Pucking Strong: An MM Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 4)

Dad is waiting on the front porch of the house when Teddy and I pull up. He rises from his rocking chair, waving to us in welcome. Gripping tight to the porch railing, he makes his way down the front steps, clearly favoring his good knee.

My parents were in their forties by the time they had my sister and me, meaning they’re now in their seventies. I’ve tried to move them out of this house for years, but they won’t hear of it. As Dad’s mobility declines and Mom’s health worsens, I worry we may reach a point where the decision is no longer theirs.

For now, I have helpers from town who deliver groceries, manage the lawn, and shovel the snow in winter. Mom still keeps a garden, and Dad tinkers with his boat. It’s a small life, but they need nothing else.

“It looks nice,” Teddy says, peering through the windshield at the house.

It sits perched at the top of a hill, which slopes down to a small lake. The ocean is only a short bike ride away. In the summertime, Petra and I discovered every path between here and the beach, often racing to find out which was the fastest.

I take in the house’s red-sided walls and the steep, shingled roof. A few years ago, Petra converted the little boat shed down by the lake into an apartment. That’s usually where I stay when I come to visit in the offseason. I would stay tonight, but I don’t want to make Teddy uncomfortable. At least in the city, he can have his own bed, even if it’s just my couch.

Dad waves again, making his way down the gravel drive. “Hej hej! Welcome home, son!”

Teddy glances my way, slipping his sunglasses off. “Are we getting out?”

With a curt nod, I exit the car.

Tears fill Dad’s eyes as he crosses to my side. “My boy. My Henrik.”

We embrace, and I can’t help but inhale, breathing deep the smell of him. There’s a lifetime of memories in the scent of his shaving cream, the wool of his favorite sweater, the hint of coffee on his breath. He’s as tall as me, though thinner, his body growing frail with age. But his hands are still strong. They grip me like iron.

“Come inside,” he says. “There’s coffee waiting on the stove.”

I lean away, blinking back my tears. “Dad, I brought Petra home.”

He nods, holding tight to my forearms. “Good. Family belongs together.”

“Mom?”

“She waits inside.”

Before either of us can turn, Mom calls out, “Gunnar, where is he? Let me see him.”

I smile, glancing over Dad’s shoulder. Mom stands in the open front door. She’s dressed in a cream sweater and a long knit skirt. Her grey hair is tied up in a bun at her nape. As her memory goes, she sometimes struggles to recall faces. Each time she remembers me is a blessing.

Stepping around Dad, I walk her way. “Mom, I’m here. I’m home.”

Making her way down the porch steps, she tsks, brushing me aside. “I know you’re here, Henrik. Such a good boy, you always come home. I was talking about him.”

I follow the direction of her point. Teddy stands by the side of the car. He glances from my mother to me, brows raised in confusion.

Shit. I sometimes forget he doesn’t speak Swedish. “My mother wants to meet you,” I say in English.

“Of course I want to meet him,” she says, switching to English too. “It’s not every day your only son brings his new husband home to meet the family.”

I wince at her use of the word husband, shooting Teddy a quick look of apology.

Next to me, Dad chuckles, still speaking in Swedish. “You gave us quite the surprise last night. Your mother hasn’t stopped talking of it since. She’s been cooking all morning. I hope you’re both hungry,” he adds to Teddy in English.

Remembering my manners, I step forward. “Teddy, these are my parents, Gunnar and Maria Karlsson. Mom, Dad, this is Teddy O’Connor, my … partner.” It feels strange to say it out loud.

“Nice to meet you,” Teddy says with a nervous smile, tucking a stray loc behind his ear. “Sorry, I don’t know any Swedish.”

“Quite alright,” says Dad. “You’re welcome here, Teddy.”

I hurry around the car, trying to intercept Mom, but she’s too fast. She reaches out with both hands, pulling Teddy into a tight hug. With a soft grunt, he accepts her welcome, patting her on the back. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Karlsson.”

