The Pucking Wrong Date: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 3)
Chapter 33

Ari: I’m going to start calling you Thor with the way you worked that hammer.

King Linc: That was a ridiculous attempt at humor, Lancaster. Even for you.

Ari: I’m not even joking. I’m a little nauseous…and turned on…every time I think about it. I mean, you literally smashed his dick.

Me: That’s what she said.

King Linc:…

Ari: Perfectly executed, Disney.

Me: Why are you being so nice?

King Linc: That should be obvious…

Me:?

King Linc: He’s scared of what you can do with your hammer.

Ari: I have to do it.

King Linc:…

King Linc: Fine.

Ari: That’s what she said.

Me: Anyways, you can’t call me Thor.

Ari: Why not?

Me: Because Hercules and Thor don’t mix. They aren’t the right mythology or whatever.

King Linc: Hercules?

Ari: His dick, Golden Boy. It’s his name for his dick.

King Linc: Why do all of these conversations end up with discussions about dicks?

Ari:…

Me:…

King Linc: Sigh.

Olivia

“I’m ready to make my ruling.”

The judge’s words seemed to echo around the L.A. courtroom where my attorneys had spent the last hour presenting all the evidence Walker’s P.I. had collected over the last few months.

It helped that Marco had admitted in prison to drugging me that first night—-that he and Jolette had orchestrated it all. Evidently the loss of his dick and his freedom had fully convinced him that it wasn’t worth attempting to lie anymore.

He’d already lost everything.

Jolette was sitting in the courtroom, her attorney mostly silent thus far except for an attempt at arguing that Marco had been the mastermind behind everything that had occurred—and Jolette just a victim.

That argument hadn’t gone well with the Court.

She sat slouched in her seat, a pitiful sight devoid of all her usual pretentious glamor. Her once impeccably styled blonde hair had grown out since that day she’d come to the house, revealing gray roots—a sight I’d never seen on her before. Without the façade of designer labels and ostentatious accessories, she appeared utterly diminished, a hollow shell of a human being unworthy of any sympathy. Like her mask had finally been removed.

“What has happened to Ms. Jones is a miscarriage of justice,” the judge began, her expression stern as she surveyed the room, her keen eyes seeming to miss nothing as they darted over the spectators filling the rows behind me. She frowned for a second, like she didn’t like so many people in her courtroom. “It is a sad and unfortunate truth that the conservatorship process is not perfect. That sometimes it can be wielded like a weapon, instead of as the healing stopgap it was originally intended to be.”

Dressed in a black robe that billowed around her like a cloak of authority, she finally turned her attention to me.

“I know there is nothing that I can say today that will remedy the past and the harm that’s befallen you…that will bring back the years that you’ve lost. But I hope that it will at least allow for you to flourish in the present. The Court’s order is that from this day forward, the conservatorship is ended, all rights are returned to Ms. Jones; legal, financial, and otherwise. I also order that Jolette Jones and Marco Davine will pay restitution for the appalling misuse of Ms. Jones’s funds. In all my time as a judge in L.A. County, I have never seen such an abuse of a conservatorship. Although I predict that they will spend the majority—if not all—of their lives in prison for the fraud and abuse and other crimes they have committed, any money they do earn will go to reimburse Ms. Jones, and any assets they currently possess will be liquidated to assist with that reimbursement.”

The judge’s words echoed in my ears, and a rush of emotions swept through me like a sudden downpour, drenching my senses and leaving me reeling in its wake.

Relief, disbelief, and a profound sense of freedom swelled in my soul, mingling with the pounding of my heart and the tight knot of anxiety that had been lodged in my chest for so long it was all I could remember.

I glanced at Walker in disbelief, wondering if I was dreaming. If I would blink and I’d wake up in bed, alone and miserable in that L.A. apartment.

It felt like I’d been in chains all these years, and the weight of them had suddenly fallen away. It was a heady sensation, exhilarating and terrifying all at once, like stepping off a precipice into the unknown depths below.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I stared around the courtroom, taking in the faces of fans that had shown up to show support once news had begun to leak out about what Marco and Jolette had done to me. I could have used their support years ago, but I guess it was a nice enough gesture now.

The judge banged her gavel, adjourning the hearing, and I stood up, unsure for a second what to do with myself. My gaze fell on Jolette and I walked towards her, unable to stop, Walker trailing behind me with his comforting presence.

“My client does not wish to speak to you,” her lawyer mumbled, sounding embarrassed as he spoke the words.

