Pucking Sweet: An MMF Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 3)
Pucking Sweet: Chapter 81

Four Months Later

Iwander down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing as I hear Lukas singing what sounds like Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.” Only he’s changed the words to make it a song for the damn cat.

“Princess says meow,” he sings, swaying with her in his arms. “Feed me right now…’cause we’re having some pâté—Jesus—” His shoulders stiffen as he turns and sees me leaning against the doorway. “Dude, what the fuck. Lurk much?”

Princess mews in his arms, squirming to be put down.

I just grin. “Did you rewrite a Queen song for the cat?”

“No.” He sets her down.

“How many verses have you done?”

“Well, that’s none of your goddamn business,” he replies, stroking her tail as she leads the way over to her food dish.

“So, all of them then,” I tease, stepping into the kitchen.

After months of simmering resentment on both sides, Princess and Lukas have finally struck an accord. He feeds her. She can’t hate the hand that feeds her, right? At least, not forever. He peels open the can of food, tipping it into her pink bowl.

“You about ready?” I say at him.

“Do you think she’s lonely?” he replies, scratching her butt.

I lean against the island with my hip. “No, I think she’s spoiled rotten. I think she has three humans who feed her, brush her, and call her precious 24/7. She lives better than any of us. If she’s bored, we’ll get her another cat tower to climb.”

“I didn’t say bored, I said lonely,” he replies. “I think she needs a friend.”

“Well, she’s about to have a new human friend here in a couple weeks. Let’s just focus on that.”

He nods, giving her one last pat. “Yeah, okay.”

I give his shoulder a shove. “Come on. We can’t be late, or Pop’ll kill us.”

“No, she won’t,” he says with a laugh. “We’re too damn pretty.”

“Just get your shit, and let’s go.”

Poppy and her team have been working on this little project for months. Most of the NHL teams run hockey camps in the summer for youth. Under Poppy’s guidance, the Rays are hosting their first camp this week, and all the participants have full scholarships, which includes a gifted pair of skates, a stick, and a cool tie-dyed camp tee.

Lukas and I are both already wearing the tees. We’re camp counselors, along with a few other Rays. We’ll be working with the kids on drills, and at the end of the week we’ll play a game.

Growing up in Canada, playing hockey is just a normal option for a kid. It’s as normal as saying you want to play basketball or soccer. But here in Florida, hockey is rare. It feels good to know we can spread the joy of the sport in our own backyard.

We make our way to the practice rink, laughing and joking as we get ready. Today’s just about footwork drills and stick handling, so we don’t bother with pads or helmets. Lukas and I are both in long pants and camp tees. Down the bench, Jake and Sanny get ready too, wearing their matching tie-dyed tees.

“Look at us,” Jake jokes. “Who’d a thought, huh?”

I sit back with a groan, rubbing my chest. That damn breakfast burrito smothered in ranchero sauce is giving me indigestion. “It surprises you that we all volunteered to be camp counselors?”

“I’ll have it stated that I did not volunteer,” Lukas says with a raise of his hand. “Poppy forced me on pain of no sex so…”

“No, it surprises me that we’re all here, living the life, you know?” Jake glances around.

“What life?” asks Sanny.

“The queer life,” Jake replies. “Guys, we’re sitting here wearing tie-dyed shirts, head-over-skates in love with our own teammates. It’s pretty cool, right? I mean, this was never on my bingo card, but I’m so fucking happy.”

Lukas and I exchange a grin. “Yeah, that bingo’ll get you every time,” he replies.

Jake snaps his fingers. “We should all do Pride. The parade, I mean. When is that?” He looks to Sanny.

“It already passed,” he replies, tying his skate laces. “It’s at the beginning of June.”

“Well, next year, we’re doing it,” Jake says, getting to his feet. “I mean all of us, the whole team, the girls too. We’ll even bring the dog. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Sure,” Sanny replies. “Now, if you’re done waxing poetic about the joys of being queer in hockey, there are fifty terrors out there waiting for us to show them how to handle a stick.”

