Ice Cold Hearts: A Single Mom, Hockey, Reverse Harem Romance (Forbidden Fantasies)

30. Ian

There’s nothing better than skating off the ice amid an outpouring of curses from the home team’s fans interspersed with cheers from the handful of Cold Hearts fans who followed us to this game. The fact that we’re five states away from our home city and we still have fans here to cheer us on makes the win that much sweeter. I skate slower than normal to savor the high of the moment. The only thing keeping this from being a perfect night is that Emily and Audrey aren’t here in person to see it.

“Corbitt!” the assistant coach yells as soon as I enter the locker room.

I tramp over warily.

What could he possibly have to say to me? I didn’t even start any fights this game.

“Sir?” I ask.

“Your phone has been buzzing like a swarm of angry bees from the minute the final buzzer rang. They were getting ready to smash your phone to bits before I rescued it,” Will says gruffly. “There it goes again. Take the damn thing.”

I catch the phone he tosses and anxiously peer at the screen.

Gen. Corbitt Calling.

Holy shit. He hardly ever calls me.

I point at the hallway toward the coach’s office. “It’s so loud. Do you mind if I?—”

He nods and waves me off.

I answer the video call in the relative quiet of the office.

“Baby!” my mom squeals.

“Son.” Dad grunts.

“Mom, Dad—I mean, Sir,” I correct, “I’m happy to see you, but isn’t it the middle of the night where you are?”

“It’s ten hundred hours in Japan, Ian. That’s practically the middle of the day, but I guess for you, what did they call them in the paper, Anna?” he asks.

Mom shrugs.

“Playboy celebrities. That’s what it was. For you playboy celebrities out all night, sleeping until fifteen hundred, I guess that would be the middle of the night.” He says it disapprovingly, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me he’s teasing.

I laugh. “I haven’t been out that late in a while. I’m getting up early enough these days that even you might find me respectable, Sir.”

He actually cracks a smile. “Hmmm… so this new woman of yours is getting you to shape up, then.”

I shrug. “I guess so.”

“Oh, I knew it,” Mom gushes. “It’s true love. When are you getting married? Let us know well ahead of time so your father can take leave.”

“Anna, quit smothering the boy,” he grumbles. “Things are going well with that woman and her daughter?”

I’m surprised he even bothered to ask.

A smile haunts the corners of my mouth. “Things are going well. Emily and her daughter are doing great. They’re definitely keeping us on our toes.”

His brows knit together. “So, you”re all still seeing her?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer warily.

The silence is deafening on their end of the call.

“Well, I don’t get it, but I can’t say I haven’t wanted to pawn your mother off on someone else for a bit so I could get a few hours of peace,” he grumbles after a while.

“Jackson!” My mother swats playfully at him. “That’s not even what we called for, Baby Boy. We’re finally in a time zone where we can catch your games more regularly, and we were calling to congratulate you on your goal today! I’m so proud of you.”

It’s a forced peppy day. Great. Just great.

I shrug noncommittally. “It was a team effort.”

“Your team played a fine game today, Son,” Dad says flatly.

That’s about the highest praise I’ll ever get from him.

“Just fine?” Mom interjects. “You were amazing! The other wives at the officers’ club almost didn’t believe me when I said that my baby was playing on national TV at brunch, and?—”

A rap on the door draws my attention. It’s Alexei.

“Hold on, please, Mom. I have to mute you for a second,” I say, hoping it doesn’t set her off.

At my nod, Alexei steps into the office.

“Management wants to have dinner with us,” he says.

“Us?” I ask.

“You, me, Oliver.”

“Are you sure you have that correct? They usually only want the team captain and coach for the last away game dinner.”

His tone is grim. “They were very clear, just the three of us and management.”

“Gee, I wonder what that’s going to be about,” I say sarcastically.

“A true mystery for the ages,” he deadpans.

“When do they want us? For that matter, where do they want us?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Cliff’s suite, and five minutes ago.”

I’m grateful to have an excuse to get off the phone with my mother in the state she’s in and avoid the inevitable hours of semi-manic information overload. It’s even nice to have someone else to blame so she’s less likely to guilt trip me. Unfortunately, the people to blame are team management, which means I’ll have to deal with them and their ceaseless meddling tonight as well.

Things had been going so well tonight, too.

I sigh and unmute the call. “Sorry, I have to go. The team management wants to have dinner with a few of us, and they don’t like being kept waiting.”

“Of course, Son. Face time with the higher ups after a win like tonight is a good thing. I’m sure they’re considering moving you up the ranks.” Dad nods approvingly.

Moving up to what? It’s not like there are too many places to go after getting to be a first line player.

Shut up, Ian, I scold myself. He’s trying.

“But I had so much to tell you. Can’t you skip it?” Mom whines.

“Now, Anna—” Dad starts.

“They’re working my baby to the bone.” She sniffs dramatically. “But far be it from me to stand in the way of your career. Goodbye, Baby Boy.”

Then she ends the call before Dad and I can even say goodbye to each other.

“Sounds like she’s doing better,” Alexei comments. “That wasn’t nearly as bad as the last time I heard you end a call with her.”

“They’re trying a new medication for her, but it also helps that there’s someone else for her to blame other than me.” I shrug. “But thanks for saying so.”

