Chapter 12
ALEX
We place our orders for entrees, Nora going with Enzo’s recommendation of the ravioli, and then we’re alone with our cheese.
She dives right in with enthusiasm I love. She also moans and gasps about the different flavors and combinations, and I’m shifting on my chair within minutes.
“So what about your parents?” she asks after she’s tried every type of cheese once.
“What do you mean?”
“I know I won’t meet them—wait, unless they’ll come to one of your games with the Revelers?” she asks. “But what will they think about us dating?”
“Oh.” Well, hell. How do I tell her that I didn’t intend to tell my family much about my time in Louisiana without hurting her feelings? I think I have to just tell her. “I wasn’t really intending to talk to my parents much about my time in Rebel.”
She pauses with a piece of cheese to her mouth. “Oh.”
In all of the articles about me, and Astrid for that matter, our family has been painted as being very close. And it’s true that our parents have been supportive, both verbally and financially, of us pursuing our sporting dreams. But my sisters and I are the tight family unit, less so our parents.
“They don’t come to many of my games. They watch them on TV. Sometimes. The king of our country—well, our past king, who just stepped down from the throne—had a major satellite system put in so that everyone could follow Astrid and me when we came to the States.”
“It must’ve been a big deal for your little country,” Nora says. She wipes her hands on her napkin. “I’ve read up on your country. It is really small, right? So you and Astrid are big stars.”
I nod. “We are.”
I study her for a moment. She is extremely close to her family, the entire town she’s from, but not her mother and father.
Maybe she’ll understand what I’m about to tell her.
I never talk about this stuff with girlfriends, but there’s something about Nora that is so warm and accepting that I find myself wanting to tell her.
“My sister Linnea, the oldest one, was supposed to marry the prince. The one who’s king now.”
Nora’s eyes widen slightly with interest and surprise. It’s definitely an unusual story.
“But Torin married Abigail.”
I nod. “Right. He fell in love, and he and Linnea agreed that he should marry Abi instead.”
“Abigail is my cousin,” Nora says. “She’s like a second cousin or something. But yeah, I know all about her and the prince, now king.”
Damn. That’s right. Abigail’s last name was Landry. She was from Autre.
What a small fucking world.
“But Torin almost married your sister?” Nora shakes her head. “That’s wild.”
“Our grandfathers set up the arranged marriage a long time ago.” I roll my eyes. “Actually, if I go way back to the beginning, Linnea was supposed to marry Declan since he’s the oldest of the O’Grady grandsons.”
Nora blinks. “Declan. Your sister Astrid’s husband?”
“Yep. Linnea and Declan were promised to each other when they were toddlers.”
“Whoa. That still happens?”
“I don’t think so. Not anywhere but Cara. And this was a long time ago.” I start smiling. I haven’t told this story in a long time. Nora is also grinning. I have to remember that she is from a town with people who are also a little…unique.
“Anyway, long story—okay, several long stories—Linnea ended up falling in love with one of the prince’s bodyguards.”
“Go on. Please,” Nora tells me, plucking another piece of cheese off the plate.
I relax and lean in as well. See? She’s so easy to talk to.
Accepting of even the craziest things I could say.
“Okay, so my sister Linnea was betrothed since before she can even remember. She grew up thinking she was going to be queen and that she had no choice in the matter. Because her entire life was mapped out for her, and she was weighed down by expectations from our family, the royal family, and really the entire country, she wanted Astrid and me to have more options. Every option possible. She realized that us leaving Cara and making our own money and having our own names would open up opportunities and would give us a lot of power.”
Nora is chewing her cheese, her eyes glued on my face.
“So she became our agent. She found training facilities for both of us, pushed us, gave us all the emotional support and financial backing we could need. I mean, our families were fine with all of it, too. Linnea was—is—a great saleswoman, explaining to our families and the king how we could bring fame and honor to the country.” I pause.
“And money. Our parents were very interested in that.”
Nora reaches without looking for a piece of fruit. “But that comes with a lot of pressure for you too.”
I shrug. “It didn’t feel like that. Hockey was easy for me.
And I was basically told from a very young age that that’s all I had to do.
Just focus on hockey. Everything else would work out then.
