Page 149 of Double Puck

I slap my hand into his. "Go. Now."

"Look at us... Couples therapy already." He laces our fingers together. "This relationship is moving fast, baby."

Poppy Sinclair's office is, and I say this as a Madden who has toured every five-star hotel in the Western hemisphere, the most relaxing room I've ever entered.

The balcony doors are cracked open, ocean air drifting through white curtains. Poppy ushers us in, and immediately, Beck sprawls into one of the armchairs that have become renowned in this building for making grown-ass hockey players cry in them.

"Doc. Good to see you. Colin suggested I bring a witness today. Hope that's okay."

Poppy's eyebrows lift. “A witness?”

“Yeah. My girlfriend.”

“I'm your analyst when we're working, Beck,” I correct. "And Poppy, Colin has asked that I be here to round out the file. I hope that's okay."

Poppy laughs softly. “Well, considering Corbin Cole somehow forgot he had an appointment yesterday and spent forty minutes hiding in the locker room, I'm delighted somebody willingly arrived.”

Beck perks up. “Rookie skipped therapy?”

“That's confidential, Beck.”

“You literally just told me,” he frowns.

Poppy pauses, takes three long breaths, and blinks like the reset has been completed.

"Welcome Darcy. It's nice to have you here." Poppy smiles and settles in across from us, notepad balanced on her knee. "So. Beck, how are you doing with everything? Your father. The family."

Beck takes a breath, looking out the window with that smile still glued on his face.

It's been there for two weeks now, and every time I look at it, my heart sings.

We've spent exactly zero nights apart, and Beck even jogs with me every morning now. He negotiated this arrangement, and much to my surprise, his single non-negotiable term wasn't that I wear his favorite 'sexy leggings', but that we stop at Goldie's after.

I've told him I'm pretty sure he's just hoping to catch Kai in black leather holding that flogger again, and he's never once denied it.

My apartment has slowly started filling with his things. A toothbrush, a Bears hoodie I've officially claimed, and a truly offensive number of vintage band tees.

Beck cooks exactly one meal a week, but I'm growing suspicious that he's actually ordering Rico's tacos and claiming them as his own.

I don't mind though.

I fall asleep on his chest every night, watching movies I picked and he actually enjoys despite whining the whole time that 'even Declan picks better movies than you!'

And the sex. God, the sex.

Every night, Beck Morrison has my toes curling. Sometimes twice.

He's opened my mind to a world of things I never would have considered trying before. It's fun, exciting, and not once, has he ever tried to suck my toes.

But it's the quiet moments that get me.

The way he sings softly when he makes my morning coffee. The way he watches when I laugh a little too hard and it comes out like a snort. Or the way I've stopped checking my work three times before sending it, because somewhere along the line, a man who can't sit still taught me how to let go and start living my life.

I'm embarrassingly in love with Beck Morrison.

And the data that says I shouldn't can, as Beck would say, get fucked.

"Talked to Dad again on Sunday. For a whole twenty minutes, nobody yelled, nobody cried, and he only made one weird comment about Mom." Beck shrugs, gripping the chair. "The family's still a mess. Zoey's threatening to fly down and 'sort everyone out,' which historically means she's going to bring us a truck load of baked goods. But overall, we're good. I'm good."