Boston, Massachusetts
“And here we have the bedroom. Isn’t the view spectacular?” The realtor bats her eyelashes at me.
I nod, not wanting to encourage her. It’s not that she isn’t hot. She’s attractive, but I’m not interested. The upcoming season is all I’m concentrating on from now on—after I’ve found myself an apartment. Having lived in a hotel room for over half a year, I can’t wait to have my own place again. Not that I don’t appreciate room service, but the lack of privacy kills the benefits. I want something of my own, something I don’t have to share, not with a roommate and absolutely not with a woman. Something that is only mine. A place to live in solitary peace.
This is the third apartment she’s shown me today, and my patience is running out. Her attempts at flirting with me have become downright annoying. I gaze outside at the panoramic view of the Boston harbor. She’s right; it’s the most spectacular view of all the apartments I’ve seen today. I want to wake up and watch the ships coming in and out, and the planes as they either take off or are about to land, and observe the waves rolling in. With the season ahead of me, I have no more time to waste, and the spacious two-story apartment appeals to me. Plus, it’s already furnished, so I won’t have to bother with shopping trips either. The furniture might not be what I’d have chosen, but it’ll do. And save me time.
“I’ll take it. When can I sign the contract?” I don’t bother looking at her but leave the room instead.
“We could have dinner tonight.” She runs after me, and the sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floor makes my head ache. Shouldn’t she wear something to protect the floor?
A wave of her perfume hits me when she stops in front of me, and I have to suppress the reflex to gag. Her scent is heavy and sweet and way too much for my taste. I’ll probably have to air out the apartment the next time I’m here.
“I don’t do dinner.”
She opens her mouth and closes it again, her eyes popping out. Am I rude? Definitely. Is she asking for it? One hundred percent. My indifference toward her seems like a red flag to her. What is it about women being ignored that makes them try even harder? Well, lady, not today or any day, not with me.
“We can send the paperwork to your current address via courier. Once you’ve signed and paid the deposit, we hand over the keys.” She smooths out her skirt but doesn’t look at me anymore.
Thank God she’s got the message. “Good.” I give the apartment one final look before I head outside.
I’m about to open my car door when my phone rings. “Walker.”
“Hey, Matt. It’s Tyler, your lineman, in case you forgot over the summer.”
“What’s up?” Why is he calling me?
“Where are you right now?”
Why would he ask? We haven’t seen each other over the summer, and we’re not exactly close to begin with. He invited me to dinner a couple times last season, but I always came up with excuses why I couldn’t make it.
“I’m about to get in my car and head to our training center.”
“Awesome. I’ll be there in twenty, and Smithy is coming too. Nessy called earlier. Apparently, there’s some big news.”
“What kind of news?” I frown and tap on my car’s roof. News can be positive or negative, but lately, the news never turns out positive for me. It always causes changes in my life, and I don’t like change. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime over the past couple months.
“I don’t know any details, just that there’ll be an announcement.”
“I’ll be there.” I hang up and open the car. Climbing in, I pause for a moment before starting the engine. I had hoped for another training session in peace, just me and the equipment. The training staff knows by now to let me train alone and intervene only when my form during an exercise isn’t as it should be. But my tranquil sessions seem to have come to an end.
At least I can say I’ve never been in better shape after an off-season concentrating only on my training. I got up at six every morning and headed to the facility, taking advantage of the Ice Tigers’ state-of-the-art training center with its almost 2,000 square feet of cardiovascular and weightlifting equipment. After my morning session in the weight room, I jumped in one of the whirlpools and let my muscles relax. I ate lunch and would do some mobility work and then do a cardio workout either on the treadmill or on the elliptical machine. It’s the best training environment I’ve ever had access to, and this summer I availed myself of its benefits—better that than think about my messed-up personal life.
