Braking His Rules Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Breaking His Rules | B.S. Schmitt

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Author Note

  To anyone out there looking for their happy ever after. Sometimes we find it in the one place we never thought to look.

  Breaking His Rules

  B.S. Schmitt

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

  © 2021 by B.S. Schmitt

  All rights reserved

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission from the publisher.

  Edits by Write Your Best Book

  Cover photo by Deposit Photos

  “You don’t fall in love with a gender.

  You fall in love with the person.”

  -Author Unknown-

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Author Note

  Chapter One

  Aaron

  I hike my backpack higher on my shoulder, adjusting the weight of the books inside, which are killing the muscles in my arm and shoulders. Makes me wonder if the iPad was invented by a college student who was tired and sore from lugging books all day. If I could afford one, I would do away with the strain, but iPads and laptops cost more money than I can spare.

  I breath in the fresh scent of rain as I continue down the outdoor corridor to my professor’s office. Spring in the Pacific Northwest is always the wettest. Most people hate the gloom of the gray skies but after living here all my life. I’m used to it. I stop when I reach the room at the end of the hall and brush my knuckles against the tempered glass with the name PROFESSOR DONOVAN typed a crossed it in white lettering.

  My physics professor asked to see me during his free hour to discuss my term paper. That can’t be a good sign.

  Fuck!

  I’d better not fail this class. Losing my scholarship is not on option.

  The door swings open, and Professor Donovan stands there, offering me a warm smile.

  “Aaron! Glad you could make it. Come on in and take a seat,” Professor Donovan says, stepping off to the side of the open doorway.

  “Thank you, Professor.”

  His office is cluttered with stacks of books in every corner and random piles of legal pads and loose paper. To someone who’s never been inside the room, the dirtiness can be overwhelming. My heart races as soon as I walk into the room. Professor Donovan is in his late forties and about a hundred pounds overweight, causing a high-pitched wheeze to escape every time he takes a breath. Taking a seat in the chair behind his desk, his round belly rolls fall to the front of him.

  “I apologize for the mess. I can’t seem to keep up with it anymore.”

  I offer him a weak smile. No matter what people say about him behind his back, I like the professor.

  Professor Donovan was known around campus for his sloppy appearance. His shirts were always two sizes too small and normally stained with something he had eaten earlier in the day. Cracked, dirty glasses sit on his round face, and on especially hot days, the hard-to-miss odor of onions permeates the air around him.

  A shame, too, because Professor Donovan is a nice guy and one hell of a teacher.

  “So, Mr. Reed. I bet you’re wondering why I called you in here.”

  Setting my backpack at my feet, I take a seat in the only chair not filled with clutter.

  “Yes, sir. I’m not failing, am I?”

  Like a Band-Aid. Tell me and get it over with.

  Donovan’s lip’s part with a smile. “Dubious, Mr. Reed. You are one of my star pupils this year, Mr. Reed. I only wish more of my students used their brains the way you do.”

  He pulled at his tie, adjusting at his throat. “Failing? No. I asked you to meet me because I recently became aware of an internship available at Beckman next year. After speaking with a colleague of mine, who is head of the software department, a recommendation letter from me, and you have a running chance of winning the spot. I’m sure you’re aware Beckman only opens internships every three to four years, so spots are not easy to come by. If you take a few extra classes and work through the summer, you could be in by fall,” he says as he sits back in his chair, seeming pleased with himself.

  Knots form my stomach. “Extra classes? How many extra?” Becoming a software engineer has always been my dream, and this dream is what keeps me working my ass off. But extra classes? How in the hell can I swing that? I have thirteen cents in my bank account, my scholarship funds are depleted, and not counting my own, I have two other mouths to feed.

  “I think picking up another class or two for winter quarter and two more this summer could be enough to put you in the lead. I have a good feeling about this, Reed. You’re already on top of your game. You know the textbook inside out.”

  For a second, I allow my thoughts to roam to the possibility of interning for a firm such as Beckman. A firm that competes with Microsoft. Internships at firms like Beckman are impossible to find.

  Fuck! It would be awesome to learn software design hands-on at Beckman. Plus, an internship there would do wonders for my resume.

  Unfortunately, that’s not my reality. Things like that don’t happen for me. I need to stop dreaming about shit I can’t change. I have responsibilities at home. Two, in fact, and I can’t leave them. There is no one else who could take care of them. Besides, extra classes mean extra money and less time to work at my part-time job.

  “Thank you, Professor, but I don’t think it’s going to be possible for me to take on any more than I already am.”

  “Reed...” Donovan leans forward. “...look, kid. I’m not blind, I can see that things are...hard at home.”

  My gaze shoots up to his. “W-what do you mean?”

