Only one love, p.2
Only One Love, page 2
"Nah." Martin shakes his head. He’s been the coach for the past three years, and I have nothing bad to say about him. He pushes me and never ever throws my shit in my face after the fact. He has plenty to say after I fuck up, and usually, it’s never good. At times, I’m a horse's ass and a jack-off, but after he rants, it’s done. Unlike the last coach who used to throw shit in my face all year long.
"We just wanted to have a little chat," Nico says, and I sit down in the empty chair in front of them. "Maybe go over the season a bit." He looks over at Martin. "What you expect from us and what we expect from you." Nico puts his hands together on the table, folding them. He took over the team not too long ago. His father gave it to him, but truth be told, it was a horrible, horrible team. I’ve been a Dallas player my whole career. I was drafted to them sixteenth overall in the first round, and three years ago, I signed a contract extension for six years worth thirty-one million dollars.
I get ready for our talk. "Okay, let's do it," I agree, taking a gulp of my protein shake.
"I’m going to start by saying you are a key player on our team," Nico says. "The guys love having you as one of them." I tilt my head to the side. "A little less when you fuck up, but nonetheless, you've shown them you have their back time and time again."
"That’s a good way of putting it." I laugh at both of them. Before Nico took over for the team and actually wanted us to succeed, we were at the bottom of the standing every fucking year. It was brutal. It started one game with frustration. We were losing our tenth straight game, and I just fucking swung at the first person I saw. It didn’t help that it was after the whistle, but it put some juice in the boys. We are a team. Did it always help? Fuck, no. At least for that game. We still ended the season at the bottom of the list. But when I would see my teammates just defeated, I would drop the gloves.
So, as long as it was helping them, I became known as the asshole on the ice. "I’m sure they thought otherwise when I got a two-game suspension last year." Five years ago, I got my first ever game suspension. It was in the preseason for a late hit on the play. I felt horrible after it happened, but that’s when the media really started putting me in the bad-boy category. It didn’t matter that I had four points in the game. It mattered that I fucked up and made an illegal hit. No one knows I reached out to the guy and apologized or that we are very close friends. They just see what was on paper.
"Well, we are hoping that history doesn’t repeat itself," Martin says. "The team needs you on the ice, not sitting on your ass watching."
"I agree," Nico confirms. "Watching you sit out fourteen games five years ago was not fun."
"That was bullshit, and you know it," I point out. "The media is the one who pushed for that one. The league had to come out and call me a repeat offender." I pfft and shake my head. "It was such bullshit that after the third appeal, they put me back on the ice." Just the thought makes my stomach burn again. Was I innocent? No. But that hit didn't merit a twenty-game suspension. Thankfully it got overturned after fourteen games and I was allowed back.
"We can go on and on about this." Nico holds up his hand. "But let’s cut to the chase." I look at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "This is a new year, and we want your word you will be on your best behavior." I chuckle. “I’m not kidding, Brad." Nico uses my first name. "I want to show all those people out there that you are more than just a bad boy on the ice. I want them to eat their words."
I nod now. "Fine," I huff. "I can give you my word that I will do my best." I shrug. "I can’t do more than that." Nico leans back in the chair and just looks at me. "Fine, I’ll really try this time."
"Good," Martin says. "We need the support on the ice." I nod. "Lots of young kids this year. We need someone to help mentor them."
I laugh. "Trust me, the last thing they need is to learn from me." I look down and wonder how much longer the team will keep me if I fuck up again. "Listen, in my defense, I never wanted to be that boy on the ice."
"It’s that pretty-boy face of yours," Nico jokes. "Those blue eyes and scruff drive the women wild." I groan and roll my eyes. "It looks like we are on the same page." He claps his hands together. "And let's show the press why we extended your contract, yeah?" Nico stands. "Now get the fuck out of here and get ready for the game next week."
