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

by Isabella Cassazza

  She opens her mouth, just to close it again, looking like a fish. I win. I might not have lost my abilities completely, if Ms. Stubborn doesn’t stand a chance against me. “Pack your things. You’re staying with me.”

  “Wow. Wait. I’ll take the hotel room.” Ellie hobbles forward on her crutches, trying to reach me. But I’m faster. I might just have found the one person I can outrun. And I’m going to enjoy every little second.

  I turn to Nessy, ignoring the ranting woman behind me. I’m having fun here. “She’s staying with me. Help her pack her stuff, will you? I’ll wait in the car.”

  Nessy doesn’t hesitate. He picks up Ellie and tells the boy to follow them.

  I lean against the car and put the cane next to me. Then I cross both arms over my chest. Either I’ll have high-class entertainment provided for free for the next weeks, or I’ll lose my mind. Call me crazy, but I’m looking forward to crossing swords with Ms. Stubborn.

  The king is back. Let the party begin.

  Chapter 8

  Ellie

  “Thank you, Nessy.” I accept the crutches from him.

  “No, problem. Bye, Ellie.” He puts his hand over mine, since I can’t stretch it out while holding on to the crutches for dear life. Then Nessy turns to my son. “And you, little man, you’re welcome to play with my kids anytime. Freddy and Vivi can’t wait to meet you in person.”

  “Pay.” Johnny jumps up and down in front of the car. At least he’s happy.

  I chuckle. “Play, Johnny. Not ‘pay.’ Nessy, I insist on having you and your family over for dinner at our place, once I’m off the crutches. Again, thank you so much for your help.”

  “No worries. We’re happy to take Johnny anytime. Call if you need help. Bye, Michael. Stop being a stranger. The boys would love to have you over at the rink sometime.”

  Michael’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he clears his throat and swallows. “Bye, Nessy. Thanks for helping out.” Interesting reaction.

  I’m pretty sure I could wave my hand in front of Michael’s face and he wouldn’t flinch while he watches his former teammate pull out of the driveway.

  “Mommy, is tis a p’alce?” Johnny pulls at my good leg.

  “Do you mean a palace? Like the one in your fairy tale book?” I slide the crutches to the side and bend down to him. My arm muscles scream in agony. Crutches are fun. Not.

  “Yeah, pal’ce.” He runs in a little circle around himself—like a puppy would.

  I laugh. “Palace, Johnny. But this isn’t a palace. It’s Michael’s house.”

  “Mh.” Johnny stops running and tilts his head to one side, looking at the tall guy with the cane. He hasn’t taken to Michael as he has to Nessy. I don’t think he knows what to make of him. Can’t blame my son. Neither do I. Every encounter I’ve had with this man has ended in disaster. If I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t.

  At least for tonight, staying here is our best option. After that, we’ll see. Both my sister and Lily will be home in a little over three weeks. Until then, I’ll have to make do. Tomorrow I’ll check my bank account. It’ll be tight, but I might be able to squeeze the money for a hotel room in our budget. The less time we have to spend with our host, the better. God, how I wish my parents were still able to help me and didn’t live in a care home.

  I wait for Michael to open the door and motion for Johnny to step inside. He doesn’t comply. I get it, he doesn’t know Michael. He doesn’t know this house.

  Nessy and I tried to pack as many familiar and important things as possible, like his stuffed dinosaur “Rexi” and a selection of toys, to make our stay here as comfortable as possible for Johnny. Still, he won’t sleep in his own bed tonight.

  Other than visiting my sister, he’s never been away from home. I sigh. I’m not looking forward to what might be potentially a sleepless night. I’m ready to crash and can’t wait to take painkillers, but Johnny isn’t tired yet.

  I should have accepted Nessy’s offer. He and his wife would have been a welcome help and his guest room my best option, but I didn’t want to bother them. I know what it’s like to be heavily pregnant. The last thing I would have wanted was for strangers to cause chaos in my home.

