The Rebound: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance

by Colleen Charles

  “Hold on, slow down,” Eloise said, but Hannah wouldn’t be stopped.

  “I’ll tell Mom and Dad that you asked me to come, that you need my help. I can say I deferred grad school until next year, so I could work and earn some money and help you.”

  “You can’t just toss grad school,” El said, bracing Hannah by the shoulders. “Education is everything. It’s your whole future. You have to tell Mom and Dad the truth. And I’d have to clear it with Cole first.”

  “I know, I know. But he’ll say yes, he’ll be back on the ice soon. What if baby comes early, and he’s on the road? He’ll be happy to know you have me on hand.” Hannah straightened and swiped at her eyes, her determination returning. And with it a renewed sense of purpose. This was the perfect solution. A win-win. “You need me.”

  Eloise sighed and brushed a strand of golden bangs away from Hannah’s face. “You’re right. I do need you. And more importantly, you need me. How can I say no?”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re shitting me,” Cole said, adding a low whistle to his statement. “You’re gonna try out after all these years? You better pedal faster, old man. You know the median age of the tryouts will be teenagers.”

  Ryder grinned as he amped up the tension on his spin bike. He didn’t mind a little ribbing about his physical condition. He could get in shape, no problem. Fitness was the least of his worries. Though he’d been allowed to use the Riot’s training facility during his employment with the club, for the first time, he felt like he truly belonged there. If it took everything he had, he was going to make it to the NHL.

  Not one fucking thing could stop him now. Including himself.

  “Don’t worry about me, Fiorino,” Ryder said. “If you hear footsteps behind you, it’s me.”

  “Ha. In your dreams,” Cole said as he mounted the stair climber and began to pump away.

  Sweat trickled down Ryder’s neck and into the crease between his shoulder blades as he pedaled with renewed vigor. His hockey dreams had been given new life, and he’d never felt better or stronger. He reveled in the sights and smells of the workout space. The gleaming chrome and black powdered steel of the machines. The mixed aromas of rubber, vinyl and men’s body odor. It didn’t bother him in the least. In fact, he found it comforting, even inspiring.

  Their first on-ice session would be tomorrow, and he could hardly wait. When he finished his workout, he mopped his face and neck and headed for the showers. He caught his reflection in the mirrors as he undressed and gave himself a fierce and unrelenting physical critique. Had he put on weight since hanging up the blades?

  A little, maybe. But hidden beneath the dress shirts and suit jackets of his daily job were sculpted abs, pecs, and deltoids he was proud to call his own. Amber-brown eyes stared back at him from beneath his stylish shock of sandy brown hair. With his good looks, stellar physique, and this gift of a second chance at hockey, nothing would stand in his way again of attaining the life he so desperately wanted and all the trappings that went with it. Including any woman he chose. He smiled in approval. The holier-than-thou Eloise Fiorinos of the world could go fuck themselves.

  ***

  “We’re disappointed of course,” Gerry Robertson said in his stern, fatherly voice. “But proud of you for offering to help your sister.”

  “You’ve re-submitted your application for grad school at Franklin, haven’t you?” Linda Robertson asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Hannah lied. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go to Franklin now, seeing as it meant staying in Columbus. Winona or an online program would be just fine until she got her legs underneath her. But her parents didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Not with the promise of escaping to Rochester in her sights. “There’s no guarantee they’ll accept me next time either. I’ve heard it’s even harder to get in during the middle of the year.”

  “Nonsense, sweetheart,” Linda admonished. “You’re a very smart girl. Perhaps you should take some online courses in the meantime.”

  Did her mother have some kind of freakish sixth sense? If not, she sure as heck had a good radar for the unspoken plans of her three daughters. Hannah glanced at her mom’s eager expression. She appreciated the vote of confidence but didn’t feel smart at all. Not compared to her sisters.

  “I’m not sure I’ll have time,” Hannah said. “Maybe once the baby comes?” She hoped the vague, dangling promise would satisfy her mother’s wishes.

  “Alright,” Linda said, drawing her youngest daughter close to her wide, well-padded frame. “You be good, don’t cause any trouble for Eloise and Cole. Eloise is supposed to take it easy and not have any stress.”