She pulls away, cupping his face with a weathered hand. “We’re family now. You may call me ‘Mom’ too.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you afraid of me, Theodore?”

Teddy smiles again. “No, ma’am. Should I be?”

She just chuckles. “Theodore. That’s your name, ja?”

“Yes, ma’am. But most people call me Teddy.”

She brushes her thumb over his lips before feathering her fingers over the locs on his shoulder. “You’re a good person, aren’t you?”

“I think so. My own mother might disagree sometimes.”

She tsks again, running a hand over his stomach. “But you’re so skinny. They don’t feed you enough. Make sure Henrik eats too.”

“I will,” he assures her.noveldrama

She steps back, hands on her hips. “Well then, I suppose you’ll have your reasons for rushing into this marriage. But you’ll be good to him, won’t you?”

“I’ll certainly try.”

She nods. “Yes, I can see it. You’re an old soul, like my Gunnar. Henrik picked well.”

Teddy’s brown skin is so fair, I can see that he’s blushing. I step in behind Mom, placing a hand on her shoulder. Once she starts in on someone, it can be difficult to pry her away. But I will if it means Teddy is spared any embarrassment.

She pats my hand, her gaze still locked on Teddy. “Karlssons only marry once, you know.”

Teddy stiffens, glancing over her head at me. “Is that right?”

“Why do you think my Petra never married that wastrel of a boy who was always sniffing around the garden shed? A Karlsson may be picky, but we always pick well. You’ll be happy together.”

I clear my throat. “Shall we go have some coffee?”

She brushes my hand away, reaching for Teddy instead. “Get the coffee yourself. Theodore and I have work to do.” Weaving her fingers in with his, she leads him towards the house. “Have you ever made kanelbulle?”

“Kanen—what?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

“It’s Henrik’s favorite,” she goes on. “His husband has to know how to make kanelbulle the Karlsson way. Come, I’ll teach you.”

“Mom, we can’t stay long,” I call out in Swedish.

I go to follow them, but Dad stops me. “Let them go,” he says softly, his hand on my arm.

“If she gets him in the kitchen, I’ll never get him out—”

“Please.”

At his tone, I pause, glancing over my shoulder.

His pale blue eyes are somber as he watches them walk away together. “Let her have this.”

“Have what?”

“A child was taken from her. Now a new child is given. Let her bond with him awhile. You and I will go lay your sister to rest.”

Afew hours later, I return to the house to the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Mom and Teddy sit at the kitchen table, laughing and talking together like old friends. Her hands work mechanically, cutting up chunks of potato, dropping them into a pot. Teddy moves a little slower, peeling a carrot with careful strokes.

“Hey,” he calls out, pointing to the plate of spiced cinnamon rolls sprinkled with pärlsocker. “Look, we made kanenbulla.”

“Kanelbulle,” Mom corrects. “Your Theodore is a quick student,” she adds at me.

“Well, I had a good teacher,” he says, charming her with a smile.

I move around the table to kiss the top of her head. “Mom, Teddy is our guest. We can’t have him peeling the vegetables.”

She huffs. “I suppose you think dinner will just make itself then.”

Teddy grins. “Really, I don’t mind, Mrs. Karlsson. In my family’s kitchen, this is all I’m usually allowed to do. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Look.” He points to the bowl of peeled and chopped carrots.

“Theodore said you’re not staying for dinner,” she calls in Swedish as I cross over to the sink to wash my hands.

I sigh, turning on the tap. “We have to return to the city, remember? We have to get back to Karolina.”

She just huffs again. “Petra can watch her own daughter for one night, Henrik. Your place is here with us. I’ve already made the lamb meatballs. They’re in the oven.”

I grimace, keeping my hands under the hot water. I can’t do it again. I can’t remind her that Petra’s dead. Not when Dad and I just laid Petra’s ashes to rest at the root of her favorite oak tree. I told him we should wait for Mom, but he just smiled and said, “Today is a good day. Let it be good.”

