Pucking Road Trip (Bay Rebels #3)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rose Garden, San Jose

D ’Angelo

I stalk down the pathway in San Jose’s Rose Garden park, as Gibbs instructed.

What a stunningly beautiful location to be blackmailed. But it doesn’t make this any easier.

Fuck Gibbs.

Fuck his mind games.

And fuck his fucking truth or dare.

I clench my hands, letting out a deep breath. The sickly sweet scent of the roses invade me.

So, I may be rather angry about the way that a rival coach is making me dance for him.

I’ve been jerked around by journalists and other players for years. Hazing isn’t new to me. Wilder’s treatment of me was brutal at college.

I didn’t suspect that a coach in the NHL, however, would be the one behind these texts. I hate that a man in a position of authority like Gibbs’ can abuse it, forcing me to act like his puppet.

Yet I can’t let Gibbs hurt Robyn.

He could be lying about what happened between coach and him on the ice.

No one but the two of them know the truth of what went down, and honestly, the press don’t care about the truth .

It’s all about the clickbait.

They’ll print the most scandalous story, no matter who it destroys.

All I know is that Gibbs has only given me an hour to get to this location and I don’t have time to come up with a way to counter him.

I’m not risking Robyn and Cody’s past darkening their present.

I know how important it is to find a way to move on.

They both deserve to.

But I will find a way to destroy Gibbs.

I glance around at the miniature flower beds that are between rolling lawns. All different types of fragrant roses surround me, climbers and shrubs, in a dazzling array of colors.

Four pathways lead to a gushing, two-tiered fountain above a large reflection pool.

Couples stroll hand in hand in the hot, afternoon sunshine, tourists laugh, and moms push babies in strollers around the tinkling fountain.

Nobody recognizes me.

There are many unexpected upsides to wearing helmets on the rink, besides protecting your skull.

People rarely recognize me when I’m not in Freedom, unless I’m wearing my jersey, standing outside an arena, or being preyed on by paparazzi because I’ve been thrown out of a nightclub naked apart from flashing devil horns.

I adjust my sunglasses, tapping the sides three times.

It’s also a celebrity secret that if you wear sunglasses, you magically can’t be recognized.

At least, actors and rock stars use that trick.

I snap off the bloom of a hot pink rose as I pass, threading it through my suit buttonhole.

I’ll fit the rose head into Robyn’s hair, when I return to the hotel. She’ll look beautiful.

At least one good thing will come out of this afternoon.

I reach the edge of the reflection pool as per Gibbs’ orders, before scanning the crowds.

He has to be here.

A man who enjoys manipulating others, surely wouldn’t miss out on the satisfaction of watching them obey.

Shit, I can’t see Gibbs.

When my phone rings, I jump.

I wrench the phone out of my pocket to answer it.

“What?” I snarl.

“Are you in position?” Shay whispers.

I’ll never admit to Shay that he made me jump.

I also should have known that he’d call.

Shay argued furiously about me coming here alone, despite that being part of Gibbs’ dare. He swore that he could trail me as secretly as any skilled warrior.

Except, I knew that he would be more like the clumsy panda in Kung Fu Panda.

I blame Robyn for me knowing about animated martial arts films that teach about protecting yourself from adversaries by focusing on the here and now through the medium of a comedy panda. She watched the movie three times on the long journey here.

“Why are you making this sound like a spy movie?” I keep my back to the fountain, attempting to look casual. “Gibbs is not going to be passing me a secret briefcase. And why are you whispering, cucciolo? Your voice is echoing.”

“I’m in the service stairwell,” Shay replies.

“You’re taking this Bond thing too far. Dare I ask why?”

“The medicine made Robyn groggy. Although she fought against it, she fell asleep. Colton called and yelled at Cody. So, he had to go back to the staff hotel and report for his duties. Eden is staying with Robyn to care for her. But I wanted to be on the other end of the phone for you. Is that bastard there now?”

