Chapter 25 #2
I raise a hand to rest it over my neck just for a moment, and Robyn catches the movement.
Robyn’s expression gentles with understanding, clutching my hand tighter.
“Your brother was excited. You know how much you had to calm me down before I asked him. I was like a caffeinated bunny, rehearsing the lines to the air as if to an imaginary friend. In the end, he was braver than me, and I didn’t manage to say any of those lines.
I couldn’t have been more nervous than if I’d been proposing to him.
I’m so fucking happy that he said yes, you know?
I’m honored. I promise that he’s safe with me. You can trust me.”
“I do.”
I don’t understand my brother’s need to be owned. I hate it. But I respect his right to choose.
I’m just worried that I don’t trust he is choosing.
I don’t trust his understanding of choice or of white lies.
“Leave him alone.” Robyn’s gaze snaps back to the game. “Wilder, you fucking bully.”
Wilder is relentlessly pressing D’Angelo again.
Except, something is different.
D’Angelo is in control.
Wilder doesn’t know that he is being played.
One thing about being coached by my boss in power dynamics is that I can sense the shift in D’Angelo, when he is about to turn the tables.
Nothing tastes sweeter, even Cody’s special blackberry cake, than revenge.
And D’Angelo is about to take a bite…out of Wilder’s arse.
“Watch,” I simply say.
Robyn flinches, as Wilder once more crushes D’Angelo into the glass close to us by a hard shoulder. The impact echoes through the arena. The crowds gasp.
“Fifteen.” My eyes become steely.
What if I plucked out Wilder’s beard one strand at a time?
Wouldn’t that be more painful? Although, not as satisfying as watching the beautiful flames dance.
He’d still scream.
“Shit.” Robyn’s eyes are wet.
“Just watch,” I repeat.
D’Angelo’s legs look like they’re about to give out. His head is bent low. He lurches to the side, trying to escape Wilder’s weight.
D’Angelo still has the puck but he appears beaten.
One minute to go…
Shay is skating toward D’Angelo now, desperately attempting to back him up.
But not fast enough.
A second Penguins player, a defenseman — I bet anything that it is one of the bastards who assaulted D’Angelo in the shower — hits D’Angelo in the back, helping Wilder to pin him.
D’Angelo’s skates chatter against the boards.
Wilder and the rival defenseman grin at each other.
The fuckers.
As they relax, however, D’Angelo raises his head.
He’s grinning too.
To their shock, with incredible skilled balance, D’Angelo kicks the puck loose. Then he spins free from both the larger men, cutting through them. They fall forward, smashing into the glass.
Wilder shouts in disbelief.
The crowd roar in surprise and delight.
Shay is set up free in front of the goal.
He knew what D’Angelo was doing the same as I did.
He was concentrating.
I’m proud of both of them. They bring out the best in each other.
“Wow.” Robyn is bouncing on her toes. “Yes.”
D’Angelo snaps a pass to Shay, who instantly shoots at the goal like he’s an extension of his captain.
The puck strikes the inside of the far post and slams into the net.
They’ve done it.
The crowd explodes in cheers and stomping. The sound bounces off the steel rafters. I wince, as the blasting goal horn and pulsing music from the speakers in celebration pierces through my head.
My pain doesn’t matter.
The Bay Rebels beat the Penguins.
D’Angelo and Shay have humiliated Wilder…again.
Wilder is standing, shocked. He stares at the puck in the net like he can’t work out how it ended up there.
Robyn hops up and down, wildly waving at D’Angelo. He gives a cocky wave back.
The rest of the team swarm Shay. Grayson and Lucas chest bump him. Atlas drags off his gloves and throws them to the ice, before high fiving Shay.
Shay is laughing, shining with happiness.
Our gazes meet.
“Well done,” I mouth.
He glows even brighter.
My twin deserves to. He’s a star. He should burn this bright. The world should see my brother like this.
D’Angelo skates to Shay, dragging him into a hug.
Behind me, the cameras flash, capturing a photograph that I know will be splashed across the news.
I am sure that D’Angelo knows it too and did it on purpose.
Shay is leaning into D’Angelo, who is whispering something.
I bet that it is as filthy as the way that the now dejected Pittsburgh Penguins played this game.
After all, they’ve earned a fantasy reward for us.
Well, if D’Angelo doesn’t collapse.
I’m not sure if I am the only one who can tell that the hug is holding D’Angelo up to stop him from falling to his knees, as much as to celebrate.
Unease coils through me.
I need to take D’Angelo back to the hotel room for medical help more than bondage.
“They did it.” Robyn grins. “They fucking did it. Only one more game to go, and the Bay Rebels will have made it to the Stanley Cup Final.”
“Plus, destroyed Wilder.”
A dark joy surges through me, when the deep, resonating final horn reverberates through the arena, ending the game.
Wilder slumps against the boards.
The cameras flash again, and this time, they’re directed at the defeated captain’s devastated, broken expression.
Perfect.
Winning against Wilder brings the Bay Rebels one step closer to their dreams, but just as importantly, a step closer to Wilder’s nightmare.
And that’s revenge.