I chuckle. “That you are.” She is a princess. An elegant one. A stunning one.
“I wish the evening was over already.” She sighs.
“Aren’t you feeling well?” I take in her perfect complexion. She doesn’t look sick, but who knows what’s going on with the pregnancy. Twin pregnancies can be tricky, according to my books.
“I’m fine. Just… I hate these kinds of functions.” She holds my gaze for a second.
“But… I mean… you’ve attended a lot of them.”
“I had to. It’s what’s expected of me. I’ve learned to endure it. Were it up to me, I’d be spending the evening on the couch, watching a movie or reading a book.” The corners of her mouth lift in a sad half-smile.
I hold myself very still. “I had no idea.”
“That’s the point.” Her voice sounds bitter.
I lean back in my seat. It’s hard to judge someone who’s hiding behind a carefully developed façade, but the more she reveals of her real self, the more fascinating she becomes for me. She is intriguing. Her vulnerability. Her strength. Her warmth.
She’s a prime example that you’ll never truly know what’s going on inside another person. You’ll only know what they want you to know. Or what you’re supposed to know.
Then how can I be sure if opening my heart to her is a chance I’m willing to take? A chance my heart will survive.
She’s opened up to me, and I’m ninety percent sure that at home she’s the real Emilia. But there’s also the public persona that has little to do with the woman I can see myself falling for.
One day, she might hide her real self even from me. And how would I know then?
One certainly can’t tell, when she leaves the car later and walks the red carpet at my side, that she loathes posing for pictures while reporters scream our names.
While enduring the red carpet, I’m reminded again why I’m staying away from my stunning wife. Socializing is hell for me, and unlike Emilia, I haven’t found a master plan yet. Whenever someone tells me to smile at a camera, all I can manage is a grimace. Why do people attend these kinds of events on their own free will? I’d rather be at home than here eating overpriced and overrated pieces of food and sipping on champagne. Like the real Emilia, I’d prefer a calm evening on the couch any day over these forced functions. But Emilia will be expected to attend these events for the rest of her life. It’s part of the marketing plan. I get that. But I don’t have to like it. And given the choice, I’d avoid them like the plague.
I rub my temples when we finally enter the building, blinded from all the flashes.
“We don’t have to stay too long. If you want, you can leave after the speeches are over.” She places her hand on my upper arm and rubs lightly.
I turn to Emilia. “No, it’s fine. The flashes gave me a headache. I won’t leave you.” And I won’t. “We’re a team.”
She beams at me, and for a moment, I allow myself to get lost in her big brown eyes. They haunt me at night. I could draw each little line that surrounds them by heart, at three in the morning, if needed. These eyes are my enemy. Or my salvation. Who knows at this point?
As promised, I stay right beside her for the remainder of the evening, enduring speech after speech and old ladies patting my arm. And when she falls asleep on the drive back to our apartment, I carry her upstairs and, with the help of our doorman, get her inside without waking her. She needs her sleep.
So do I. But when it comes, it’s restless.
“Boys, let’s go. We have a period left to turn the game. We just need two goals. No mistakes. We have a score to settle with Dallas. Let’s go.” Coach Benning gives us a much-needed pep talk. The first two periods haven’t gone as planned. It’s not that we haven’t given it our all. We fought like maniacs, but lady luck isn’t on our side tonight. Tyler keeps missing shots that he could normally smash into the stupid goal in his sleep. Tonight, he seems to have lost his touch. And so have I. I’m bone-tired, exhausted from lack of sleep. But even ready to crash, I know I can do a lot better than what I’ve delivered so far.
I’m ashamed of my own performance. The team needs me. Emilia needs me. We can’t lose this game. This morning, I found Emilia with tears streaming down her face after another ugly phone call from her grandfather. Signore Ravelli better not cross my path or I might punch him straight in the face for every cruel thing he’s ever said to his granddaughter.
