Chapter 1

Oliver

Last night I was shouting into an answering machine. My house hasn’t been cleaned. I was pissed. I like a routine. Perhaps it’s why I’m a great football player, we have formations and plays I’ve run for years. It’s about precision, and there are statics.

I wake up to my phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“We don’t normally clean holiday week, Mr. Rowe.”

I get a secretary? I’m the best tight end on the team. This isn’t good enough.

“Where is Lucinda? She takes my calls,” I bark as I plant my feet on the floor and stand. It seems wrong to talk to a woman I don’t know when I’m naked.

I walk to my massive closet, pull joggers out, and tug it on while I wait.

“I’ll see what I can do. She’s sick with the flu. It’s going around.”

“I’ll even pay twice the usual fee since it’s the holidays.” Money talks, especially to a small business or a maid who needs extra money for credit card bills used to float the holidays.

“Can you find someone?” I groan. “I’ll be away for a few days and want the place smelling of lavender ASAP.”

“It’s a huge holiday, Mr. Rowe.”

“Well, it needs to get done. Today.” I’m being an asshole to the woman who probably makes minimum wage and is probably a stay-at-home mom working from home. There has to be someone who will work this week. The world can’t shut down because of Santa Fucking Clause. Bah Humbug.

“I’ll do my best,” the secretary says, “I’ll inform Lucinda.”

I hang up without a cursory thank you, or happy holiday.

I’m fortunate someone bothered to return my phone call. I like Lucinda, the owner of the Maids R Us. It’s her company, and I find her to be a professional and dependable owner. I want my expectations met and her staff accomplishes this week after week. It’s a shame she’s sick. She doesn’t know I appreciate her service because I’m not one to give out compliments. My expectations are unrealistic. I know this about myself, and it’s the reason why I appreciate people when they meet or exceed my expectations.

I glance around my palatial home in Springhill Estates. Many of my teammates live here. I have one of the largest homes in the neighborhood. I invested in Robotics years ago. I happen to own many shares of the only research and development company making robots and robotic dogs for law enforcement and military personnel. I thought robotics was a practical solution to life’s larger problems in society, and it paid off. Various levels of government have tried our products and helped to fine-tune them. Now, there are saleable products. Their word is that government contracts will come to fruition next year. The company’s stock shot to the point that I’m a billionaire. It’s scary how a small decision that only requires a yes or no answer can stack up millions of dollars.

I was a prick with Lucinda’s staff. I like things the way I want them, with or without holidays. It’s like going to my favorite drive-thru for breakfast and finding out that I missed the timeframe by one minute. I’ve waited for fifteen minutes to be disappointed, and I’m stuck with lunch selections when my heart was set on the cinnamon French toast.  

I look at my phone and check social media. The object of my desire posted tons of pictures over the past month. Who wants to get married on New Year’s Day?

Me, it should have been my wedding. My parents loved her, and Mom was looking forward to the fact that I was making a long-term commitment. The thought of grandchildren kept her going earlier this year when she underwent a hip replacement. Her goal was to walk for our wedding.

She made it, and then her hopes and dreams were dashed. She’s fallen into a depression. The holiday dinner with Mom and Dad and my brother, Michael, was a nightmare. Mom is living in the past. Maybe I led her on with the promise I’d win my fiancée back, and everything would go back to normal.  

Mom refuses medications as they tend to make one gain weight. I’m not one to reach for a pill no matter how much pain I’m in. I can’t fault Mom when I’d be opposed to it myself. I’d say it’s all my fault, but in reality, it’s the fact that a new teammate came to the team earlier this year.

When Nathan met my fiancée, sparks flew between them. Soon, our social events turned into a shouting match over the fact she made eyes at him. I accused her of flirting with him. Was it real or my imagination?

We broke up shortly after that, and now they’re getting married.

If he hadn’t come to our team, my life would not be complicated, and Mom wouldn’t be depressed. I need to find a girlfriend. Maybe I can fake an engagement Mom will pop out of her depression. My parents did so much for me when I was playing football, I owe them. I owe Mom. She never gave up on me becoming who I am today. She believed in the dream, and so did I. If Mom believed it would come true, it usually did. I owe her more than I can repay her. Money isn’t what she needs. She has plenty of it as she and Dad come from old money.

However, a wife and the possibility of grandchildren before she’s too old to play with them would be a sacrifice I’d be willing to make. It’s not that I don’t want a wife, it’s the fact I’m single and stuck in the past. A fake fiancée makes perfect sense.

I wonder if there is a business for it, if not, it might be a good idea. God knows we are surrounded by women with fake boobs and a hefty pre-marital settlement when everything goes to shit. Of course I’d want a pre-nup. Hell, even Kevin Costner had that, and his wife is still trying to fuck him. His first marriage ended up with him giving way half of everything, and was left without a place to come home to when the dust settled.

No, this is ingenious. A fake fiancée. This will perk Mom up without pills.

I reminisce about the Christmas that I spent with my family—Michael, who plays on another team, and of course, Mom and Dad. Mom’s cooking is the best. She has a secret spice she rubs into the prime rib with butter, making it the best I’ve ever had. I can afford the best restaurants, and my personal chef would have a heart attack if he saw what I shoved in my mouth this week. I had to have some homemade pie, and there were enough sweets to (give the tooth fairy a cavity) make the tooth fairy drool.

