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

by Isabella Cassazza

  “I can’t be your experiment.” Her voice is soft now. “Michael, I get that you need to… explore new things. You need to learn how to live again, but I can’t live in the day. I… Johnny needs stability. Do you know how many times he’s asked to visit you? I didn’t call you today because I wanted to, but because my son wanted to see you. You’re not disappointing me with your behavior. You’re disappointing him, and he’s too young to be rejected. His needs come first. You aren’t ready to care for a child. You need to learn to accept yourself again. If you can’t accept the new Michael, you’ll never be able to commit to anybody.”

  “I—”

  She places a finger over my mouth. “You’re a lot stronger than you know. I’m sure you’ll get there, but I don’t have enough time to wait. I can’t subject Johnny to your whims more than I already have. I have to put him first. I need someone I can rely on. Someone who’s ready to care for Johnny… and possibly another baby. I don’t want a boy. I need a man at my side.”

  I shake my head. My blood is racing so fast through my body, my head spins. “I’m not a child, Ellie. And I’ve said it before, nine years isn’t that much of an age gap.”

  She smiles a sad smile. “See, that’s what I mean. You sound like a willful child right now.”

  I drop my head again. She’s right. I just sounded like Johnny during his foot-stomping tantrums. “At least let me take you home.”

  She shakes her head. “As I said, I’m here with my sister. I’ll stay a little longer. Are you here with your car?”

  I nod. “I didn’t have anything to drink.”

  She bites her lip. Please let me take you home, Ellie. I need more time to convince her to give me another chance. “What about your… friend?”

  I press my lips together. Of course she’s seen the blonde. “She isn’t my friend. I only met her tonight. She doesn’t mean anything to me. Peter can take care of her and her friend.”

  Her eyes widen.

  I place one hand on her cheek. God, how I missed her soft skin. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, I’m not that person anymore.”

  “We’re not on the same level. You’d tire of me, sooner rather than later. Look at you.” She motions to my shirt. “And then look at me. It would never work.” My hand falls from her face as she stands on her toes and kisses me. A soft kiss. A quick kiss. A kiss goodbye. “I need to go back to my sister. Take care.” With another sad smile, she turns around. This time I let her go.

  I slump against the table again, ready to cry. My chest feels like someone is performing open-heart surgery but has forgotten to inject the anesthetic. The good news is, I still possess a heart. The bad news is, it’s just been ripped apart.

  I push up until I’m standing upright. No, I’m not letting her go. I already lost my first love. I sway on my feet and fall against the wall. I love her. Fuck my life. I love Ellie.

  Why didn’t I see it earlier? Why didn’t I know? How could I not know?

  I gulp air into my lungs. I can’t lose her… I… I need help. A plan.

  The problem is, Ellie’s right, I need to accept myself and be myself again before I can commit to her. She deserves so much better than me. But if I take too much time to… accept the new me, another one will take what’s mine.

  But I need Ellie to be mine. I… I want her and Johnny. Without them, my life’s fucking empty. I need to convince her I’m serious about… us. The problem is, the old me has no experience in wooing a woman.

  I reach for my phone and open my contacts. My finger hovers over Nessy’s number. Shit. It’s probably too late to call him now.

  I flip through the rest of my contacts, stopping at a name at the very bottom. Screw it. He used to be my captain, and I need advice. Captains are there to guide and to motivate. I sure as hell could use a pep talk right now. While the phone rings, I tap my foot on the floor.

  “Wolfe.”

  “Hi, uh… Tyler?”

  “Yeah. Who is it?”

  “It’s Michael. Michael King.” I tap my foot faster.

  “Uh, hey. How can I help you?” Thank God this guy is too helpful for his own good.

  “I….” Shit, I didn’t think this through. It’s not as if he and I were best friends. But he’s a decent guy and won’t talk shit about me in front of the guys if I ask him to keep my request private. The only question is where to begin.

  “Michael? Are you still there?” Tyler’s voice is louder than before.

