Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 74

“And have you been experiencing any feelings of breathlessness, fatigue, dizziness?”

I stiffen in my chair. “No, why?”

My cardiologist looks over his tablet. “Any trouble exercising?”

“I’m a professional hockey player,” I reply with a forced laugh. “My life is exercising.”

“What about nausea and vomiting?”

Fuck, did someone tell him? I have been getting sick more often lately. The last three games, I threw up behind the bench. I thought it was just stress and a particularly grueling string of shifts. I must give something away in my face because he jots it down.

“And what about swollen feet and ankles?”

“Like I said, I play hockey. A lot of stuff swells.” I lean forward in my chair. “Doc, what is this about? I just had my yearly checkup and, next thing I know, you’re calling me in, asking for a follow-up. What’s going on?”

He nods, setting the tablet aside. “I’m concerned, Mr. Morrow. You’re showing some signs of left-side weakness. And your ejection fraction is lower than I’d like it to be for the level of physical activity you do. Have you felt any palpitations?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I admit.

“And your heart rate, your breathing? Are they recovering on their own in a timely manner while you’re out on the ice?”

“It’s been a tough season…”

“Let’s not do that,” he replies, taking off his glasses, and tucking them in the pocket of his coat. “You’ve been a heart patient for long enough now. We don’t diminish, and we don’t sweep symptoms under the rug.”

I sigh. “Okay, well, so what do we do here? What’s the best course of action?”

“In my professional opinion? The best course of action is that you retire from playing professional hockey—”

“No.” I stand up. “No, I’m not ready. Doc, I have to play.”

“Well, you can’t play dead. And with the way you’re overworking this heart, it’s only a matter of time.”

I glare at him. “That’s some shitty fucking bedside manner you have there.”

“Would you respond better to a sweet sugary coating?” he asks with a raised brow. “You have a weak heart, Mr. Morrow. You know this. Given all it’s been through, your path to playing at the top of a professional sport has been nothing short of miraculous. But there’s no denying that the rate at which you push your heart to perform is taking its toll.”

A weak heart. Is this man really daring to say that I, Colton Morrow, have a weak heart?

The heart is just a muscle. It pumps and regulates. It’s nature’s perfect machine. And I’ve always known the truth: my machine is weak. We patched it up and changed out a few parts over the years until it ran like new. I’ve accomplished so much with this battered, broken-down pump. It’s taken me around the world and back again. It brought me to the height of a professional sports career.

But now it’s growing tired. I’m working it too hard, asking for too much. Because my heart is strong. The spirit inside me, the will to live this life to the fullest—that heart beats hard and fast in my chest. I am a tower of strength. I am bold and decisive. I’m passionate and proud and fierce. A fiery heart, that’s what I have. A loyal heart. A lion’s heart.

But a weak heart?

No, I’ve never been weak.

I can practically hear my dad inside my head, serving up more sports psychology gold.

Winners never quit.

Nothing will work unless you do.

“Give me more time,” I say at the doctor. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, just keep me on the ice.”

He sighs, checking over the notes on his tablet again. “Well, at a minimum, we need to look at changing up some of your medications. I also want us to look at how we can improve your ejection fraction. You can’t play if your heart can’t fill, and your blood can’t oxygenate.”

I nod. “Okay. I’ll try anything.”

“And I want you monitoring your heart rate more closely,” he goes on. “We need you tracking any dysrhythmias. It’s not me being alarmist to say a pacemaker could be on the horizon for you, Mr. Morrow.”

My stomach fills with lead. “Please, doc. You put a pacemaker in me, and I’m done. My hockey career will be over.”

He nods, his gaze somber. “True…but if retirement and a pacemaker could buy you twenty more years with the people you love? Would it not be worth at least considering?”

I leave the doctor’s office. I can’t even tell you how I got to my car. Before I know it, I’m pulling up inside the practice arena parking garage. I make my way inside, and head up to the fourth floor. The elevator on the left pings, and the doors slide open.

I can’t help but smile as I step in. This is the elevator where Poppy and I got stuck. It was right on the floor of this elevator that we may have made a baby together. My son. He’s growing inside her right now. Every minute. Every second. There’s a clock ticking in my head, counting down the days until I get to meet him.

