Page 222 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
The missing piece.
I ignore the monitor and focus on his face. At the way his lips press into a thin line, seemingly waiting for me to rebuke him or push him away. At the heat in his hazel eyes—more green than brown today, I note—as his gaze tracks across my face.
I wind my arm through his, keeping him with me, and face the screen.
My knees almost give out. Only my hold on Oliver keeps me standing.
Fear lances through my body at the sight of Bear. I don’t need to see his face—he wears that same, creepy mask, half obscured by duct tape around his head—to know it’s him. He’s wearing the same clothes. And even though he’s handcuffed, too, it doesn’t mean I’m safe from him.
“What is this?” I manage. “Why?—”
There’s another security camera pointed outside. I focus on the movement in it. Penn’s car pulls up beside theirs, and he parks and climbs out without hesitation.
“You’re not alone,” Oliver says. “You’re surrounded by guys who…”
I glance at him. “Guys who what?”
“Love you.” He clears his throat. “Carter. Penn. Right?”
My chest is thundering, but I find myself nodding along anyway. Carter didn’t say it, but he showed it. But… that means Oliver is out, right?
“And you?” Carter asks him. “You’re included in that, too, right, Oliver?”
He doesn’t answer.
I slowly pull away, just as Penn enters. I rush into his arms, and he catches me with an oof. His arms bind around my back, and I fit perfectly against him to bury my face in his chest. His chin comes down and rests on top of my head.
“Your hair is damp, princess,” Penn rumbles.
Because I was too anxious to fully dry it before Carter and I left.
“What’s got you upset?”
“Oliver won’t admit that he loves her. We’ve got a bear in a cage…” Carter scoffs. “More the first thing than the second, I’d bet.”
“Well.” Penn leans back slightly. He runs his thumb along my cheek. “Let’s deal with the bear in a cage first, then we can smack some sense into Ollie.”
My chin wobbles. “What… what’s the plan?”
“Reenact what he did to you on him,” Oliver says. “Then kill him.”
My jaw drops.
Carter slaps his hand to his forehead. “Tact. Where is your godforsaken tact?”
“Oh, sorry.” Oliver sneers. “Let’s go in and pour him some tea, ask him to pray for forgiveness, and then tell him to lie in the hole we dug out back.”
“Jesus,” Penn groans.
I… smile.
It’s ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I can’t help but let it play out in my mind. And the more it goes on, the more funny it seems. Until I’m silently laughing, my shoulders shaking with my need to contain it. I turn away from Penn, holding my stomach as it cramps with my uncontrolled laughter.
And when it finally passes, I face them. The sober reality of the situation falls on me.
“Okay,” I finally say. I clear my throat. “Torture and murder. Let’s do it.”
sixty-nine