Pucking Strong (Jacksonville Rays #4)

by Emily Rath

“Look at her heart rate. She’s so strong. Her pulse ox looks good too. God, look how strong she is. She’s a fighter, Karlsson.” “A fighter,” I echo, my eyes darting to take in all the machinery. I’m no doctor, but I can hear the slow, steady beat of the heart monitor. “That’s one tough little girl.” His arm tightens across my chest. “But she needs her uncle now. So, you are gonna sit in that chair and hold her hand. Do you hear me?” “I don’t know what to say to her,” I whisper, leaning against the support of his body. “If she doesn’t know . . . If they haven’t told her . . .” Teddy’s hold on me softens. “Then you tell her you love her. Tell her she’ll always have a home with you, no matter what. As you loved your sister, you’re going to love her daughter. It’s as simple as that. She’s yours now, Karlsson.”

I tap his arm, and Teddy lets me go. Turning away, I step past him towards the door. “Whoa—hey.” He grabs my arm. “Where the hell are you going?” “Stay with her. When she wakes, call me.” His eyes go wide. “What the hell are you gonna do?” “I have to call my lawyer.” With a nod, he lets me go.

I’m just about to slip out in search of coffee or a donut when Karolina stirs 0n the bed. Oh shit, I didn’t even ask if she speaks English. This could turn awkward quick. I glance desperately towards the open door. Then I shoot Karlsson a text. She opens her eyes, whimpering a little as she shifts on the bed. “Oh hey, try not to move, okay?” Her eyes go wide as she looks at me. “Do you understand English?” Slowly, she nods. Poor thing, she looks miserable. She’s got purple bruising around her eye and little cuts all over the left side of her face. But her eyes are the deepest shade of blue, just like Karlsson’s. They’re flecked with grains of grey, reminding me of faded denim. “Are you Karolina?” I hope my expression looks sufficiently warm and welcoming. She nods again, which looks difficult to do with her neck brace. “My name’s Teddy. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.” I glance towards the door again. “Uhh . . . Henrik. He should be here any minute.” At this, she perks up. “Morbror är här?”

Then he drops the phone away from his ear, tears in his eyes. “Karro.” The moment she sees him, Karolina bursts into tears, reaching for her uncle with her unbandaged hand. “Morbror!” He crosses the room to her bedside, both of them crying as he hugs her. His voice is soft and soothing. “Mitt lilla lamm, inga fler tårar. Jag är här nu.”

“Here you go, honey.” She leans away, eyeing me warily. Okay, ouch. Why is this hurting my feelings? Karlsson says a few quick words in Swedish, gesturing to me, and her tension eases a bit. “Does she speak English?” “She understands it better than she speaks,” he replies. “American shows and movies are quite popular here. But she’s generally shy around strangers.” “Well, she comes by that honestly,” I say with a smile. “I have a present for her. Do you think that might help break this ice?” He raises a brow in surprise. “You have a present for her?” “Duh.” I hand him the little plastic cup of water and duck down for my backpack. “You don’t visit a kid in the hospital without bringing them a present.”

“When did you have time to shop for a present?” “On my way to the airport. It’s not god’s gift to presents,” I quickly add. “But I think it’ll do as a first offering of peace and friendship.” Wheeling the chair closer, I set my backpack on the edge of her bed with a flourish and make a show of unzipping it. “Can you tell me, Karolina, what’s your favorite color?” She chews her bottom lip, glancing from me to Karlsson. He says something in Swedish. “Lila,” she says in her sweet little baby-doll voice. I’m taking an educated guess here. “Is that like lilac? Purple?” Karlsson nods. Oh, thank god. “Well, am I a genius or what? I guessed you’d say purple. And look at this . . .” Slowly, I reach into my backpack and pull out a plush purple teddy bear. Her curious look turns to one of excitement as she locks eyes with the silly purple bear. “See? It’s a teddy bear, like me. I’m Teddy.” I glance at Karlsson. “How do you say ‘teddy bear’ in Swedish?” “Nalle,” they reply at the same time. I grin. “Well, this is Nalle.” I hand her the purple bear. “And I’m Teddy.”

