Page 38 of Sexting the Coach (Pucking Daddies #6)

Elsie

“My primary takeaway for you tonight is that you can have both. You can have passion and love. Success and belonging. All you have to do is give yourself the permission to go after it. Today, I’m going after everything, just like my dad always did.

Dad—you deserve this honor and so much more.

I love you, and I’m so proud to be at your side for this moment. Thank you.”

When I step away from the microphone, the hot yellow beam of the stage light falling away from my body, I can hardly hear anything except the sound of my own heart, the blood pulsing through my body.

I have to go right now. I have to find Weston and tell him everything, even if that means leaving the ceremony early, and even if it means getting on a flight and going back to San Francisco right this second.

But it turns out I don’t have to get on a flight, because when I come to the top of the stage stairs, hearing the drone of the host announcing the next speech behind me, I look up from my feet to find Weston Wolfe standing at the bottom of them.

“Elsie—”

Maybe it’s careless to take the stairs as quickly as I do, especially pregnant and in heels, but I don’t let Weston finish whatever he has planned. Instead, I launch into his arms—like so many times before, letting the solid bulk of this man catch me, hold me, keep me from hitting the floor.

That first day on the football field, he held me to keep me from getting hurt. Then, outside the lodge, it was me tripping and falling into him that started this whole thing.

Or maybe it was before that. Maybe it was the first time I came to the Squids campus, looked up and saw him out on the ice with his players, coaching them through drills.

Maybe it was the first staff meeting I attended, in which he scowled through the whole thing, and all I wanted was to see if I could make him smile.

And I could. Being the one to make Weston Wolfe smile is like pulling the sword from the stone.

Now, we collide, and I hardly have to lift my mouth up to his before he’s kissing me, his hand on the small of my back, his arms doing most of the effort to keep me solidly on my feet, drawn up to him.

Weston kisses me like it’s a statement, like he’s trying to say everything he can through the physicality of the thing. And I get every bit of it.

How he wants me. How he’s been thinking about me from the moment he left. I can even still feel the lingering cold air on him, and understand that he just got here, maybe only heard part of my speech.

That he made the decision to come back, to try one last time.

And, for a moment, it’s enough. It’s everything, the knowledge that he would come even after me telling him to go. The fact of his arms and his warmth around me.

When we pull apart, I realize for the first time that we have an audience—the other guys getting ready for the ceremony, to go up on stage.

Including my father. For a second, just before I catch his gaze, I worry that he’s going to be mad, that he’ll disapprove of the relationship, that the age gap is just too much for him.

But when my eyes meet his, he doesn’t look disappointed. In fact, he looks proud.

Great speech, he mouths, and his cheeks do that thing where they rise up under his eyes. It warms me, and I turn back to Weston.

“Your hair,” I say, and it shouldn’t be the first thing out of my mouth, but I can’t stop myself from reaching out, touching the tips of my fingers to the tendril of hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

The streaks of silver are thicker now than they were the first time I saw his head without the hat.

“Elsie,” Weston says, and I realize his chest is heaving, just like that day he came to my apartment. His gaze on me is insistent, direct, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. “We need to talk.”

I nod, apprehension growing inside me. He’s right—kissing is one thing, but there’s still the one thing that I’ve yet to tell him. And it could change everything.

“I’m pregnant.”

I meant to think this through, to come up with the most articulate way to communicate it to him. I should have started with a pre-amble about what he said on the plane. Made it clear that no matter what he decided, I would respect it.

But, of course, I don’t just wear my heart on my sleeve, I also blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

We’re standing in a back hallway somewhere, a black velvet curtain to our left and a towering shelf of what look like sound equipment supplies on the right. Microphones and speakers, wires and stands.

Weston’s lips part, and his eyes dart down to my belly, which I’m certain must be visible with the dress I’m wearing.

“Elsie,” he whispers, taking a step closer to me, his eyes examining my face. “That’s why you were gone from work?”

I nod, swallowing and glancing away from him. “Morning sickness is a bitch. And also, I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“Fuck, Elsie—”

“I know you don’t want kids,” I interrupt, before he can say whatever it is he plans on saying.

I turn to him, putting my hands on his arms, heart thumping loudly in my chest, the knowledge that just as quickly as I got him back, I might lose him.

This was always the final thing standing between us, and I have the feeling that I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff as I stare him down now.

“I know that. And I’m not expecting you to change your mind.

It’s just that a very wise man once told me that I shouldn’t run from things.

That I should talk them through. At least give the other person a chance to hear what I have to say. ”

“I thought I lost my chance,” Weston says, and at first, I think he’s talking about with me, our relationship, but then his eyes skip down to my stomach again, and a shiver runs through my body.

His eyes return to mine, soft and rimmed with tears.

“I thought—Leda didn’t want kids. And I convinced myself that I was okay with that.

By the time I realized I wasn’t, our relationship was ending, and I was way too old. ”

“You’re not, Weston, lots of people—”

He puts a finger to my lips, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I know that, Elsie. It’s just what I told myself to make it hurt less.”

Weston pulls his finger from my lips, and I can’t resist the urge to lick them as I hold his gaze. “So, what you’re saying…”

“I’m in love with you,” he says, bluntly, which is his way. “And I want to be parents together. To be the father of your child, or children.”

Happiness blooms inside me like a puff of pink powder set free on a warm summer day, drifting in the wind and filling up every part of me.

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, his voice rough. Jerkily, he runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been falling in love with you from the moment I first say you. And trust me, I’ve done everything I could to avoid that happening. I’m too old for you—”

“—you’re not—”

“—and we’re complete opposites in every way, and sometimes your optimism is actually fucking saccharine, but it doesn’t matter. Because I love you, and I’m in love with you. And I can’t imagine a future without you.”

It’s the most heartfelt moment of my life, but I can’t help it—I laugh.

Weston quirks a brow at me, “Okay, so was my delivery off?”

“No,” I bite my bottom lip to try and keep from laughing, but it comes out again, and I lean forward, gripping his forearms. “I just—God, I should have just talked to you. I spent all this time building up the worst-case scenarios in my head, and all it did was waste time.”

“Well, from now on,” Weston says, pulling my hands from his forearms and gathering me up into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of my head. “You’re going to tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes, that’s an order.”

“You’re not my boss anymore, Weston.”

“I never was your boss, Elsie, and I’ll get your job back—”

I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to do that, but I’m interrupted by the nervous appearance of a young man in a suit and tie, who looks like he’s going to jump out of his skin.

Weston and I break apart when he tentatively clears his throat.

“Mr. Wolfe,” he says, taking a step back, “they’re just about to go out on stage for the ceremony—”

“Tell them I’m not coming,” Weston says, reaching for me again, but I dance out of his grasp.

“Uh-uh, no,” I say, shaking my head and pointing to the stage. “You go up there and get your award. We can talk later.”

His eyes land on mine. “You’ll be here when I’m done?”

“Yes,” I say, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I’ll go sit with my family. I’ll be waiting for you, Weston.”

He nods once, and when he swallows, I trace the path of that Adam’s apple with my eyes. It’s just like him, to be nervous and to pretend like he’s not.

We break away from one another in the hallway, Weston turning to follow the nervous man in the suit, but at the last second, Weston turns, catching me by the wrist and pulling me back into a soul-searing kiss that only lasts a few seconds but feels like it could last a lifetime.

When he break apart, he stops, breathing hard and setting his forehead against mine for just a second, before he says, “You’d better be, Elsie Montgomery.”