The engine springs to life, and the powerful sound of the Range Rover surrounds me as I pull out of the parking lot, just to end up straight in the terrible bumper-to-bumper traffic Boston is famous for. It’s already ten o’clock, but traffic is strong. I still haven’t figured out why there’s sometimes more and sometimes less traffic at the same time on different days. It’s unpredictable. Even the locals don’t know how to deal with it. And I may have found the one downside to my new apartment—its location. I probably should have looked for something closer to the rink and training facility.
But thirty-five minutes later, I’m pleasantly surprised. A little over half an hour in traffic isn’t bad at all. I’m barely through the door when Tyler waves me over.
“Walker, you made it. Come on, Hayden is about to make the announcement.”
I follow him into the meeting room, where most of my teammates have already taken their seats. Some nod in my direction; others keep talking to the person next to them. It’s not a surprise. I’m not everyone’s darling on this team. With some, I haven’t exchanged more than ten words tops.
We barely have time to sit before Rob Hayden enters the room and everyone stops talking. Rob clears his throat and swallows twice. “Guys, thank you for coming here on such short notice.” He clears his throat again and turns to our captain. “Nessy, thank you for informing everyone. I appreciate how well communication works among you guys.”
“No prob, Rob. But we all want to know what the big news is.”
Rob pulls out one of those old-fashioned handkerchiefs and wipes some sweat off his forehead.
Jesus, what the hell is going on here?
“Yes, yes. Of course. Well, there’s no easy way to break the news: The Ice Tigers’ franchise has been sold.”
Murmurs erupt among the players.
“To who, and when did this happen?” Michael King asks from the back, where our defensive players sit.
“Will there be a team for the season?” Peter Ringdahl asks, his voice coming from the back as well.
“Quiet, guys. I’m sure Rob will explain everything.” Nessy stands up. “Sorry, Rob, but I’m sure you’ll understand that we’re shocked. Mr. Williams never said anything about wanting to sell the team.” He sits down again.
Rob wipes off more sweat, this time from his upper lip. “Yes. Yes, I do. Mr. Williams informed me this morning about the deal. I had no prior knowledge that negotiations were going on before today. As it is, I only know the Williams family has sold the franchise to an Italian company, the Ravelli Group, and the new owner’s granddaughter will arrive tomorrow in Boston. She’ll meet me here after her arrival, and I assume she’ll inform me about the future of this team. I called this meeting, because the Ravelli Group will issue a press release later today, and I didn’t want you to find out from the news.”
“We appreciate the gesture.” Nessy turns to us, and everyone nods before he continues, “But what about Mr. Williams? Is he still here? Will he talk to us?”
Rob clears his throat. “Mr. Williams has already cleared his office, and as far as I know, he will not make any kind of statement. I’m afraid we all have to wait until tomorrow to find out more. I can read you the press release from the Ravelli Group that will be published later today, but it doesn’t say very much.” He looks at Nessy, who nods in approval. Poor Rob, he isn’t exactly a confident guy, but his temperament fit our previous owner well. Rob always did what Mr. Williams
wanted him to do. I doubt the new owners will want a GM without an opinion of his own.
“Um… uh… before I read it, I just wanted to say… I loved being this team’s GM. It was an honor to work with you. I know last season didn’t go as planned, but I’m proud of you guys. I don’t know if I’ll be this team's GM come tomorrow, so I just want to say thank you and wish you all the best in case my services are no longer needed.” He wipes his forehead again and clears his throat, looking down on the crumpled piece of paper in his hands. “Anyway, here’s the press release.” He clears his throat twice more, and I bounce my knee, earning a stern look from Smithy next to me, but he turns back to the front as Rob reads what’s on the paper.
“The Ravelli Group is proud to announce we have acquired full ownership of the Boston Ice Tigers. We look forward to developing the existing team and continuing its successful journey. With over a hundred years’ experience in the world of luxury fashion, we are now looking to expand to the U.S. market and introduce our new luxury activewear brand RAVELLIS in North America.”
Rob crumbles the paper at the edges, as if holding on to it for dear life. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll let you know as soon as I know more. Have a great day, everyone.” He flees the meeting room, leaving us to contemplate what we’ve just been told.