Fuck, is this really happening? Hockey is my life, right? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I have to keep playing. I want to keep playing…right?

Maybe it was my life.

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes focused on that spot on the floor where I first made Poppy mine. Fuck, who are we kidding? She made me hers. What is hockey compared to a longer life loving her, loving Lukas, watching our child grow?

The elevator dings and the doors open. But I don’t go straight to Poppy’s office. I have a stop to make first.

“Hey, honey,” Poppy says brightly, waving me in with her phone to her ear.

Stepping in, I close the door, and glance around her new office. It has a wall of windows. My little pothos sits in a place of honor in a pink pot on the sill. This office is large enough for a couch and two chairs around a coffee table. She still has room for an executive desk too.

The walls are adorned with shots of the Rays in action. I smile as I take in the one in the middle. It’s Lukas and I, arms around each other, skating away from the camera. You can see our numbers large on our backs, 22 and 3. I have my stick in the air because I just scored my first goal as a Ray.

Poppy finishes up her phone call, a smile on her face. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, sweets.”

I step around her desk and give her a lingering kiss.

“Mmm, better than coffee,” she teases. “Did I know you were stopping by? You didn’t have a workout today, right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Fuck me, now that I’m actually here, I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to risk popping this perfect bubble we’re all in.

“For dinner tonight I was thinking that place over by the beach with the really good fried green tomatoes,” she says, shuffling things around on her desk. “You know, the one with the goat cheese and that spicy remoulade?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Something in my tone must give me away because she pauses. “What is it? What do you got there?” She glances down, finally noticing the manila folder in my hand.

Taking a deep breath, I open the folder. “I stopped by Vicki’s office and picked these up.” Pulling out all three contracts, I set them down on her desk.

She slides them over. “And what are these?”

“The love contracts we each have to fill out to make our relationship official with HR. I’ve already filled mine out and left a copy with Vicki,” I add, tapping the one filled in with blue ink.

She looks up, eyes wide. “Colton—”

“We don’t have to come out to anyone else,” I assure her. “Not until we’re all ready. But I want this cleared with HR. I want no question that I’m in a committed relationship with you both. And I updated my emergency contact,” I add. “I put you first, Lukas second…please don’t tell him.”

She smiles. “I won’t. Should I update mine to you?”

I brush her hair back with my fingers. “I’d like that.”

“Well, okay,” she says with a flap of her arms. “Seriously, what is going on?”

Steeling myself, I dive forward. “If the baby isn’t biologically mine, I want to adopt him. And I want the same for Lukas. I want all three of us to be named the legal parent with full rights.”

“Of course,” she says tears filling her eyes. “Honey, please just tell me what’s wrong.”

I drop down to one knee behind her desk and grab her chair by the arms, wheeling her closer to me. I wrap my arms around her and breathe in her perfect floral scent, burying my face at her shoulder.

Her hands go around me, smoothing over my shoulders. “Colton…you’re scaring me.”

I lift my head away from her, and cup her cheek. “If I retired from hockey, would you care?”

“Of course not—”

“I never went to college,” I warn her. “I got drafted and went straight to the minors. I’ve never even had a job outside of school and hockey.”

“That’s okay,” she replies. “You could go now if you want. It’s never too late. Will you please just tell me what’s bothering you?”

I have to tell her. She has to know. I can’t sit on this alone.

“I saw my cardiologist today.”

Her eyes go wide, and her bottom lip instantly starts trembling. “Colton—”

“No,” I say quickly, cupping her face with both hands. “Poppy, no. There are some symptoms we’re going to be monitoring closely, that’s all.”

She wraps her hands around my wrists. “What symptoms?”

Like the doctor said, there’s no way to sugar-coat this. “Symptoms of heart failure.”

She sucks back a sob as she falls forward against my chest, clinging to me.

“Hey—baby, look at me,” I say, pushing back on her shoulders, and tipping her chin up to meet my gaze. “It’s a scary word, I admit. They call it heart failure if the heart is weak and unable to pump blood effectively. But I’m not dying,” I assure her, kissing her forehead. “I have so many options open to me, from new medications, to monitoring devices. I don’t want you to worry, okay?”

