Fighting against Gravity: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 3)

by Isabella Cassazza

  “You’re hungry an awful lot. You had half a pizza yesterday evening. Can’t you go back to sleep and wait a few hours?” At least I think he did. I left him and his mom alone once the smell of pizza invaded my living area. Ellie didn’t ask if I was hungry too. Not that I wanted pizza.

  “Hundry.” He climbs down the chair and stomps his little foot on the ground.

  “Where’s your mom?” And how can she still be asleep with all the crashing noises?

  “Mommy sleepin’.”

  “Why are you up then? Go back and cuddle with her.” That’s what little boys do, don’t they? I liked to cuddle with mine when I was little. Those were the times, sneaking into my parents’ bed on the weekends to cuddle with them. Don’t all children love that?

  “Hundry.” This time the boy doesn’t sound willful. His eyes fill with tears, and he drops his shoulders.

  Ah shit. I hate tears. I fucking hate tears. What’s it about them that makes me feel so helpless? I’m not a crier. Except when I nearly killed myself—accidentally.

  To make it worse, my stomach rumbles since I only had my protein shake for dinner. No beer belly for me. My mom’s butter tarts have done enough damage already to my six-pack. I roll my shoulders back and turn my head from side to side to loosen my neck muscles. I can solve the problem at hand.

  “I’ll have to make a call. Can you wait here and not destroy anything else?”

  “Foot?” He tilts his head and opens his eyes wider.

  “Yeah. I’ll try to order food.” I think the café where I used to pick up my morning coffee delivers breakfast. “Uh… what do you eat in the morning?”

  He pulls his lip between his teeth. “Tsereal.”

  “Cereal?” Shouldn’t he be able to talk like a normal person at his age?

  He nods twice.

  “What kind of cereal?”

  “Fluit loobs.”

  “I’m not sure they have Fruit Loops.” Should a kid have that much sugar?

  “Want fluit loobs.” He throws himself on the floor and cries. Shit, that’s worse than the foot stomping. The last thing I need is for Ellie to find us like this. She’ll think I’m about to murder her son.

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll see what I can do. You stay here and be good, deal?”

  He sits up and wipes away his tears. Then he nods. I release my breath. Managed that, didn’t I?

  I’m not even around the corner when the sound of glass crashing pierces my ears. I close my eyes. Another reminder why I never want kids. I turn around and shuffle back to the kitchen area.

  “Don’t move.” I scuffle faster once I see what’s going on. Johnny’s half standing on the chair again while pieces of what used to be a colored designer glass in dark blue cover the floor.

  “I tirsty.” Ignoring my words, he climbs down from the chair and reaches for one of the pieces.

  “Don’t fucking touch that.” Without thinking of my bad knee, I dive to the floor and grab his little hands before he can injure himself. The muscles in my arms are shaking, and the air feels like it has been stuffed with cotton. I shiver when I remember the last time fragments of glass were covering the floor. But they were white. These ones are blue, Michael.

  I inhale and exhale twice. I got this. Now isn’t the time for a panic attack. Johnny’s crying for real now. No willful tears this time. I scared the child. Leaning against the kitchen island, I pull the boy onto my good leg and hold him close to my body. I’m not a monster after all.

  “Broken glass is dangerous. You could have cut yourself. I didn’t mean to shout.”

  “You ’urt?” The little guy squirms on my lap, trying to face me.

  “No, I’m fine.” He’s managed to turn now and stares me straight in the eyes. The same eyes that have haunted me ever since the first time I saw them—his mother’s eyes. But on him they look kind of cute. Kind of.

  With the kid on one leg and the other one useless, I scan my surroundings to find a way to stand up without touching any of the blue pieces and find two potential problems.

  “Can you climb over me and walk to the chair over there?” That would solve the first one.

  He nods but keeps staring at me. This kid is creepy.

  “Be careful not to touch the glass,” I tell him while he pushes his hands against my chest and does as told.

  What to do about the second problem? In my attempt to save the boy from cutting his hand, I let go of my cane. The stupid thing lies now out of reach in the middle of the blue pieces disaster. How can one glass produce so many fragments? I can’t stand up without the cane.

