Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rebel Arena, Freedom
D ’Angelo
“Fucking Colton,” I mutter.
The lights are dim on the rink. The cold bites my blue lips.
Where the hell are Colton and the other players?
I narrow my eyes, clutching my stick harder.
I take a breath of the scent of rubber and sweat.
Colton had better not have been pranking me about this practice.
Right now, all I want is to be back in Captain’s Hall with Robyn. It kills me not to be at her side, when she needs me.
At least she has Eden.
Eden plans to bake Robyn’s favorite blueberry muffins.
He probably already has her changed into his KIT-TEA t-shirt. They’ll be cuddled in bed, reading together, while he handfeeds her treats.
Or having wild sex.
I don’t know exactly what Robyn and Eden do, when they’re having time as just the two of them. I have a feeling that it’s a combination of books, long glances, and intense fucking.
Robyn is training him well.
I also trust Eden with Robyn. He’ll care for her tonight, when I can’t.
He’s spent his life caring for his twin. It’s his superpower.
I never thought that I’d trust another man to take that role with Robyn.
It’s why I respect Eden.
I don’t know if the shock of watching her dad almost drown has been harder for Robyn today or working out that her dad wasn’t the man she thought he was.
I don’t know exactly what she’s discovered about her past and Cody, but the disappointment in her dad has been crushing. It’s there in the slumped line of her shoulders and the haunted look in her eyes.
I understand because I was sixteen, when it happened to me.
It crushes me too because coach took me into the team and his life, when I was a self-destructing dick who nobody else would touch.
He saved me and gave me a shot.
Even now, he’s been prepared to stake his career to support me.
On the other hand, coach has been hard on me.
I’ve needed to be immaculate at all times. Practice harder than anyone. Meet every one of his expectations.
Have I only accepted that because of the conditioning I went through at the discipline school? Because I have a skewed view of how authority figures can treat you?
A cold ball forms in my stomach. My neck is damp with sweat.
My world feels like it’s falling apart — again .
I lean back against the boards, letting out a frustrated huff of breath.
Colton is the first coach who I’ve spoken back to.
Perhaps, I should have backtalked before now?
I’m fighting for my fucking life this week. I took a bet to resign my captaincy and my place within the Bay Rebels from Heine.
What do I have to lose?
If coach isn’t the man I thought that he was either, then I always thought that Colton was a gaslighting asshole.
Why not call him on it?
Shay skates up to me, spraying ice up in a fine spray. He bangs into the boards hard enough to make me wince.
He looks exhausted. The visit to the hospital has hit him hard. He needs a massage or a cuddle.
How has my cucciolo turned me into a man who cuddles?
I run my hand through my curls. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than your stick.” Tired as he is, Shay still manages to grin. “Throttle that thing any harder, and it’ll snap. For once, I’m glad that you don’t have your hands on my dick.”
I arch my brow. “ Yet. ”
Shay leans closer.
His beautiful gray eyes widen with excitement. “Do I get a reward, if I do well tonight?”
I grab Shay by the back of the neck, knowing that if anyone sees, then it’ll look like the typical hard-ass captain being physical with the newbie.
Of course, they can’t hear what I’m darkly whispering that makes Shay shiver.
“For every goal that you score,” I tighten my hold, “I’ll reward you when we get home with a hickey or bite somewhere on your body. First, I’ll have stripped you naked and bound you with our official hockey ties over the kitchen table. Then Robyn and your brother can watch and see what a good boy you’ve been.”
“F-f-fuck.” Shay’s pupils are blown wide.
“If you score more than I do,” I’m falling into dom headspace simply at the image that I’m creating; I’ll have to be careful that I don’t push Shay into subspace, “then I’ll write property of D’Angelo on your cock.”
I’d prefer to tattoo it.
But I’ll take Sharpie. For now.
“Bloody hell, now I’m hard in these pants.” Shay’s expression becomes determined. “I’m winning that. My cock is yours, darlin’. And hellish as it is, this training will make me better. You’re like this superstar of the NHL. I’ve only just come up from college. I know that I have a lot to learn. I’ll work my arse off every practice that there is to prove to Colton and every other coach that I deserve to be here.”
My expression softens.
I let go of Shay’s neck. “I know you will. You’re the most hardworking player on the team. How the hell do you remain so positive? You’re this ball of sunshine, while I’m—”
“A grumpy bear?”
