Pucking Road Trip (Bay Rebels #3)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Rebel Arena, Freedom

R obyn

“Jude couldn’t have thought of a better lie than a run at dawn to cover your ass?” Dad demands.

He’s carrying a stack of papers. They’re emblazoned with the team’s logo, which is a puck flaming with arctic blue fire.

The papers look official.

“I’m sure that he simply got me confused with Shay.” I struggle to keep up with Dad’s fast strides alongside the rink without slipping. “I’m surprised that he didn’t tell you that I was thrill seeking on my Harley or rock climbing.”

Dad stops to turn to scowl at me. “Don’t tell me that Shay is still doing those, even though the season has started?”

“No…?” I try but am not convincing.

Shay needs at least ten times the adrenaline that most people do.

Probably a hundred times as much as me.

I’d prefer to relax with a glass of wine. Eden would choose a good book.

D’Angelo would rather lounge over a piano with a cocktail in his hand, rather than dangle off a mountain.

Dad grits his teeth. “Have fun telling our insurance.”

Dad once had the same red hair as me but now, looks like a silver fox. He’s tall with a neat beard and twinkling, emerald eyes, which means that there’s still no missing that he’s my dad.

He’s dressed in a sharp charcoal suit with a green shirt and tie.

He always wears suits like D’Angelo does.

Since he’s been D’Angelo’s mentor from the beginning, kicking his ass if he doesn’t present himself as immaculate at all times, I’m beginning to wonder whether that’s part of the reason why D’Angelo always dresses up in the same way as him.

Dad is old school.

It gets him results but it causes fucking psychological damage, even though Dad is one of the few coaches who’ll take players who have been rejected by the rest of the NHL because of their mental health or physical needs.

Dad will give second chances to those who’ve screwed up like D’Angelo and Shay.

Dad took up coaching the Bay Rebel’s new team to redeem himself and offer the same chance to his team of misfits.

Ironic, huh?

Dad fucked up his own career in a scandal where he injured a player on the ice. It was sensational because they were both star players who’d won the Stanley Cup.

It was such a big deal that it tarnished the entire sport for years.

The press intrusion that followed tore apart his life and haunted my childhood.

When Mom died from cancer, Dad retreated into himself, abandoning my brother, Cody, and me.

It’s taken years to process that.

In many ways, he remained a good dad…to me.

But he hurt Cody, over, and over, and fucking over again .

It’s why I’m so protective of my brother.

I hope that Dad can repair his relationship with Cody but that’s on Dad.

Dad starts walking again, faster this time, and I struggle to keep up. We pass the cold metal benches that line the vast ice rink.

A rush of excitement washes over me.

Damn, I love this sport.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of the arena, which is as familiar as coming home: the bite of cold air mixed with sweat and rubber.

I’m dressed in a woolen green dress and sturdy boots. You can’t wear heels at the rink.

Shivering, I stuff my gloved hands into the pockets of my pea-green coat.

Eden wrapped his gray scarf around my neck this morning to hide the hickey.

I insisted that Eden not come with me, after checking whether he had any symptoms from his concussion.

When Eden grudgingly admitted that he was suffering at pain level three (a system that my brother put in place as part of Eden’s physical therapy to help him to recognize and then voice his pain), I suggested that he rest quietly this morning.

Eden would never have made that choice himself.

But he’d do it because I asked him to. I’m beginning to realize that.

I’m going to be careful with that power.

I turn my head to take a deep, sniff of his sweet, vanilla scent on the scarf.

“Did you have to make them practice just because they came down here to support me?” I hunch my shoulders, wandering close to the boards. “They were being good boyfriends.”

The lights are dim, apart from the spotlights that are directed onto the rink and its red and blue markings.

I stare through the glass at Shay and D’Angelo. They’re dressed in Bay Rebels jerseys.

D’Angelo is slouching. He’s trying to make it look casual, as if he’s not exhausted. I can see the way that his curls are plastered to his forehead, however, and the sheen of sweat on his skin.

I lean against the glass.

I can’t resist trying to get closer.

Unlike D’Angelo, Shay is skating.

He’s mesmerizing.

Every time that I see him skating it’s like it’s the first time.

He’s a virtuoso of the ice hockey world. The way that he handles his skates is like the way D’Angelo turns the piano into something spellbinding.

Sublime.

My breath hitches. Shay skates past me.

He’s faster than anyone in the NHL.

Faster than anyone alive.

How is this possible?

Do the other teams know what they missed out on by not signing Shay?

What potential he has?

Shay could be the best player in the NHL. Possibly, with the right coaching and mentoring, who has ever played.

I know that Dad feels it too.

Shay is the reason that the Bay Rebels have a shot at the playoffs for the first time, despite being the newest and poorest team.

Yet that type of responsibility and pressure on the shoulders of such a young athlete is a hell of a lot. He’s only just moved from his English college team, and now, he’s at the center of making the impossible possible.

If Dad pushes him too hard, then I’ll kick his ass.

Although right now, it’s the Assistant Coach, Colton, who’s doing that.

I glower at Colton.

Now in his mid-thirties, Colton played junior ice hockey, and he has the type of sour face that makes me feel that he never got over failing to make the selection in tryouts to the NHL.

He definitely puts the players through hell in training camp.

It’s earned him the nickname Stick No Carrot.

He’s proud of that.

He’s taller than Shay and much broader. His arms are crossed over his barrel chest, as he watches Shay skate laps with a self-satisfied look.

He has neat white blond hair and a mustache that looks like a fuzzy caterpillar that’s crept on there and died.

“Can’t he stop now? You’re pushing him past his limits,” I hear D’Angelo call. “Isn’t it my turn now?