She refused to tell me what lovely demands he’s made again, but judging from her blatant look of desperation, he has again threatened to either bleed us dry or sell the team. It’s not our fucking fault his clothes aren’t selling as well as required. Not even Tyler’s ass can sell as many blood-cutting tights as the “gran signore” expects. To my surprise, even Gianluca is on our side and has been calling Signore Ravelli’s expectation “unreasonable.”
A loss tonight will only add more fuel to the fire burning right under our sorry asses. No time like the present to change the outcome of this game. I stand up in a fluid motion, looking straight ahead, and wait for my teammates to leave the room. Tyler and I are always the last ones to leave the locker room. It has become our ritual. Our good luck charm and, boy, do we need it tonight.
On the ice, I signal Tyler that I’ll handle the face-off and take position facing Lawson.
“Fucking your team owner is one way to secure your job,” the asshole says as we wait for the ref to drop the puck.
Red explodes in front of my eyes. Blood red. I punch him straight in the face. Fuck it, I couldn’t punch one of our sponsors when he stripped Emilia naked with his eyes during a charity dinner last week, but I sure as hell can punch the smug smile off this fucker’s face. I never liked the guy. He’s hockey’s biggest ho, and I won’t let him say shit about Emilia. No one would call me a born fighter, but when I throw away my gloves, the guy in front of me knows I mean business.
He tries to punch back, but I’m unstoppable. Weeks of frustration over our whole situation and my lack of sexual satisfaction have boiled up inside me and need an outlet other than my hand, which only takes the edge off these days but doesn’t satisfy me anymore.
I punch him again, even though he’s dropping to his knees. I follow him down and land a second punch in his face, this time on the nose. Red droplets explode on my hand and on the ice. I ignore the refs and prepare to strike one more time, but two hands grab me from behind and pull me away.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tyler yanks me on my feet and turns me around.
“I….” Shit. I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t like Lawson either, but I can’t picture Tyler punching him like I just did. He’d have done something smarter. But I’m not Tyler.
I lost it. On live TV. For everyone to see. I sure as hell fucked up. Big-time.
“Game misconduct,” the ref says, and my shoulders slump. It’s not that I didn’t expect it. Hell, I knew it the second I landed the second punch, but I couldn’t stop, not when he said shit like that.
I deserve to be ejected from the game and will be lucky not to receive an additional penalty after the game. My only task was to turn the game. I drop my head as far as the pads on my chest allow it, unable to face my teammates, and leave the ice accompanied by the chirps of the audience. Fuck my life.
I handed Dallas the win on a silver platter. Without a complete first line, it’ll be close to impossible to shoot two more goals. Whatever I think of Lawson as a person, he’s a gifted player and brought his team the lead.
Inside the locker room, I plop on the bench and bury my head in my hands. So much for concentrating solely on hockey. Never before have I allowed my private life to interfere with hockey. Never. Look at me now. While the game is buzzing outside, I’m sitting in silence.
The door opens. Damn, why can’t they leave me alone? I hate myself right now as it is. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I fucked up.
When I look up, Emilia is standing right in front of me. “Why?” she asks.
What am I to tell her? That I fought for her? For us? Is there even an us?
“He….” He provoked me, but I was stupid enough to fall for it. I’m ashamed. What is she going to think of me? I made a spectacle of myself tonight. Well done, Walker. You set a great example for your kids tonight. “He’s an asshole.”
She shakes her head then opens her mouth but closes it again.
I wouldn’t know what to say to myself either. I let her down. And the team. Considering I’m the only one who knows what is at stake with Emilia’s grandfather, I’m the scum of the earth.
Instead of saying anything, she leaves the locker room. I should shower and change, but my hockey gear provides a shield, and I don’t want to sit here unprotected when my teammates enter after the period. I have no idea how many minutes are left. Right now, I hope it’ll be hours. I’m not ready to face anyone, but sneaking out isn’t an option. I’ll take full responsibility for what happened. Because of my stupidity, we may lose the game. I can’t make myself turn on the TV screen to my left. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to watch hockey.