“Careful,” I growl (not at all like a bear). “This bear will be mauling you later.”
Shay winks. “Can’t wait, darlin’.” Then his expression becomes more serious. “I worked a shop job at weekends and after college from the age of sixteen. It was the only way that I could stay in education and make sure that I didn’t lose my hockey scholarship. In a job like that you learn to smile, be positive, but remember your place.”
I bristle. “What do you mean?”
Shay licks his dry lips. “It was this exclusive place that sold men’s bespoke suits and shit. It’s probably partly why I hate suits now. The female owner employed me to be trained up because I was a pretty boy , who’d be popular with both their female and male customers .”
My expression tightens. “What a predator. Why the hell did you take the job?”
Shay’s eyes flash. “Mom had three jobs. Dad had two. They worked around the clock to simply afford to rent this tiny place that… Look, they took Eden and me in and adopted us. We were these near feral kids, and Eden couldn’t talk. What do you think would have happened to us in the care system? But these people struggled their entire lives because they chose to take us in. I couldn’t add to their bills just because I wanted to stay on at college.”
“I understand, cucciolo,” I say, gently. “But that job…?”
Shay avoids my eye, flushing with shame. “I’m not Eden. I’m smart but I can’t read well. I was only sixteen. Plus, where I grew up was rough, right? The best career for kids like me around there was to become a drug dealer. So, I saw this posh place with these suits and shit and I thought it could be okay. All I had to do was smile.”
“And was it okay?” I’m sure I know the answer to that already by the way Shay is banging his stick into the boards.
“It was,” Shay hits the stick harder, “until I was at university, and my rich teammates on the hockey college team started to come into the shop. Their families would come and watch the matches, then bring their spoiled sons in to buy them a gift — a tie, suit, or watch. The moment that I served them and they recognized me was always bloody humiliating. Their parents would be awkward and embarrassed on my behalf. The players would treat me like I was their personal servant, and I had to smile and keep up the act.”
Something uneasy moves inside me. “Is that what you still do? Just keep up the act?”
Shay shrugs. “It’s my talent, right? I’ve spent my life learning how to please people, at home, at work, and in bed…”
I suck in a horrified breath.
I grab Shay by the chin and force him to look at me. “You never have to act with me. You only need to please me because it brings you pleasure. Tell me that you understand.”
Shay looks conflicted. “With Robyn and you, it does bring me pleasure. I’m hardwired that way. But with everyone else…”
I grip him harder. “We’ll work on this. It’s your survival mechanism. Eden and you cope in different ways. And that’s fine. We are who we are, understood?”
Shay nods, relaxing.
“You’re no longer that poor kid, who was forced to keep smiling in that store, despite the taunting of those shitty, entitled rich kids.” My gaze becomes dangerous. “Did any of them make the cut to the NHL?”
Shay suddenly looks delighted.
He shakes his head. “The bastards are still in England.”
“The bullies are now the ones who are stuck in nine-to-five jobs, having failed to make it pro. They’ll watch your games, burning with jealousy because you’re the star of the newest team in the NHL. You’re blazing onto the scene. By the end of this season, you’ll be wealthy and able to walk into any store you like. Success is the best revenge. Those assholes are never going to achieve as much as you already have.”
Shay is vibrating with joy.
Now, his smile is fully genuine. “You’re the fucking best, darlin’.”
When I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye, I hurriedly step away from Shay.
Shay swings around as well.
Colton swaggers up to the boards. His arms are crossed over his barrel chest.
His white hair and mustache are bright points in the shadows.
“Where are the other players?” I call.
“This extra practice is only for you two. After all, aren’t you the star players?” Colton answers. “Why are you wasting your time chatting? Stop fooling around. You always do this. Show some dedication.”
“Yes, coach.” Shay forces himself to smile.
I shift, uncomfortable.
I can’t stop thinking about Shay’s story of his shop job.
In my head, I’m imagining a young Shay forced to smile and take shit from the players, as their families treated them to rewards for winning the same games that Shay no doubt scored to win for them.
Yet Shay’s only reward was to accept humiliation with humility, bowing his head to serve people who should have treated him like a friend.
Their brother.
I can see the immediate change in Shay now. He’s putting on the same act with Colton.
Colton watches Shay’s skating critically. “Get your ass in front of the goal, Prince. What the hell do you call that? Faster . Practice scoring. It’s the one thing that you’re good for.”