  I straighten my back. “Yeah. I’m still here. Listen, I… you have a girlfriend, right?”

  “Uh… yeah. Lily’s sitting right next to me.”

  “Good. Good. That’s good. Uh, this might sound weird, but… what did you do to woo her?” I hold my breath while I wait for his answer.

  “Huh… are you sure you’re all right?” In his defense, he doesn’t know the new me. The family man me. How could he? The protective foil has barely been taken off.

  “Not really.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you high?”

  “Nope.”

  After that, I hear hushed whispers through the phone but can’t make out the words.

  “Michael?” A female voice hits my ears.

  “Lily.” I’ve met Tyler’s girl before. She’s gorgeous and a friend of Ellie’s. Must be since Lily was the first person she called after… after I ran into her ladder. If I can bring her on my side, Ellie might listen to her advice.

  “Hey, uh… so can I ask which woman you want to woo?” Lily asks.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m in love with Ellie.” There, I said it. It wasn’t even that difficult. Actually, it sounds damn good to my own ears.

  Lily gasps. “Where are you right now?”

  “At a bar.”

  “Please don’t tell me it’s the bar where Ellie has drinks with her sister once a month.”

  I tap my foot again. “The very same.”

  “How bad is it?”

  I sigh. “I’m not sure she’ll ever give me a chance again.”

  “I see.” More hushed whispers. I think I hear something like “Help Ellie, not him,” but it could be wishful thinking. “Do you think you could buy chocolate on your way here?” Lily’s voice sounds loud and clear again.

  “Chocolate?”

  “I need chocolate to think.”

  “Uh… sure. What kind of chocolate?” I take a step toward the entrance while I keep talking to her. I should have left the moment I dialed Tyler’s number.

  “We’ll send you a text with the order and our address. See you soon.”

  I hang up, pause mid-motion, and stare at my phone. Chocolate. Maybe I should give it a try. I sure as hell need every brain cell to be on high alert while I try to convince Ellie I’m worth the risk. I have no idea where to begin, so why not start with chocolate?

  Chapter 22

  Ellie

  “Here you go.” A guy, not the postman, puts a big box down in front of me and leaves after I sign for the bulky thing. The parcel isn’t for me. But for my son. Dispatched by no other than Michael King himself.

  Why can’t this guy send things via common carriers? And why can’t he leave us alone? Do I even want to know what’s inside that massive thing?

  I’m tired after a long day of work and the last thing I need is another surprise. Michael’s been showering me with gifts since the night at the bar. First, I received a new ladder with rubber feet for extra stability—a thoughtful gift, I give him that—the next day he sent a massive delivery of Christmas décor I thought too expensive, but ironically is selling unbelievably well. Two days later the flower deliveries began.

  Now ten bouquets of flowers cover my mini-hallway. Ten bouquets and five cards of which I haven’t read a single one. I’m a coward. And Michael has way too much money.

  What the hell is he thinking to send me flowers twice a day now? My apartment looks and smells like a miniature flower shop. And how the hell does he kno
w that I love peonies?

  The same way he knew about what you needed for the shop, a little voice inside my head whispers. I have a whistleblower among my so-called friends or family. Someone who, I’m sure, means well but makes things super difficult for me.

  How am I supposed to forget Michael if I’m constantly reminded of him?

  I don’t want my apartment to look like a flower shop. Not that they aren’t beautiful, but I only have one vase at home. Since that one was full after the second delivery, I’ve turned my two cleaning buckets into vases. They’re way too big and too ugly for that purpose, but I refuse to spend money on stuff I’ll never need again.

  If my customers could see what my apartment looks like, they’d never trust me with their decorating projects again.

  “Wat’s tis?” Johnny strolls around the corner.

  Great. Now I won’t be able to hide whatever is inside the box from him. I probably wouldn’t have anyway since it’s his gift. But still.

  I sigh. “It’s a surprise for you.”

  His eyes widen. “Me?” He points at himself and I nod. “Op’n.” He sits down cross-legged in front of the parcel, waiting for me to open it for him. I chuckle. I love the little guy.

