Pucking Road Trip (Bay Rebels #3)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Rose Palace, San Jose

R obyn

My head’s throbbing, and my nose feels stuffy. My throat is sore enough to make me wonder whether I’ve been drinking shattered glass, rather than water on the long journey from New Mexico to San Jose.

I can’t go down with something now.

I have a feeling that the battle both on and off the ice is about to begin.

The PR Director who’s holding up the shield can’t also be holding up a tissue in front of their streaming nose, while bent over with a hacking cough.

In his typical captain of the motorhome manner, D’Angelo was determined to make it to San Jose in a single day. His goal was to give us Monday off, before the first game on Tuesday.

It’s been an epic drive through the day and night into the early hours.

The only bright side has been Shay and Eden’s excitement with every new state that we passed through. Watching the twins’ faces, as they stared out of the windows at the mountains, lakes, and forests, has been a special and beautiful experience.

I understand D’Angelo’s urge to provide the brothers with as many experiences like this as he can.

I simply want to make them feel loved.

And to help them believe that they can be.

Seeing their happiness, while Eden took photographs for the Bay Rebels social media account, was enough to make me forget Dad’s warnings about his past.

But now, with my temples throbbing, it’s all rushing back.

“What a shame that the hotel only has one room available,” D’Angelo deadpans like any of us will believe that lie. How can he look immaculate in his pinstriped suit at 2 a.m. in the morning, while I’m a hot mess in a borrowed LIFE IS BETTER WITH TEA, CATS, AND BOOKS sweater from Eden and stained joggers? “We’ll be forced to share. I signed us in under a false name.”

I glance around the opulent corridor with white walls and high ceilings. “What?”

D’Angelo smirks. “Mr. R. Ebel.”

“How could anybody crack that code? Leave the aliases to me next time.” Shay almost topples over under the weight of our bags.

I take mine from him.

“Thanks, love.” Shay shoots me a smile.

Eden trails behind us.

He’s trying not to show it but he’s stumbling with exhaustion. He’s squinting in the light, which I know by now means that his head must be hurting as much as mine is.

“Luckily, The Rose Palace is run by a friend of a friend of a…you get the idea.” D’Angelo leads us to an arched oak door. “The press won’t find us in this oasis.”

“Discrete, right?” Shay asks, lugging the bags under his arms.

“Do you know everybody through this kink network of yours?” I quirk my brow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” D’Angelo whispers. “You’d be surprised how many celebrities and public people use the same discretion that I do.”

I bounce on my toes, alight with curiosity. “I need names.”

“And you’re not getting them, principessa, because we protect each other. We don’t share names, allow photographs of events, or talk about how people in the community identify. We care and look out for each other. Because nobody else is going to, and unfortunately, there are assholes out there who’d tear us apart simply for being who we were born to be.”

I stroke the back of my hand down D’Angelo’s sharp cheekbone. “I hope that one day, I’ll meet some of your trusted friends. I love that you’ve had people in your life to support you, when I wasn’t there.”

D’Angelo’s expression gentles. “I’d like that to.”

Then he twists away from me to face the door with a flourish, unlocking it with an old-fashioned, antique gold key on a tassel. “Who’s ready for some pampering?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I mutter.

Motorhomes sound fun, until you’re stuck in a tiny space with Shay, the hyper puppy who bounces off the walls after sitting still for only a couple of minutes.

Try three days and nights…

D’Angelo pushes open the door and stalks inside.

Relieved to have finally reached an actual hotel room, I stumble into the brightly lit room after him, along with Shay and Eden.

Behind me, Shay whistles.

He spins on the spot, looking around himself in amazement.

I’ve been in a lot of luxury hotels. Wilder loved to travel in style, although I often felt as much a part of his baggage as his suitcases or hockey gear.

Yet this suite is staggeringly beautiful.

It’s in Spanish Colonial Revival style with large, white pointed arches, high wooden columns, and a beamed oak ceiling.

The wooden columns are entwined with golden roses and thorns.

Dusky rose drapes are pulled open to reveal a stunning view over San Jose and rolling hills.

A four-poster bed in matching pink to the drapes has been covered in cushions that look like flowering roses. To the other side of the room are velvet couches and antique armchairs.

The elegant, claw-foot bath is open to the bedroom on a raised alcove through an archway.