Karlsson says something to her, and she looks up at me, clutching to the little bear. “Thank you,” she murmurs in English. “Oh hey, no thank you.” I scoot closer. “I was hoping I’d find a good home for him. You’re gonna take good care of him for me, right?” She nods, turning her attention back to the little stuffed bear.

As they talk, he surprises the hell out of me by reaching across the bed and taking my hand. What the hell is he doing? Oh god, he’s holding my hand. Henrik Karlsson is holding my hand. I can’t breathe, can’t think. Never taking his eyes from his niece, he gives my hand a grateful squeeze, and I relax, all tension leaving my shoulders. In this moment, I think I’d be content to sit here and let Karlsson hold my hand for the rest of my life. He talks to his niece in Swedish for a while, and I just watch, listening to the rhythm of the words I can’t understand. But the feelings are there: love, grief, safety. “Karro has come up with a name for her bear,” he announces in English. I blink myself out of my stupor and sit forward. “Oh, yeah?” “She doesn’t want to call him Nalle.” “Well, what do you want to call him?”

“She wants to call him Teddy.”

After an epically long day of travel and sitting vigil at the hospital, I’m ready to brush my teeth and fall into bed. Any bed. Hell, I’ll sleep in a dog bed on the floor. I’ll sleep on the floor. Anywhere I can stretch my body out in a fully horizontal position. My fatigue aside, it was a good day. Karlsson got to talk to Karolina’s doctors and hear their rehab plan. She’ll be in the hospital for a few more days, at least. She gets her arm casted tomorrow for the broken ulna, but they need the swelling in her leg to go down before they’ll cast that too. The hospital kicked us out a little after eight o’clock, declaring visiting hours over. Karlsson put up a fight, demanding he get to stay. Ultimately, I made a show of putting Teddy the Bear in charge of security for the room, which Karolina found funny.

She knows her mother is dead. She knew without Karlsson having to say a word. I pray I’m wrong, but I think she might have been conscious when they pulled her from the car. Who knows what she saw that night? She’s desperately sad about it all. They both cried on and off all day, holding each other and whispering soft words in Swedish. I gave them space to grieve as best I could.

Now we’re sitting in the back of a taxi, heading to what I hope is a hotel. I’ve just been on autopilot all day, following wherever Karlsson has led. Somewhere in all the chaos, I lost track of my duffel bag. Did it even make it off the plane? Am I going to be wearing this underwear for a week? Shit, my head scarf was in the duffel too. The taxi pulls over, and Karlsson says a few words to the driver, flashing his phone on the card reader to pay for the ride. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I step around the taxi and up onto the curb. “This doesn’t look like a hotel.” Karlsson is already headed for the double glass doors. “It’s not,” he calls over his shoulder. “Well, then where are we?” “My apartment.”

Karlsson leads me to the last door on the left, unit 5B. The door unlocks via an electronic keycard, then he’s swinging it open. “I can’t be sure what state I left it in,” he warns, standing back to let me through first. “I’m sure it’s great.” He cuts on the light, and I do a slow half turn. Okay, this might be the coolest apartment I’ve ever seen. It has a massive, slanting glass wall that offers a great view of the city.

“You’re a maximalist.” He raises a brow. “A what?” I look around again. He’s got stuff everywhere, but it’s not messy. It all feels super curated. Stacks of books on every subject rest on more shelves and teeter in piles by the couch. Framed modern art prints are stacked along the wall, too many to hang. So much camera stuff. He has an impressive vinyl collection too. And don’t get me started on the textures. It’s a total mix of metals and woods, soft blankets in muted colors. A wide leather sectional looks plush enough to dive into. I turn back to face him. “Does the IKEA Council know about you?” “The what?” “Karlsson, this apartment is awesome. I thought all Swedes had, like, four straight-backed chairs, exactly one pour-over coffee pot, and a MALM bed frame. This place looks like a thrift shop had sex with a library and made a baby. The vibe is so cool.”

