Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2)

by Isabella Cassazza

Matt

  I follow Tyler and Danny inside the church, waiting for the inevitable to begin. Until the very last minute, I contemplated ways to avoid the wedding, but I didn’t want to disappoint Wioletta and Smithy, and more importantly, Lily and Tyler would have been on my doorstep the moment I canceled.

  Since Tyler and I returned from our trip to Brooklyn, we’ve spent a lot of time together. Tyler insisted I join him, his girlfriend, and his roommate, Danny, for dinner the next evening. Turns out my linemate likes to cook, and I have to say I’ve never had a chicken soufflé as delicious as the one he served us the other night.

  While Tyler cooked, I helped Lily fulfill some of her bridesmaid’s tasks, including folding napkins and tying small silk ribbons on the boxes containing the giveaways. My big hands aren’t made to deal with delicate pieces of cloth, which earned me lots of laughter from Lily. But I’m proud to say I did better than Danny, who, more than once, threatened to throw one of the little packages against the wall. Each time he pouted, Lily would go to him and calm him by rubbing his shoulders, which was quite ironic, since the guy is her physical therapist and personal trainer. In the beginning, it irritated the hell out of me how familiar Lily and Danny are with each other, but since Tyler didn’t seem to mind their banter at all and laughed with them, I came to the conclusion I was seeing ghosts.

  Lily is as different from my ex as two women can possibly be. She’s the sweetest girl and, just like Tyler, seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to picking up on people’s emotions. I don’t know how much Tyler told her about my past, and she didn’t ask me any questions, but my brooding look while watching the three of them interact earned me an invitation for another dinner. One can’t help but be enchanted by her. One day in the very faraway future, when I decide to give this relationship thing another try, it will be for a girl like her.

  As much as I need time for myself, spending time with them isn’t a hardship. Quite the opposite—especially when my dad called immediately after we collected my stuff from the house and asked me to let Jason stay there, since he’s “just going through a phase” and will come around and not only get his life back together but will also dump Jackie. I tried to make him see reason and told him I couldn’t let Jason stay. Dad didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand me. It’s been a week since we talked, and he doesn’t take my calls anymore. Jason’s always been his favorite son. He can’t or doesn’t want to see he’s supporting my brother’s addiction by finding excuses for his behavior.

  For the sake of my brother, I hope Jason will come to his senses sooner rather than later, but I doubt it. He’d have to go to rehab again for that to happen, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. And even if he were to fight his addiction successfully this time, our relationship is damaged to a point where I don’t think it can be repaired. Not after what happened with Jackie, and certainly not after I called my lawyer this week and told him to throw them out of the house. Which he did—with the help of the cops.

  The first notes of the bridal march or whatever it’s called fill the church, bringing me back to reality, and we stand up to watch Wioletta walk down the aisle. I allow myself only a brief glance at her before I shut out the things happening around me and recall last year’s playbook in my head—much safer than watching the very same thing I was supposed to do this summer unfold, if I hadn’t returned earlier from the road than my ex expected me to.

  How could I have been so blind, so stupid, and make such a fundamental error of judgment? It must be true; one can be blinded by love—if I ever truly loved the bitch. Love is overrated anyway.

  Like a robot, I kneel down and pray when I’m supposed to, listening to the priest without hearing a single word, and enclose my heart in an iron fist.

  Only when Tyler puts a tissue in my hand do I realize there’s wetness on my cheeks. Fuck. Why am I crying?

  I’m not overly worried about getting shit from my teammates because of my show of emotion, since a quick look out the corner of my eye confirms I’m not the only one in need of a tissue right now, but I’m still embarrassed. Smithy is kissing his bride soundly, and when the powerful resonance of the organ rings through the church again, they make their way outside as man and wife, followed by cheers and applause.

