that might affect their performance or put them at risk.

So why did watching Liam feel so personal?

When practice ended, the training room filled with exhausted players. As Nora stacked the foam rollers, Jake approached her.

“A few of us are grabbing dinner on Thursday. You should come,” he offered.

Before Nora could answer, Liam appeared in the doorway, his helmet in one hand and sweat dripping from his hair.

“Coach is looking for you,” he told Jake.

Jake glanced at the empty hallway. “Sure he is.”

“Go,” Liam said flatly.

Shaking his head with a grin, Jake waved at Nora and left.

She turned to Liam. “You could have just admitted you wanted to talk to me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did you send him away?”

Liam stepped closer. “Because you just got here, and I don’t want the team making your life difficult.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“I know.” His dark eyes held hers. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Nora turned to leave, but he called after her.

“Don’t forget the rules, Shaw.”

She glanced back. “Which ones?”

“Yours.”

She shook her head, hiding a smile as she walked out.

The apartment was dark when Nora returned. Outside her bedroom door sat a blue gel ice pack with a handwritten note taped to it.

For your head. You look like you need it after dealing with me all day.

A smile crept across her face as she turned the note over.

The writing on the back was smaller, the words pressed hard into the paper.

Whatever you saw last night, you didn’t see it. Please.

Nora read it three times before folding the note and slipping it into her pocket.