Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rebel Arena, Freedom
Robyn
“Score, score, fucking score.” D’Angelo’s piercing gaze is focused on Rebel Arena’s rink like the crowds, commentator, and press don’t exist — only the brutal game that has been unfolding in front of him that he can’t play in and instead, only yell at from the sidelines.
I stand next to Eden with his arm around me against the cold. I am dressed in my favorite violet dress and woolen coat, knowing that the press will be out in force tonight and focused on all of us.
Especially D’Angelo.
I clutch my hand around the phone in my pocket. It has barely stopped ringing for hours. I have been fielding hundreds of journalists, spinning the situation, and ensuring that this helps, rather than harms D’Angelo’s image.
I gave D’Angelo the choice of how much he wanted shielded from the public. Details that I knew he didn’t want exposed were sure to be leaked.
Yet he showed a bravery that made me glow with pride, when he offered to share everything.
“I’m not hiding.” D’Angelo tilted up his chin.
“Olivia and Anderson don’t deserve to have their reputations protected.
Everybody has seen me drunk, naked, and being fucked in every imaginable way.
After photographs have already been published of me rocking nothing but my 22 hockey jersey but in the 69 position between two mascots, my image isn’t the one that will be ruined. ”
My eyes lit up. “How did I miss that photograph? I need to find it to add to our Guide.”
“The point is, cara mia, I have no shame. Also, I’m not ashamed of my past. I accepted who I am a long time ago. As long as Noah’s identity and dynamic are kept private, I’m happy. Noah phoned me this morning.”
I glance at Noah.
He is standing close to my brother, leaning forward and watching the game intently. He is wearing an easy smile, offering Shay an encouraging thumbs-up on the ice.
“Is he okay?” I study Noah. “He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks, despite the pressure of the game.”
“He is.” D’Angelo’s expression softens. “We spoke for a long time on the phone. He was crying. For once though, they were happy tears. Silas has been oppressing and controlling not only Noah but his family and the other poorer relations in the town. Noah will possibly feel able to lead a more independent life now that the most powerful family member is imprisoned. Olivia has been manipulating him as well, using his therapy notes against him. I bet that she was doing the same to most of the staff and players. Noah said he could finally believe that one day he’ll be free. ”
“We’re free,” I whisper. “Almost.”
I glance at Dad.
Cody, my men, and I will be free once we find a way to escape Dad’s control.
D’Angelo follows the direction of my gaze to Dad on the bench, before his gaze narrows. “I am working on that. I have a plan.”
Exhilaration rushes through me.
D’Angelo still doesn’t look away from Dad. “People like Olivia and Anderson are deeply unhappy in their own way. They have demons that they can’t face, while they force everyone else to face theirs. Let the world say whatever they fucking want. I only care what the people who I love think.”
Unfortunately, it’s literally my job to care about what the world thinks and then try to change their minds.
This is precisely the type of noise — scandal — that the directors warned me against, which I was hired to avoid.
Except, this time it truly wasn’t the players’ fault.
I know that D’Angelo is still blaming himself.
Yet both Anderson and Olivia are abusers who use their position of authority to have access to both what and who they want.
Not anymore.
If anyone believes that they are untouchable, then I intend to make sure that they learn it’s not true.
Including Dad.
No one hurts my men.
I narrow my eyes at Wilder. He is another abuser who hasn’t been held to account yet. Although, if the Bay Rebels can only win this game, then he will be.
At the moment, however, the game is tied.
Without D’Angelo as captain, Wilder is dominating the game.
Does D’Angelo realize now how important he is to the Bay Rebels?
He is its heart.
Atlas has stepped in and is wearing an A on his jersey, chosen by coach as the alternate captain. He is doing his best to hold the team together and lead them like D’Angelo does.
What happened to D’Angelo has shaken the team, however, and they’re not used to playing without him.
It shows.
At least so far, the sympathy from fans, social media, and press has largely landed with D’Angelo.
When my phone vibrates, I tense, before pulling it out of my pocket.
I read the headline and subheadline: Bay Rebels’ Star Captain Struck down! Fans in disbelief, as Jude D’Angelo collapses after alleged assault by doc.
It looks like my fevered, hard work to control the situation has paid off.
Eden glances at me. “Problem?”
I gingerly read down my notification.
“Another article.” I start to read. “Chaos erupted yesterday in the Bay Rebels after the beloved captain was allegedly overdosed by the team psychiatrist, leaving fans and teammates reeling ahead of the…” I shove my phone back into my pocket.