"Will do, boss." I salute him and walk out of the meeting, my shoulders heavy from that talk. Walking into the dressing room, I see some of the rookies hanging around talking. "Later," I say to them, grabbing my keys and heading out.
Sitting in my Land Rover, I make my way over to my house. My mind replays the conversation. By the time I get home, I have so much pent-up energy I walk straight to my home gym. I bought this house as soon as I turned twenty-one. It was a crazy purchase, and I knew it was too big for me, but I just wanted something that was mine.
Climbing on the bike, I turn on the television to the sports network. They are doing a replay of baseball. I watch the replays while I go as fast as my legs can, peeling the T-shirt off me and tossing it in the laundry basket in the corner. I put my hands forward as I start to run out of steam when the phone rings. Picking it up, I see it’s my mother, and I groan. "Hello," I answer it while I stop pedaling. I get up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge in the corner.
"Hello, son," she says, and I can tell she wants something.
"What’s up, Mom?" I take another pull of water, my stomach almost throwing it up when I hear her next sentence.
"Why does something have to be up?" she shrieks. "Can’t a mother just call her son?" I close my eyes, knowing this phone call has nothing to do with her caring how I am doing. My mother had me when she was twenty-two. I was the result of her sleeping with her boss at the law firm where she was working. An affair with a married man who did not want his name or family tarnished. So what did he do? He paid my mother off. Every month, he would send her a check to cover her rent and everything that had to do with me. It was the only reason I went to a private school and she could afford to put me in the top hockey league. I was good at the game, but those lessons put me where I am today because of all the money he kept sending to her. Of course, that stopped when I turned eighteen—not because of my age but because he had a heart attack at work.
"I’ve been fixing up around the condo," she explains. I bought her a condo when I signed my first contract. You would think after eighteen years, she would have put money aside, but that would be too obvious. "And the air conditioner unit gave out." And there it is.
"How much?" I ask, knowing I’ll fix it for her.
"They said I should put in a new unit, but you know I don’t have the money for that."
"Of course you don’t," I mumble.
"Don’t you pull that shit on me, Bradley." I roll my eyes now. "You were the one left with a trust fund, not the one who raised you," she hisses. "That sorry son-of-a-bitch excuse of a man could have at least taken care of me since I gave him his only son." And there it is—the bitterness that lives inside her.
"Send me the number, and I’ll call the guy," I say, rushing to get off the phone with her.
"Thank you. How are you doing?"
I shake my head, walking out of the room toward my bedroom. "I’m fine, Mom."
"Are you in any more trouble?" she asks as I turn on the shower.
"Not yet. But the season just started."
"Well, try to stay out of trouble," she scolds. "With all the extra money you might have from not paying back to the league, you can send your mother a check."
"Sorry, Mom, someone is at the door." I use any excuse to get off the phone with her. "Send me the information, and I’ll get it settled right away."
"Thank you. And if you need anything, let me know." I almost laugh out loud at that last line.
I hang up the phone, shaking my head. "Best behavior," I remind myself. I look at myself in the mirror. "You can do it." If only I believed those words myself.
Chapter 3
Frances
Ava sticks her head into my office. "If you don’t need anything else?" She smiles. "I’m going to head out."
Looking up at the clock in the corner of the computer, I see it’s just after six. "I’m so sorry for keeping you later than five. How about if you work later than five, you can take off the hours on a Friday?” I smile at her as her eyes light up.
“I think working for you is going to be really good.” She grins. “Also nice email.”
I roll my lips, thinking back to the email I sent to everyone, including the owner. It wasn’t a bad email, just a recap of what was discussed in the meeting and the other idea brought forward. I’m not going to do this he said/she said bullshit with any of them. It’ll all be documented from the beginning. "I just informed everyone on what I was going to do on my end."
Ava chuckles. "You sure did." Turning, she walks to her desk to grab her purse. I open the email again to reread it, and if I could, I would give me a high five.