I wake to the smell and sound of bacon frying in a pan. Sunlight blinds me as I blink my eyes open. Where the hell am I? Oh, that’s right. I’m stretched out half naked on Karlsson’s cloudlike leather sofa, buried under a pile of blankets that smell like him. I’ll make no comment about the state of arousal I might be in.

“Teddy! Come!” I jolt, eyes wide, as I take in Karlsson’s shirtless form standing in the kitchen. He’s got his phone up to his ear, spatula in his other hand. His expression is tense as he barks something in Swedish. Then he waves at me with the spatula. “What—” “Come,” he says again. “Mind the bacon. I have to take this call.” He sets the spatula down and hurries over towards what I now see is not a windowpane but a door set in the wall of glass. It leads out to a small terrace.

Eggs are frying in one pan, bacon sizzling in another, and I think there might be something in the oven. Shit. I can’t cook to save my life. I’m an okay baker, but skillets and I don’t mix. I always burn everything. My mom and sisters usually won’t let me touch anything but the salad spinner. But I suppose this looks easy enough. I flip the bacon as it crackles in its own grease. I don’t know a damn thing about frying eggs though. The oven dings, and I officially panic. I

“Oh—shit—” I drop the tray on the stove with a clatter, returning to the burning bacon. I only just manage to save it. The ends are black and crispy but still edible. I’ll eat the burnt ends and give him the middles. Someone must have delivered groceries while we were at the hospital yesterday, because the fridge has fresh milk and juice, assorted berries, and what looks suspiciously like cold brew coffee. I’ve literally never seen Karlsson drink his coffee cold (and I’ve been watching). Granted, it’s been six years, but Henrik Karlsson is the kind of leopard who doesn’t change his spots. So . . . are these for me? How did he know I like cold brew?

I’ve just managed to set our breakfast plates, adding a garnish of fresh berries, when the terrace door swings open. Karlsson comes charging back inside in a fury, his phone clutched tight in his hand. “Fuck!” He lets out a string of other words in Swedish that are most definitely curses. “Whoa, what happened?”

“That was my lawyer. She seems to think my case for guardianship of Karro is not strong.” It takes a second for his words to even register. “What? But that’s absurd—” “It’s criminal!” he bellows, resuming his pacing. “You’re next of kin, right? You said your parents can’t take her—” He spins around. “My parents are seventy! They cannot care for a five-year-old child. My god!” “Okay,” I soothe, both hands raised. “So, it has to be you. What’s the holdup?” He groans, dropping his phone to the island. “Elin seems to think the Child Welfare Office will take issue with Karro leaving the country while she requires medical care. She says they will call it negligence.”

“She says the only way a court will agree to grant me custody is if I stay with her in Sweden, where she can get the proper medical care.” “But you work in America—” “I know!” I wince. Yeah, that was dumb, Teddy. “Well, they do know we have, like, doctors and hospitals and stuff, right? The United States can also manage to reset a tibia and cast a broken ulna.” “The American medical system is the laughingstock of the developed world, Teddy. And the child’s welfare comes first, even at the expense of the wishes of the family.”

“I mean, sure, we don’t have the world’s best healthcare system, but you’re also not some random accountant or retail worker selling shoes at the mall. You play for the freaking NHL. Did you tell them you play for the NHL? Because I really think that could help your case—” “It’s hurting my case!” I flap my arms helplessly. “Well, that makes no fucking sense. You have access to some of the best medical care in the world. You’ve got doctors and physical therapists and athletic trainers on speed dial. Hell, you’ve got a literal doctor of physical therapy standing in your kitchen right now. What else could they want for her? Why is this a problem?”