The door flies open, and medics carry Michael in on a stretcher. Can this fucking evening get any worse?
“Lay him down over here.” Dr. Miller motions the medics to the middle of the room.
I place my hand on my chin and rub. Michael’s face is a mask of pain. Fuck. An injured d-man is the last thing we need right now.
I watch as Dr. Miller examines Michael’s leg, which is turned away from his body at an unnatural angle. Shit. Please no. Not a broken leg. He’ll never make it back for playoffs. And as much as I dislike him as a person, we need him on the ice. Defense is as important as offense at this point in the season.
“I need ice,” Dr. Miller says into the room.
Without giving anyone a chance to react, I jump up and sprint on my skates to get the ice. It won’t undo my fight with Lawson, but I need to occupy my hands or I’ll smash them into the wall.
“Here.” I hand the ice pack over and scoot back. The universe isn’t on our side tonight.
More people enter the locker room, including Emilia.
“How are you?” She drops down next to Michael.
“Don’t you worry. It’s probably nothing,” he says through clenched teeth. I would so want him to be right, but his leg tells another story.
“We’re taking you to the hospital for further testing.”
“Do you want me to call someone?” Emilia asks.
He shakes his head. “I’m good. Don’t you worry; I’ll be back in no time.” His foot sure as hell doesn’t look like a comeback this season is realistic at all.
I watch as they carry Michael out, followed by the medics and Emilia. She hasn’t even looked at me. I drop my head and plop back down on the bench. We’re fucked.
When the door flies open and the team returns, the look on my teammates’ faces confirms we lost the game. I wish I could beam myself away. Instead, I hold Tyler’s gaze and watch him shake his head. I wish he’d yell and curse me. His disappointed look and silent treatment are much worse.
I wait until the others have showered before I pull my shirt over my head and throw it in the laundry bin. No one talks to me. But I feel their glares. Letting your team down is the worst thing possible. No explanation can justify what I did tonight. I need to find a hiding place to escape the media shit-storm I can already picture in my head. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have played more into the hands of Emilia’s grandfather. A grandson-in-law with anger issues, bad headlines served on a silver platter. What more reasons could I have given him to sell the Ice Tigers?
I rub the towel over my skin, wishing it was made of spikes to intensify the burn. The need to punish myself has never been greater.
When I step out of the shower, the only person left in the room is Tyler.
“Why?” He gets up and leans against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I…. He…. He’s an asshole.” Can the floor please swallow me?
“Bullshit.” Tyler isn’t one to swear often. That alone tells me how pissed he is right now. “What is going on, Matt?”
“Emilia and I, we…. He talked shit about her.”
He sighs. “You wanted to protect your wife?”
I nod. “He said I only fuck her to keep my job.”
Tyler shakes his head. “He’s an ass. I get it. But—”
“I know. I messed up. You don’t need to spell it out.” I drop my head.
“Matt… something is wrong with you. You’re not one to fight. I get you wanted to defend your wife, and I don’t blame you; I’d have done the same if he had talked shit about Lily, but…. Shit, man, you seem distracted. Not only today but also in training. Is something wrong with the pregnancy?”
“No.” I shake my head, unsure what to tell him. I can’t lie to him. He’s my captain and, more importantly, my friend. I respect him too much to lie to him. “Everything is fine. I went with Emilia to the last checkup. The twins are doing great. But….” I swallow. Tyler is trustworthy. I’m sure, but I loathe talking about my problems.
“If you’d rather talk to someone else, that’s fine—”
I look at him. “No. You’re right. Something is going on, but I don’t want to talk here.” I motion around the locker room. The last thing I need is someone overhearing us.
He sighs. “We can talk at my place. Lily and Danny will come home tomorrow. Let’s have a beer and talk.”