Jake just laughs. “Oh, we alllll know how to handle a stick.”

I step past him in my skates, giving his shoulder a pat. “Come on, man, you gotta save something inappropriate for the kids.”

He follows me out to the ice, Lukas and Sanny right behind.

For the first hour, it’s a circus. The kids race around, waving their sticks in the air. After a brutal trip incident that ends with a bloody nose, we lay down some ground rules and talk about the penalties for slashing, spearing, and high-sticking.

Now, Lukas and Sanny are leading a cone drill, while Jake and I watch, keeping the other kids corralled.

“Hey, honey!”

I turn to see Poppy walk up behind the plexiglass. Fuck, she looks so goddamn beautiful. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail, her makeup minimal. Her baby bump is huge, stretched tight under a teal Rays jersey. “Babe, what are you wearing?” I say with a grin.

“Isn’t it sooo cute? Caleb and the equipment managers made it for me.” She turns, showing me the shoulders that have a number twenty-two and a number three. “And did you see the back?” She turns fully around, showing me the big number one and her first name: POPPY.

“You’re number one, huh?” I tease.

She turns back around, shrugging. “Well, yeah. There’s only one Poppy. St. James.”

“I love it,” I reply with a laugh.

She looks out anxiously at the ice. “How’s it going?”

“Uhh, you know, we’re getting there,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Well, don’t forget, we’re doing some interviews as they come off the ice today, and I want to include you guys. Claribel is setting it up now.”

“Got it,” I reply with a nod. “Whoa—hey—hold on.” I skate off as I see a small fight break out between a couple of the bigger boys waiting in the back of the queue. They’re picking on a small kid with glasses.

“Stop it,” he cries. “It’s mine—”

“I just wanna hold it for a second,” the big kid teases, waving the stick up high.

Two of the other bigger kids laugh goonishly.

“Hey, come on, fellas. Knock it off,” I say, skating in.

Jamal, the little kid with glasses, lunges. “Give it back!”

They wrestle with the stick as I get up behind them. “Enough,” I shout, glaring at the big kid. I think his name is Jeremy. He lets the stick go, and Jamal loses his balance. I don’t have time to react before Jamal is sharply butt-ending me with his stick right in the goddamn chest.

I mutter a curse as the motion glides me back a few feet.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, his eyes going wide behind his glasses.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” Jake calls out.

I blink twice, taking a deep breath as a nauseous feeling coils in my gut. Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me.

The kids all scramble to explain to Jake, but I don’t hear a thing. My heart is fluttering in my chest like a bird trapped in a cage. It’s in dysrhythmia. Fuck, this is not good. I rub a hand over my chest, taking a breath, praying my heart paces itself out.

“Dude, you okay?” Jake asks, one hand on my shoulder.

I grunt, dropping down to one knee.

“Cole—whoa—” Jake grabs my arm.

“My heart,” I get out on a breath. “The pacing is off.” I still try to breathe through it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, controlled. Recover. Breathe.

Jake’s face swims in my vision. “What do you need? What can I do?”

Lukas skates up, sliding to a stop. “What happened?”

I look up from my knees, hand on my chest, and shake my head.

I watch as Lukas’s soul drops from his body. I know, if he could, he’d rip his own heart from his chest in this moment and give it to me. “Call 911,” he says at Jake. Dropping to his knees, his stick clattering down, he takes me by the shoulders.

“Is he okay?” Jamal asks, his face stricken with worry.

Shit. Poor kid. This isn’t his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.

I have a weak heart.

“Call fucking 911!” Lukas shouts.

I’m fading out. Feels like my heart is skipping in my chest. “Lukas—” I hold tight to his arm.

“Hold on, baby. Just breathe. You fucking stay with me. Breathe.”

Somewhere, Poppy screams.