Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 27

After making a few more jokes about Poppy and her sister, the rest of the guys clear out with their coffees, even Novy. I can tell he wants to stay, but he has a PT meeting he can’t skip. “Just…take care of her,” he mutters, giving one last look at the double doors.

I wait for less than thirty minutes, and then I’m watching from a bench in the atrium as Poppy and her sister walk out. Poppy looks more relaxed now, which has me relaxing a little too. She also looks gorgeous. That soft purple dress is hugging her curves in all the right ways. She’s got a little flower scarf wrapped around her neck, making her look like a sexy flight attendant.

She and her sister cross the atrium, heading for the front doors. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re both smiling and hugging. Is Violet staying? Maybe they’re agreeing to meet up somewhere after work. Poppy nods. Then Violet is walking off into the Florida sunshine, and Poppy is turning back around. She searches the atrium as if she’s looking for something. The moment she sees me, her smile falls. Then she cracks. With a sob, she flings her hand over her mouth, trying to catch the sound as she rushes away.

I leap to my feet. “Poppy!”

She tugs her keycard from her pocket and taps it on the security access panel. The door beeps and she jerks it open, not looking back.

“Poppy, wait,” I call after her, ducking inside the closing door.

“Go away.”

I follow her down the hall to the elevator bank. “Will you just wait?”

She thumbs the elevator button, pressing it until the car dings and the doors slide open. I slip in right as they shut. She sinks against the wall, hand still over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

I don’t know what to do. Should I touch her? Not touch her? Does she need a hug? I go for something in the middle and place my hand on her shoulder. “What do you need?”

“Oh god,” she gasps. “I can’t breathe—”

“Just slow down,” I soothe. “In and out, Pop.”

She grabs my forearm. Clinging to me, she takes in a shaky breath.

“Good, that’s it. Now, let it out.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head.

I brush her hair back with my free hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing I shouldn’t have expected,” she says, clutching her chest with her other hand.

“Tell me.”

She blinks her eyes open. I hate that they’re rimmed with tears. She looks at me, and I see the trust there. I’m so goddamn grateful for it. She knows I care, so she lets me in. “I was ready to cut my sister out of my life for good.”

“By the manner of your parting, you clearly didn’t. What happened?”

She gives a little laugh, shrugging. “I think I just agreed to be her maid of freaking honor.”

Whoa. That’s some Shakespeare-level drama. “You’re gonna be the maid of honor at your sister’s wedding to your ex-fiancé?”

She tugs at her little neck scarf like it’s choking her. “Oh, great. Please, make me feel worse about this.” Getting it loose, she lets it float to the floor.

“Sorry, it’s just…well, why did you do it?” I’m genuinely curious.

“Because she pulled the face!”

“What face?”

“The Violet face,” she says with a distracted wave of her hand. “You know, the sad, pathetic ‘my charmed life is so easy because no one really loves me’ face. Oh man, she’s good. She actually had me apologizing to her by the end.” She drags both hands through her hair, leaning against the elevator wall. “God, I am so spineless.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m a freaking jellyfish. I’m a Poppy-fish,” she says with a squeaky laugh. “I’m a pushover.”

“You’re not. Have you met you?”

“With my family? Yes, I am. I’m a people-pleasing, hot freaking mess!”

“Poppy—”

“No, it’s fine.” She fans herself with both hands. Pink blush is rising up her neck to her cheeks. “Honestly, the joke is on her because I’m just gonna plan the most boring bachelorette party of her life!”

I can’t hide my grin. This is my little tiger showing her claws, threatening to plan a party badly on purpose. God, she’s fucking adorable. But then my smile falls. “Wait, you’re throwing her a bachelorette party?”

“The MOH always throws the bachelorette party,” she says, still fanning herself. “And she only gave me like three weeks to plan it, as if I don’t have enough to do running an entire freaking PR department.” She looks up at me. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “You’re just…sister of the year.”

Personally, I could never. Both my sisters are happily married, but if one of them ever went sniffing around one of my exes, it would be game over. Poppy should be given a medal for even considering it.

“Wait.” She glances around, eyes wide. “Why aren’t we moving?”

Shit, for a moment, I forgot we were in an elevator. I glance over at the control panel. “Neither of us pressed a button for a floor.”

She jabs the number four with her thumb, and the elevator lurches upward. She clings to the handrail, lips moving as if she’s praying to be delivered from this metal box. I knew her thing about planes, but I thought that was just about flying. It is all small spaces?

I brush her shoulder again. “Poppy, do you have claustrophobia?”

She fakes a laugh. “Don’t be silly—ahh!” The elevator jolts. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What the heck was that?”

I glance around. “Uhh, I don’t—”

The elevator shudders to a stop, making a sound like a machine powering down. Then the bright lights flicker out. The only light left is the soft red glow of an emergency bulb in the ceiling.

“What’s happening?” she cries, stumbling forward to wrap her arms around me. “Why have we stopped?”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh god, are we trapped?”