An hour later, I drop down on Tyler’s leather couch, waiting for him to bring our drinks. I wring my hands while I stare into the darkness outside. If he can’t help me figure my mess out, I don’t know who could. He has the relationship mystery figured out to perfection, doesn’t he? And God knows I could use some advice right now.
“Here you go.” He hands me the bottle and plops down next to me. “Now, tell me what’s going on, Walker.”
I take a pull from the bottle and swallow. I’ve never spilled my emotions to anyone. But there’s a first time for everything, and I’m not a coward. “Emilia… Emilia and I… we… we aren’t together. Not for real.” Smooth, Walker. Real smooth.
He spits some beer on the table and coughs. Fuck, I should have waited with my revelation until he swallowed his beer. I move over to him and slap him on the back until the coughing stops.
“Thanks.” He coughs again. “Um… I’m not sure I understand.”
“Emilia and I, we aren’t togeth—”
“But the babies…?”
“They’re mine.”
He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I think you need to start from the beginning.”
And that’s what I do while he sits frozen like a statue on the couch beside me.
“Holy shit.” He rubs his chin when I’m finished. “No wonder you saw red. I… the pressure you must have been under. Signore Ravelli sure as hell sounds like a world-class bully. Fuck, we need to win. I won’t let him sell the team.” He jumps up and paces up and down the living area.
“We can’t tell the others yet.” I stay on the couch.
He stops and rubs his chin again. “No, but we can make sure they step up their game. I’m calling a team meeting tomorrow. We need to get into playoff mentality. Every game counts from now on. The guys want to make playoffs. Let’s use that to our advantage.”
“Thank you.” We haven’t won anything yet, but I’m not alone anymore. The weight on my shoulders is lighter.
He plops down on the couch again. “Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for me. I don’t want to move to another city, and we both know a new owner could make that decision. Lily’s life is here, and I don’t want to live without her. Not a single day. And… never mind. We have a great group of guys at the moment, and I don’t want to waste this opportunity at winning the Cup.”
“Neither do I. Who knows how many seasons I’ve got left?”
He nods. “Same. Let’s make this one count.” He lifts his bottle, a
nd I follow his example.
“But that’ll only solve half of your problem, won’t it? Are you sure there’s nothing between Emilia and you? Because, quite frankly, you look and act like a couple.” Another stab straight into my battered heart.
“It’s complicated.” I take a sip from my beer.
“Isn’t it always?” He raises an eyebrow.
I shrug. “It doesn’t look complicated between Lily and you.”
He chuckles, but then his face becomes a mask. “What if I told you that I more than messed up when it came to Lily? I nearly destroyed… everything in the process.”
“I don’t understand.” As far as I know, they fell straight into relationship bliss.
“You can’t. And now is not the time.” His expression is pained all of a sudden. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he continues. “But there’s one thing you can understand. Love comes with risks. Always has and always will. Whenever you let someone into your heart, you risk being burned. You risk pain. You risk rejection. You risk failure. There’s no guarantee for happiness.” He looks straight at me as if to make sure I understand. “Ask yourself one question, Matt. What if you never tried? What if you never found out if it could work? What if you wasted a chance to love and be loved? Isn’t love always worth the risk?”
I swallow. “I… I don’t have a great record when it comes to women.”
“Are you in love with Emilia?”
His question knocks the air out of my lungs, and I have difficulty breathing. Am I in love with her? Is that the feeling I’m trying to suppress? The one that keeps swimming up to the surface?
“I… I have… feelings.” Wow, there, I said it. But feelings and love aren’t the same thing.
“I think you need to figure out what you want. And fast. We need you on the ice. And Emilia needs you. If you decide there’s a future for the two of you…. Why don’t you crash in our guestroom tonight and get a good night of sleep? Putting some space between yourself and everything that’s going on might help. Quite frankly, you look like hell, Walker.”
I nod. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2) Page 23
