Page 228 of Pucking Sweet

“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, wealllllknow 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.

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