  “I’ve been a teacher for twenty years. I can spot a struggling student in the first-class walkthrough. Please, don’t be embarrassed. You and I have similar stories. I also grew up on the south side of Seattle in South Lake Union. The place hasn’t improved that much since the eighties. My mom was a single parent, and we were raised on government assistance and food stamps. I understand the struggle, Aaron. But listen to me, you are never going to get out of that side of town unless you pull yourself out. You hear me? Stay determined.”

  I look down at my beat-up, worn sneakers with fraying laces. He’s right. Anyone here could take one look at me and tell I don’t belong. The school’s out of my league, and I stand out from the rest of the students. My clothes are second hand, my backpack is barely staying together, and I have no money to buy anything new. He may be right about my determination, except for one thing.

  “You’re right, Pr
ofessor. I am from South Lake, and I don’t have any money. Extra classes are not something I can do right now. As much as I would love to get that internship, it just isn’t possible. I appreciate you reaching out to your colleague about the recommendation letter. That means more to me than I can express. But I can’t. I have some, uh, things in my life that need me more. I wish it weren’t so, but thank you for your time, Professor. I’ll see you next week.”

  I grab my backpack from the floor and swing it up over my shoulder and head over to the door.

  “Mr. Reed.” Professor Donovan calls out, stopping me. “I hope you think about it and reconsider. This chance may not be there next year.”

  I nod and thank him again for his time and then leave the office. There’s nothing to think about; there will be no internship for me.

  By the time I make it across town on the city bus and down the two blocks in our neighborhood to my house, the rain has stopped leaving the pink hues of the setting sun , engulfing the houses in shadows. I push open the old, beaten chain link gate, stopping long enough to gaze inside the full mailbox.

  I pull out the stack of mail and thumb through it. Final notices and immediate attentions stare up at me in red ink.

  Terrific.

  I grab the mail and slam the gate closed behind me and take the cracked, chipped steps leading up to the front porch two at a time. As I enter, the house is quiet, other than the sound of a cartoon emanating from the older boxed TV in the living room. I make my way inside the house, shrugging off my coat and backpack before heading toward the noise.

  As I walk in, my youngest sister looks at me with her blue eyes, and I can’t help but smile. “Hey, peanut. Where is everyone?” I ask the beautiful blonde sitting on the couch brushing her doll’s hair.

  “Hi, Aaron,” Kenzie says with her non r sounding lisp and gives me a massive, toothy six-year-old smile. At least it would be toothy if she didn’t have a big hole in the front where she had lost a tooth last week.

  “Shelby’s getting her brushes so we can do hair. I don’t know where Mom is,” she says, pulling her hairbrush through her doll’s hair.

  I walk toward the kitchen, tussling her hair as I walk past. “Did you two eat yet?”

  “That would involve someone being here to feed us. You don’t think she’s going to stay home long enough to do it, do you?” My fifteen-year-old sister, Shelby, asks as she walks into the room, dangling a brush from her fingers. She plops down on the couch next to our baby sister and pushes the brush toward her doll. “Here,” she says, making Kenzie smile with glee.

  “Mom hasn’t been home at all?” I ask Shelby. Only being seven years younger than me, I hate the fact, that she’s been more of a mom to Kenzie than our own mom has ever been. Just like me, she always wants to be there for our baby sister.

  Shelby turns her head my way, letting me catch a glimpse of her famous eye roll. “What do you think, college boy? I haven’t seen her since last night.” she asks.

  I fuckin’ hate it when she calls me that. Frank calls me college boy, and I fuckin’ hate Frank. Our mother’s on and off again boyfriend of the last ten years thinks he’s our father. Well, he is Kenzie’s father. Or at least mom swears he is. Who can tell with our mom? She probably told him he was Kenzie’s dad so the dickhead would keep coming around. Not that he contributes to raising her or even pays any attention to Kenzie. I wouldn’t doubt it if he didn’t even know her middle name or when her birthday is.

  “Perfect.” I mumble and head to the refrigerator. I open it up to find a half a loaf of bread, a small jar of jelly, a block of cheese, and one egg.

  Shit. Out of food again.

  “Where in the hell is the food I bought yesterday?” I ask, looking at my sisters from over the fridge door.

  Without meeting my eyes, Shelby answers with a shrug. “Who knows with Frank and his stupid friend, Paul? They were leaving when we got home from school today. You know all he does is eat and drink beer.”

  “Fuck,” I say, slamming the damn door closed. Just what I fuckin’ need.

  Frank and I locked horns in the past over shit like this. I told him countless times he is not to eat the food I buy for the girls.

  No-good bastard

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Fuck. My. Life.

  After that, I count to ten before I come back to reality and get to work making jelly sandwiches for the three of us.

  ONCE THE GIRLS ARE in bed for the night, I sit at the kitchen table with a can of beer I had to stash in my room. I then pull out the stack of past due bills.

