Page 48 of Pucking Them
Shay has already thrown his stick down on the ice, however, and is tearing off his gloves.
D’Angelo is desperately skating over the ice toward him, but it’s too late.
Shay is about to have his ass kicked in a fight with Wilder.
Just like Wilder wanted.
Shay is going to cost the team penalties and end up in the Box of Shame himself, even though the crowd are chantingshameat Wilder, as he drags off his own gloves.
I tremble with powerlessness, unable to stop the Bay Rebels throwing the crucial first game.
When I dare to glance at Dad, he is screaming at the players through the glass. His cheeks are red with fury.
My breath stutters.
No matter how hard Shay’s ass is kicked by my ex-husband, Dad will kick it harder after he loses this game.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rebel Arena, Freedom
Robyn
“Dad has heldD’Angelo and Shay hostage in his office for two hours.” I march furiously up and down the shadowy corridor.
Dad’s irate voice bellows from behind the door of the office like it has from the moment that he dragged the entire team there after the disaster of a game.
Except, the rest of the team were let go after only half an hour of having their asses kicked. D’Angelo and Shay, on the other hand, are still shut inside.
I’m surprised that Dad’s voice isn’t shaking the door.
“Two hours? It’s not long for Dad.” Cody leans tiredly against the corridor wall. He has deep shadows underneath his eyes and appears to still be standing by willpower alone. He has been working since early this morning with the players, preparing forgame night. It worries me how hard Dad has been driving him, period. “Don’t you remember that infamous Christmas he kept my presents hostage for an entire month, until I confessed?”
My chest becomes tight.
I rush to Cody, resting my hand on his arm because Idoremember.
I remember my younger brother’s tears on Christmas morning, when his presents were ceremonially placed in a trash bag by Dad. Cody cried, clinging to my arm. Then Dad grabbed him by the neck, dragging him to watch, while he hid them away in the attic.
Cody hadn’t been allowed to open a single gift.
He hadn’t even known what he’d meant to be confessing.
It hadn’t been the first time Dad had played that cruel game with him.
Cody wildly tried confessing to every crime he could think of through his tears, simply trying to get his presents back.
Trying to prove that he wasn’tnaughtyand deserved them like I did.
He was so distraught that he wouldn’t share my presents, despite me trying to encourage him to open mine alongside me.
My brother spent the remainder of Christmas Day and the vacation grounded to his room, being punished for make-believe misdeeds.
It took him almost a month of that game, before Dad decided that Cody had confessed to the right thing and finally allowed him to have his presents.
By then, any magic of Christmas had worn off. Cody refused to play with any of his toys, stuffing them to the back of his closet.
“I don’t even remember what you were meant to have done,” I say, quietly.