  The doctor was right, though. I shouldn’t be on my feet. My leg is throbbing under the cast, and I’m ready to pass out from the pain.

  Crap, Johnny hasn’t had dinner yet, and I forgot to ask Michael if he has food at home. Most likely not with my luck. I think this is a bachelor household. Or does he have a girlfriend?

  I wish I’d paid more attention to gossip magazines and the sports section. But hockey isn’t my thing. I went once with my sister and her husband. Didn’t like it at all and never tried again. Sports, in general, aren’t my thing. But boy do I wish I’d trained my arms more right now.

  I lean on the crutches and take one step after the other, each one more painful than the last one. The idiot could at least have waited and closed the door behind me. Doesn’t he know how freakin’ difficult it is to turn on crutches? Probably not with the way his biceps stretch his shirt. The moment the door closes behind me, Johnny is on me.

  “Mommy, pee.”

  “You need to pee?” I lean toward him. My arm muscles scream some more.

  He nods twice and crosses his legs. Double crap. He only does that if it’s urgent.

  Triple crap, how am I going to help Johnny with his pants? I can’t stand without the crutches. I close my eyes. What did I do to deserve all this bad luck? Six weeks seem like an eternity. I turn to the tall figure leaning casually against the wall at the end of the hallway. The guy has the audacity to look at us as if we’re aliens.

  It can’t be helped. “Uh… Michael?”

  “Yeah?” He crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Could…?” Screw it, he offered, and Johnny can mostly take care of his business these days. “Could you please help Johnny go to the bathroom?”

  Michael drops his arms and reaches for his cane. Then he takes one step in my direction. “The bathroom?” His voice has turned from a baritone to a tenor by the second word.

  “Yes, the bathroom. I assume you know why people go to that room?” I wait for Michael to close the distance between us. He raises an eyebrow when he stops in front of me.

  I sigh. “Look, the only thing you need to do is help him to pull his pants up and down and, depending on how high your toilet seat is, help him to climb up there. I can’t balance without the crutches and need to get used to them before….”

  He stares at me. Or maybe he stares right through me. It’s hard to tell. Then he looks at Johnny and back at me. His jaw muscle twitches. “Can’t he go alone?”

  “He’s not even three.”

  The jaw muscle twitches twice more. “Does he wear a diaper?”

  Now is not the time to tell him that Johnny indeed needs what we call a safety-diaper during the night. Only for the night. How am I ever going to put that thing on him? I want to cry and have a nervous breakdown, but my little boy needs me. Judging from the way he’s stepping from one foot to the other, he needs help fast.

  “No, Michael,” I say with my sternest schoolteacher voice. “He doesn’t wear a diaper. Like I said, he needs help to climb on the toilet, help to reach the toilet paper, and help when it’s time to adjust his underwear and pants again. Can you please help him?”

  Michael’s eyebrows shoot up and horror flashes over his face at the mention of toilet paper. Let him guess if he needs to wipe Johnny’s butt. He doesn’t. The little guy can manage just fine. Mostly without toilet paper when he does a number one. A number two is a different matter, but he would have said something if he needed to do that.

  Michael looks again from me to Johnny and back.

  I sigh. “Just point me to the bathroom. We—”

  “I’ll do it.” He turns to my son. “Come… uh… John.”

  “Tsonny.” My little boy stomps his feet and glares at Michael. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. These two
aren’t exactly best friends yet.

  Michael doesn’t even blink. “Do you need to pee or not?”

  “Pee.” Johnny looks straight at our host. My little man stands his ground while I observe the exchange, mesmerized and proud of my son. “Tsonny.”

  Michael turns around, the cane scratching the floor like fingernails on a chalkboard. I shudder. He huffs. Then huffs again. “Come on, Johnny. Neither your mom nor I can clean the floor if you pee on it.”

  “Tsonny no baby.” Johnny stomps his feet again but then brushes past Michael and marches where Mr. Grumpy guides him with his voice. I wish I could follow them. If Johnny pees himself…. I don’t want to think about it.