I stealthily check out the garden again. “Not yet.”

“We should have gone to the cops.” Shay sounds anxious, but as furious as I am underneath. “That bloody arsehole shouldn’t be able to order you about like this.”

“I know.” I gentle my tone to calm Shay. I don’t want him to know how stressed I am. “It’s not a big deal.”

It is.

Shay doesn’t need to know that.

I can’t stop myself rhythmically rapping my fingers on my thigh in patterns of three.

I ruthlessly push my intrusive thoughts down.

I can’t spiral right now.

I can’t.

“It is,” Shay insists like he’s caught my own thought. “He’s threatening all of us, and he’s using those threats to push you into taking a dare. It won’t be as innocent as a dance this time. You know that, right?”

“Gibbs will text me what it is, when he’s ready. I learned long ago, however, that people can only humiliate you, if you feel shame.” I cock my brow. “The discipline school operated on controlling and breaking you through both pain and humiliation. But the joke was on them because I learned that the only way to survive was to no longer feel shame.”

“Darlin’,” Shay sounds devastated, “that doesn’t mean somebody should get away with—”

“He can hurt me less than he can the rest of you,” I reply, firmly. “So, let the jerk think that he has. I’ll style this out in the same way that I always do when I get caught doing things like fucking Seal, our mascot, in the locker room.”

“You really did that?” Shay says, impressed. “Now I need to know what he looks like under the costume.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny, but there’s definitely photographic evidence from two years ago. And coach kicked both our asses, including Seal’s, which I can tell you is biteable.”

“I’ll need to see that evidence to verify. Eden on the other hand, has been tracking down less sexy evidence. He’s spent the last hour doing research on Gibbs.” Shay sounds more worried. “Rumors are that Gibbs has radically improved the Ducks over the last year. He’s considered one of the best coaches in the NHL. His nickname is Superpuck, while his team are called the Superducks in the press. Whereas the Bay Rebels are fighting to build a reputation as anything more than the outcasts, the Ducks are seen as the heroes.”

“Ironic, when their coach is actually the villain.” My brow furrows. “Look, Gibbs threatened to go public with his side of the story just before the game tomorrow, if we tell the cops. Plus, what would we even tell the cops to begin with? That someone wants to play truth or dare with us? We’d be laughed out of the station. Gibbs swore that he’d only give us three dares for the three games. I can suffer that for his petty revenge on coach.”

“Then why isn’t Gibbs getting coach to do the dares?”

Good point.

“Maybe because coach doesn’t have to go out on the rink tomorrow and perform,” I reply. “I’m the team captain, which makes me the best target. It’s us that he wants to shake up.”

Does that mean Shay will also be at risk?

My hand tightens around phone.

“Security will be mad that you’re out there by yourself with nothing but the power of sunglasses to protect your secret identity.”

“I left my superhero mask at home.”

“Role play ideas. I like it. Why should the Ducks be the only ones who get to pretend that they’re masked crusaders? We should be something edgier. I know, let’s recreate Batman vs Superman . That way we’ll bloody win. How about I be Robin to your Batman?”

My lips quirk. “Strange, when we have an actual Robyn in our team already. Okay, Robyn can be Catwoman. Although you do know that neither of those two are in the movie.”

“I don’t care. We can write our own story. Robyn would be fucking hot in a Catwoman PVC suit with a whip.” Shay’s voice, which had become breathy with desire on the idea of Robyn holding a whip, becomes serious again. “Be prepared for coach and the entire security team to bust your balls over this stunt.”

“If that’s the worst thing that happens to me as a result of this, then I can deal.”

“Do you think coach actually did the shit that Gibbs is claiming?” Shay asks, tentatively. “Did he hurt someone on purpose? Eden’s lost his whole career because of assholes like that.”

I don’t answer for a long moment.

The morning sunshine washes over me.

This park scene should be peaceful. The families and couples around me appear happy and relaxed.

For a moment, I envy them.

