Puck and Promises

Mia POV I didn't expect to find anyone in my father's office at eleven o'clock at night. The arena was empty. That was the whole point. My father had complained about being sick and I was supposed to have dropped his medication hours ago on his table but I'd spent twelve hours in the hospital. Too busy to attend to anyone. All I wanted to do was drop them, grab my keys that I'd left in his drawer and drive home without talking to anyone. But the light was on and the man in my father's chair wasn't my father. He had his feet up on the mahogany desk. A suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and my dad's laptop on his lap. Coach Ryder. I knew who he was. Actually, everyone knew. He was a legendary player but after an accident that happened eighteen months ago. He stopped playing and now, he was father's assistant. A man so handsome that my heart had no business to flutter anytime I saw him. What could he be doing in the office? I took in a breath and shoved the door open. He raised his head up. Steel blue eyes met mine, traveling up my body slowly. The words I had planned to say hung in my throat immediately. "Office is closed," I forced the words out, crossing my arms. "What are you doing here?" His brows raised. "What are YOU doing here?" I rolled my eyes. "I'm the coach's daughter. I have every right to be here." "That's not the flex you think it is," he mumbled, jaw tightening. "You need to leave. Now." I stepped closer. My heart pounding in my chest. If Coach Vance, my father, found him in the office then he would find out that I hadn't dropped the medication he had asked me to. The order was to lock the door after I had dropped it and that was what I was planning to do until I met him. I wasn't ready for another long tale of how "" I was. He didn't move. Instead, his lips curved into a lazy smile. Infuriating. "Or what? You'll tell daddy?" I felt my jaw tighten. "Or I'll call security." A lie. "You mean Gary? The sixty eight year old who falls asleep during the third period?" He flinged his legs over the desk and stood up. The office suddenly felt half its size. He was tall. Too tall. Broad shoulders that blocked the light. He walked around the desk and kept walking until my back hit the wall. The air left my lungs. I forgot how to breathe. He caged me in between his body. One hand on each side of my head. No contact but I could feel the heat radiating from him. His scent, whiskey and something clean wrapped around my lungs. "You're not supposed to be here," my voice cracked. Damn it. "If Coach Vance sees..." "And you're not supposed to be a spoiled rich kid..." He cut off, tilting his head. "... Playing doctor while hiding behind your daddy's name but here we are." Spoiled. Rich. I scoffed, trying to push him away but he was stronger. Just felt like I was hitting rocks. He had no idea. He had no f*****g idea about the bruises I used to cover with concealer. No idea about the restraining order I kept folded in my wallet. No idea that "daddy" hadn't paid my rent in three years. "You don't know s**t about me," I whispered. "So don't come here and tell me that..." "Shh," he said, placing a finger on my lips. I raised my eyebrows at him. For a second, I saw fear shone in his eyes. Then I heard it too, footsteps echoing in the hallway. "Why is the light still on?" A voice barked. Oh no. That was my father. Cole moved fast. His warm calloused hands found my wrist, surprisingly gentle as he pulled me toward an old media booth Oh God. My hands flayed in front of my face, trying to get the cobwebs away from my hair. The door closed just as my father's shadow passed under the main office door. Good. I turned to face him. Wrong move. We were pressed together. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. His breath against my hair. My hands were flat against his chest, muscle, bone, a heartbeat that felt too fast for a man who pretended to be calm. I could feel every inhale he took. Every exhale. His hand stayed on my lower back, holding me still. "Don't move," he breathed. I couldn't if I tried. Then my father's voice echoed through the wall, "... Agreed to the trade. Harrison is pushing hard. But Marcus comes with baggage." Another voice. Assistant GM. "Baggage we can manage. The guy scores. That's all that matters." No. My blood went cold. Marcus. It was a common name right? It could be anyone. Cole's thumb brushed my lips. I should have pulled away. I should have bitten his finger. Instead, I parted my mouth slightly, just enough to feel the pad of his thumb against my lower lip. His eyes dropped to my mouth and his gaze darkened. He leaned in. One inch. Two. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he murmured. Before I gave him a response, my father's voice pulled me to his discussion. "Marcus Webb is a liability. But if he wins us the championship, I don't care if he's the devil himself. " Marcus Webb. The name carved into my nightmares. The man who broke my wrist and said I tripped. He had convinced the police that I was unstable. I've been running from him for years. Cole felt me tense. His hand moved from my back to my face, cupping my jaw. "Hey," he whispered, voice low. "What is it?" I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. My father laughed outside. "Fine. Finalize the trade. Marcus Webb is our new star player."