“There’s no way that Bay Rebels is footing the bill for this.” I wander to a velvet, dusky pink couch and collapse onto it.

Shit, it’s soft.

“They’re not.” D’Angelo adjusts his cufflinks three times. “I am.”

Eden clutches his side as he slowly makes his way to join me on the couch.

He looks at me for a long moment. “Are you feeling okay?”

Hundred percent not.

“Fine and dandy.” Why the hell did I say that?

I don’t even believe it myself.

Eden gives me an even longer look.

I’m overly aware of the sweat beads glistening on my forehead.

Shay shakes his head. “This is too much. It’s literally called a palace. Do you think that it looks like this in Buckingham Palace, Dee? Don’t you reckon that we’re true English princes now?”

Eden takes out his phone and begins to scroll through the photographs that he’s taken on the trip.

Shay twists to D’Angelo, smiling. “Thanks, darlin’. I mean that. Robyn and you have made this whole trip incredible for us. I’m never going to forget it.”

“Despite the broken television.” D’Angelo narrows his eyes.

Shay doesn’t look repentant. “Playing catch inside the RV wasn’t my best decision, but you’re the one who fumbled.”

“Next time, give me more warning than yelling catch .”

“Got it.” Shay animatedly darts around the room, examining the floor to ceiling potted plants and complimentary fruit basket.

Feverish, I rub my hand across my head.

I’m sweating.

I swallow with difficulty.

Shit, my throat is sore.

My eyes feel gritty.

D’Angelo shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it over the end of the bed. “You deserve this treat. You’ve earned it after being stuck in the RV for such a long drive. We have one day and night to spend together, before tomorrow’s game. We can relax and enjoy it.”

As long as the truth or dare asshole leaves us alone.

I know that D’Angelo is deliberately not saying that.

Perhaps, D’Angelo’s dance was enough to satisfy the jerk.

Except, I don’t think so. Especially when I pull my phone out of my pocket and scan the social media and memes that I’m trying to protect D’Angelo from seeing.

Eden was right yesterday.

By playing along, D’Angelo showed that he was willing to engage.

Unfortunately, the strategy has already backfired.

Every time that a celebrity makes an appearance, or releases a photograph, post, or statement, it has a brand impact on them.

I’ve been working hard on improving all these men’s image, since I started working at Bay Rebels.

It’s effective.

Eden’s photographs, for example, on the Bay Rebels’ fan pages have humanized both Shay and D’Angelo.

I’m certain that the sun-drenched ones of them looking playful and beautiful (Shay), or commanding and determined (D’Angelo), as they make their way to the away games, will build the hype and fan base.

How can you not fall in love with the captain and star player, when you see them looking like that?

Except, the dance was a misstep.

One journalist ran with the headline: The Puck Off Dance from the Puck Boy.

From that moment, it became known to everybody as the Puck Off Dance.

There have been parodies by other teams and fans.

Worse are the comments from people who would never say such hateful things to someone’s face but are emboldened behind a keyboard.

They’re telling D’Angelo to never play ice hockey again, to harm himself, or even that they’re going to kill him.

The security team are now having to work doubly hard to comb through the comments in case any are credible threats.

I never knew that a two second dance was a capital punishment worthy offense.

I wish that everybody online was forced to read their comments aloud to their victims’ faces — just once.

Although, many of these haters are bots. How weird it is not to be able to tell how much of this rage and division online isn’t real?

It’s easier not to allow yourself to type angry responses back, when you remember that.

Eden is fucking real, however, and it’s a huge step that he feels safe enough with us to open up.

I exchange a glance with Eden, as he notices the page that I’m on.

Eden’s expression shutters. He glances at D’Angelo.

Then he looks back at me and shakes his head.

I understand, turning off my phone and slipping it into my pocket.

D’Angelo has driven the entire journey. He deserves this night off without knowing the dumpster fire that this whole situation has already become.

Shay continues to explore the room, ducking down to swing open a fridge. “Wow, look at this minibar. Can I raid it?”

Eden pushes his own phone back into his pocket. “It’s too expensive.”

“I’m paying. You can have anything you want from there.” D’Angelo removes his cufflinks, laying them on the nightstand. “Room service too. Then can everyone calm down, so that we can get some sleep? I’m exhausted.”