But then, who knows what’s really going on in their lives? Behind closed doors?

“I don’t know, cucciolo,” I reply. “But coach has definitely been atoning for something with the Bay Rebels. It’s why he believes in lost causes like me. He wants to give people second chances and an opportunity to redeem themselves. I have a sense that he knows what that feels like. But did he take that head shot on purpose? I hope not. I at least owe him the faith to believe that he didn’t.”

“Is that why you’re doing this? For coach, as well as our Robyn?”

I stroke the soft petals of the rose in my buttonhole. “I’d do it for my principessa alone. But I’m also doing it for coach. He selected me and made me captain, when I was at my self-destructive lowest. He didn’t let the fact that his daughter hated me back then color his judgment of me. He got me into therapy and kicked my ass when I needed it. He treated me more like family and a… just treated me more like I was family than anyone since my own disinherited me. I owe him far more than this.”

He called me Jude.

No one but my sister called me Jude.

I’d been so fucking lonely, I’d ached with it. Then coach took me under his wing, mentored me, and called me by my first name.

I’d grown up with a large family. My name Jude would be called out often, said with teasing laughter or love.

I thought that I’d lost that side to myself.

That it had been burned and frozen, over and over, until it’d died.

Then coach called me Jude , and I allowed it to spring to life again.

Yeah, I owe coach.

“Then if he did all of that for you, I owe him the same for the sake of the man I love,” Shay says, soft with an earnestness that makes me smile.

Hell, I wish that Shay was here, so that I could grab him by the scruff of the neck and bite, mark, and kiss his plush lips to reward him for being so fucking loyal.

All of a sudden, my phone vibrates with a text.

I stiffen. My heart speeds up.

“The text has come through.” My pulse pounds, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “I have to go.”

“Good luck. Call me the moment anything goes wrong or it’s over,” Shay whispers, urgently. “I’ll be waiting.”

I swipe off the call, then hesitate before checking the text.

I pull off my sunglasses, slipping them into my pocket.

Then I scan the crowds again, pushing myself onto my tiptoes to gain a better view over the flowerbeds.

Is Gibbs here?

I turn around, twisting at all angles to look down each path.

I can’t see him.

I let out a frustrated breath, taking a step forward from the reflection pool.

At last, I force myself to read the text.

I know that it’s from Gibbs because I saved him in my contacts on my phone under Pucking Asshole .

PUCKING ASSHOLE (16:23): Dare: Post on social media the story of your first kiss. I’ll know if you lied.

I stare at the screen in shocked silence.

How can he know?

How can he fucking know my greatest fear? Worst nightmare?

I’m sweating. My clothes feel tight. My breathing is too shallow.

I’m tipping into panic attack in the middle of a public park and I can’t allow myself that luxury because that would be front page news.

I crouch, resting my head in my hands. I force myself to take deep, slow breaths.

I count slowly, “One, two, three, four…”

My heartbeat slows. I draw enough oxygen into my lungs.

Relieved, I push myself to my feet. I smooth down my suit and hair.

Then I fix on a fake smile.

If I do this, then I’ll do it with style.

No shame.

So what if exposing my most vulnerable moment that triggered a cascade of events, which tore me away from family, home, and self-worth, makes me want to flay my own skin?

Can I taste blood?

I lick my lip, as if I can taste the coppery tang where it split that day from my brother’s punch.

I lift up my chin, clicking to my social media feed and turning it to live.

I take another step forward, staring at the phone in my shaking hands and refusing to look at the people around me who’ll be able to hear me as much as the millions who may watch and share this video.

I swallow, refusing to let the tears fall.

I can’t think about that.

That’s for later.

Now, time to style this out.

If Gibbs wants to make me dance, then I’ll fucking dance.

“A fan asked me today about my first kiss.” I wink at the screen. Inside, I’m dying. “I was seventeen and I’d fallen for this gorgeous guy at school. I’d never dated a boy before. We were friends, but you know how it goes, I think he knew that it was more than that, before I did. I invited him over for a study date .”

