Page 171 of Pucking Them
“Isn’t lying bad?” I asked.
“We have secrets, right?” Shay replied. “Things that we don’t tell people about our past. Being truthful doesn’t mean confessing everything. People can hurt you if they know the bad shit about you. You must protect yourself. White lies are different though. They’re not about lying to avoid hurting yourself. They’re small lies to avoid hurting someone else.”
“Does that mean you can lie to avoid hurting someone?”
Shay’s face lit up, and he nodded. “It’s how you please people. Then they want to be your friend. They don’t reject or throw you away like trash. It’s what I do. You can pretend to like what they do or what they’ve offered.”
It didn’t sound right.
I blinked. “If someone offers me…?”
“Coffee,” Shay explained, “and you wanted tea. You just say that you want the coffee to please them and make them feel good. You understand?”
I didn’t.
I still don’t.
A cold dread coils in my guts that Shay lived by that rule when he was with that bitch Blythe.
But what if he still does?
What if he accepted that collar for the same reason? Because he wanted topleaseD’Angelo and Robyn?
To make them feel good?
Cody shoots me a thumbs-up in question.
I pull my cold hands out of my pockets. My hands are numb, despite my gloves. Then I force myself to return the gesture, no matter how unnatural or untrue it is.
Probably, Cody would count it as a breach of physiotherapy code of trust. Is that a real thing? Are there consequences like the removal of cake treats after treatment?
Cruel.
Cody’s expression relaxes. He grins at me.
Then he turns back to Noah, and they both intently watch the game together.
Would Cody accept that this was awhite lietoo?
“Assholes,” Robyn hisses. “Come on,come on…”
Hurriedly, I step to her side.
I clasp Robyn’s gloved hand in mine.
She sighs, allowing herself to sink against my side. “The dicks are playing dirty again. Can you see how Lucas is limping? Noah wanted to take him off earlier, but Dad insisted that he keep playing. Wilder has had a full-body-collision with D’Angelo four times?—”
“Six.” But who’s counting? “He’s also been crashed into the boards thirteen times.”
“Fourteen.” Robyn winces, as the glass rattles. “I want to kill that bastard.” Then her gaze snaps to mine and widens. “Figuratively.”
Shame.
I stiffen, when D’Angelo stumbles on the ice like his knees are about to buckle. Atlas attempts to hide the slip by skating at his captain’s shoulder.
The whole team has been trying to shield the way that D’Angelo has been slipping and almost falling throughout the game. They have created a protective bubble without drawing attention to his weakness. Grayson has covered gaps that he’s left, subtly shadowing opposing rival players for him. Shay has been taking more risks to intercept pucks, while Lucas has delayed opponents to give D’Angelo the time that he’s needed to recover.
My lips thin.