  Had their mother even met her classic, Type A, overachieving daughter lately? Asking Eloise to take it easy would be like a cowboy trying to herd a cat.

  “I won’t.” She traded the embrace for her father’s all-encompassing one. Gerry Robertson was a giant of a man, his large limbs seasoned by a lifetime of work in the trades.

  “I expect you to work hard out there,” he said, his chest rumbling comfortingly against Hannah’s cheek. “I didn’t spend thirty years bolting up pipe to raise a lazy princess. You show El and Cole your A-game.”

  As she hugged him, Hannah still felt that familiar wave of disapproval from her father despite his words of encouragement. She always felt she never measured up to her sisters in his eyes, but consciously dismissed the thought as irrational. Fathers always wanted the best for their daughters, especially the youngest of the brood – arriving so many years after Sophia. A mistake that delayed their retirement and subsequent travel. They knew it. She knew it. Even though they would never articulate it.

  “I will, I’ll be at El’s beck and call,” she affirmed.

  “You’ll have a great example to follow,” Gerry said, his pride in his firstborn never easy to conceal. Now, Eloise would raise even higher on her pedestal as the mother of Gerry’s first grandchild. Hannah would lay down her life savings against any Vegas odds the unborn Fiorino had a penis.

  Hannah sighed as he released her and glanced at Eloise. El answered her with a wink. “Don’t worry about Cinderella here, Dad. I’ll have her earning her invitation to the ball.”

  “I’m going to miss you both so much,” Sophia said, her tone mournful as she interrupted to add her own farewells. She grabbed El’s hand. “You’ll let us know the minute you go into labor, right?”

  “Of course,” El said.

  “And you.” Sophia turned to Hannah. “You take care of Eloise and the baby.” She sniffed and made a pre-emptive swipe to the corner of her eye. “Russ is going to miss you too.”

  Hannah looked heavenward. “Please. The last thing I care about is Russ Pomeroy’s feelings. He’s a big, fat, fu…” She caught herself, and threw Sophia a look of apology. If she laid down an F-bomb in front of her father, it might earn her a look she wouldn’t recover from for days. “No offense to Phil.”

  “None taken, but I’m the shoulder Russ is going to be crying on. Have sympathy for me at least.”

  “You’ve got it,” El said.

  “In spades,” Hannah agreed.

  “You could do worse, you know,” Gerry said as he folded his weathered arms. “Russ is a nice boy with a successful business going. A good provider. And he’d never abuse you.”

  Hannah’s heart constricted as she heard Russ’s words coming from her father’s mouth. Was that the limit of his expectations for her, settle down and marry the wimpy boy next door? At least her mother seemed to have higher hopes.

  “Geez, Dad. Isn’t there supposed to be more to life than being able to go out in public with clothes on your back and without a bruise for eye makeup? You’d think we’ve entered a time machine and gone back to the days of June Cleaver.”

  “Bye, sisters of mine!” Sophia shouted, interfering with her father’s response.

  El and Hannah waved to all of them as they stepped into the waiting town car.

  “Sophia looks happy,” Han
nah said as the car pulled away, heading for the airport. She watched her childhood home shrink in the distance.

  “Ecstatically happy,” El agreed.

  “Kinda like you,” Hannah said, glancing sideways at Eloise. “You have it all. Gorgeous husband, not to mention wealthy. A baby on the way and a thriving business enterprise. Wish I could be as lucky as you and Soph.”

  El patted her sister’s hand. “You will be. Someday. Give it time. I see a happy ending in your future.”

  ***

  Cole met them at the gate after they landed in Rochester. Hannah could only stare at the man. Of course, she’d met him at their wedding but still felt awestruck in the presence of a bona fide NHL star. She managed to avert her eyes as he took her sister in his arms and kissed her with a gentle fervor that Hannah envied, communicating the deep love and connection they had forged between them. Their unborn child cemented their relationship as no other bond ever could. A selfish wave of jealousy washed over her, and she stiffened in order to keep the frown off her face. Eloise was doing her a favor. She had to buck up.

