Page 71 of Pucks and Coffee

“Forever,” I promise.

He looks stricken by my promise, and it drives me crazy. How can he not see that he loves me? I’m not naïve. I’m not an idiot. I know for a fact he does, and I don’t get why he won’t just say it. Or at least own up to it. Maybe not say the words, but acknowledge them. I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. His actions are enough for me. Still, his voice is so husky and full of emotion as he pleads, “Eliza?—”

“Unless you’re going to say you love me too, Coleson Katz, then I don’t want to hear it. Instead, tell me what happens next.”

He eyes me, and I hate that I’m holding my breath. Waiting to see if he’ll say it, when I know he won’t. When he starts to explain that he has to catch a flight in two hours, I listen intently, smiling, and it’s genuine. I’m so excited for him. So proud.

Above all else, I love him.

CHAPTER 37

Coleson

The next twelve hours are a whirlwind.

I catch the first flight to Nashville, and once there, it’s balls to the wall. While my excitement at being called up is abundant, my fear of how I will be treated outweighs it. I keep my wife’s words in my head: “This is your moment. Enjoy it, ignore the negative, and focus solely on the positive. You made it. I’m proud of you.” The woman is a goddamn angel.

I repeat her words over and over as I go through the motions of getting my Nashville Assassins gear with my number 71 on everything. I sounded like a kid on Christmas when I asked if I got to keep it all. They said I did, and yeah, I’m excited. Even sent my wife a picture, but unlike how she usually reacts, she didn’t reply or even read it.

Weird.

I met the team at breakfast, then we hit the ice, and much to my surprise, no one brought up my past off-ice actions. All everyone did was welcome me and then express how excited they were to play with me. It’s a little shocking to me since my wife’s sisters are engaged to two of the guys on the Assassins, Ciaran Carter and Dimitri Titov. I fully expected them to tell everyone my faults, but I don’t think they did. Instead, my future brothers-in-law—whenever they decide to tie the knot—welcomed me with open arms. And while I still feel like I’m going to puke at every turn, I don’t feel like I’m about to shatter from every single inch of me being wound tight.

After press conference after press conference, I feel like an idiot. Everyone asks, “How’s it feel?” and I don’t think my answer is good enough.

“Like it’s all a dream.” The undrafted, skate-on manwhore has been called up to the big leagues. To the greatest team ever, the Nashville Assassins. What in the ever-loving hell? Is this real? It is absolutely insane. But none of that is what’s playing on my mind. It’s the fact that my wife hasn’t texted or called me back since we hung up the night before. At all. Radio silence.

I miss her.

And I’m scared.

Is she taking my call-up to mean it’s over between us? That doesn’t feel right, though. Not only did I tell her a year and it’s only been a couple months, but when I got the call, she was screaming and dancing with me. She told me she loved me. But of course, my dumbass self didn’t say it back. I can’t. As much as I want to stay married to her and make this a real marriage, I know deep in my soul she deserves better.

Things may be going well today, but it’s only a temporary assignment. The coach already said that when their center is off concussion watch, I’ll be sent back down. As much as it sucks, I knew I wouldn’t have a forever spot—not yet, at least. And no matter how much I want one, I don’t wish for someone to lose their season over a concussion. Or any injury. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Soon, I’ll be back with the Bears, hated and ridiculed, and I don’t know if that’ll ever change. Maybe Eliza is right. Maybe I should look into being traded. But would she go with me? Should I ask that of her? I feel as if doing so would mean I’m running from the bed I’ve made. I should just stay and see what happens, but the thought of a fresh start is appealing.

Especially if I can convince Eliza to go with me.

Not that I deserve that.

When a knock sounds at the hotel room door, I lean back from the sink where I’m shaving to glance at it. I don’t know who it could be. I glance down at my phone to check the time, and yeah, no clue who would be knocking on my door. I’m not due back to the rink until three. I place my razor down before making sure my towel is tight at my waist. I put my hand to the door and I glance in the peephole, but something is blocking it. Something purple. Confused, I pull on the door handle, and on my next heartbeat, the muscle in my chest promptly explodes.

In front of me stands my wife. Grinning brightly up at me. She wears a purple-and-black home Assassins jersey and black leggings, with her hair up in a high ponytail. I don’t take in her shoes or even her makeup because in one hand is a bunch of balloons reading congratulations, and in the other is a basket of all my favorite treats. But the best part? The huge purple bow on her head.

“Surprise!” she gushes and does a little wiggle.

Oh, heart be still. Gruffly, because this girl has not been answering my calls or texts, I bite out, “Wife.”

She beams, ignoring my grumpy tone. “Husband! Surprise!”

Who am I kidding? I can’t resist this woman. I can’t help but smile before I gather her up in my arms and kiss her hard on the mouth. She molds into my body, pressing her chest to mine as I devour her sweet lips. Fuck, I’ve missed them. I’ve missed her, and feeling her in my arms is better than anything I could ever describe. When I pull back for air, I set her with a look. “Is your phone broken?”

She scoffs, pushing past me as I shut the door. “No, it’s a surprise. I couldn’t answer and lie, saying I wasn’t driving. You’d know I was coming. Which is why it’s a surprise!”

“If you say surprise one more time…” I warn as I follow her through the hotel room. She tsks at my messiness, but I ignore her, wrapping my arms around her from behind. “I will make your sweet ass red with my handprints.”

She wiggles said ass into my groin. “Promise?”

---