Page 60 of Pucking the Team

“I just don’t want to screw this up.” Slade sighs. “It’s…different with her.”

My cheeks warm, butterflies erupting in my stomach. I peek my head out of the office. “Are you boys talking about little ol’ me?”

They turn, matching grins spreading across their faces.

“Busted,” Alex chuckles. “But can you blame us?”

“Impossible not to, babe,” Lukas winks.

Slade reaches for my hand, his touch igniting fireworks under my skin. “We still on for tonight? The four of us?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I breathe, already anticipating tangled limbs and sweat-slicked skin.

As they head to the locker room, I take a moment to compose myself. Four sexy, amazing men vying for my attention, my affection? Somebody pinch me—Emma Collins’ luck has definitely taken a turn for the blissfully unbelievable.

A spring in my step, I make my way to my cubicle, visions of tonight’s plans dancing through my head. The anticipation shimmers across my skin. I can’t wait to be wrapped up in their arms again, lost in a tangle of passion and?—

I freeze, the daydream shattering as my eyes land on the angry black scrawl defacing my cubicle wall.

NEPO BABY

The words punch me in the gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. With a trembling hand, I reach out to trace the jagged letters, bile rising in my throat.

I’ve always known my family ties to the Blizzards could raise eyebrows.

But I never expected such blatant, cowardly hostility.

Tears blur my vision as hurt and humiliation wage war inside me. Who would do this? Why now, when I’m finally finding my place? I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Whoever it was, I won’t let them see me crack. I can’t.

Whirling around, I make a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I slump against it, my pulse jackhammering against my ribs as I gulp for air. The cruelty of the anonymous attack swirls in my mind, reopening old wounds I thought long healed.

A tentative knock startles me, and I hastily swipe at my cheeks before cracking the door open. Chloe stands there, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Emma? What’s wrong?”

The genuine worry in her voice unravels me. A sob catches in my throat as the truth spills out—my father, our family legacy with the team, the burden of expectation that’s haunted me for years.

To my surprise, Chloe listens intently, her expression softening with understanding as I pour my heart out. When I finally fall silent, she reaches out and squeezes my hand, the simple gesture a lifeline in the storm of my emotions.

“Oh, Emma. I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this,” Chloe says, her voice gentle but firm. “But I want you to know that your talent and hard work stand on their own. You’ve earned your place here, no matter who your father was.”

I nod, blinking back fresh tears as her words sink in. Hearing Chloe’s unwavering belief in my abilities helps ease the ache in my chest, the nagging fear that maybe I don’t deserve to be here after all.

“Thank you,” I manage, my voice wobbly but sincere. “I just…I never wanted special treatment, you know? I wanted to prove myself on my own merits.”

Chloe smiles, pride shining in her eyes. “And you have, Emma. Every single day. Don’t let some cowardly idiot with a Sharpie tell you otherwise.”

A watery laugh escapes me, and I impulsively hug her, grateful beyond words for her support. She rubs my back soothingly, and for a moment, I allow myself to just breathe, to let her strength bolster my own.

When we pull apart, Chloe fixes me with a determined look. “We’ll find out who did this, Emma. I promise. In the meantime, hold your head high. You’ve got this.”

I nod, trying to believe her words. As she turns to go, I stop her. “Chloe?” She turns around, holding her pregnant belly. She’s due in a few weeks. “I just wanted to tell you…I think you’re going to be a really good mom.”

She reaches out to squeeze my hand, and I can tell she’s genuinely touched. I mean every word. It’s great to have someone like her on my side.

A couple hours later, I’m staring at a blank screen. The empty document taunts me, mocking my lack of progress. I run a hand through my hair, the strands escaping my messy bun as I heave a sigh. I can’t let those trolls win, dammit.

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