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

Karolina sleeps for another hour. The whole time, Karlsson doesn’t come back. In the meantime, I stretch out in the uncomfortable chair by her bed, messing around on my phone. I text my sisters and my friend Colin. After our internship year, he was offered a full-time job with the Jacksonville Jaguars. We made plans to meet up for dinner this week to celebrate my return to the 904.

Well, I won’t be making that reservation. There’s now the slight inconvenience of an ocean in the way.

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?”

“Umm …”

Before I can say another word, Karlsson comes rushing into the room, talking fast in Swedish on his phone. I don’t have to know what he’s saying to know he’s ending the call. 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.”

She sobs, clinging to him.

“Jag är ledsen,” he cries, brushing back her hair. “Lilla lamm, jag är så ledsen.”

I don’t understand his words, but I feel his grief, his resolve. He’s going to take care of her. Nothing will part them now. I wipe away my own tears, letting the two of them have this moment together. They speak in fast Swedish as he pulls away, his hands everywhere as he inspects her. “She wants water,” he says at me in English, before switching smoothly back to Swedish to speak to her as he adjusts her pillows and helps her sit up.

Making myself useful, I fill a cup with water from the little plastic pitcher on her bedside table. I offer it to her. “Here you go, honey.”

She leans away, eyeing me warily.noveldrama

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.”

I spent the last six months working for a rehab hospital where the main clientele were kids with broken arms and legs. Gotta love summer sports and the carefree “my bones are rubber” attitude of overconfident teenage boys. My last patient broke all his arms and legs falling off his roof while trying to land on a trampoline. He showed me the video footage. Honestly, it was pretty epic until he went splat.

“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.”

She takes the bear, inspecting it with eager eyes. She doesn’t need to know I have three more in this backpack in three other colors. Thank god for capitalism, right? Why make one when you can make one in every color?

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.

I zip the backpack shut, hiding the other bears, and drop the bag at my feet. I’ll make sure we leave them with the charge nurse to give to the other kids. Meanwhile, Karlsson says a few more words to her in Swedish. 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?”

Gazing across the bed at me, Karlsson smiles that smile that only touches his eyes. “She wants to call him Teddy.”