The only person missing was my other half, the woman who said yes to marrying me.

I remember what it was like to be with her like it was yesterday. The way she’d smile at me and squeal in delight at a gift box she knew contained jewelry. I loved spending long weekends at Kennebunkport and hanging out at my parent’s house over the holidays. I love the top-of-the-line hotel amenities: the spa, the fine dining, and exotic locations. I could get away from social media and football talk for a few days.

Now, the holidays are ruined. I didn’t bother with a tree this year. I’m not home much as I stay busy with the gym, swimming in the enclosed pool in the neighborhood, or hanging out with the guys. It’s healthier than lamenting Christmas week. It was a downer, even though it was with my family, Melanie wasn’t there. I want someone to come home to. I got used to it, and I miss it.

I dodge the country club, I don’t want to see fans, who are my neighbors, see me like this and ask questions. That’s a perk of the weekend getaways we had together. It was so ingenious, especially if no one noticed me. However, even at that, I’d run into someone, and we’d watch teams on the big-screen TVs.

I used to attend parties at teammates’ homes, and we would toss around investment ideas. At times we might loosely discuss the current woman in our lives. Some of the guys have wives and kids. I thought I would have that soon, but I’m back to square one. I’ve been set up on dates after the breakup, but I never discovered a woman I found to be noteworthy. I thought it was too soon to date. Now, I’m not sure there is anyone for me.

I glance around the kitchen, grabbing the keys to my large SUV, phone, and wallet before I walk out the kitchen door. I grab my coat in the mud room and continue to walk through a wing that leads to the three-car garage.

I open the garage door and let the truck run as the heat blasts. I rub my hands together as I sit in the driver’s seat. This isn’t the way I envisioned the New Year. I back out of my long driveway and make the drive to the arena for practice.  

I park, and it’s quiet out here. It’s unnerving. The only sound I hear is the crunching of the snow under my shoes. It’s the type of day where I’d probably stay inside as it’s endless gray skies, and I’d rather be home lounging around because it looks like snow is imminent.

I usually run into teammates before I make it inside the building. But that’s not today. I assume the team is jazzed and here earlier than normal. We had a few days over Christmas to recover for the season’s last weeks. We have one game before the playoffs, but it’s meaningless. We’re locked into the playoffs.

I was born and raised in New England, but Maine is another type of cold. I walk into the locker room for practice and glance at my phone. I check out the social media of the hot woman I’m secretly obsessing over. She is a model with amber-colored hair with streaks of blonde. No doubt she’s returned from her bachelor party in the Alps. She’s posted about the saunas and the chateau’s warm fire. Funny, she never liked to ski.

I can’t believe I’m still obsessing over her.

I need to be obsessing about finding a replacement for her.

I walk into the lively locker room. The players are in various states of undress. I scan the room, looking for my nemesis.

Nathan Cole. He’s standing with his cleat on the bench with his arm folded over it, which makes him picture-worthy. I knew the guys went out last week for his bachelor party. I wasn’t invited to that, so I’m surprised I’ve been invited to the wedding.

The wedding that should have been mine. It’s not enough that he took my fiancée. Nope, I wasn’t let off easy. By some twist of fate, I’m stuck with him and her.

He fucked up my life. I pretend I don’t hate him. I keep to myself. I’m no longer the most jovial person on the team’s offense line. The day he walked onto our field as a defenseman was terrible for me but good for the team locking up the season as the top team in the Eastern Conference.

Nathan is a large man. And we used to be good friends. I’m not sure a woman should come between two friends, but I can’t hang with him after I was dumped. If we win a Super Bowl, and I get to wear that ring, I suppose I’ll have to forgive him then. But not today.

I walk past Travis, who recently got married. It was sudden and with no fanfare. Why can’t Nathan do that?

“Hey, Oliver, how’s it going?” Travis asks. I pause as he’s talking to me.

“Great. Who can’t be excited we made the playoffs, right?” I can’t help but smile at the milestone of our achievement. We’re a young team, and it’s noteworthy that we’ve come this far. We’ve made a name for the team and won’t be taken lightly next year.

“You got that right.” He slaps my shoulder as I pause. “Get open for me, man. I’m in my zone,” he quips again. He’s a likable man with the kind of charisma that can rally the team with his energy. This is important when we need momentum at the end of a long game.

The games that are in the scorching Florida sun, or the ones that are so cold I’m afraid my nuts will freeze off. Then we have the games where we knew in the first quarter that we were going to have our asses handed us, but we have to play like we can still win. Those are the toughest for me. I hate losing. What athlete doesn’t?

Maybe that’s why the breakup earlier this year makes me so miserable. I’ve been groomed that football and life are about winning. Dad loves a winner. I have no clue about enjoying the moments along the way that are subtle because there’s no way to quantify them. I have to be on the go, and doing something productive because winners don’t sit or give up. I’m envious of Travis, he has his professional and personal life figured out. I have no clue how to do that.

“The new year is coming, let’s make it ours,” he exclaims as we high-five each other, and various members of the team chime in with it.

“Let’s go,” Nathan yells. Nathan looks like he just tumbled out of bed, and he wears the look well. He has a perfect beard, and his hair is a tad longer than I would like for myself. But hey, who am I to judge?

He has every right to be happy because he’s marrying my girl in a few days.

Some days, it sucks to be me.