It must suck to represent a piece of trash, one that I was sure wouldn’t be able to pay him. His fee was certainly not coming out of my bank accounts.

“That’s fine. I just have one thing to say to her though,” I said sarcastically, staring at my mother as she tried to avoid my gaze. “This will be the last time I think about you,” I told her. “But unfortunately for you…I’m quite positive that you will think about me for the rest of your life.” Jolette flinched at that statement…because she knew it was true. She may not have spent much time thinking about me all these years, but that was definitely going to change.

She was about to have a lot of time on her hands.

I turned to leave, satisfied with that ending.

“He came to us,” she called after me. “Your precious boyfriend came to us and offered to date you in exchange for publicity. How about you think about that.”

I scoffed at the ridiculousness of what she’d said, and I didn’t bother turning around to look at her. Walker had gone still at her comment though, his fingers pressing into my lower back as he led us out of the courtroom.

There was no way she’d been telling the truth…right?

The sidewalk outside the courthouse was insane, teeming with a frenetic energy, cameras flashing everywhere, like strobe lights in a darkened club. My lawyer’s voice cut through the chaos. ‘I’ll handle the statement,’ he said, his tone brimming with confidence. ‘You need to get out of here.’

“Thank you,” I told him, and he smiled and nodded for a second before he turned towards the crowd.

“Car’s over there, angel,” Walker murmured as he huddled close behind me, his arm outstretched in front of my chest to prevent anyone from getting too close.

I kept my gaze down, trying to avoid the eyes of the reporters who’d taken such joy in my downfall all these years.

We made it to the other side of the sidewalk where the driver already had the door open of the SUV we were taking to the airport—I was ready to get out of this hellish town as soon as possible.

I was about to slide onto the leather seats when a ripple of applause suddenly echoed through the crowd, like the first drops of rain after a long drought.

I froze, one foot in the car, my heart hammering in my chest as I glanced around in disbelief.

The crowd of paparazzi were clapping and cheering for me.

These were the same people who had once reveled in my downfall, the same faces that had gleefully spread the lies and rumors Jolette and Marco had used to tarnish my name.

And yet, here they were, applauding me, offering their support in a way I had never imagined possible.

I flipped them off and got in the SUV.

Because fuck them for deciding to be decent now.

The engine roared to life, the steady hum of the vehicle a soothing backdrop to the emotions raging in my chest.

At least we were on the way to the airport. I’d always been able to think more clearly outside of L.A.

“Do you want to talk about what she said?” Walker finally asked.

“No. Not right now,” I murmured, my gaze drifting to the driver who was pretending not to listen. I’d had enough of strangers knowing everything about my business for today.

For my life…

“We are going to talk about it,” he insisted. “When we get home.”

I finally turned to look at him, taking in his gorgeous, concerned face. Home. Was it still my home?

There couldn’t be a world where he’d betrayed me. That couldn’t be the plot twist of my story.

‘Was she telling the truth?’ The words slipped past my lips before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper but ringing loud in the confined space of the car.

Walker’s eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions, his features contorting with conflict as he struggled to replace the right words. ‘It’s complicated,’ he finally said, his voice strained as he met my gaze. “But no…”

Complicated. The word echoed in my mind like a discordant melody, leaving me reeling. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all vied for dominance as I searched his face for answers.

But his expression remained inscrutable, a mask of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the car ride to the airport was eerily silent, the tension between us tangible and suffocating.

As we boarded Lincoln and Ari’s private plane, aka “Grandma Airways”, Mabel and Edna greeted us with non-alcoholic sparkling cider and cookies.

“Congratulations!” they cried, their cheerful demeanor and cat sweaters at odds with the knot of dread that had settled in the pit of my stomach. I forced a polite smile and accepted a glass of the drink, but the bubbly liquid tasted wrong on my tongue.

We settled into our seats and the plane took off. I had thought every mile away from L.A. would be healing.

But so far the journey hadn’t been what I’d thought.

Walker tried to talk to me, his voice gentle as he reached out to touch my arm, but I pulled away, the ache in my chest too raw to bear. ‘Not now,’ I whispered, my voice barely audible above the hum of the plane’s engines. ‘I can’t…not yet.’

His brow furrowed with concern, but he nodded, his expression reflecting the turmoil that mirrored my own. We retreated to our seats, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

I buried myself in my thoughts, and the hours stretched on, each minute somehow feeling like an eternity.

How was he going to explain this?