Placing an arm around her waist, I groan, remembering some of the chatter at practice this morning. “Yeah, so someone might have mentioned they were doing some repairs on the generators today—”

“The freaking generators?!” Her panic morphs into rage as she shoves away from me. “Are you kidding me? I swear to Lucifer, when I get out of here, I am setting those generators on fire so Mark will have to buy new ones! Maybe then they’ll actually work, and I can do my freaking job!”

While she’s busy spiraling out, I reach in my pocket for my phone and turn on my flashlight. Shining it at the control panel, I press the alarm button. Nothing happens.

Fucking perfect.

I tap all the other buttons, including the emergency call button.

Nothing.

I shoot off a couple texts to some of the staff, letting them know we’re stuck in here. All the while, Poppy rants, gasping for air as her panic mounts. “—just freaking perfect. Everything else has gone to crap. I may as well add plummeting to my death—”

“Hey.” I cup her face one-handed, still holding my phone flashlight with my other hand. “You’re not gonna die, okay? Elevators have all kinds of emergency brake systems. We’re good. We’re just stuck—”

“And that’s supposed to calm me down? This is literally my worst nightmare!”

Ouch. “It’s your worst nightmare to be stuck in an elevator with me?”

But she’s not listening. “Oh, god. Colton, I really feel like I can’t breathe.” She sinks down to the floor, both hands now pressed to her chest.

“Whoa, okay.” I drop to my knees too, setting my phone aside with the flashlight up so it shines on the ceiling. “Do you think you’re gonna pass out? You gotta invert—”

“No.” Her eyes are closed as she shakes her head. “I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

She just said the two magic words. For a panicked beat, my own heart stops. I grab her wrist, checking her pulse. “Walk me through your symptoms, Poppy. What are you feeling right now?”

“I can’t breathe—heart is racing—” She grabs my hand and places it over her chest.

“Are you experiencing any pain across your shoulders, your arms, or your back?”

“No.”

“Does your chest feel weighted, like there’s an elephant sitting on it? Or compressed like someone has it in a tight fist?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

I move my hand from her chest, feeling along her throat. “Any pain in your jaw or neck?”

She blinks up at me, eyes wide. “What’s with the twenty questions? Are you secretly a doctor or something?”

“No, but my mom and both my sisters are.” My quick examination done, I relax a little. “Poppy, look at me.” Tipping her chin up, I can clearly see the fear in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re having a heart attack, okay? I think this is just a panic attack. Still scary, but we can breathe it out.”

“How the heck would you know?”

“Because I’ve had three.”

“Three what? Panic attacks?”

“No, three heart attacks.”

Her eyes go, if possible, even wider. I can see she doesn’t believe me. Why would she? Few do unless they’ve seen my medical records . . . or my scars. Balancing on my knees, I rock back on the balls of my feet and tug my Rays tech shirt off.

She gasps. “Colton, what are you—”

“Look,” I say, tossing the shirt aside. There’s not a lot of light in here, so I take her hand in mine and run her fingers over the mess of scars on my chest. “Feel it?” I stroke her fingers down the middle of my chest over the thick, raised scar. “This one’s from the sternotomy I had when I was six years old.”

“Oh.” Her fingers are gentle as they explore.

“And this one is from a thoracotomy when I was eight,” I say, showing her the shorter, thinner scar on my left pec.

“Oh, Colton…” Her breathing slows as she brushes her fingertips over each one. “I didn’t know.” She glances up, her expression soft in this odd light. “Are you…?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” I reply with a reassuring smile. This is calming her down, so I keep talking. “I was born with a weak heart. I practically lived in hospitals. But since we finally got the repairs I needed, I’ve been making this ole pump earn its keep and then some.”

“And they let you play hockey like this?” She blinks twice, lowering her hand away. “Wait, I’m sorry. That was rude.”

I laugh. “No, it’s a fair question. Trust me, the League wouldn’t have signed me if I couldn’t play. This is all in my past. I spent the first ten years of my life thinking I’d be unable to play sports at any level. No running, no jumping, no skating down the ice.”

“What was wrong?”

I shrug. “A few congenital defects with long names and low probabilities. Basically, it all meant my heart couldn’t pump my blood properly. Low oxygenation led to fatigue, weakness, shortness of breath. But I fought my fight and won. Now, every day that I get to keep playing hockey is my little victory lap. Honestly, it’s why I still play. Lord knows I don’t need the money. And my knees would probably thank me if I retired early,” I add with another smile.

I’ve clearly surprised her. “I had no idea. Why aren’t you more vocal about it? I could help you.” She sits forward, her eyes brightening. “Oh! We could do a campaign. Heart health is such an important topic—”

“Whoa there.” I raise a hand to stop her. “This is why I don’t tell people. Especially not media-minded people like you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be anybody’s poster boy. I don’t want to be driving to the beach and see a big billboard with my face and the word BRAVE in all caps. I get enough tokenism being one of only a handful of guys in the entire League who isn’t white. I support my causes privately, and I make my appearances at the cardiac wing of my hometown hospital every time I’m home. My doctors all have season tickets for life. That’s enough for me.”

She nods. “I understand. You want people to see you as an athlete first, not as a heart patient.”