  “Don’t move while I fetch a knife.” I wait until he nods. Then head into the kitchen. I placed the flowers strategically around the apartment, but I’m dealing with an energetic almost three-year-old here. I can already see flowers and water covering the floor when he runs into one of the vases or makeshift vases. What the hell was Michael thinking?

  Johnny still sits cross-legged before the box when I return. I don’t hesitate but cut straight into the package tape. Better get this over with so I can prepare him for bed. Paper covers what’s hidden inside the box. Before I can pull it away, my son has jumped up, already grabbed the brown material, and thrown it across the room.

  “Sates,” Johnny screams and stares at the shiny new pair of hockey skates inside like they are the holy grail. “An’… an’… an’…”

  And there goes my excuse for why I can’t enroll my son in the Ice Tigers mini’s program. “Johnny, breathe.”

  He takes a big gulp of air. Then runs around the box. “An’ tear.” He slides to a stop and pulls on what looks like protective gear next to the skates.

  “Careful, Johnny. Don’t break anything. Let me.” He pulls his little hands away as if burned and waits, stepping from one foot to the other until I retrieve every single piece of hockey equipment from the box.

  “Put on,” he demands.

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how to put on hockey gear, pumpkin.”

  “Put. On.” He stomps his foot twice.

  I sigh. “I’ll try to Google it. Okay?”

  “Tay.” He sits down cross-legged again and trails one finger over the black skates.

  “Please don’t touch the skates, Johnny. They have sharp blades. Here, take this instead.” I hand him what I think is a knee protector. He hums but does as told. The blades are covered with plastic, but he might pull the cover away.

  Fifteen minutes later I put the second skate on his foot. My son looks like a miniature hockey player for real when I help him to stand on the thin blades. I can already see myself taking him to one practice after the other.

  Johnny jumps in place and nearly topples over. He isn’t used to standing on the thin blades yet.

  “Don’t jump on the skates, please.” God forbid he breaks his leg.

  He takes one careful step. Then another while I hold his hand for balance. After the third step, he shakes my hand off. I let him. A mistake. He sways against the box and falls on his knees just to scramble up again.

  “Mommy loot.” A blue jersey with a tiger paw lays next to the fallen over parcel. An Ice Tigers jersey.

  “I can see it.” I hold the shirt up for him and gasp. He can’t be serious. King, 31 screams from the shirt right into my face.

  “Mitel?” Johnny asks.

  Who else would send you hockey equipment and a miniature version of his jersey? “Yes. it’s Michael, last name and number on the back.”

  “Tall Mitel,” Johnny says after I put the jersey over his head.

  “It’s late, Johnny. You need to sleep. If you go to bed now, we’ll call Michael tomorrow, okay?”

  He pouts and brushes his hands over the shirt. He likes this gift a little too much for my taste. “Tay.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles.

  Forty minutes and a discussion about why hockey equipment can’t be worn in bed later, my son is soundly asleep. But even though I’m bone-tired, I’m wide awake. Why can’t Michael leave us alone? I need him to go away. My heart can’t deal with another disappointment.

  Eight hours later, my alarm rings. Not that it was necessary. Instead of sleeping, I tossed and turned while I tried to come up with what to say to Michael. I still haven’t figured out the right words. I only know I need a clean break. And no more presents.

  Just when I put on my jeans after a cold shower thanks to a non-working heater, the doorbell rings.

  Please, not another delivery. But it sure as hell is.

  “Sign here, please. Perfect. The minivan is parked across the street.” A guy no older than twenty hands me a set of keys and runs down the stairs before I can say something.

  A van? A freakin’ van? Where’s the hidden camera?

  I bite my lip. I need to see this… car. Johnny is still sound asleep. I should have five minutes.

  The moment I open the door, I spot the blue minivan with Cozy Cottage’s cloud logo on the side. My hand flies to my chest. I hate Michael King. With all that’s left of my heart.