  Cole turned his attention to Hannah, flashing a brilliant smile. “Welcome to Minnesota. I swear you’re even prettier than when I saw you last. You’ll have to fight off all our male patrons with a hockey stick. Lucky for you, I have a few spares.”

  “Cole,” Eloise admonished. “Don’t scare her off the first day, okay? She’s going to think we’re nothing but barbarians in this frozen tundra.”

  Cole laughed and wrapped an arm around El’s shoulders. “Okay, but a gorgeous blonde in our establishment can only be good for business. They’ll be coming back for seconds. And thirds.”

  Hannah blushed but secretly loved the compliments. Her ego could use a little more of it, that was for sure, especially after the stomping it had been taking recently.

  “Hey,” Cole continued, “did you hear that the Riot is holding open tryouts for a new player? They’ll do evaluations up to Thanksgiving, then make their pick. He’ll get some ice time in home games until Christmas break, then the team will offer a one-year contract if they’re interested. Crazy, huh?”

  “By open tryouts, you mean anyone off the street?” El asked. “That is crazy. The league’s never done anything like that before. I can’t believe Sheehan is going for it.”

  Cole held up an index finger. “Going for it. That wily old bastard masterminded the whole damn thing. And as far as being crazy, I’m not so sure. Major league baseball did it once a few years back, so there’s precedent. I’m thinking of hosting a party at Casa Fiorino for whoever the new recruit happens to be. Make it a fundraiser for youth hockey here in Rochester. You know how much I love raising money for underprivileged kids so they can play. What do you think?”

  El drew in a big breath as they began moving toward the baggage carousels. “I think Hannah and I have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  Cole snapped his fingers and winked at Hannah. If he wasn’t her brother-in-law, she’d let her mouth hang open so the drool could escape. With his black hair and blue eyes, Cole gave new meaning to the word dreamy.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said with his trademark grin. “I have a confession to make about Sophia’s cake. I had a bite before I had to catch the red-eye to make my pre-camp drills the next day.”

  Eloise reared back, a look of question lighting her eyes. “What about the cake? Lucinda’s bakery was in charge of it. I thought it was beautiful.”

  “Negative, wife. Dry. Dry as a bone. Dry as the Sahara. Dry as…”

  “I get the point,” Eloise moaned. “You’ve been so spoiled by your mother’s cooking that nothing short of perfection meets with your satisfaction. I’ll admit. It was a little dry.”

  “Now, wouldn’t my fine Italian mama’s Tiramisu be far more palatable? With a side of powdered sugar delight?” Cole asked, his hand sneaking downward to pinch El’s rear end. Eloise flinched and playfully slapped his hand away. “Nothing could match that fantastic doughnut-tower cake, babes.”

  “True,” she acknowledged with a tilt of her head. “Sorry you had to leave to make it to pre-camp. It would seem that your new coach is going to be a hard taskmaster.”

  “Yup. Nothing I can’t handle. If he rides my ass, I’ll write my next soliloquy in his honor.”

  El looked him over, the love and desire she felt for her husband plain to see. “I chose a life with you. I won’t ever be jealous of your career taking first place, you know that. I’ve learned to live with it.”

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “You’re the best wife ever, and you’re about to become the best mom ever. To little Cole, Jr.”

  Hannah felt a little like a third wheel in the unfolding scenario. The loveless, wide-eyed, pain in the ass little sister. Tagging along again, just as she’d done as a child. She cleared her throat to remind them of her presence.

  El’s gaze snapped to Hannah. “Sorry, Hanna-bee. You’ll have to excuse us newlyweds.”

  Hannah flashed a forgiving smile. “I’ll learn to live with it.”

  ***

  The décor of Casa Fiorino exuded Tuscan charm. Cole had told her that other than the complex, industrial grade coffee machines which he refused to part with, the tin-paneled ceiling was the only remnant of the building’s former coffeehouse chic. Hannah admired the white Venetian plaster walls, finished with a fine gold-leaf over brush that evoked old-world allure. In contrast, modern pieces from Italian artists hung on them. Potted dwarf pine trees dotted the room, and instead of the ubiquitous checkered linens typical of Italian restaurants, forest green tablecloths covered the mix of round, square and rectangular shaped tables. Apparently, Mama Fiorino had insisted the restaurant not resemble a mafia den.