  Toppling over, I’d be in real danger of cutting myself. It can’t be helped. I bend over at the hip, pull my sleeve over my hand, and push the bigger pieces of glass out of the way. Looking at my forearm, I cringe when I see what looks like a million blue crystals on my black sleeve. I make a mental note to call the cleaning lady ASAP.

  I turn my head to make sure the boy’s still where I told him to stay and then crawl forward to reach my cane. Once I get hold of the stupid thing, I push myself up and brush the glass from my arms.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s order some food.”

  “Tsonny. I tirsty.” His look accuses me of a million crimes I never committed.

  I sigh. “I have water in my bedroom. Come on, Johnny.” Hopefully he knows how to drink from a bottle.

  I lead the way to my bedroom, making sure from time to time he’s still behind me. That kid doesn’t make a lot of sound when he’s walking—only when he’s destroying my kitchen area.

  “Sit in the chair over there.” I reach for the unopened water bottle on my nightstand and open it for the boy. It’s a big bottle, and he has tiny hands. I sigh then sit down in a chair next to him and put the bottle against his mouth. “Drink.”

  He’s one thirsty boy. When he’s finished, a quarter of the water is gone.

  “Tanks.” His warm hand brushes mine before I can take the bottle away.

  I blink. “Uh… you’re welcome.” At least the kid has manners. “Now, sit still. Don’t move an inch. I’ll order some food.” Then I’ll figure out how to clean him. As it is, he’s left a trail of protein powder on the floor already.

  “Fluit loobs.” He squirms in the chair. So much for sitting still.

  “Be silent. I need to think.”

  Ordering the food is surprisingly easy, and when I offer the guy on the phone a big tip, he agrees to stop by the store and buy the damn Fruit Loops and milk on the way to the house. Breakfast is saved.

  Just when I think everything is back on track, the boy drops a bomb—literally.

  “Did you just fart?” I ask as if the smell entering my nostrils wasn’t enough confirmation. Holy hell, how can a tiny human produce that much stink? I’m used to farts. Happens in the locker room all the time. But most of my former teammates never created a smell as foul as the boy just did.

  He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and nods. Then farts again.

  I look at the ceiling. Why me? As if helping him pee yesterday wasn’t enough of a sacrifice. No kids. Never. Ever. I’ll look into having a vasectomy as soon as I have a minute for myself.

  “Let’s go to the bathroom.” I don’t look at him but scuffle to the bathroom and, once there, tap my good foot until he appears in front of me. What’s taking him so long? He’s the one who needs to take a dump.

  “Come on, hop on the toilet.”

  He shakes his head. Protein powder flutters like snowflakes from his hair. His very long and badly cut hair. For the first time I notice his bowl cut. Poor kid.

  “Why not?” Am I supposed to read minds now?

  He looks at me with his head tilted to one side, then pulls down his pants. Yesterday I had to help him with the button, thank God his pj’s have an elastic band.

  My eyes bulge when I see what’s under the pants. “Why are you wearing a diaper?” He didn’t wear one yesterday. I’m not touching that… thing.

  “Nite diap’r.” He steps o
ut of the pants.

  “You wear a diaper at night?” Ellie forgot to mention that. Must have changed him after she went to bed with him.

  He nods. Twice. Then farts again. This is bound to end in disaster. If one of my former teammates had ripped one like this in the locker room, we would have kicked him out. Not that a locker room smells like sunshine and roses without farts. But still, some boundaries can’t be crossed.

  “Can you open the diaper?”

  He shakes his head. Once. “You ’ave to op’n it.”

  I stare at the white bundle of horror. If he wore that thing during the night, there has to be something in it. It isn’t dripping, but… who knows what’s in there? Maybe that’s the foul smell?

  I close my eyes and inhale without taking in too much of the compromised air. I could wake Ellie. But the way to her room is long, and I’m a snail. Who knows if the boy can hold his stuff inside long enough?

  I shuffle to the boy in slow motion, reach for the diaper with one hand, and pull. The thing doesn’t give an inch. Johnny brushes my hand away, looks at me as if I just committed a deadly sin, and says, “Op’n.”