He stayed outside, wanting a moment alone with my sister.

“My son only comes home twice a year,” Mom goes on, switching back to English. “It’s only right that he has dinner with his family before he goes away again.”

As she talks, Teddy gets up from the table and walks over to where I’m standing at the sink. “I really don’t mind,” he says under his breath. “I brought a bag just in case. I mean, if you wanna stay …”

I turn off the water and reach around him for the hand towel. “There’s not a lot of room here is the problem. They don’t even have a couch anymore. And my old bedroom in the attic is hardly big enough for Karolina.”

“Where do you usually sleep when you stay here?”

“The boat shed.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ve stayed in worse places.”

I raise a brow, fighting a smile. “You haven’t seen the boat shed.”

His own smile falls as he leans in closer and whispers, “I don’t think she knows your sister is dead.”

Christ, I didn’t tell him. I had the whole car ride down from Stockholm to tell him about her memory issues, but I was too busy worrying about what he was thinking. And I’m protective of my mother. I don’t want others judging her or pitying her. But each time I visit, I’m confronted with the bitter truth: she’s only getting worse. Piece by piece, she’s slipping away.

As if he can read my thoughts, Teddy’s fingers brush lightly down my arm. “Let’s give her this. We can do one meal, right? Karolina’s safe at the hospital. And I mean … how many good days does your mom have left?”

Covering his hand with my own, I nod, relieved that he’s making the decision for us.

“Good news,” he calls out. “I worked my magic on old cranky pants, and we’re gonna stay for dinner.”

Mom glances between us. “What are crank pants?”

Teddy laughs as he retakes his seat, and I step in behind him. “That’s just my fond little nickname for Henrik,” he teases. “Hey, do you have any photo albums, Mrs. K? I’d love to see a picture of Henrik in lederhosen.”

I lean over him, stealing a cube of carrot from the bowl. “Lederhosen are German.”

Mom turns in her chair. “Oh, but we have that fine picture of you and your sister from Midsummer, Henrik. Fetch it for me. He’s wearing the jolliest little hat with blue and yellow ribbons.”

Teddy laughs. “God, is there anything better than a jolly hat?”

I step away, taking a moment to watch them. He’s so good with her. After watching him with Karolina this week, did I really have any doubt? His chair is turned towards her, and he’s listening with his whole body. His face is expressive, laughing as she tells jokes, always nodding along. He’s giving her his full attention, something she’s been starved of for so long.

“The picture, Henrik,” she directs over her shoulder in Swedish.

I smile, a soft warmth glowing in my chest. “I’ll get it. I just have to make a call first.”

Leaving them in the kitchen, I walk through the front room and out onto the porch.

So much about the last week has felt impossible. There was even a dark moment when I thought my grief at losing Petra might overtake me. As I drove to the airport that first night, the idea entered my mind to jerk the wheel into the wall and end it all. There’s no pain when you’re dead. No grief.

But then I thought of Karolina alone in a hospital, needing me. I thought of my parents, mourning the loss of both their children. And I thought of Teddy, waiting for me on the tarmac. He thinks this can work. He’s stressed and worried, but he’s here. He’s fighting for Karolina. He’s fighting for me. Even now, he’s inside, comforting my mother as her fragile mind fights to protect her from the truth that her daughter is gone.

I’m going to fight for him. I’m going to protect him from any backlash this might bring. In a few short days, we have to return to Jacksonville. God willing, we’ll return with Karolina at our side. And then the truth will come out. Teddy’s right—we need a plan.

There’s only one person I trust to help me keep Karolina and Teddy safe. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I pull up my contacts and scroll until I reach her name. Taking a deep breath, I sink down onto my Dad’s favorite rocking chair and tap the little green circle. It takes a few calls before she picks up. But the moment she does, I hear her voice, and I know everything will be okay.

“This is Poppy St. James.”

Letting out my held breath, I rock back in the chair. “Hello, Poppy. This is Henrik Karlsson, calling from Sweden.”