Picking up my phone, I pull up the number and press the blue phone button. It rings twice, and then he picks up. "Well, well, well," he says, and a smile just fills my face. "Why are you calling me and not FaceTiming me?"
"Well, first, I didn’t know if you would pick up." I hear the ringing of the phone and look down to see that he is trying to FaceTime me. I click connect and watch the little wheel go around in a circle while it connects. His face fills the screen, and my heart clenches in my chest when I realize how much I miss home. "Hi, Uncle Max."
"There she is," he says with a smile on his face. "Miss Producer."
I roll my eyes. "Or just Franny."
"How're you doing?" he asks, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat. I will never admit to anyone that I’m out of my comfort zone or I regret this decision.
"Amazing," I lie. "Had my first board meeting today."
He whistles. "I see you're kicking ass and taking names already." And I can see that he’s at home in Long Island. Last year, when my cousin, Michael, moved to Dallas, it didn’t take him long to follow. It also helped that Michael had his first child, and the thought of not living by their grandchild was just too much for both him and my aunt Allison.
"I don’t know about that." I try to keep my voice calm and not let him see how I really feel. "But my segment got approved."
"Is that a good thing?" He’s not sure if he should be happy or not.
I smile now. "It’s a great thing."
"What are you not telling me?" His eyes narrow to slits. "Do I have to come over there?"
I laugh nervously. "Not yet, but …"
He shrieks, "Aha!" He points at me. "I knew there was more to this phone call."
I gasp. "Hey, can’t I just call to say I love you?"
He shakes his head, laughing. "You can, but you didn’t."
I hold up both my hands now. "Okay, fine, I didn’t," I admit. "I’m calling to ask if you would like to be part of my show."
"For you, anything." He agrees before I even tell him what it’s about.
"Well, why don’t I give you my whole pitch, and then you can tell me if you're in or not?" I say, my heart speeding up. I rub my hands on my pants as I look into the phone. "It’s going to be a weekly segment on the bad boys of hockey." The minute I say the words, he groans.
"Why, why, why do I always get lumped into the bad boys of hockey?" he moans and throws his head back, his hands going to his face to rub it.
"It’s because you're sexy," my aunt Allison says. "And you were a bad boy once upon a time." She comes into view, smiling at me and kissing my uncle on the cheek. "Hi, honey."
"Hi, Auntie." Seeing her just makes me even more homesick. "Did you hear about my show?"
"I did," she confirms excitedly. "When do you need him by?"
"Why?" my uncle cuts in now. "I’ve paid my dues." We both laugh now. "I won a Stanley Cup. I’ve created the Max Horton Children’s Foundation." He shakes his head. "Like I’m a good guy."
"No," I say, not smiling now. "You’re the best guy."
He rolls his eyes now. "Okay, that was a lie." He points at me. "And you did it with a straight face."
"I can tell no lies." I hold up my hand in a Scout’s honor gesture. "I would be honored to have you as my guest. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m also going to be hitting up Uncle Viktor."
"Fine," he huffs. "You better have your father on that freaking list."
I smile sadly. "It’s kind of hard to do when he’s not talking to me." My heart hurts in my chest, and the lump rises to my throat. I shrug my shoulders and try not to let the tears come as I blink away the stinging in my eyes. It’s safe to say he did not support my decision to take the job in Dallas. Which has been really hard because, in all my life, he’s always supported me. "It’s fine," I say, shaking my head and wiping away the tears trying to escape from my right eye with my thumb.
"Oh, honey," Allison says softly. "He’s going to talk to you."
"Yeah, well." I’m angry now. "Maybe I don’t want to talk to him," I say, folding my arms over my chest, and it comes to me that I sound like a kid throwing a tantrum.
"He’s just mad that you didn't tell him about the job until you signed the papers." Max tries to plead his case.
"And why do you think I did that?" I retort, angry that it’s getting to me. Angry that it still bothers me.
"I’m sure you have your reasons," Max says softly, and if we were in front of each other, he would no doubt lean over and hug me.