  My leg hurts. My head hurts. My arms are ready to give out. I should have done upper-arm training at least once a week with the dumbbells hidden under the couch where they play hide and seek with the dust bunnies I can’t reach during my weekly just-what’s-necessary cleaning. I should have spring cleaned months ago but haven’t found the time.

  My shoulders slump and I close my eyes. I wish I could lie on the couch and pass out right there. But my little man hasn’t had his dinner yet, and his needs are more important than mine.

  I limp to the kitchen, and open what I hope is the fridge. The good news is I found the fridge; the bad news, it’s empty except for a single jar of peanut butter—a half-empty jar of dried up peanut butter. And a half-empty container of almond milk.

  How does this guy survive? He has to eat something. Does he always order in? Does he have a personal chef? But a chef needs food to work with.

  Michael is a mystery, and my brain is too tired to solve mysteries right now.

  I drop my head and let myself rest for just a moment, dividing my weight in equal proportion between the crutches and the kitchen island.

  “Mommy. Mitel has toilet paper with tlouds.”

  My head snaps up. Johnny slides more than runs over the blank tile floor. So far I haven’t seen a single carpet in this… house. Or palace. Johnny might be right with calling the massive place a palace. With its high ceilings, the modern open-concept floor plan, and massive window fronts, it’s an impressive building. An impressive, but cold building. No one would call this place homey. I blink. “His name is Michael.”

  “Hundry.” Johnny holds on to my good leg and hides behind it, causing me to sway. Nope. He and Michael haven’t bonded over shared bathroom time, not that I blame my little man.

  I was figuring out the food problem before my micro-sleep session. “I know, Johnny. Can you give me half an hour?”

  He nods, but his rumbling stomach says something else. I’m a terrible mom. I should have made sure we’d have something to eat before I declined Nessy’s offer.

  The cane scratches against the floor again. I lift my head, facing its owner. “I need something edible for Johnny. Noodles would be fine or—”

  “I don’t have carbs in the house.”

  “Uh… okay. What about salad? Or eggs?”

  I’m not sure where else he might keep these things other than the fridge, but the house is huge. He might have a hidden pantry. Salad and eggs aren’t Johnny’s favorite things, but if he’s ravenous, he eats them and most other things. Except for seafood and fish. He wouldn’t touch that if his life was dependent on it.

  “Ran out of it yesterday.” His voice is as dry as matchsticks.

  I close my eyes for a second. “Do you have anything edible in this house at all?”

  “I have hazelnut and vanilla protein powder.” A big grin spreads over his face.

  “Hazelnut and vanilla protein powder?” I so badly want to face-palm myself right now. I would if it weren’t for the crutches.

  “It’s not that I expect you to know what that is or how to use it.” He winks.

  My eyes are in real danger of falling into the back of my head when I roll them. He can’t be serious. “Just for the record, I do know how to use protein powder.”

  “Did you go on a diet? Because if you did, it wasn’t…” His eyes roam my body from head to toe. “Very successful.”

  Is it self-defense if I’m driven to insanity? I release my breath as slowly as possible. I’m the intelligent person here. His comment doesn’t deserve a response, but I don’t want him to have the last word. “None of your business.”

  “I might have a few tips for you, you know, if you wanted to have… more success.”

  My breathing accelerates to the point where I imagine it would be after I’d run a marathon. How am I going to live in the same house with this asshole for six weeks without killing him? I want to right now. Really want to. Instead, I put on my best fake smile. “No, thanks. You can keep your protein powder. Hazelnut and vanilla aren’t my thing.”

  “What? They’re delicious. Protein is super important. I don’t want to get fat.” He looks up and down my body again, making me wish I wasn’t a size sixteen. At the same time, I still want to kill him and stuff donuts down his throat to torture him with carbs.

  Does he realize I’m contemplating murder right now? I look up at the ceiling and back at him. Choose your words carefully, Ellie. Who knows if Alexa is listening. “Do you have anything other than protein powder in your house?” I talk again with the ceiling. It’s much safer than looking at him.