“I don’t know . . . I do travel a lot. During the season, I’m away more than I’m home. Honestly, I see Elin’s point. Maybe Karro deserves better than having me as a parent—” “Whoa.” I hold up a hand, my own anger rising now. “I’m gonna stop you right fucking there. My mom raised four kids on her own, often working two jobs, and we all turned out fucking amazing. Hell, your sister was a single parent. Don’t you dare say single parents can’t raise awesome kids. Not in front of me. Not if you want to keep all your damn teeth.” He has the good sense to look chastised. “I’m sorry, Teddy. I spoke in anger.” “Being a single parent isn’t a crime,” I go on, ignoring his apology. “And being a single parent who travels for work is totally manageable, especially for you. If you need help, it’s not like you can’t afford it. Hire some live-in help, even rehab specialists, for the season. That should more than satisfy some snooty child welfare board.”

“Ballet is her current obsession.” “Even better. She’ll be back at the barre, I promise.” Stepping around the island, I dare to reach out and take him by the shoulders. His skin still carries a slight chill from the air outside. He holds my gaze, wholly unashamed that we’re both standing half naked in his kitchen. “Call your lawyer back. Fight for Karro. I swear, you’ll be glad you did.” His jaw tight, all the emotions he feels but won’t express lie buried in his eyes. He just nods again. He raises a hand and squeezes my wrist. “Thank you, Teddy.” “No problem.” Swallowing my own feelings, I drop my hands away from him and take a step back. “Now, about this breakfast . . . I may have burned the bacon a little. But I broke off the burnt ends and gave you only the middle pieces.” “All the bacon is for you.” “What? No. We’re sharing it, right?” He steps around me into the kitchen. “I ate two hours ago.” I glance at the clock. “You’ve been up since five?” He just shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“So, all this is . . .” “For you.” The words hit me like a coconut dropping on my head. Ignoring my awkward silence, he steals a few berries from one of the plates. Popping them in his mouth, he heads across the apartment towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. When you’re ready, I’d like to return to the hospital.” “Yeah, sure,” I call after him. “I’ll be ready lickety-split.” For you.

Henrik Karlsson made me breakfast this morning. In his apartment. Shirtless. Yeah, watch me ride the high of this moment until the next freaking ice age.

I’m loath to leave Karro, even for a moment. I don’t want her to be alone. In truth, I don’t want to be alone either. Not today. Not now. At this very moment, my sister is being cremated.

He’s been a godsend. These last four days, he’s hardly left my side. While I’m busy caring for Karro, he cares for me, offering me food and encouraging me to stretch my legs. He stays with Karro when I have to take calls from my lawyers, my parents, my agent, the doctors, the team. He makes her laugh, using silly voices for her bear. At night, we go back to my apartment and pass the time quietly. It feels strange to open my life to him in this way. No one has ever been in my apartment except for Petra and Karro. We order in food, and he explores my bookshelves or watches TV on a low volume. More often, we both just part ways and crash asleep, starting it all over in the morning. Well, he sleeps. In fact, he snores. It’s faint, but I can hear it. I lie awake on my back each night, staring up at the ceiling, mind racing, heart aching, and listen to the whisper-soft exhales of the man asleep on my couch.

His knee bounces under the table, distracting me. Reaching down, I place my hand on his thigh. He jumps with surprise, but his knee stops shaking.

“Well, this all just seems crazy to me, Elin. I mean, Karlsson should get her.” He jabs a thumb at me for emphasis. “He’s the next of kin and he wants to take her. He has the means to provide an excellent life, either here or back in the States. Heck, her dolls will live better than me, and I’m a freaking doctor.” Dropping my hand from his thigh, I survey him. He’s been so passionate about this. Am I really surprised? He worked with children in rehabilitation. And he mentioned he’s a family man. He has three sisters, and they all have children. It makes sense why he’s so good with Karro. He’s had plenty of practice, certainly more than me. In this moment, I can only feel grateful. This has all felt so bleak, but his strength is giving me strength.