  “Where?”

  “’Ere.” He points to his side. Is he shitting me? He knows how to open that thing, doesn’t he? Can’t he take care of this ungodly business alone?

  “Open it yourself.” I drop my hands and take a step back. Who knows what kind of germs are on that thing?

  He drops another stink bomb and shakes his head.

  I look at the ceiling again. Why me?

  Then I reach for the diaper again with outstretched hands and a closed nose. The sticky thing holding the diaper doesn’t give in easily, but I don’t want to waste more time than I already have. I pull. One side gives and then the other. I feel like Superman. Until the bundle of horror falls to the floor and the boy steps in it. Fuck my life. The cleaning lady can’t arrive soon enough. I’ll use the shower in the guest room until she’s put bleach on my floor.

  Johnny doesn’t care about just having stepped into… whatever was in the diaper and reaches up his arms for me to lift him onto the toilet—a difficult task since I need one hand on the cane, but I manage.

  Blocking out the sounds and smells coming from the boy, I kneel down, reach for toilet paper, pull off his socks, put them in the diaper, and pick up the disgusting thing with two fingers. What to do with that thing? If I put it in the waste bin, it’ll stink to heaven and back. I don’t want to touch the white bundle longer than necessary, so carrying it outside isn’t an option. And who knows what the boy would destroy during that time. Speaking of which, he’s hanging half-off the toilet, trying to reach the toilet paper. The last thing I need is for him to get hurt.

  “Here you go.” I reach over and hand him some toilet paper.

  The boy looks at me, then at the paper in my hand. Then he jumps down from the toilet, turns around, and presents me with his bottom.

  Can this get any worse?

  “No, you wipe yourself.” I reach my hand around him, presenting him with the toilet paper.

  He looks over his shoulder and shakes his head. For the love… I turn my nose away, drop the diaper next to me, and get the disgusting business over.

  “Johnny?” Ellie’s voice rings through the house just as the boy pulls his pants up.

  Could she have called one minute earlier? Before I had to touch… poop? I push myself into a standing position again. No way I’m kneeling on the floor when she arrives.

  “Mommy. I here,” he screams and tries to brush past me.

  “You have to wash your hands.” I hold him around the waist before he can sneak away.

  He pulls his pants up, nods, and reaches his hands for me to lift him to the vanity basin. My house isn’t equipped to host kids. And it never will be. Not after this experience.

  I look at my hands. Shit. “I need to wash mine first. Don’t move.”

  He hums something and motions with his hands for me to proceed. He’s acting as if I’m his servant. I feel like I’m his servant right now.

  I shake my head but put him on his feet. Then I turn on the faucet and use an extra portion of soap to clean my hands.

  “Johnny?” Ellie yells again.

  “Mommy,” he screams back. My poor ears and his high-pitched kid’s voice aren’t compatible. And never will be.

  “We’re in the bathroom,” I yell over his small voice.

  The sound of crutches sliding over the floor becomes louder while I wash and dry the boy’s hands.

  “Hey, pumpkin, were you good to Michael?” Ellie peeks her head through the door.

  The little monster has the audacity to nod. Oh no. No way. She needs to know what he put me through.

  “Let’s see. He destroyed my kitchen, dropped a stink bomb in my bedroom, and made me wipe his butt after he pooped.”

  She doubles over, laughing out loud. “You were very good, pumpkin.” She laughs more and wipes away some tears, while the boy throws himself at her leg.

  “Hundry.” He looks up at her, and she ruffles his hair while trying to leave her crutch on the floor. I’ll have to give her that. Her arm muscles tremble, but she sways only a little to the side.

  “We’re going grocery shopping today. But first we need to get dressed.”

  “I ordered breakfast. It should be here any minute.” I interrupt their exchange.

  “Fluit loobs,” Johnny screams and runs in circles around us.

  “Slow down. The floor is slippery. Two people with a foot injury are enough. Look at me, Johnny. Did you ask Michael to buy Fruit Loops for you?” she asks with the stern voice of a school teacher.

  The boy drops his head and slides his foot over the floor in a little circle.