  “I dropped the eggs when I went shopping.”

  “You had scrambled eggs then? Good for you.” I breathe in and out through my nose before I continue. “Just for clarification, there’s absolutely nothing edible in this entire house? Other than dried peanut butter, almond milk, and protein powder?” I ask while Johnny uses my good leg as a pillow. Good thing he won’t understand most of this conversation. Still, it’s better to keep it PG-13.

  Before he can answer, my mommy radar spots unusual activities on my leg. The little head is gone. And so is my son.

  “Johnny leave that alone.” I limp over to where Johnny has run, admiring what looks like a pool of mud. “What the—” PG-13, Ellie. “—is that?” I turn to Michael once I’ve reached my little boy.

  “Uh… I dropped some paint.”

  “Paint?” I place myself between Johnny and the paint disaster. Mr. Disaster, wouldn’t that be a fitting name for our host?

  Michael squares his shoulders and stands up taller. “Yeah. Paint. That’s—”

  “I know what paint is. To my knowledge, it doesn’t belong on the floor.”

  “It was an accident.” He holds himself rigid.

  “You seem to have a lot of accidents lately.”

  I’m met with silence. Utter silence. It wasn’t a particularly nice thing to say with what happened to his leg, but why should I be making polite conversation if he behaves like a stuck-up twit? The guy brings out the worst in me. I’ll check my bank account tonight and leave first thing in the morning.

  “Don’t touch that, Johnny.” I put the crutch in front of my son. That’s handy.

  “Hundry.” He abandons the paint and hugs my good leg again.

  The paint explanation can wait. It’s time to order food. “Are there good places around to order from?”

  “Are you talking to me?” Michael leans on the kitchen island and raises an eyebrow, just to drop it immediately. Weird.

  “Yup. We still need food. And just for the record, a toddler can’t have protein powder.”

  He rubs his chin. “Uh… I have sushi once a week.”

  “Isn’t there rice in sushi? Never mind. Don’t answer that. No sushi for the toddler. He doesn’t like fish.”

  “What susi?” Johnny pulls at my leg.

  “It’s mostly raw fish, darling. You won’t like that.”

  “Any other options?” I turn back to Michael. He shakes his head.

  “Do you ever order pizza?”

  “I don’t eat carbs.”

  Yeah, he said that already. That fact alone says it all. The guy’s freaking nuts.

  I turn away from him and take two more painful steps to reach the couch where I plop down with the gra
ce of a sea lion and call for Johnny to join me.

  With the help of Google, I have pizza ordered in no time.

  Did I ask him if he wanted some? Nope.

  Why would I? He doesn’t eat carbs, does he?

  Chapter 9

  Michael

  I shove my hair out of my face and climb out of bed with a grunt. Someone’s making an awful lot of noise. What the fuck is going on? The cleaning lady isn’t due again until next week. Though I’ll have to call her in earlier, judging from the crashing sounds. What the…?

  Shit. Ellie. The crutches. I burst out of my room as fast as possible and scuffle down the hallway, just to come to an abrupt halt once I’m around the corner.

  My kitchen looks like a battlefield. A kid-caused battlefield.

  The boy is standing on a chair and half leans over the kitchen island. How the hell did he move this chair around? The thing is twice his size.

  “I hundry.” The boy narrows his eyes the same way as his mom did yesterday and stares at me while his hands remain in the now-empty protein powder container. Most of my favorite flavor—vanilla—is on the floor; the rest is spread all over the kid. Even his brown hair looks yellow.

  “Don’t touch that.” I limp over and pull the container from his hands.

  The inevitable happens. He cries. Triple shit.

  “Don’t ligt you.” He shoves me away with surprising power in his little arms while his bottom lip trembles.

  I don’t like having you here either, but there’s no way around it. Even I know better than to tell a toddler that. “You said you were hungry.”

  “Hundry.” He wipes away the tears with the back of his hand. Amazing how kids can switch from one emotion to another without blinking.