Page 53 of Pucking Them
“Don’t talk to her like—" Cody starts hotly, but I cut him off before he can land himself in more trouble.
“I’m turning it around,” I insist. “I did this big interview today, which should have gone live by now. Here.”
I scramble to pull my phone out of the pocket of my coat.
All I want is to show Dad one good piece of news, then escape with Cody, D’Angelo, and Shay from this oppressive office.
Hopefully, Shay’s hip won’t be injured worse than bruises, which need me to massage in arnica cream (I may have fun teasing it over his cock as punishment for him starting the fight), then we can finally catch some sleep.
I bet that Eden is still waiting up for us anxiously, despite having been sent home to rest.
I type in my password. Then I scroll through my phone, searching through my notifications for press references.
Impatient, Dad leans across the desk and plucks the phone out of my hand.
“Hey,” I protest.
“Is it the one that’s just posted?” Dad’s brow furrows.
“Uh-huh,” I smirk. “Time to eat your words. Read it out then.”
Dad arches his brow at me. “Double Trouble: The Hidden Pain in the Pro Hockey Twins’ Past. Revealed for the first time with exclusive source interviews with the Prince twins’ long-lost biological parents, the secret troubled past of the rising star who has soared to success with the Bay Rebels…”
Dad trails off.
He drops the phone with a clatter onto the top of the desk.
My eyes widen in horror. My breath stutters.
What the fuck?
I turn to Shay, who has become as white as a ghost. He sways like his knees are about to buckle.
“Shit.” Cody steadies Shay.
But Shay hardly notices.
He looks fucking devastated.
Also,terrified.
CHAPTER NINE
Freedom Mansion
D’Angelo
“Nicole and Craig Webb.”I stare at the photograph of the smiling middle-aged couple. They don’t look like monsters.Only, they are.“The twins finally have the names of the biological parents who fucked up their lives. But at what cost?”
Once, I would have thought that no parent could treat anyone like the twins’ parents treated them. But then, mine had me dragged from my bed in the middle of the night by strangers, cuffed, and thrown into the back of a van to never see them again just because they wanted me to befixed.
They believed that I was troubled because I was bisexual.
I’m nottroubled, delinquent, or wrong. I’m not any of the names that I was called by the teachers in that Discipline School.
I know that now, even though it’s taken years of therapy and hard work to reach this place of self-acceptance.
I still struggle with OCD and flashes of PTSD.