“At least they’re calling him beloved and star captain, rather than loser or puck boy.
Ironically, this may have done more to rehabilitate D’Angelo’s image than the work that you and I have put in for months. ”
Eden huffs.
I glance at D’Angelo, who is pacing like a caged lion up and down, although his knees appear close to buckling.
Well, his image will be rehabilitated, if he can hold it together tonight.
I’m fifty-fifty on that.
D’Angelo has been shouting more advice than coach, slamming his hand on the glass and wildly gesturing at the replacement player, Philippe.
Poor guy.
Philippe is a year or so older than the twins.
He is lean and athletic, rather than powerful, but fast. He has long, tousled brown hair, sun-kissed skin, and expressive eyes.
His strong jawline makes his face appear sculpted, although his high cheekbones are now bruised from the Penguins’ rough play.
Philippe has been holding his own but doesn’t have the instinctual connection with Shay that D’Angelo does.
Plus, Wilder has zeroed in on the new player, as well as Atlas as the alternate captain, as the weak links.
Both players have been rammed into the boards, blocked, and hit more aggressively than the others.
I’ve noticed uneasily how Wilder has been trying to unsettle the much smaller Philippe by checking him after the whistle.
I wince when Phillipe is once more crushingly hit in the back by Wilder and sent sprawling face first onto the ice.
Wilder sends me a glance over his shoulder, smirking.
Asshole.
“He’s humiliating Philippe.” Eden’s expression darkens. “Hurting him.”
Shay skates to Philippe, holding his hand out to help him up.
Wilder’s gaze darts to D’Angelo and then back to me.
Suddenly, realization dawns, and I feel sick.
“He’s putting on a show for both D’Angelo and me.
He’s roughing up D’Angelo’s players, when he can’t do anything about it.
He thinks that he’s winning this and leading his team to the Stanley Cup Final.
I can see it on his smug, bearded face. He’s also imagining that Philippe is D’Angelo every time that he hits him. ”
“Like I role played that Shay was him. But twisted.” Eden’s hands ball into fists. “Can I kill Wilder yet?”
I’m never quite sure if Eden means it when he says things like that.
I choose to believe that he doesn’t.
When Philippe struggles to skate, holding his hip in pain, Eden’s expression shutters.
The way that he stares intently at Wilder makes my stomach flip.
Okay, now I do believe that he means it.
“All killing is vetoed, remember?” I remind him. “We’re killing Wilder by destroying his dream, legacy, and his image of himself, remember? We just need to win this game.”
But how can we?
Shay and the rest of the team will have to do that without D’Angelo.
Is it possible?
I rock with anxiety, pressing closer to the glass. “Come on…”
Shay scoops up the puck.
“Own the ice!” D’Angelo yells in encouragement. “You’ve got this.”
Then his knees buckle.
Shay loses focus and stumbles himself, when he notices. He stiffens with concern.
Eden lets go of me and marches to D’Angelo, wrapping his arm around his shoulder instead.
He tries to drag D’Angelo back to the bench, which is where D’Angelo promised he would sit throughout the game.
I see Cody glancing over anxiously, but when he starts to hurry over, I shake my head at him.
The last thing I want is more press attention right now and headlines about D’Angelo needing medical attention.
It should be the biggest night of D’Angelo’s career.
It will be.
Cody raises his eyebrow in question, but I make praying hands at him. Cody quirks his lips in a way that I know means this is on my head if Michael finds out.
Michael recommended that D’Angelo stay at home and rest for another day. He offered to come over and watch the game with D’Angelo. He obviously didn’t realize that was more of a threat than a reassurance.
D’Angelo looked horrified like he was imagining the fiddly, delicate snacks Michael would be sure to bring with him. And that’s not to mention the classical music that Michael would put on in the background, paired with his chat about wine and cheese pairings.
D’Angelo would never desecrate game night like that.
Sacrilege.
Instead, he had insisted on Eden quietly helping him to dress in his smart, pin-striped suit. Eden had even done up D’Angelo’s tie for him because he still didn’t have enough coordination in his hands, no matter how hard he tried.
I could tell Michael’s weariness over the phone, when I told him that D’Angelo was coming with me to the game.
By now, he must be used to dealing with difficult patients.
“At least make sure that he keeps his ass glued to the bench,” Michael said. “He shouldn’t be getting excited.”