“A luxury activewear brand? What the hell is that supposed to be? Will there be gold woven in the clothes?” Nessy turns around in his seat, facing us, and rubs his chin.
“Captain, you wouldn’t be able to recognize fashion even if someone laid it out for you. Haven’t you heard of Ravelli suits? They're famous for their cashmere and custom-made suits.” Michael is not only overly cocky but also sees himself as a fashion expert.
“So, they will make the activewear out of cashmere? You aren’t supposed to wash that stuff in the machine, right? How’s that going to work with activewear?” Nessy frowns.
“No shit, man. Are you responsible for the laundry at home?” Michael laughs. If he weren’t such a good defensive man, I’d punch him in the face. This guy is so full of himself and doesn’t even realize it.
“Whatever material they use for their clothes, I just hope the team won’t suffer if their brand doesn’t do as well as expected.” Tyler’s being his diplomatic self. I wouldn’t be surprised if he becomes one of the alternate captains this year. He has a calm demeanor and would be great at talking to officials about rule interpretations during games.
Michael opens his mouth again, but Nessy is faster. “Let’s hope that. Well, boys, I guess we’ll know more tomorrow. Take care, everyone. My wife is waiting for me.” He stands up and leaves the room, waving goodbye.
“Wioletta will be pissed.” Smithy rubs his chin.
“Why is that?” Tyler’s eyebrow shoots up.
“We invited the Williams family to the wedding. Who knows if they’ll attend now or whether we need to invite this Ravelli granddaughter? Wioletta is already nervous enough; she doesn’t need any additional problems.”
“I’ll tell Lily. She can assist Wioletta. Don’t you worry; next Saturday, you’ll be a married man. A change in ownership will not impact your wedding.” Tyler pats Smithy on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it. This wedding business is exhausting. I’ll be happy once it’s done.” He rubs his temple.
“Don’t let Wioletta hear that.” Tyler chuckles.
Shit, I ignored the invitation to my linemate’s upcoming wedding until now, but I still haven’t found a valid reason not to attend. Why get married so close to the beginning of the season anyway? Couldn’t they have tied the knot when I was away in Italy?
“Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me if you're bringing a plus-one.” Smithy turns to me.
Dammit, what to do now?
“Uh… no. No plus-one.” Great, now I’ve lost my chance to back out of the wedding. Maybe I can say I’m sick?
“No problem, and don’t worry, you won’t sit at the singles table. I insisted the hockey team sit together. You’ll share a table with this fellow here and his beautiful Lily.”
“It’s not that….” Hell yeah, it’s precisely that, but I don’t want to talk about it. My teammates in Boston don’t know the ugly truth, and I’d like to keep it that way. “I just got myself a new apartment; I might not need it now.” Unlike my linemates, I don’t have a no-movement clause in my contract, just a limited no-trade clause, allowing me to name eight teams I don’t want to be traded to. But let’s face it—there are more than eight teams I don’t want to play for in the league right now. Fuck, we have something good here. I don’t want to leave the Ice Tigers. This might be one of my last chances at the Cup. I’m not getting any younger.
“Congrats. Don’t you worry. I’m pretty sure the Ravelli Group will want us to continue to work and be successful. After all, they’ll want to sell their clothes here.” Tyler stands up, and Smithy and I follow his example. We’re the only ones left in the meeting room.
Great. Knowing my teammates, they’ll occupy the workout area now, the one that had become my sanctuary over the summer. Just fucking great.
Tyler’s eyebrow rises higher, as if he’s expecting an answer, so I nod, but I’m not convinced.
“Listen, I gotta go. Need to get my training in.” But not in the crowded training area. So, a run outside it is today.
Two hours later, after pushing myself to my limits, I’m sitting on a park bench overlooking the calm water. The Charles River Esplanade has become my favorite place in Boston when I want to think. After my run, I walked around for some time to cool down and clear my head.