  “When are you only allowed to have Fruit Loops?” Even I’m scared of her mommy voice.

  “Weeken’,” he whispers and looks at his mom with wide eyes.

  Cheeky little monster, to trick me into buying the stuff for him.

  “That’s right. Since you’ll have them today you won’t get them on Saturday and Sunday, okay?”

  “Tay.” He drops his head. I might feel a tiny bit sorry for him. One wouldn’t want to mess with his mom.

  The doorbell rings, and I turn around, grateful to have a little time to myself. No kids. And no wife. I can’t write that bullet point on my don’t-want-list often enough. Ellie and Johnny are a daily reminder why. It’s fucking exhausting to have them even only as visitors. The real deal might bring me to my grave earlier than necessary.

  I accept the food and place it on the kitchen counter. Then I call my cleaning lady to bring at least one part of my life back in order.

  Chapter 10

  Ellie

  “When tan we do hom’?” Johnny climbs on my lap and snuggles close.

  “We have to stay here for a while. Don’t you like the big yard? You can play with the ball and kick it as far as you can.” I put my arm around him and stroke his hair.

  My bank account won’t allow for a stay at a hotel. Room service sounds fantastic at this time, but my credit card says no to such an endeavor. And my leg says a hard “no” to any stairs. Staying at Michael’s is our only option for now.

  Dealing with the insurance company is a pain in the ass and takes much longer than expected. While I’m out of order, I have to pay Sandra full-time and, since she cannot take care of the shop all by herself, a friend of hers part-time. To say my finances are in a dire state is the understatement of the last two centuries. Michael offered to give me the money to pay my employees upfront, but I’d rather go the official way.

  Johnny hums but doesn’t say much. He still doesn’t like our host, that much is clear. I can’t blame him. Michael isn’t my favorite person in the world either. But I don’t think Johnny’s afraid of Mr. Disaster. More… careful? And observing. I wish I’d been that clever. It might have spared me the broken leg experience. And the painkillers.

  After our shopping trip and cooking dinner yesterday,
I fell asleep the moment Johnny passed out next to me and slept for eight hours straight—something I haven’t done since my son was born. Something I needed badly. With the shop, taking care of a kid, and the household, I haven’t any spare time. It says a lot about me that one of my monthly highlights is going out for drinks with my sister, doesn’t it? And it says even more about me that the other ones are the rare nights where I manage to read a book without falling asleep after a couple of pages.

  My mommy alarm bells didn’t ring for a second time in a row when Johnny left the bed before I woke up this morning. Once I managed to crawl out of our king-size bed, Michael had already prepared a bowl of cereal for him. As much as I despise him, I couldn’t care for Johnny alone with my cast. Mr. Grumpy is still his unfriendly self, but at least he helps to meet my son’s basic needs. Who knows, at the end of our stay we might be best friends. Not.

  “Aunt Daphne will be home in three weeks, and then we’ll stay at her place.” I hate imposing on my newly-married sister, but she’ll understand and won’t mind. We’re close, always have been. If I called her right now, she would head home from her honeymoon the second the call ended. But she and her husband deserve their vacation. I refuse to be the person to end their dream honeymoon in the Caribbean.

  “’Ow lon is tree week?” Johnny pushes to his knees and tilts his head.

  “It’s twenty-one days.”

  He sighs and falls back down, hitting my cast in the process. “Lon.”

  I suck in air to refrain from screaming in agony. It isn’t his fault, but boy does it hurt. “Don’t touch my leg, please. It’ll be over in no time. You like staying at Aunt Daphne and Uncle Patrick’s house, don’t you?” Unlike me, Daphne won the jackpot when it comes to men. Not only is Patrick a handsome fellow, he has a heart of gold and adores Johnny.

  He nods and snuggles closer. “Untle Patrit is tool.”

  “Cool, Johnny. Cool. Are you a snuggle bunny today?” I tickle his stomach, and his carefree laugh caresses my soul like a soothing balm. My little man is worth every struggle and so much more.

  The doorbell rings. I wait for the scratching sound of Michael’s cane on the floor. Nothing happens.