“Brilliant.” Shay rummages in the fridge. “Shit, there’s everything in here. Beer, wine, crackers, nuts, and Michael would be over the moon, bloody hummus too.”

“Is there any bottled water? I’d like…” I break off, as my wheezing turns into a coughing fit.

Startled, Eden wraps his arms around me.

D’Angelo strides across the room. “Are you unwell?”

I hold my hand across my mouth, coughing weakly.

My muscles ache. I suddenly feel very tired.

“I feel like hell,” I admit.

Eden helps me to sit up, before resting his hand on my forehead. “She has a temperature.”

“I’m calling a doctor.” D’Angelo’s jaw is clenched.

“I’m not dying,” I protest.

Eden stiffens.

“Then I’m calling Mike,” D’Angelo insists.

“Woah, hold up.” I battle against the roar in my ears to focus on D’Angelo. “Mike is a doctor, one who should be sleeping at this time of night. One who only manages to grab a couple of hours of sleep each night as it is. Plus, if we wake him up with a phone call at this time, then he’ll have a coronary, thinking that it’s an emergency about Code. I don’t want to do that to him, especially when this is the first time that those two have been apart since their wedding.”

D'Angelo looks like he’s going to battle with me over this being an emergency , before finally, he prowls back to the bed. He snatches up his jacket. “It’s your choice. But don’t expect us not to worry.”

“You should have your minds on the game.”

“You’re more important than hockey.”

My breath catches.

Before these men, I’ve lived surrounded by hockey and no one has put me above the game.

“Where are you going?” My chest tightens, as I watch D’Angelo make to the door like he intends to leave.

My eyes smart with tears.

Is he going to abandon me, until I’m well again?

“I’m going down to reception to order you chicken soup, also honey for your throat. Then I’ll ask for directions to a twenty-four hour pharmacy to buy you whatever the best medicines are to help get that fever down.” D’Angelo swings open the door. He glances over his shoulder. “And you’re going to drink that water, then go to sleep and get some rest. I’ll look after you, when I get back. I promise, you’ll feel better soon.”

Despite feeling like a furnace, I smile, as D‘Angelo leaves.

Because I trust that he’s coming back.

Shay grabs a bottle of water, before rushing across the room to the couch.

He kneels in front of me, holding the bottle to my forehead. It’s coolness is like a balm.

I sigh, relaxing into its touch, before he rolls it across my face and then to my neck.

“What about if I run you a cool bath?” Shay offers. “It’d get your temperature down, while we wait for the medicine.”

I nod.

It feels good to be surrounded by three men who are concentrated on making me feel better.

When I was married to Wilder, he hated it when I was sick.

He’d wrinkle up his nose in distaste, poking his nose in the bedroom to check how I was each morning but keeping his distance in case he caught anything.

I wouldn’t see him apart from that because he said that he couldn’t risk getting sick and missing games.

I became used to dragging myself through illness and injury.

Yet these men are only concerned with making sure that I feel better.

Shay exchanges a glance with Eden.

The twins are vibrating with worry.

Shay passes me the water and stands. He moves through the archway to the raised alcove. Then he turns on the taps, and water gushes into the claw-foot bath.

I bury my nose in my sweater, loving that it smells of Eden, sweetly vanilla.

Then I pull off the cap of the bottle and take a satisfying swig of the cool water.

When I finish drinking as much as I can, Eden takes the bottle from me and puts it down. Then he gently strips me, folding each item and putting it onto the floor.

I’m shivering, chilled.

Shit, I really am ill.

“She shouldn’t take a cool bath in this state.” Eden’s brow furrows. “Make it lukewarm, then wet a sponge.”

“You get our Robyn into bed. She looks half-asleep now.” Shay leans over to grab one of the rose shaped sponges and dip it into the water.

Eden stands at the same time as me, holding me steady by the elbow.

My vision blurs.

Eden sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the bed.

My teeth are chattering. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes are glassy.

Eden pulls a light sheet over me, which smells fragrant and floral. Shay bounds onto the bed and crawls next to me.

Two sets of matching beautiful gray eyes look down at me.

Someone grasps my hand.

The feel of the sponge, as it drags lightly over my forehead, then down my neck and collarbone, is like heaven.

“Robyn,” a voice calls, fearfully.

Then everything fades to black.