I pause dramatically, drawing out the word date in a knowing way.

I deliberately don’t read the comments that are coming in faster and faster now underneath the video.

Most of them will be vile.

At least half of them will be slurs or calling me out as the play boy of the Bay Rebels.

I can’t help myself, glancing down.

Then I wish that I hadn’t, when I catch the word puck boy with a drool face emoji.

I hold back the shudder.

Rapidly, there’s a flurry of comments underneath, which are nothing but emojis — hot panting faces, eggplants, and bones.

What started as a sweet moment but became my most painful memory is nothing but jerking off material for strangers simply because I’m famous.

I snap.

I hold my arm out, twirling in a circle.

I declare, loudly, “Then I kissed a boy and I fucking liked it.”

I furiously turn off the phone.

When I look up, my gaze meets my horrified parents’ at the other side of the path.

I stop breathing.

This can’t be real.

It fucking can’t.

No, no, no.

I freeze.

It’s not them.

They didn’t just…not when I…

I drop my phone, and it shatters on the ground.

Mom and Dad stare at me in equally shocked silence, only they look…disgusted.

Dad is smaller than I remember.

He’s wearing a smart brown suit with the same style of tan belt that he always used to. His black hair is slicked back. His bright blue eyes are so like mine that it’s startling.

Mom is dressed in an elegant floral dress. Her brunette hair is swept back from her face. It’s threaded with gray.

It didn’t used to be.

She was famed for being a beauty. She worked as a model, before she married Dad.

But when did she become fragile looking?

How did I miss so much time with them?

None of us move.

A long moment passes in silence.

Yet a thousand words are spoken in it.

Childhood memories flash through my mind. I can’t stop them.

The days spent in the kitchen helping Mom to cook her special lasagna, the scent of Sunday dinners with meatballs and sausages, the noise and chatter of large family gatherings at Easter, Maria helping me to learn the piano, or Dad tending the vegetables in our garden with me at weekends.

Then all of that shattered by one violent attack by my brother.

That moment lies heavy between us.

And what followed it: Mom and Dad’s decision to have me kidnapped and imprisoned in hell for kissing a boy.

For not being the type of son that they’d dreamed of having.

They never fully saw me , only the fiction of a child that had never existed.

I guess that’s why it was so easy for them to declare me to be dead to them.

I open my mouth to say all the things that I thought I’d say to them, if I ever saw them again.

The words that I’ve longed to say, have written in letters in therapy, and raged at them, when I was locked up in the discipline school.

But the words fly out of my head.

Suddenly, these two people, grayer and more normal than I’ve been building them up to be in my mind for years, are just my parents.

The people who I still desperately want to love me.

And it’s me who breaks first.

“Mom.” My voice is unsteady.

I step over my broken phone toward them.

I hold out my hand, but Mom doesn’t take it.

Instead, she drops her gaze. She looks away from me, resolutely grasping her hands in front of her.

I like to think that it’s because she can still feel shame about what she’s done and not simply because she’s ashamed of me .

But then, that’s delusion.

But delusion is better than the reality.

I’m left frozen with my hand outstretched.

My cheeks flush.

For the first time in a long time, I feel bone deep humiliation.

“Mom,” I repeat in a whisper.

A single tear trails down my cheek.

This is too much.

Too fucking much.

“Don’t,” Dad says, brusquely.

I flinch, recognizing his tone even after so many years.

How could I forget that it’s a warning?

He hasn’t spoken to me since I was a teenager, and that’s the first thing that he says to me?

Don’t?

Dad grabs Mom by the elbow to tow her away from me.

I want to chase after her, force her to look at me — fucking see me for the man that I’ve grown into — at least once.

Yet I feel like I’ve been turned to ice.

“Don’t talk to us.” Dad shakes his head in disappointment. “You haven’t changed, Jude.”