Shay winces. “I’ll do my best, coach.”
“Damn straight you will, Prince. As we don’t have Zach here, a goal counts only if it hits the post and then goes in.”
Shay grins — the masochist. “I like a challenge.”
I skate toward Colton.
The pucks are lined up in front of the goal.
Shay shoots me a cocky glance over his shoulder.
When Colton is distracted, I subtly bring my glove to my mouth and bite down on it.
A reminder of Shay’s reward for each goal is good motivation.
Shay’s cheeks flush, but he instantly looks more focused.
I know my sub.
Until Colton hollers at Shay, “If you miss the target, then you skate five laps and back for the next shot.”
What the fuck?
Instantly, Shay’s joy evaporates. His shoulders become tight with tension.
“Yes, coach.” Shay’s smile dims.
I bite my cheek hard.
Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say…
“You don’t need to threaten him to get results,” I burst out.
Fuck the no comment rule. Fuck not back talking.
Colton is trying to destroy me. He’s getting at Shay to do it. At least I can tell Colton what I think about his coaching techniques.
I wish that I could tell all coaches, including my ones at college.
“Stop being a snowflake.” Colton studies Shay, as Shay hits his first goal into the net with a stunningly accurate shot. Colton doesn’t shout any encouragement or praise. Of course not. Shay hesitates like he’s waiting…hoping for it…but then continues, lining up for the next shot. “I’ve been using physical, conditioning consequences for years. It’s effective at focusing players. Who is the coach here? My methods work.”
When Shay misses the next shot, he flinches.
But then, he obediently begins to skate the punishment laps.
“It makes players more stressed and anxious, which is bad for performance,” I reply, icily. “It tires them out and it wastes practice time.”
Colton reddens in rage. “You always do this. Who do you think you are, captain? I offer every bit of advice and training that I can, but you know that I don’t accept whiners. I’m the coach. This is how I was trained. It never hurt me.”
“Tradition, huh?” I reply, dryly. “And nothing that our parents or teachers did in the past was ever wrong. There’s never a point that we should be the ones to break the cycle.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re a joke.”
My gaze darts to Shay.
He skates toward the goal with the puck. His shot is dazzling, hitting the side of the post on the corner and spinning into the back of the net.
I’m going to bite him on his nipple and make him scream in just the way he loves for that one.
“A joke is focusing on the punishment and not the reward,” I reply. “You don’t see professional archers being forced to do push-ups because they miss the target. We should spend the time on the skill that we need improving, you know, repetition.”
Colton really is Stick no Carrot.
Shay shoots and scores again.
I smile, knowing that he’s putting in the effort for his reward later and not out of the fear of the consequences from Colton.
It’s the same result that I’ve found with the other subs.
I may have only played with them for one day or night but it would have been my failing, if I’d needed to force them to submit to my orders through fear of punishment.
I didn’t want to make them stressed or anxious but rather, mindless with pleasure.
I motivate with rewards and not threats.
Of course, my contracts with Robyn and Shay do include discipline but that’s different.
It suits our dynamics for me to hold the control.
So far, the most discipline I’ve needed is to order Shay to clean the kitchen, as a consequence for leaving jam smeared over the counters.
I couldn’t resist going over and cleaning the kitchen myself afterwards.
I probably disciplined myself more than Shay.
When Shay becomes too hyper, breaks shit, or clearly needs to get out his energy, I send him on runs or do the opposite by commanding him to kneel at my feet, while I play the piano.
His fascination and love of the music calms him down.
Afterward, it only takes a pet to his hair to fully settle him.
Discipline doesn’t need to hurt.
Colton beckons me closer to the glass.
Reluctantly, I skate nearer.
He beckons again.
I grit my teeth but lean until my forehead would be touching his, if the glass wasn’t between us.
My skin crawls.
“You should be grateful that I care enough about this team to push you hard enough to improve.” Colton’s breath mists the glass. “Is the pressure getting to you, captain? Are you forgetting that you’re talking to your coach? You’re weak. Perhaps, you’re castrated from living with McKenna’s daughter. What? Balling your hand into a fist like you want to punch me now? Go ahead. Because the board have given me the call on who plays or sits out the next three games. Now, get your ass over with Prince and take turns shooting on goal. Then skate ten laps if you miss.”