“Fat freaking chance,” she cries, making me smile.

“I know,” I soothe, kissing her forehead again. “We may need to be ready to accept that this might be my last season playing professional hockey.”

She leans away, tears still falling. “Oh, honey…” Now it’s her turn to cup my face. Her expression takes on such a look of deep tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say, turning my face to kiss her wrist. “There are always new dreams to chase. I expect you, and Lukas, and Lentil will run me ragged for a good long while.” I place my hand on her stomach, and she quickly covers it with both of her own, holding me to her, to them.

Tears sting my eyes as I look up. Fuck, I could get lost in her pretty blue eyes. “Nothing comes before my family, do you understand?”

She nods, brushing her thumb over the back of my hand.

“I’m not even close to throwing in the towel,” I assure her. “But I want you and Lukas and the baby to have everything you need. I want HR contracts and legal safety nets. I want adoptions and powers of attorney. I will never ask you to marry me, Poppy St. James, but I mean to tie the three of you to me in every other way…starting with those forms,” I add, nodding at the contracts on the desk.

She nods, her breathing calmer. “Okay.”

I smile. “Good. ’Cause this is it for me.”

“Colton, you’re it for me,” she whispers. “Baby, I love you so much.”

“Good. Now, kiss me.”

Flinging her arms around me, she kisses me. We hold each other, mouths seeking and claiming as we leave our marks. I pant against her lips, and she pulls away, shoulders stiff. “Wait—” She searches my face as if looking for a sign I’m about to keel over.

“Babe, I’m not dead,” I assure her. “One of the loves of my life is in my arms, and for as long as this broken heart still beats, I’m gonna fuck you.” She gasps as I pick her up, slinging her onto the desk. I’m kissing her again, my hands working feverishly to get her pleated skirt up and her panties down. “I’m gonna love you,” I pant against her mouth, freeing my hard dick from the top of my shorts.

She slants her hips back, one hand pressed flat to the desk as I push my tip in at her entrance. “Love you so much,” she says on a breath as I start to slide in.

“Gonna worship you,” I groan, sinking myself deeper into her hot, wet pussy.

She clings to my shoulders, her legs around me. “Yes. Please—”

“Fucking cherish you.” My hand cups her breast over her shirt as I start to rock into her. “My queen. My fucking salvation.”

“Oh god, take me,” she sighs, moving with me, her pussy squeezing me so tight. “I can’t not have you. Please, baby.”

“Gonna come inside this cunt, brand you as mine.”

“Do it.”

“I love you so much.”

“Colton—god, I fucking love you.”

I pound into the side of her desk with my thighs, burying myself in her cunt again and again as we each chase our climax. In a few more thrusts, I’m groaning into her neck, heart racing as I come inside my queen. She trembles around me, swallowing her scream as her pussy clamps down so beautifully, coating my dick in her wet release.

I pull out, one hand flat on the desk as I catch my breath.

She settles on the desk, her hands brushing down my arms as she searches my face. “Are you okay?”

I laugh, tucking my wet dick back inside my shorts. I don’t want to clean her off me yet. Leaning forward, I kiss her parted lips. “I may have a weak heart, but pray to god it’s always strong enough to do that.”

She rolls her eyes, shimmying her panties back up her legs.

“Aren’t you gonna clean yourself up a little?”

She just shrugs. “No. I’m fine just as I am.” She slips off her desk and drops back into her chair, brushing her hair back from her face.

Grinning, I lower my hands down to the arms of her chair and spin her to face me. “Oh, so you’re just gonna sit here with my cum leaking out of your cunt, taking phone calls and ruling the hockey PR universe?”

She smiles right back. “Yep, pretty much.”

I shake my head and grab her around the middle, dragging her back onto the desk.

“Colton—oh my—I have to actually work today!”

“This is work,” I tease, nipping her ear as I snake my hand back up under her skirt. “You’re gonna work for this dick, sweet girl. Now, turn around, and put your hands on the desk. We don’t stop until you’re dripping wet.”

Smiling, she slowly turns around, and puts her hands on the desk.