“Hear that, Karlsson? She could get a lifetime discount on apples. Never mind that you could buy her a whole freaking orchard. And Karro’s afraid of dogs,” he says at Elin. “I asked her yesterday. Next.”

“Flowers attract bees, Elin. That doesn’t sound very safe, does it? And Karolina is only five. She won’t need the talents of a labor and delivery nurse for a good long while. Know what she does need? A physical therapist. Lucky for her, Morbror Henrik is friends with, like, fifty. One is sitting right next to him. Next application, please.”

But in this moment, he’s the one standing ten feet tall, letting me collect myself in his shadow.

“You know, I’m sensing a bit of a pattern here,” Teddy says over her. She glances up. “Pattern?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah, it sounds like what the Swedish government wants is for Karolina to go to a nice little straight couple. Not very enlightened of them, is it? Families come in all shapes and sizes, you know, including single parents. I was raised by a working single mom, and I turned out great.” “Unfortunately, according to the Swedish government, there are many benefits to the two-parent household,” Elin replies. “I make no commentary on whether their assumptions are correct,” she adds before he can protest. “But I must work within the bounds of the system as they set it. That Henrik is unmarried does not help his case.”

Eventually, most of them settled down to start and raise families. It just never appealed to me. Perhaps because I’m as awkward with women as I am with my teammates. Women may find me attractive, but our conversations stall when I sit in prolonged silence or try to engage them with talk about my interests. I’ve learned through experience that discussing the comparative frames per second of different camera bodies is not exactly an aphrodisiac to . . . well, any woman I’ve ever met. And sex has never been a priority for me the way it is for some of my teammates. I don’t crave it. The few times I had sex, I felt bored the whole time. I felt unattached, like my body was going through the motions while my mind was elsewhere. I tried it, didn’t care for it, and haven’t felt the need to try again.

Perhaps’ isn’t good enough, Elin. We’re out of time here, remember?” I grab his arm. “What are you doing?” He shrugs me off. “If Karlsson were married to say, a doctor of physical therapy, trained to rehabilitate injuries exactly like the ones Karolina has, would that strengthen his custody case?” My heart stops. “Teddy . . .” Across the table, Elin raises a brow. “I assume this partner would live at home with the child while Henrik travels?” “He would,” Teddy replies. “Oh, and would that matter? That he’s a he? I don’t know what the gay scene is like here in Sweden.”

“Despite the limited selection of foster applications I sampled for you, Sweden is accepting of gay couples adopting children, yes.” “Cool, because I keep totally normal workday hours. And I won’t be traveling with the team. I could pick her up from school, take her to physical therapy, ballet, whatever she needs.” I grab his arm again. “Teddy, I can’t ask that of you.” He ignores me. “Karlsson will be there every moment he can, and I’ll fill in the gaps. Naturally, she’ll have school, too, and her hobbies. And I wouldn’t be some stranger or in-home medical aid. I’d be her uncle’s legal partner. A two-person household, two incomes. The millionaire hockey superstar and the board-certified doctor of physical therapy who specializes in injury rehabilitation. Would that help him win custody of Karolina?”

“But if the government suspects that you’re committing fraud to gain custody of a child, the consequences could be quite severe. You would have to follow through with this and live as partners. They would do a set of in-person wellness visits.” “We can make that work,” Teddy assures her. “And this is for temporary custody only,” she clarifies. “We’re deciding whether Karolina goes with you now or goes into foster care while her case is fully processed. I warn you that the adoption process can be arduous. There will be interviews with your friends and family, your coworkers, financial audits, a home study.”

He grunts as I all but shove him against the wall. “Ouch—” “What the hell are you doing?” He dares to look confused. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m helping you get custody of Karro—” “By marrying me! Are you mad?” He grins. “If by ‘mad,’ you mean brilliant, then yes.”