I consider her words for a moment. Is that what I’ve been doing all these years? I’ve spent so long internalizing my own identity as that of “former” heart patient. I was sick. Now, I’m not. Every day, I push my body to the limit again and again, showing it and myself what we can achieve together.

The rest of my family all chose medicine and academia. Dad was a chemist, Mom’s a neurologist, both my older sisters are pediatricians. And then there’s Colton, who always had a point to prove: my body is mine to control. Who would I be if I didn’t feel this pressure to constantly make my body perform? What would I do if I actually had a choice? If I didn’t have to keep proving everyone wrong?

“Colton?”

I look down, catching Poppy’s concerned gaze. Leaving my phone on the floor, I stand and reach out my hand. “Wanna try standing again?”

She slips her hand in mine, and I pull her up. Her other hand goes to my chest as she braces against me. Wobbling, she fixes her shoe. Her palm presses flat against my bare skin, burning me like a brand. Now I’m the one feeling like I can’t breathe. Her finger traces my sternotomy scar again. By the light of my phone, I see the questions shining in her eyes. She wants to know more about me, about my story. I want to know her too, if she’ll only give me a chance. Am I too late? Did I wait too long?

Her fingers inch lower, away from my scar. Christ, now she’s just touching me. There’s no pity in these touches. I reach out on instinct, wrapping my hands around her wrists. “Stop.”

She freezes. “Sorry.”

I let her go and she drops her hands to her sides. The energy in this dark elevator feels suddenly charged. Now that she’s not panicking about her sister or being stuck in this elevator, her mind that never stops churning is thinking about something else. “What is it?”

She bites her bottom lip, worry flashing in her eyes. “Umm, about Lukas—”

“Don’t.”

She looks up at me, and I see I’ve wounded her. She’s trying to communicate, and I’m shutting her down. She feels like she needs to tell me about what happened between them. He’s my friend and my teammate. She needs to unburden herself, but I can’t fucking bear it. “Whatever you’re about to tell me, I don’t want to know,” I say, my tone gruff.

She shrinks back farther. “Okay.”

With a groan, I close the space between us. Cupping her face with both hands, I tip her chin up. “I said I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t say anything—”

“You’re not mine, Poppy.”

Her gaze hardens as her hands wrap around my wrists. “You think I don’t know that?”

I walk her back until she touches the wall again. She gasps, her hip hitting the metal handrail. One hand drops down to brace against it. The other stays wrapped around my wrist, her fingers pressing against my pulse point. Can she feel the way it’s racing? “Whatever happened between you and Novy in DC is your own business,” I explain. “He’s not talking, and I don’t want you to either. You weren’t mine, so you owe me nothing. Understand?”

She nods.

Fuck this. I’m done waiting for my shot with her. I’m done watching from the bench just hoping she’ll notice me. Seizing this chance, I dare to go on. “But you need to know that if you were mine, he would never touch you again.”

She blinks up at me. “If I was yours?”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb, praying she’ll let me get this all out, praying she’ll hear me. “I’ve died and come back three times over, Poppy. I know with a clarity most others lack that sometimes you only get one shot in this life. You have to be ready to take it when it comes. You have to be ready to fucking cherish it.”

Her eyes trail from my chest scar back up to my face. “And what do you cherish?”

“Hockey,” I reply with a smile, knowing it’s not what she expected me to say. “It’s all I wanted. I gave it everything I had, and I rose right to the top.”

“You’ve had an amazing career,” she admits.

“But that’s all I have, Poppy: my career. Dad dying put that in harsh perspective for me. I was so focused on this one thing I wanted that I didn’t let myself dare want anything else.”

“What else do you want?”

Leaning down, I place a kiss on her forehead, whispering against her warm skin, “I want you. I have for years.”

She leans away on a gasp. “Years?”

I nod, clearly picturing the moment in my mind. “Since the first day I saw you sweep into the practice rink in DC. You were wearing a pale-yellow dress with your hair down.”

“You remember my dress?”

“How could I forget? You were like a ray of sunshine. I couldn’t look away. You stopped me in my tracks, Poppy. You still do. Every day. I want you so fucking bad. Since the moment you walked into my life two years ago, I think I’ve been chasing this dream of you. Hell, I chased it all the way to Jacksonville. You’re the reason I took this trade. I wanted to be where you are. I wanted to be ready to take my shot. All I need to know now is…do I have one?”

“Colton,” she whispers again, pronouncing the “T” in that way that makes me feral.

“Don’t,” I grit out, locking my elbows to keep her from inching closer.

She leans away, confused. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already know how I taste.” I brush my thumb over her parted lips. “Like you might just give a damn about me.”

“I do.” She holds my sides. “Colton, I care about you.”

“Then answer my question.”

“I…” She goes silent, not meeting my eye.

I tip her chin up again, determined to hear her truth. She has all of mine now. It’s only fair I get a little taste of hers, even if it breaks what’s left of my heart. “You what? Tell me.”

She holds my gaze, those blue eyes so bold and beautiful. “I want you too.”