  The shiny new car looks completely out of place in my neighborhood. I could use the van for deliveries. But I can’t accept such an expensive gift. It’s impossible. And yet I’m tempted to cross the street and take a peek at what the minivan looks like inside. Just one look.

  I cross the street with determined strides and open the door. The car smells brand new and the black leather seats feel silky soft when I trail a hand over them. To complete the picture, a safety seat for Johnny has already been installed in the back. I hate Michael King so much my chest aches.

  Johnny, shit. My watch tells me I’ve been outside for more than fifteen minutes. Please let him still be asleep. Please. I repeat like a mantra inside my head while I run up the stairs.

  But he isn’t.

  “Mommy, loot.” Johnny’s sitting on the floor and… holy… when did he have time to do that? Apparently my little man has decided to try his hand at floristry.

  The floor is covered in water and my son’s covered in water and what remains of the pink peonies from the red cleaning bucket and… that’s enough. I’m going to call Michael and put a stop to this… nonsense. After I clean the apartment and Johnny.

  An hour later, I drop the cleaning rag in the red bucket and wipe the sweat from my forehead. Welcome back to reality, Ellie. Normal people don’t have cleaning ladies and a personal chef at their disposal. And that’s a good thing. How else would they procrastinate and put off calling the hero of their former fantasy life?

  The phone’s laying on the coffee table where I put it. Does it need charging?

  I’m pathetic. Just get it over with, Ellie. Enough is enough. I hit the call button with more force than necessary.

  “Ellie?” The phone doesn’t even ring once because Michael answers right away. Is he sitting on that thing?

  “Stop sending me gifts.” Smooth, Ellie, real smooth.

  “Only if you go on a date with me.” The cocky idiot has the audacity to say. “Give me one chance. Let me prove myself to you. Get to know the new me.”

  The new me? What has he done now? “That’s blackmail.”

  “All is fair in love and war.”

  I roll my eyes. Did he really just say that? “You can’t buy me a car. I don’t want it.”

  “I’m not taking it back… unless you go out with me.”

  I bite my lip
. I can’t believe he’s blackmailing me.

  Michael sighs. “This isn’t easy for me, Ellie. I’m fucking lost. I… a vital part of me is missing and… all I know is I want you in my life. I want to spend time with you. I want—”

  “Okay.” I bite my lip again. Why is he making saying no to him so hard? I need to end this nonsense.

  “Okay?” He sounds breathless, but it could also be the connection.

  “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go on a date. One date.”

  At least the gifts will stop then.

  Chapter 23

  Ellie

  I reapply my lipstick for the second time. Me and makeup, we aren’t exactly best friends.

  Other women don’t know what to wear on a first date. I don’t know what kind of makeup to apply.

  I’ve been in the bathroom for three hours and watched four smoky-eye tutorials with little to no success. After the first one, I looked like a drag queen. After the second one, I looked like a cheap bottle girl. The third one made me look sick, and the fourth one… let’s not even go there.

  After the tutorials, I scrubbed my face clean and reapplied my foundation. Then removed it after it gave me that awful caked-on look. I tried again but didn’t like how it emphasized my wrinkles.

  Now I’m back to the minimal makeup. Mascara and lipstick. If Michael doesn’t like this version of me, his problem. Relationships are not solely built on looks, I repeat my grandma’s favorite phrase over and over again in my head. Not that Michael and I will ever enter a committed relationship. He might think he’s ready, but I know better. He’s too young for me and I’m too old for dating games.

  I turn this way, then that, inspecting my complexion for unwanted smudges. I look like I always do. Plain old Ellie. There won’t be a Cinderella moment tonight. I’m not a princess, And I don’t want to be one. It’s not as if he hasn’t already seen me without makeup, anyway. Why pretend to be someone I’ll never be?

  I check my curls and make sure they’re at least halfway tamed. It’s an okay hair day—not a good one, but I’ve had worse. Again, Michael’s already seen me with after-sex hair. It doesn’t get much worse.