“I can’t—Teddy—” I claw at my chest, trying to free the words locked deep. But I can’t speak, can’t express this fear, this loss, this creeping anger that chokes the air from my lungs. Sensing my distress, Teddy steps closer. Grabbing my wrists, he lowers his voice. “Hey, just breathe.” I shake my head, fighting his hold. “Breathe, Karlsson. I know this all feels huge. So, let’s just break it down. One thing at a time, yeah? Right now, you need to compete with Bergdorf the grocer and the couple with the bees, right?” I nod. “You need stability and a two-person household—which I still maintain is bullshit,” he adds with a pointed glare. “But you heard Elin the Mirthless over there. You’re out of time. Karro will be discharged from the hospital any day. The court’s not waiting, and apparently there’s a line of happy little Swedish families just itching to get their hands on a doll like her. They want to take her and make her theirs. Is that what you want?”

“Well, this is your best option to get immediate custody. I’m here, and I’m saying yes.” I search his face. “Why?” His eyes go wide with shocked indignation as he pulls away. “Why should you fight for Karro? Are you fucking kidding me—” “No, why would you marry me? Why help me in this way?”

He changes his mood so quickly. One moment he’s confident and commanding, the next he’s nervous and retreating. Now, he’s folded himself inward, shut up tight like a clam. How I’d love to climb inside his head and know exactly what he’s thinking in this moment. “It’s the right thing to do,” he says with a shrug. “You know, for Karro . . . and for the team.”

“This goes so far above and beyond anything a team would ever require, Teddy. This is your life. And you heard Elin, we’d have to make this legal immediately.” “I know.” “That means we would have to get married.” “Yeah, I know.” “We’d have to tell people.” He shrugs. “That’s kind of the point, right?” “Everyone would know. The team, the media, our governments, our families.” At this, he falters slightly, swallowing his nerves. “Yeah, I mean, that’s cool with me, if it’s cool with you. And there’s no skeletons in my closet or anything. I’m totally clean and—well—I don’t mean like that. Not, like, with sex, obviously.”

“I said not with sex. You’re not even gay, right? So that would be crazy. This would be a totally fake marriage. I’m clean with, like, my record. I’m just a normal guy who likes sports and anime and helping people. And I wanna help Karro . . . and you.” His nerves settle a little as he holds my gaze. “I can help, Karlsson. Please, let me help you.”

“You would really marry me?” He considers for a moment. “I would, yeah.” Then his eyes shoot wide. “Oh god.” He looks around. “Is this a proposal? Are you proposing to me in this hospital cafeteria right now?” I can’t help but chuckle. “I suppose I am.” Squaring my shoulders, I offer out my hand. “Teddy O’Connor, will you marry me?”

And I may hardly know him, but I trust Teddy. He’s a good person. Noble, kind, loyal. If Teddy is saying yes to this mad plan, then so am I. After a moment, he takes my hand. “Yeah, Karlsson. I’ll marry you.”

“In that case, it’s probably best you start calling me Henrik.”

And fuck me. Henrik? “Start calling me Henrik”? That happened, right? I thought I was going to pass out right there on the damn floor of the cafeteria. Now I’m sitting on a stiff bench in the lobby of an administrative building in downtown Stockholm, staring at the back of Henrik’s head while he applies for our marriage license. Because we’re getting married. Me and Henrik. Teddy O’Connor, hopelessly romantic double Pisces with boundary issues and a near-pathological need to please. And Henrik Karlsson, strong and silent Swedish hockey star who never says three words if none will do. We’re getting married. Today. Now. Oh, I am so fucking fucked!

To be married to someone and not be able to be with them? Touch them, hold them, love them out loud? I won’t be able to take it. I’ll crack. I’ll fucking shatter.

To lose him now would be devastating. At her young age, she’d think he didn’t want her. She’d blame herself. You don’t recover from that kind of soul-piercing abandonment. Trust me, I know. My dad was in the navy, always in and out of our lives on deployments. One time he went out and just never came back.