Chapter 5
ALEX
Rebel, Louisiana, hates me.
Awesome.
“They’ll get over it,” Nora says as she drives toward the hockey arena.
“You think so?” I ask.
I don’t like knowing that the town hates me. I’m actually surprised by how much I don’t like that.
“Of course. Once they get to know you.”
Well, that’s nice. Once they know me as a person, they’ll see I’m a good guy.
“Once the team is doing well and they see how good that is for the town, and once they’re having fun watching you play,” she continues.
Right. Once I’m playing hockey. Doing the hockey thing. People will like me as a hockey player. Of course.
But that’s a few weeks away yet. I’m going to have to put up with being second to Brussels sprouts for a few weeks? Who knows what other vegetables they’ll put ahead of me. Broccoli? Beets?
And right downstairs in the coffee shop I have to walk through to get to and from my apartment.
Wonderful.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nora says as we pull into the circular drive in front of the hockey arena.
It’s nowhere near the size of the Grays’ arena, but it’s clearly new-ish. There’s a lot of glass, big signage, a large parking lot, and an electronic advertising board declaring the arena the home of the Rebel Revelers and Rebel Rascals.
“What’s—” But I see what caught her eye a second later.
There’s a protest going on.
“I swear to God…” Nora mutters. She jams the truck into park and shuts it off.
She’s out of the truck and stomping toward the five people holding posterboards that say, “Go Home Alex Olsen”, “Alex Olsen Can Puck Off”, one with a number fourteen—my number with the Grays—circled in red with a line through it, and one that says “No Justice, No Peace” which I assume is a leftover from another protest, and one that I don’t read fast enough.
They all scramble to hide the signs behind their backs or stuff them behind the bushes along the sidewalk when they see Nora coming up the sidewalk.
“Nora!” One woman with bright white hair, wearing a pale green tee with a variety of flowers on the front, loose green pants, and a wide-brimmed straw hat, hurries forward. Everyone else tries to act nonchalant. “Hi, honey. What are you doing here?”
“Really, Patty? A protest?” Nora asks, planting her hands on her hips.
“What do you mean? We’re out here checking out the murals Andi finished yesterday,” Patty says. “They look fantastic.”
I come to stand next to Nora. Patty looks up at me with a smile.
A purely fake smile.
“I can see the signs!” Nora says, exasperated, gesturing toward the bushes. “George!” she calls. “I can see the signs!”
The man who is fighting to get his sign tucked fully behind the bush stops, sighs, and turns with a sheepish smile. “Hi, Nora.”
“If you’re so upset you’re willing to protest, why are you trying to hide it now?” she asks.
“Well, obviously we didn’t want you to see the signs,” another woman says, walking up to stand next to Patty.
“We just wanted Alex to see them.” She’s in blue jeans, a bright orange shirt that says Dirty Hoe Gardening Club with a sketch of a hoe, and muddy white tennis shoes.
She’s also got a grass-green colored bandana wrapped around her equally white hair.
I’m going to assume these ladies were with Nora at Garden Club earlier.
“Muriel!” Nora says. “This is so rude!”
“Yeah. We’re protesting against him. That’s the point.” She shakes her head. “But you’re way too sweet to protest. Do you ever even write bad reviews or email a company when they send you a broken item in the mail?”
Nora doesn’t say anything.
“Nora, you really need to complain and get a replacement or a refund,” another woman says, joining the group. “You don’t just let it go, do you?”
“I’m sure she does,” Muriel says. “Do you remember when Sandra gave Nora food poisoning with her chicken casserole? Nora never said a word and asked Sandra for the recipe in front of everyone in the coffee shop!”
“That was four years ago!” Nora exclaims. “And she didn’t mean to give me food poisoning. And anyway, we can’t prove it was from the casserole.”
“Three other people were also puking their guts out that same night and they all ate that casserole,” Muriel says. “That’s proof. But you defended her.”
“Because she didn’t mean to do any harm!”
“But when a company sends you something that gets broken, even if they don’t mean for it to happen, they should replace it or refund you, honey,” the other woman says.
“She’s right,” George agrees. “Next time you let us know and we’ll help you write the email.”
“I like calling better,” Patty says.
“But with email, you get the interaction, and whatever they promise, in writing,” George says.
Patty nods. “Good point.”
“Who are we emailing?” the other man with the group asks, now coming forward so he can hear better.
“The company that sent Nora a broken…” Patty looks at Nora. “What was it that got broken?”