I’m not overly worried about the new owner anymore. I’m in Boston to play hockey, and whether the owners sell clothes or sausages, it doesn’t make a difference to me. I’m okay with their idea to sell some new clothing line, as long as they fund the team. They could make the clothes of gold; I couldn’t care less. I only want to play hockey and be left alone.
As for marketing, it can’t be as terrible as the “Romkey” thing the team had going on last year. The marketing department expected players to take part in a social media dating show, dating crazy hockey fans. Because of some legal shit, they canceled the whole thing before the first dates. But who knows what crazy ideas Italians have about marketing?
I like Italy. Who doesn’t? The food is tasty, the weather is beautiful, and the people I met there were super friendly. Even though the circumstances leading to my last trip to Italy were less than ideal, I enjoyed the vacation, making the best of a terrible situation. But I’ve never had to deal with an Italian owner before. Vacations and business are not the same.
I lean back and inhale twice, expanding my lungs to their full capacity, while I listen to the calming sound of the water flowing down the river. No point getting agitated about something I can’t change anyway.
Chapter 3
Emilia
Rome, Italy
I sink down on my chair. It’s my last day in this office—or my last hours. I’m just here until Alessandra brings me the documents regarding the Ice Tigers. I’m not going to sit around and do nothing, but I won’t be spending my time with the latest sales reports. Why bother? They’re not my concern anymore. Out of fear someone will track my internet search, I use my phone instead of my laptop to read as much pregnancy advice as possible. Thank God there are so many blogs these days, since I haven’t had time to shop for pregnancy books.
I browse through nutrition advice, wondering how I’ll survive without caffeine for the next eight months, but even worse, pregnant women are advised to avoid prosciutto and mozzarella. Pregnancy is not for the fainthearted, but the baby is the one thing I won’t mess up. I’ll do anything to protect my child. Time flies by with me reading blog post after blog post, taking mental notes.
Fascinated by how the baby will develop from week to week, I jump up when a whoosh of the air hits me and a thud sounds.
“Here are the folders with all the informati
on regarding the hockey team,” Alessandra says.
“Thank you,” I say without looking up. She’ll think me a lazy bitch, having caught me browsing my phone, but I don’t care anymore. Her opinion of me wasn’t high in the first place. I wait for the clicking sound of her heels on the marble floor to fade away before I risk a glance at the big pile of paper on my desk.
Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes, as if that will reduce the tower. Great. Just great. How the hell am I supposed to work through that stack in around ten hours of flight time? This whole operation already calls for disaster. I don’t know a thing about the sport. Where am I supposed to start? How do I not make a complete idiot of myself? Everyone will know in seconds I do not understand sports management and hockey.
But I have little choice. Alessandra has scheduled my first meeting with Rob Hayden later today, made possible by the time difference between Europe and North America. I should sleep during the flight, but the folders in front of me won’t read themselves. I’ll have to learn to swim in cold water, battling nausea caused not only by the pregnancy but also by so many unknown factors.
My phone chimes with a text from Paolo. It’s time to go to the airport. I put the folders in my carry-on, grab my coat, and leave the office, feeling stares on my back as I make my way past the frameless glass partitions where employees sit like animals in cages. I refuse to meet their eyes and I hold my head high. Every single person in this building expects me to fail. My grandfather’s public abasement took care of that, but I won’t let them see how much his actions hurt me. Ever.
Paolo opens the door for me, and I get in the car, only looking up again when we’re a corner away from the Ravelli headquarters. I can’t say I’m sorry I won’t see the massive glass building for a while. There are too many bad memories attached to the ugly thing. But when we enter the city for the last time and we pass the Castel Sant’Angelo, a single tear slips down my cheek. Its terrace and the little café up there are one of my favorite spots in Rome. The panoramic view of the city and the monumental Basilica of St. Peter from the terrace is to die for close to sunset, and most of the time it’s not as crowded as other spots in my beautiful eternal city. I never thought I’d have to leave Rome, especially not under the current circumstances.
Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2) Page 2