  “You okay?” Lily joins Tyler and me after her bridesmaid duties are done, putting one hand on my arm. I nod, not trusting my voice. “Let’s go outside.” She puts her small hand on my back and guides me to where we greet the newlyweds and hold still for the obligatory pictures. For a moment, I contemplate stealing away, but Lily and Tyler don’t let me out of their sight. I’m thankful for their help, but at this point, I want to hide in my apartment and drown my sorrows with the help of a bottle of whatever booze I can get my hands on. So much for never getting drunk again. This wedding shit is an emotional business—in my case, not in a good way.

  I steal a glance at Emilia standing with Rob underneath some trees. I haven’t seen her much lately. She seems to be super busy with organizing the first photo shoots for the team and attending functions on behalf of the Ice Tigers’ organization. On top of that, she’s visited the mayor and attended several charity events—accompanied by Rob, according to the gossip blog I’m checking at least once a day these days.

  I pondered calling her about the baby but didn’t in the end. What would I have said to her? She hasn’t been to the doctor yet and at this early stage of pregnancy can’t feel the baby. I’m better off keeping my distance from her. I respect her for wanting the Ice Tigers to succeed and will support her with everything concerning the baby, but that’ll be the extent of our relationship.

  “Our bus is here.” Lily puts her hand on my back again, and I have no other choice but to get in the vehicle. The drive to the event venue is a short one. Busses have been organized for the guests, since according to Smithy “no one will want to drive home after the party.” Knowing my teammates, most of them will party like there’s no tomorrow, since once the season is underway, heavy drinking isn’t a good idea. Eighty-two games in only half a year are hard on the body, and living a healthy lifestyle is a key part of being able to play in most of them.

  The wedding venue is an old estate located outside of Boston. The gravel crunches under my shoes when we walk the short distance from the parking to the house, and I admire the impressive architecture. We’re led inside a big ballroom with massive crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors where round tables have been decorated with white tablecloths, silver plates, white and silver candles, and huge white flower arrangements. On each plate, I spot the giveaways with some of my ribbons. Lily made sure they all looked the same, retying the ones Danny and I had messed up. Overall, the decorations are elegant and classy—unlike the tacky bright pink decorations Jackie insisted on having for our wedding. That alone should have told me I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life. Thank God it never came to that. I should write my brother a thank-you note after all.

  Weddings are supposed to bring out one’s emotional side. Well, I’m pissed. Mostly because of my own stupidity. What was I thinking asking Jackie to marry me? I’m clearly incapable of judging women’s characters. I fetch a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter and gulp down the contents, earning me a stern look from Lily, but I don’t care. Setting down the glass on the table with my name card on it, my gaze finds Emilia. She’s about to sit down with the other management three tables away, while chatting with Rob. Those two have become awfully close since she’s arrived here.

  Tyler pulls on my arm, and I sit down just when Smithy’s voice sounds over a microphone. “Welcome, everyone. Wioletta and I are so happy you’re celebrating this beautiful day with us. I’m going to spare you a big speech, since I assume everyone is hungry already. I sure could eat something right now.” Everyone laughs, while Wioletta punches him in the side. “But first I’d like you all to join us for our first dance; then we’ll start with the menu.”

  As told, we all gather around the dan
ce floor, and my eyes find Emilia in the crowd again. She looks stunning in a figure-hugging, pale-blue dress—no doubt a Ravelli design—with her hair in a classic updo. My gaze moves to her belly, but one can’t tell she’s having my baby at this point. She’s standing very straight, her head held high, looking with longing at Wioletta and Smithy. Is she imagining her own wedding right now? Does she see herself in Wioletta’s place? She swallows and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, the longing look is gone.

  The music ends, and we applaud the newlyweds. Sitting down again, waiters serve wine and the first course—a clear soup with two kinds of meatballs. The soup’s flavor is rich, and if it is an indication of the quality of the following courses, I can’t wait for them to be served. Curious about what’s next, I grab the menu and open it. After the soup, we’ll be served mushroom tartlets as an appetizer and filet mignon as a main course. My mouth waters thinking of filet mignon, and now I can’t wait for the main course. I’m a meat guy, and when it’s cooked to perfection, I don’t need anything else.