  What the fuck am I going to do? Every one of the bills are marked urgent. Water, electric, rent. It doesn’t stop. How am I going to keep food in the house, let alone catch all these bills up and pay for school? Dropping out isn’t an option, but neither is not working full time. The part-time job I do have at the on-campus bookstore four days a week isn’t cutting it. But it’s the only time I have between classes and being home for the girls at night.

  Fuck.

  My elbows rest on the edge of the table and I let my face fall into my hands. I can feel the sting of tears in the back of my eyes. It’s all so fucking hopeless. I’m twenty-two. I should be out partying and fucking random girls. I should be playing beer pong and sleeping in until noon. I’m a college kid, for fuck’s sake. Yet here I sit, drinking a warm, shitty beer, staring at bills I can’t afford to pay, and wondering how the hell I’m going to feed my sisters.

  Those two girls are the only reason I stay in this shit hole. If I didn’t have them, I would have been gone a long fucking time ago. There’s no way I’m going to leave them with a mother who doesn’t give a fuck about them.

  “What the fuck am I going to do?” I ask myself. As the weight of the adult burdens weigh me down, I let one single tear slip down my cheek before picking up my beer can, draining it in one gulp, and flinging it across the room.

  What the fuck am I going to do?

  Chapter Two

  Aaron

  “There’s always drug dealing.”

  My best friend, Jonah, sits on the bookstore counter facing away from me as I scan books into the new inventory. It’s one in the afternoon and the rush of students won’t be here for another hour.

  “Man, I’m being serious. What the hell am I going to do? Going through those bills last night has me worried.” I say, placing another price sticker on the stack of new inventory of books we just received. Jonah has the afternoons off from class, leaving him free time to bug me at work. Not that I mind, it gives me someone to talk to during the down time. Jonah and I have been friends since the third grade. We both lived in the same low-income apartment building until he won the stepdad jackpot. His mom remarried and they moved across town to the posh condo his parents still live in today.

  “You can sell your sperm. I hear old men with these Playboy Bunny wives will buy young fresh swimmers so their wives can get pregnant.”

  I glare at him. “Fuck you, man. You think this is funny?”

  Jonah’s smile falls. “You’re right. Sorry, bro. It’s not funny. It’s fucked up your mom leaves you to raise your sisters. Fucking sucks seeing you go through this. I also know that if not for you the girls would be—”

  I cut him off. “I know where they would be.”

  Jonah, being my closest friend, knows all about my mom and Frank’s relationship and drug usage. He even knows about CPS making visits to the house to check on the girls. Ever since one of Kenzie’s teachers thought it was her duty as a mandatory reporter, she reported us for suspicious behavior going on within our home. Jonah also knows if I hadn’t agreed to stay in the house the caseworker would have taken the girls months ago. It also helps that the state is too full of kids now. With no extra beds in the Washington state foster care system, they try to leave them with family whenever they can.

  “Fuck, man, I know you’re serious. If I had any money in my pockets, I would give it to you in a heartbeat.”

  I slap my h
and on his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

  He would give it to me, too. Jonah’s parents make good money, but he comes from a home where they don’t simply hand money over to him. They give him enough to pay his bills and shop for food. His stepdad is an immigrant to the states, and more than once I’ve heard him tell the kids that he had to work for every dime he got and so will they.

  A couple of students start to walk toward the counter, and I push Jonah out of the way. The loser smiles and jumps to his feet, playing on his phone.

  Two girls walk up and place a stack of books next to the register.

  “Did you find everything okay?” I ask, trying to be polite as I ring up the books.

  The girls giggle, and one of them bumps the other with her elbow. The second one gives her friend a heated glare then turns to smile at me. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Her friend rolls her eyes. “Oh, for shit’s sake, I’ll do it.”

  The cute blonde gasps and shakes her head.

  The other one continues. “We were wondering...Aaron” she says, looking at my name tag, “if you’re single. And if so, would you like to go get coffee with my friend here?”

  The other girl looks mortified her friend is asking on her behalf, yet she doesn’t deny the question or stop her friend from asking.

  I can’t help but smile. They’re both cute and I would love to take one of them out for coffee or drinks. That is, if my life was anyone else’s at the moment.

  “No, I’m not single. Sorry, ladies.”

  “Yeah, right!” shouts Jonah from where he’s leaning a few feet away.

  “Ignore him. His Tourette’s is flaring up again.”

  Disappointment is clear on both of the girl’s faces. “Damn. Why are all the cute ones taken? Your girlfriend is a lucky girl,” the blonde says.

  They pay for the books and then leave.

  “Why in the hell would you do that? They were hot,” Jonah says, moving back over to the counter.

  “Have you not been listening to me? I don’t have time for a dating life. A girlfriend is the last thing I need. I already have two girls who depend on me. I don’t need another.”