Page 141 of Triple Pucked
D’Angelo has the puck again…
My hand balls into a fist.
I strain to make out Robyn beside the rink, but the camera is zoomed in on the action.
I should be there to support her.
It’s my own fault. I couldn’t handle my shit well enough after lunch.
I didn’t hide my wince fast enough, when my migraine struck, or the way that I was squinting from the light.
Instantly, Robyn narrowed her eyes. “Pain scale?”
I hesitated long enough to tell by the determined tilt to her chin that she knew I was about to lie.
Instead, I admitted, “Four.”
It is unsettling to know that I am surrounded by people who don’t want me to hide my pain. Plus, if I show it, they won’t laugh or take sadistic pleasure from it.
Instead, they only want to know in order to care for me.
Strange.
Immediately, Robyn’s brow furrowed with concern. She grasped my hands.
She rubbed my hands between her own, before leaning over to blow on them; my cock hardened. “Your hands are still too cold. I’m calling Code.”
Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that being friends with someone apparently doesn’t mean they will cover for you.
Plus, it doesn’t offer protection from annoying, fussy medical advice that leads to me being benched here in Freedom Mansion for the night, until I can have a full checkup at the hospital tomorrow.
I don’t have time for that.
D’Angelo swears that they won’t be in danger with the team and staff around them, despite everything that I now know about what both Blythe and Heine have been doing. Coach has been informed, as well as Fleet. The security team has been doubled and put on high alert. A list of every Misfit has been given to the Bay Rebels staff and been given a ban; they’re not getting into the arena.
Blythe won’t touch my twin again.
I don’t need a hospital appointment. I need to hunt down Blythe.
After this game, I will put into action my Burn List.
Blythe is at the top.
I haven’t told Robyn.
My eyes gleam with satisfaction at the thought of the Ice Queen melting in raging flames.
I lick the sticky, sweet toffee off my fingers with satisfaction at the fantasy.
Shay has the puck.
The commentator is wild with excitement. The audience roars.
Shay weaves around a defenseman. I stiffen, leaning forward.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Shay raises his stick, ready to shoot…