  Hannah had never waited tables before. In fact, she’d never worked before, not even part time in high school or college. Between grants, loans, and her parent’s college accounts, all three Robertson girls had been allowed the luxury of focusing exclusively on their studies. With a pang of irony, she realized her father’s cracks about princesses weren’t all that far off the mark when it came to her. With the memorized greeting scrolling in her head, Hannah summoned her courage, stacked four menus in the crook of her arm and marched toward the group seated in her section.

  “Hi, welcome to Casa Fiorino,” she said as she reached the table. “I’m Hannah, and I’ll be your server this evening.”

  The burly patron looked her up and down, clearly appreciating the view. “It’s my lucky day, then,” he said with a leering grin. Hannah suppressed a smirk as she saw his girlfriend kick him under the table, his wince of pain her only satisfaction. In the short time she’d been working at the restaurant, she became very aware of the effect her appearance had on most men. But it never seemed to mean much beyond the surface ogling. She felt like a dessert that men drooled over on the menu, with no real intent of ever ordering, let alone taking a bite. Not that she’d want this overweight brute. The girlfriend had nothing to worry about.

  “Can I start you off with something to drink? Our bar has excellent signature cocktails tonight,” Hannah asked, placing a menu in front of each guest. When they’d ordered, Hannah returned to the serving station where Spencer ‘Spud’ Davies waited behind the bar. “One Sam Adams and three Jack and Cokes. I tried to push the Chamomile Honey and Murphy Whiskey, but it was a no go. They’re pretty vanilla.”

  “You seem to be getting the hang of this,” the portly Spud said with a smile, pulling glasses from a rack behind him. He was such a sweetheart, Hannah almost wished she found him attractive.

  “I hope so,” she answered with a sigh. “My future depends on it.”

  Spud gave her a curious look. “How so?”

  “If I don’t get this right, it’s back to Ohio for me. And a short leash.”

  “You make it sound like jail,” Spud chuckled.

  Hannah joined in the laugh. “Well, a kind of prison anyway. And it’s called Mrs. Robertson. Not Mrs. Robinson. The latter lady had to be a lot more fun th
an my mother.”

  “Can’t be all that bad,” Spud said. “But hey, maybe the man of your dreams will walk into Casa Fiorino someday and take you away from all this.” He winked and gave a slight jerk of his chin toward her table.

  Hannah glanced at the scruffy boyfriend still leering at her ass. She imagined Russ Pomeroy’s head stuck on his stocky body and cringed. No. That would not be her future.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “I never went to grad school,” Spud continued, “and look how I turned out.” He rubbed his ample belly. “You might want to re-think that school plan.” He smiled as he filled her tray with the drink order. “It’s expensive, and half your life will be over before you’re even done.”

  Hannah covered up her grimace with a wry grin. So this is what it came down to. Advice from a bartender. Oh well, they were supposed to be good at that, weren’t they? She graced Spud with her best smile. The same one she wouldn’t be giving to the customer with the lurid stares. “Thanks.”

  With her spirits drooping, she carried the tray to her customer’s table, pasting a pleasant expression on her face that she hoped wouldn’t crack and fall off like dried Kabuki makeup. As she took the group’s meal orders, Spud’s words echoed in her head. Maybe this was a mistake, after all. She’d guilted her own sister into rescuing her, giving her a job. All she’d really done was run away from reality. From the frying pan into the fire. No Prince Charming was likely to rescue her anytime soon. Maybe she should go back to Columbus and face her dragons.

  But she couldn’t leave now. The big holiday fundraiser loomed on the calendar, and so did Eloise’s due date. So far, her pregnancy hadn’t presented any complications, but El’s medical history left room for concern. Hannah sighed. She thought being grown up would mean freedom, but all it really meant was responsibility. With a capital R.

  “Thank you,” she said as she gathered up the menus. Perhaps by some miracle, her dream man could walk through the doors of Casa Fiorino one day. Perhaps R could also stand for Romance. After all, fairy tales were for princesses locked in towers. And she’d be waiting right here in this one.