Page 85 of Pucks and Coffee

That is, until he kisses me.

Then I have to force myself to remember why I have to show up for Christmas morning.

CHAPTER 45

Coleson

I’m ready to be out of this wheelchair.

I watch as my wife moves around the room like a damn fairy, cleaning and gushing over everyone. The room is decked out with a huge floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree decorated with nothing but gold accents. Fake snow and angels are everywhere.

Apparently, the girls’ first Christmas with Dan, he decorated with angels because they were his angels. It’s sweet, and I enjoy watching him interact with his granddaughters. It’s obvious he loves them deeply. He’s actually been really nice to all us guys too, which is a welcome change. Dan Davenport as a grandfather compared to as an owner is two totally different men.

Eliza takes her gift from him and beams when she opens a very pretty gold hockey necklace that she asked him for. I know if I look at the stick, it’ll have my number on it how she wanted. I watch as he puts it on her, and I find that I’m jealous. I hate being confined to one spot. I want nothing more than to chase her down and make her sit. She hasn’t sat since we’ve all gathered, and it’s driving me insane.

She’s such a mother hen, and while the idea of having kids scares the fuck out of me, I know she is going to be the best mother. We have some time before we decide on that, but damn, she makes it really appealing to knock her up and watch my child grow within her. Not now. I gotta get healthy first, but maybe after. Eh, who am I kidding? If she asked me today, I’d do it.

Whatever she wants.

I love her, and these last three weeks just prove how I couldn’t have picked a better fake wife. God, I was dumb. I, of course, tried not to fall for someone who radiates love. I’m so glad I didn’t push her away when I first got hurt. I could have, but my selfish self couldn’t do it. I’ve always felt a special pull between us, and I really was an idiot to assume I could keep her at arm’s length. Not when I want to pull her to my chest with every breath I take.

My beautiful wife. My real wife.

Everyone is opening gifts and chitchatting in their matching PJs. Clara cut mine at the thigh to make sure they fit over my cast, which sucks because I was gonna use it as an excuse not to wear the ugly bright-pink PJs. I don’t know why we all need to be wearing matching PJs with Christmas-hat-wearing walruses on them, but we are. And why are they pink? Christmas colors are red and green, but my wife wasn’t hearing it. So now we all look ridiculous, not that I’m saying that out loud. I don’t want to upset my wife, not when she’s smiling like our future isn’t unknown. I guess, in a way, it’s not. Yeah, my career is. But us, we’re solid. She’s mine and I’m hers.

She must feel me watching her because her eyes move to meet mine. A smile pulls across her lips, and I smile back before beckoning her to me. She comes automatically until she stops, pulling out her phone. I watch as her brows furrow, and she glances up at me as she answers halfway to me, “Hey, Coach. Oh, I guess he doesn’t. Yeah, one second.” She comes to me, holding out her phone. “Where is your phone?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

She rolls her eyes before I take her phone, and then she turns toward the Christmas tree. I watch her ass move as I answer. “Hey, Coach. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, bud. How ya doing?”

“All right, we’re in Nashville until tomorrow. Are we still good for lunch?”

“Aye, I wanted to make sure to confirm before I got too drunk on eggnog.” I snort at that. “But also, to check in.”

I know what he’s asking. If I’m okay mentally. Just like Eliza, Coach has been a huge part of my recovery thus far. He has come to see me twice and calls every two days. I don’t know how I got so lucky with this guy, but I’ll always treasure our relationship. I look around, and of course, my wife is watching me. I send her a smile and then wheel myself out into the hallway for a moment of privacy. When I’m alone, I say, “I’m all right. We knew it was going to be hard, and it has been. I hate leaning solely on Eliza like this.”

“Ah, but she’s a tough lass. She’s got you.”

“Oh, I know,” I agree wholeheartedly. “I just wish she didn’t have to.”

“Understandable. How much longer till you’re out of the wheelchair?”

“Five weeks, and then I’ll be moved into a walking cast, which will be a damn good time, I’m sure.”

He grunts. “When I snapped my tibia, the rehab was brutal. But I’ve been through it, so I’ve got you. And Eliza…well, she’s just a breath of fresh air.”

“She is,” I say, leaning back in the chair.

“And pain management?”

I nod. “Good, she has me on a schedule. And it’s good to see it visually, so I’m not just popping pills.”

“Good, good. You sound way better.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

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