Concerned, I notice that Shay is looking green around the gills.

Perhaps, D’Angelo hadn’t been exaggerating about the risk of Shay puking on the ice.

“You always try to take the control,” Colton replies with a dismissive sneer. “You never remember that on the ice you may be captain but I’m the coach. I didn’t ask for your opinion. Keep going, Prince. Faster.”

I gasp.

Jerk.

Impossibly, Shay looks determined, before pushing himself even faster.

“See, Colton’s effective.” Dad watches Shay with an air of hawk-eyed possession. “He can put Jude in his place, when most can’t deal with his cocky behavior. He can—”

“Make players collapse from exhaustion?” I hiss. “Does he always drive them like this in practice? Colton’s a hard-ass.”

Dad chuckles. “Yes, but he’s my hard-ass.”

“Dad, come on, even for you this is—"

Dad taps sharply on top of the pile of papers. “Do you know what I have here? A damn nightmare, is what. Almost every board member and senior manager calling for my head — or yours — after your stunt with that journalist. It doesn’t matter that Melanie Helt is the criminal. It’s about scandals being attached to this team. We need to pull something seriously out of our ass on the next games, or we’re screwed.”

My heart speeds up.

I clench my hands in my pockets. “What’s this got to do with you forcing my men to skate to their limits?”

Dad’s smile is dangerous. “If they insist on acting like overprotective assholes, then I’ll make them skate laps in order to get this meeting alone with you. It’s too important. And I’ll do it every time that I need to as well.”

My eyes widen.

Shit.

“Is that a warning?”

“More like a threat.”

I twirl away from the glass to face Dad. “So, you’re saying the faster that we sort this out, then the faster they can stop practice, right? Shit, why didn’t you say anything? What do you want to talk about? Hit me.”

Dad quirks his brow. “Slow down. If you talk at the speed of light, Robyn, I won’t be unable to understand you.”

Then his gaze settles on my neck, and his expression darkens.

Confused, I reach to trace my neck, then shiver when my fingers press on the hickey.

I redden.

Hell, it wasn’t as well covered by the scarf as I thought it was.

I tug at the scarf, trying to cover the hickey.

Dad shakes his head, uncomfortable. “This is part of what we need to talk about. You being… careful .”

I freeze.

Oh no.

It can’t be.

Seriously, can’t be.

This isn’t Dad’s very…very…way too late…sex education talk, right?

He’s the type of Dad who was awesome about having tampons delivered every month to the house without once mentioning the fact to me as a teenager.

But he preferred to pretend that even his married daughter wasn’t having sex.

Cody got away with a stern look and a packet of condoms dropped onto his lap.

“I am.” I drag my hands out of my pockets and wave them about like that’ll convince him.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Dad says. “You need to be more discrete. Keep it professional in public. If you can cope with watching Colton kicking other players’ asses, then cope with him kicking your special projects’ asses too. Don’t show favoritism. Hockey’s a tough sport. Would you care if Atlas puked?”

“Yes.” I arch my brow. “Atlas is cute.”

Dad points his finger at me. “Stay away from my other players. They’re not here for you to catch and collect them all. They’re not Pokemon.”

I grin. “Of course not, I wouldn’t fuc—”

“Robyn,” Dad barks.

“What do you want to talk about?” I look over his shoulder at the rink. Shay is beginning to slow down, as exhaustion catches up on him. He’s looking rough. My guts churn. He’s going to need an ice bath and then massage after this. His muscles will ache for the rest of the day. This had better be worth it. “I get it. We’ll keep the relationship secret. And we’re taking this road trip seriously.”

Dad’s gaze skitters away from me.

He’s not telling me something important.

He has a nervous energy about him, which isn’t normal for him.

What’s the true reason behind why it’s important that the road trip doesn’t go wrong?

Dad rubs his beard. “The Bay Rebels have never started a season so strongly. We’ve never made the playoffs before. Until the last few matches, nobody was expecting anything from us. But now, they are. That’s dangerous. It’s the reason that Eden was targeted. Once you’re a threat, someone will find a way to take you down. We’re not prepared for that like other teams are because we only have a fraction of the sponsorships, backing, and staff. Perhaps, if this season goes well, then that can change. We’re playing with the big boys now but without their support or finances. We’re at a turning point. Everything rests on this.”

“I understand.”

“Then you’ll understand why I took an important decision.” Dad fixes me with a hard stare. My hands feel clammy. “This isn’t called the California Death March for nothing. It’s the most brutal of the road trips. It may be unfair, but the pressure will be on D’Angelo as the captain and Shay as our chief scorer and star player. They’ll have to suck that up. The likelihood is they’ll relapse, however, under the pressure into their bad old ways and destructive patterns of behavior.”

I cross my arms. “Like what?”

“Well,” Dad’s eyes twinkle, “last time with Jude it was partying, drinking, and being found sleeping in a fountain wearing nothing but a pair of bunny ears and the team’s official bow tie.”

I choke on my tongue.

Oh, fuck.

Flustered, I swallow. “But this time, they have me.”

When Dad gives a slow smile that flashes his canines, I know that I’ve walked straight into his trap.

Wily old fox.

“I’m glad that you agree with my decision.” Dad looks smug. “This time, I can’t risk that happening. Or Shay transforming from a cuddly golden retriever into a pit bull on the ice. D’Angelo has also insisted that he needs his PA by his side. So, I won’t have any of you traveling with the other players and staff on the road trip. Instead, I’m arranging for you to drive there separately together. You’ll stay in your own hotel. Robyn, you’ll be responsible twenty-four seven for keeping my misfits leashed and away from the press. Nothing must go wrong.”