"Ugh," I groan. "I didn’t do that to upset him or whatever is spinning in that big fat head of his." My voice goes loud, and I look up to make sure no one can hear me. Looking out, I see that no one is in the office. Not one person. "I did it because I didn’t want him going all, well, him," I say, using my hands now. "If I would have told him about it, he would have went over my head." I look at the phone. "He would have been all like a caveman or I don’t know, the Godfather. Put a horse in the bed or something like that."
"Oh my God." Max laughs. "You really know your dad."
"I just …" I take a deep breath to calm myself. "I wanted to get this job because I merited this job, not because my last name was Grant and my grandfather owned the media company. Or that my father called a friend."
Max throws his head back and laughs. "One, your father doesn’t have friends."
I roll my eyes. "He knows someone everywhere," I huff. "I just for once wanted to get a job because I deserved it. I didn’t want anyone to think I got it because of who I know or what my last name is."
"Honey," Max says. "You got that job because you do deserve it. Your father, regardless of how he is handling this, loves you with everything he has." I don’t say, yeah right. Instead, I just listen to him. "The only thing he wants is for you to be okay."
"Well, how is he going to know I’m okay when he doesn’t speak to me?" I shake my head. "It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It’s whatever." I shrug.
"We are coming down for the home opener on Saturday, and we are having a family lunch on Sunday," Max says, and my heart sinks.
"No one told me anything." My voice goes low. "Maybe I’m not invited." I swallow the hurt.
"Of course you're invited," Allison replies, and I can see her eyes fill with tears. "There isn’t any way that you wouldn’t be invited." She looks at Max. "I’m going to …" Her teeth clench together as she threatens I don’t even know what.
Max holds up his hand at Allison to get her to stop mumbling and then turns back to me. "Saturday, you will come to the game. He can’t ignore you if you're right in front of him."
"We’ll see." I don’t commit, but I know in my heart I’m going to go if my whole family will be there.
"There is no we’ll see," he says. "If you want me on your show, you’ll be at the game and at lunch."
"That’s blackmail," I point out to him, laughing. "And that is how you got the bad-boy title."
He groans when Allison laughs. "Okay, see you Saturday. Keep your chin up, yeah?" I nod my head. "Love you."
"Love you, too." I disconnect the phone for just a second before I dial my sister.
She picks up after two rings, and I can see she’s at the brownstone in the city. "Are you coming to the game on Saturday?" I ask, and she just looks at me.
"What game? Where?" she asks, and the hurt goes away just a bit.
"The home opener in Dallas," I fill her in. "And the family lunch on Sunday."
"Only our family plans an event in Dallas for a home opener to a team that is not in our city." She laughs. "Are we going to Montreal for Dylan’s home opener?"
"Well, Dad is coming, and I need some sort of backup," I tell her. "So pack your bags."
"I had the whole weekend planned out already," she groans. "And nowhere on that itinerary was it fly to Dallas."
"What happened to being spontaneous?" She glares at me.
"That word gives me hives." She scratches her arms and moves up to her neck. "Like literally hives."
"You can stay with me." She rolls her eyes. "I’ll even get the creamer for your coffee you like."
She throws her head back and rolls it from side to side. "Ugh, fine." She stares at me. "But you owe me, and when you and Dad make up, I don’t want to hear from either of you for a full month."
I laugh. "Like you can go two days without calling me."
"Goodbye," she says, hanging up, and I get up to leave. I turn the computer off, grabbing my phone that suddenly feels like it’s a million pounds in my hand.
"Just text him," I tell myself. "Just do it and get it over with."
I pull up his name and see that the last time he texted me was the day before I gave him the news I was moving. My finger moves over the last text that he wrote, Love you.
My fingers type before I can change my mind. I press send and watch as the message goes blue and says delivered.
Me: Are we on speaking terms yet?
Chapter 4
Wilson