“If you care, I care,” he says. “Anything else you want to say about it before we go deal with the head of the toenails?”

The effort he’s making to show me I’m not alone eases some of the tension I had during the call and makes me grateful for the friends I’ve found in him and Oliver. No matter how unstable or aloof my family might be, I know that those men at least are a stable and (mostly) emotionally healthy constant in my life.

So I’m able to honestly say, “I’m good,” about them and mean it wholeheartedly.

When we exit the locker room, Oliver is waiting there for us.

“Why aren’t you on the bus?” I ask.

“The toenails sent the bus on without us. Apparently, there’s a car waiting for us outside the stadium.” He scoffs. “What do they think we’re going to do, hide from them or something?”

I laugh because it’s kind of true. We’ve been avoiding any branch of the management and PR teams even more aggressively than usual. I’m only slightly ashamed to admit that I’ve actually run from them when they’ve tried to pry information about Emily from me.

Oliver wasn’t kidding. There’s a limo waiting for us right in front of the team exit, and to avoid any possible confusion, the driver is standing in front of the car holding a sign with our names on it.

I guess they’ve had enough of us avoiding them.

“Well, at least it’s a nice car instead of a police van,” Oliver jokes. “I was half expecting to see a squad of the toenails out here with tranquilizer guns.”

Alexei shakes his head disapprovingly at him, but he’s smiling, nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t count that out until we see the inside of the car,” he says.

“Was that a joke? Who are you?” Oliver teases.

Alexei just rolls his eyes and slides into the car.

We try to make conversation on the ride back to the hotel, but every attempt sputters out after a few moments. Even though we planned out what we’d say to management when something like this came up, all three of us are on edge.

Dinner isn’t much better. We’re up in the penthouse suite of one of the best hotels in this city, but we don’t even get to enjoy the view because Cliff has closed all the curtains in the dining area. He’s more poised than the lackey they sent to corner Alexei a while ago, but his posture makes it clear that he’s nervous. I haven’t worked with Cliff enough personally to know whether that’s going to be a benefit for us or not yet.

Aside from placing our orders with room service, there’s not much conversation. It’s clear that Cliff is hoping we’ll speak first, but if I’ve learned anything from my father, it’s that the first one to speak in a negotiation immediately loses the upper hand. It’s only when our plates are nearly cleared that Cliff gives up and starts to speak.

“Now,” he says crisply, “we’ve tried to reach out to you men a few times through different departments about your relationship with this Ellen girl, and we haven’t had much success finding a mutually beneficial time to sit and have a chat.”

“Emily,” Alexei corrects tersely.

As pissed off as I am, I can’t help but be amused by his ability for wording things. On the one hand, calling flat out avoidance and running away a lack of a “mutually beneficial time” is a hilarious understatement, but on the other hand, anyone who can twist and polish up a situation like that doesn’t seem like someone terribly trustworthy.

Cliff stares at us for an awkward moment like he’s waiting for us to start spilling our guts. When we don’t, he continues on.

“So, with all the increasing media interest in yet another of your unusual relationships, we’ve decided it’s important for us to get some clarification on the matter.” Cliff clears his throat. “These rumors about you and this girl are starting to derail the team’s PR and marketing strategies, among other things. So, is this a fling? Is this more of a commitment thing like with the other one… what was her name? Callie?”

“Colleen,” I growl, ready to jump up and send this man flying into a wall.

“Yes,” he nods. “Cassie, that’s exactly what I said. So, is the thing with this girl the same as that, or is it more like a quick flash in the pan like Rochelle?”

“Rachel.” Oliver scowls.

“Yes, yes,” he says waving his hands dismissively. “Renee. So, which one is it with this Erin girl? Serious or fling? The pictures they’ve managed to get makes it seem more like a fling, especially the ones from the hospital parking garage. So, is it?”

I swear I can hear the vein in Alexei’s neck pulsing from across the table. I’m not doing much better, and neither is Oliver. We’ve both got our fists clenched so tightly our knuckles are paper-white.

“And what’s the deal with the kid’s father? Can you give us some clarity on that? It would be nice to have a plan on how to spin that story before the press gets it from somewhere else,” He continues obliviously.

There’s no penalty box here. If you start a fight here, you’re going to get benched at best.

The image of Emily holding up her fingers for Audrey to blow out the candles pops into my mind unprompted. If I lost my temper, I know she’d understand and help me through it, but I promised her I’d try to be better at dealing with shit like this. I take a long, slow inhale, and as I exhale, I force myself to unclench my fists one finger at a time. It’s not exactly the candle technique I saw her do with Audrey, but it still has the same effect. I am now the master of my anger instead of the other way around.

“First of all, she’s not some girl. She’s a grown woman and should be referred to as such. Anything else is disgustingly infantilizing. And maybe you need to be having a conversation with your marketing and social media teams about the quality of their work instead of us. If the campaigns are as derailed as you say they are by petty gossip and people trying to put their noses where they don’t belong, then you need a new creative team. Oh, and here’s one last thing to think about. If you’re planning to take us to task over something that is none of your business, the least you can do is make sure your lackeys get her name right. It’s Emily, by the way. E-M-I-L-Y.” I spell it as slowly and condescendingly as possible. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to be rested for our last meet and greets with the fans before our flight home tomorrow.”