  I’d expect the dessert options next. Instead, another soup is listed after the filet. Followed by melons wrapped in prosciutto and artichoke-stuffed chicken. Sounds delicious. Was I supposed to choose between these options on the response card? I regret just skimming over the invitation card now. What if I don’t get the filet mignon?

  There’s even a third menu option with cheddar cheese soup, stuffed endive with Roquefort cheese, and roasted salmon.

  None of those are vegetarian-only options, but maybe there aren’t any vegetarians at this party. “Why are there three different menu options? Were we supposed to choose from them?” I turn to Tyler.

  “No, you only had to choose whether you wanted a fish only or vegan option. Don’t worry; you’ll get the meat option. We’re being served a new menu cycle every two or three hours, and you better make sure you eat everything. In between, we’ll also be served wedding cake and snacks. Wioletta and Smithy have calculated one bottle of vodka per guest. It’s a tradition in Wioletta’s family to refill a glass once it’s more than half empty, and I can tell you from personal experience, they can stomach a lot. Don’t even try to refuse if someone offers you a refill, and never say no to a shot. The meals will get richer each time, so we won’t be lying underneath the table after two hours.”

  “Makes sense.” Or maybe it doesn’t, but whatever the reason for so many different dishes, I’m not complaining. I get to eat awesome food and try out new things. Works for me. As for the vodka, I don’t plan on getting wasted here.

  When I set down the menu again, I take a look around and my eyes find Emilia’s, who’s trying to dissuade an older woman from filling her wine glass by putting her hand over it, but the woman isn’t having it. Tyler wasn’t joking. Fuck, she shouldn’t drink. I have ordered some books about pregnancy but haven’t gotten to read them yet, but even I know that alcohol is a no-go when pregnant. When Emilia looks up from her now full wine glass, our eyes meet. I may be wrong about the amount of alcohol I might have to consume tonight, after all.

  I take my half-full glass and walk over to her table. “Emilia, could I talk to you for a second?”

  Her chair is under a real threat to topple over when she gets up before I can so much as blink. “Of course. Let’s go over there.” She points to the hallway.

  Rob gives me a stern look, but I ignore him and follow her.

  “I can’t drink. I told Wioletta’s aunt I don’t drink liquor, but I couldn’t refuse the wine and she’s already asked me twice why my wine glass is still full,” she says once we’re around the corner.

  “Give me your glass.” My back is to the ballroom, shielding her and our exchange from prying eyes. Without waiting for her to hand it over, I take the glass out of her hand and gulp down most of its contents before placing it in her hand again. When our fingers brush, I pull my hand away as if it was burned by a hot iron.

  “Thank you.” She looks at the nearly empty glass but doesn’t say anything.

  “Are you feeling all right?” My voice sounds hoarse to my own ears.

  She looks up and nods. “I’m fine.”

  What do I say now? We can’t go back to our tables right away, can we?

  Emilia is the one to break the silence. “You have a beautiful girlfriend.” She looks away from me to a picture on the wall to our left.

  I frown. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Her head flies around. “But the petite black-haired girl, she—”

  So, she’s been watching me. “Lily is Tyler’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” She curls one arm around her middle.

  “I don’t want a relationship with anyone at the moment.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her this, but it feels important.

  “You already said that.” And with that, she leaves me standing in the corner. Nothing for me to do but make my way back to the table where my half-full wine glass is refilled the moment my butt hits the chair, and so is Emilia’s. So much for not drinking too much tonight. I better make sure I eat everything I can get my hands on or I’ll be wasted in no time.

  “What was that about?” Tyler asks.

  “Emilia told us to approach her anytime.” I shrug.

  He raises both eyebrows. “What did you have to say to her?”

  I’m saved from having to answer when the next course is placed in front of us and I indulge in the creamy mushroom tartlets, ignoring Tyler’s eyes on my face.