Nora throws her hands up. “Nothing! It’s a hypothetical that didn’t actually happen, and we are way off topic. You all are out here protesting against the newest hockey player! We need to welcome Alex to town and make him feel at home!”
“He was rude to Harley!” the woman who isn’t Patty or Muriel says.
“And he was hurt that night and under immense pressure, facing the end of his career!” Nora says. “He didn’t mean to upset Harley!”
Muriel looks up at me. “See what I mean? She’ll give everyone the benefit of the doubt. She’s too nice for her own good.”
This entire conversation has gone way off the rails, but it’s clear that Nora is very well-liked and I have to agree, she seems sweet. Even when she’s exasperated.
I can’t help but smile. “She did save me from a kidnapping earlier.”
Muriel nods. “That’s how we found out we should come out here to protest. The boys called and said they lost you in the airport.”
I assume ‘the boys’ are Leo, Brewser, and Wilson.
Nora sighs. “Everyone, this very nice man, who is moving his whole life clear across the country to help us, is Alex Olsen. Please say hello.”
“Hello, Alex,” Muriel says.
“Hi, nice to meet you.” I suppose that’s what I should say.
“For the record,” George says, moving in next to Muriel and extending his hand, “I’m here because Patty and Muriel needed a ride. I look forward to seeing you play.”
“Noted,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thanks.” I’m just going to assume George’s sign was the “No Justice, No Peace” and that he grabbed it reluctantly at the last second.
“Oh my God,” Nora says, rolling her eyes. “You all need to go home. And take those signs out of the bushes and throw them away.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Patty says.
“Sure, sure,” Muriel agrees. “And we’ll see you at walking club tomorrow morning.”
“Of course.” Nora then proceeds to hug each of them before they grab their signs and head for their cars.
“So…wow,” I say.
“I’m so sorry.” She grimaces.
“I’m going to write a very strongly worded email to the Parks and Rec department about the Protest Club,” I tell her.
That finally gets a smile. “Yes, do that.” She glances in their direction. “I have to admit, they did pretty good on the signs with such little notice.”
“You don’t think they had them made and were just waiting for a chance to use them?” I tease.
Her smile dies though and she groans.
Oh, damn, I didn’t think that was actually a possibility.
“Let’s go see what Astrid wants,” I suggest. Maybe my sister can take Nora’s mind off of the less-than-warm welcome Rebel has given me so far.
“Yes. Let’s.”
Nora leads me into the building and to the elevators that take us up to the top floor where the offices are located.
“Alex!” My sister bolts out of her white leather office chair from behind her white wooden desk and launches herself into my arms as we walk into her office.
“Hey, sis.” I catch her around the waist and hug her tightly.
It’s so nice to have a familiar face here. I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until this moment, and I give her an extra-long squeeze.
Astrid and I don’t look much like siblings.
Her petite gymnast’s frame next to my big hockey-player body has been commented on in the sports media several times.
Our older sister, Linnea, and I also took after our dad with our dark hair and eyes, while Astrid is the spitting image of our blond, blue-eyed mother.
But despite our physical differences, Astrid and I have a lot in common. Besides blood and a family tree, we were both raised to be world-class athletes from a very young age and were sent to the US to fulfill the dreams of not just our family, but our entire country.
We’re both dual citizens of the US and Cara, the tiny island nation at the southernmost end of the Faroe Islands.
Until Astrid and I landed on the world stage, most people couldn’t have found us on a map, and even now, it’s mostly the sporting communities that know that Cara is an independent country with its own ruling royal family.
But we’ve succeeded in bringing recognition to our country, and we’ve made our family proud.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, beaming up at me as I set her back on the floor.
“That makes one person in this town,” I say dryly.
She actually grimaces, and I know that she knows how the town feels about me. Great.
Astrid leans around me. “Hi, Nora.”
“Hi, Astrid.”
Astrid doesn’t even blink at Nora’s overalls or the mud streaks. No one in the coffee shop did either. I wonder how often Nora walks around messy and tousled.
“Come on in.” Astrid takes my hand and tugs me further into her office toward the little sitting area across from her desk. She sinks down onto the couch and kicks her heels off, tucking one foot under her butt.
Nora takes a seat in one of the bright yellow chairs that sit perpendicular to the sofa. Her overalls nearly disappear against the upholstery.
I blink as the full picture hits me.
Astrid’s white pantsuit, silky and no doubt expensive, makes the purple velvet couch even more striking. Because it’s really purple.