Page 17 of Pucking Obsessed

D’Angelo fusses with his scarf, muttering to himself. “One weekend,one fucking weekendaway from hockey in six years. Is that too much to ask for? Yes, yes, clearly it is.”

I leave him to it.

Sometimes, we all need a good mutter rant.

Shay glances around the corridor to check that we’re alone and then grasps my hand, stroking over the back of my knuckles. “It’s going to be okay, love. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

He’s quivering with nervous energy.

Dad is going to be pissed because instead of wearing a suit, Shay is dressed in one of my favorite outfits because it remindsme of the night that I first met him in Merchant’s Inn: a motorcycle jacket over a punky red shirt and black jeans.

He doesn’t look like a hockey player. I love that he has the courage to be himself.

He’s battled in the same way that Eden has to express who he truly is and he knows how precious it is to be able to wear metallic nail varnish, a leather jacket, and ripped jeans.

Eden inks and pierces his skin to claim his ownership back over himself.

This is Shay’s method.

His courage makesmefeel braver.

“We’ll be fine together.” I squeeze Shay’s hand, before letting go.

He smiles; it’s beautiful.

Then he pushes his hand with a nervous energy through his hair. “Eden’s probably pacing like a caged lion around Captain’s Hall. It’s shit that he’s not here. He should have been allowed to attend as Jude’s PA.”

“I tried that card,” D’Angelo says icily without looking around. “But apparently the asshole who owns the club has a specific list of people who he will and won’t allow to be in his god-like presence.”

Is that a sneer?It’s a definite sneer.

I flinch.

So, the owner of the club himself set up this meeting.

It’s never good when the top boss knows your name and has it on a list.

We’re screwed.

“Who is this posh bastard?” Shay glances between D’Angelo and me.

Finally, D’Angelo stops, turning to face Shay and me with an impressive swirl of his coat. “Charles Heine. A tech billionaire in his thirties, who works under his daddy still. He lives the life ofa playboy, doing things like buying hockey clubs because a yacht is just too common a toy when all the other rich boys own one. Also, he enjoys having control over actual dolls.”

Shay grins. “Sounds like you two would get on.”

D’Angelo glares at him. “Clearly, you don’t want to come any time soon, cucciolo.”

“I rest my case.”

“He’s nothing like me.” D’Angelo clenches his hands. “He’s a manipulative, narcissistic, sociopath.”

So, your typical billionaire.

I study D’Angelo.

Something’s wrong.

He’s ashen. He’s breathing too fast like he’s spiraling.

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