  After the plates are taken away, Wioletta’s and Smithy’s fathers hold a speech, from which I couldn’t repeat a single word if asked. Instead, I’m watching Emilia again. Her eyes are on the speakers, and she seems to actually be listening to whatever they have to say, but her expression is blank, and I have no idea what’s going on behind her big brown eyes.

  After Smithy’s father raises his glass to celebrate the newlyweds, she makes eye contact again, and I follow her example, getting up from the table to meet her in the same corner in the hallway where I’m handed another glass of red wine.

  “Please don’t drink everything. Leave at least three-quarters of the wine. The moment it’s half empty, I have a refill forced on me.” I figured that already, but I don’t say anything.

  Our fingers touch when I grab the glass and a hot jolt runs through my body. Ignoring the sensation, I take a big gulp before handing it back, avoiding skin contact this time.

  Vodka and red wine are great standalones, but combined, they’re not my thing. If we continue at this rate, my headache tomorrow will be epic.

  When we meet an hour later, I’m not as steady on my feet as I would like to be. The problem isn’t the wine but the vodka forced upon me in between my trips to the corner in the hallway. One of Wioletta’s uncles is making his rounds around the tables with a fresh bottle of vodka in his hands every time. Since his English is pretty much nonexistent, he’s making friends by filling up empty glasses and giving each person a hard glance if they dare to refuse his hospitality. Only Lily has convinced him not to refill her glass every time—more proof that no one can resist Lily’s innocent charm.

  I get now why Wioletta and Smithy calculated one bottle of vodka per guest. The strange thing is, people around me aren’t wasted but happy and relaxed. The ballroom is filled with laughter and beaming faces, celebrating the newlyweds and their love.

  In addition to what’s on the menu, I’ve eaten three slices of wedding cake, but the alcohol is getting the better of me, and the evening has barely begun. On top of that, I need to find better excuses for why I have to get up with my wine glass from time to time. My trips have already earned me concerned glances from both Lily and Tyler. If Emilia and I aren’t careful, someone will notice our connection. What possible explanation could we give them? As far as the team is concerned, we only met a week ago. My alcohol-muddled brain is of no help anymore.

  When Emilia’s eyes meet mine the next time, we’re saved by Polish musicians starting a polonaise. The majority o
f my table joins them right away, allowing me to sneak out unseen. Just when I’ve downed another generous amount of wine, the polonaise passes through the hallway, and since everyone is best friends here, we’re forced to abandon our glasses and become part of the long line of people circling the tables, while four musicians lead the way playing what I assume are Polish folk songs. The heritage of the bride is prominently displayed this evening. With Emilia’s backside swaying in front of me, we make our way to the dance floor where the real torture is about to begin.

  A guy with a heavy Slavic accent, probably one of Wioletta’s relatives or friends, takes the mic and introduces us to a Polish dancing game that begins innocently enough when we’re supposed to form a big circle and dance around sirtaki style. “Now, everyone put your arms around the shoulders of the person next to you, and let’s go faster.” Not an easy task when one’s coordination skills aren’t at a hundred percent anymore. Add in the distraction of Emilia’s soft skin underneath my left hand, and it becomes impossible. I’m not the only one struggling and having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. Who would have thought crisscrossing your legs was so tricky?

  Round after round, the tempo accelerates, and with each circle, I fear for Emilia’s safety. What if the guy next to her stumbles and takes her down with him? I’m paying more attention to her than to my legs, and in the end, it’s her saving me from toppling over. The music reaches its climax then stops, and so does our dance. We applaud the band, and I drop my arm from Emilia’s shoulder, taking in her flushed face and shining eyes when she laughs about something the guy next to her says. I want to punch the smug look off his face.

  Get it together, Walker. She isn’t for you. I look away, just to find Tyler and Lily kiss as if no one is watching, while Michael is flirting with a hot brunette. No doubt he’s planning his next conquest. How long is one supposed to stay at a wedding? When can I leave without causing a commotion?

  I’d assumed we’re done with the game, but after giving us a moment to catch our breath, the mic guy continues with his directions.