” I take a breath. “But for Astrid, it was different. Some of the “opportunities” that were offered to her were more sleazy.”
Nora frowns. “Of course.”
“And then she got hurt.” I swallow. “And that changed things. She wasn’t going to be a gold medal Olympian. The doors that would have opened with that medal were suddenly shut. Without warning. And with no plan B.”
“But she made a plan B,” Nora says. “She documented her rehab. She became huge on social media. She wrote a couple of books. She does public speaking.”
I nod. “She’s incredible. She’s probably more famous and has more opportunities now, honestly. She was able to widen her sphere of influence outside of gymnastics.”
Nora’s expression softens. “Is this why you feel like you don’t know how to do anything else? Because your focus has always been hockey? Because your family told you that’s all that mattered?”
“Because I don’t know how to do anything else. Hockey has literally been the only thing in my life.”
Enzo arrives with our entrées, and we spend a few minutes adding Parmesan cheese and cracked black pepper, as well as adjusting an amazing-smelling bread basket in the middle of the table, declining further wine, but having our ice waters topped off.
I watch as Nora leans over her plate and inhales deeply of the aromas coming from the pumpkin ravioli and the savory sauce. She pulls the napkin away from the bread. “Oh my God,” she mutters softly, obviously enthralled by the look and smell of the bread as well.
She takes a piece, butters it, then looks up at me. “Keep going.”
I chuckle and choose bread for myself, but I do continue telling my story.
“Astrid and my success bolstered my parents' name, and I guess power in the country. They were not only the parents of the future queen, but now they were the parents of two huge sports stars who were making our country famous.” I pause. “It’s really always been about status with my parents. They don’t really care about hockey or gymnastics.
When Astrid got hurt, they were worried for her health, of course, but they were so relieved when she made something out of that.
They didn’t care she wasn’t doing gymnastics anymore.
They just cared she was still a well-known name and could monetize that. ”
“Oh, Alex,” Nora says, frowning.
It is what it is. “They won’t care what kind of hockey I’m playing here.
They won’t care if I’m singing and dancing.
What they’ll care about is that I’m not getting paid the way I did in Portland and that I can’t get endorsement deals from it, and that I won’t get interviewed or my face on the front of magazines. ”
Nora has taken a bite of her ravioli and now takes a moment to chew, as she watches me. I try to take a bite and chew as well, but I don’t really taste my penne alla arrabbiata despite the spicy sausage that’s been added.
After she swallows, she says, “You had a setback in your professional career, the thing that they think is so important, the thing they’ve been proud of, and now, instead of returning to the Grays, or moving into coaching or something, you’re stuck in a tiny town in Louisiana, playing bonkers hockey.
So you don’t want to go into detail about it.
You want to wait to really get into what you’re doing next until you get back to Portland. ”
Well… “Yes.”
Nora nods and takes another bite of her ravioli; she chews and swallows. “I get it. I mean, if all they cared about was your big pro hockey career, this would seem like a step back.”
Yes, it would. And it did to me. But now, sitting across the table from this woman, only two days in, hearing her say it that way, just accepting the situation and my parents with their flawed, superficial approach to what Astrid and I do, makes me feel defensive of bonkers hockey.
“It’s nothing for any of us to be embarrassed about,” I say with a slight frown.
“I agree. I mean it’s not going to win you any trophies…” She pauses. “I mean, I guess we could come up with a trophy and some way of winning it. We should put out a poll—”
I chuckle. “Focus, Nora.”
She grins at me, and I feel the tension that had grabbed my shoulders, neck, and the back of my head ease.
“Anyway, it’s not going to get you on the major TV networks or interviews in Hockey Hunks, but you are going to make a whole bunch of people happy, and make money for my town, and save my grandfather’s political career. So, it’s not without any goals and good outcomes.”
I’m not going to tell her that my parents won’t give a crap about her grandfather’s political career.
I suspect she knows that. And my parents would absolutely sit in the stands completely confused and very judgmental about everything from the mascot to that mascot throwing beads and toys to the children to the fact that there is a very good possibility that at some point I’m going to have to put on a foam Joker’s hat and dance to a Lady Gaga song.
The jury is still out on whether I’m going to be able to handle the lip syncing, too.