Page 22 of Pucking Strong (Jacksonville Rays #4)

S omehow, I survive the evening. Practically everyone from the team filters through my apartment, including some of the support staff friendly with Teddy.

They all leave gifts for Karolina and food in the fridge.

The food is good, I’ll admit. And I now have enough alcohol to last me through the rest of my NHL career.

When it’s clear Karolina has reached the limit of her endurance, falling asleep on the couch with one hand still in the popcorn bowl, the adults begin cleanup. I keep offering to help, but I’m endlessly rebuffed.

By eight o’clock, my fridge is stocked fit to burst, my kitchen is spotless, my living room is vacuumed, the balloons have disappeared, and every pair of shoes by the door is claimed and removed by its owner.

Teddy puts Karolina to bed while I see the last of the guests to the door with many repeated words of “thanks” and “no really” and “too kind.”

Shutting the door as the last of them leave, I hardly have the energy to turn around and lean against it for support. I think I might be a little drunk. Wives kept putting beers and plates of food in my hand all night. I ate my weight in taco dip and drank so much, my fingertips feel numb.

Teddy appears at the end of the hall. He’s shuffling too, fatigue making his shoulders heavy. He catches my eye and stops. Crossing his arms, he leans against the corner and looks around the now-spotless living room. “Long day.”

“Exceptionally long.”

“But a good one, right?”

I purse my lips, saying nothing.

He sighs. “They just want to be there for you, Hen. For Karolina. They’re all trying, and you have to give them that.

Besides, you want her to have family here, right?

Friends? You saw Emma Langley tonight. She cried when they dragged her away.

Unless I’m mistaken, Karro just made a friend for life. ”

“You know all their names.”

He shrugs. “Well, I mean, not all of them. I met a bunch of the new wives and girlfriends tonight. Like, I’d never met Paulie’s wife before.”

“But you know them now. And you know their kids. You know all their names and ages.”

“Yeah, I guess. There aren’t that many, so it’s not like it’s hard.”

Pushing off the door, I cross over to the couch and sit down. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you?”

“Teach me their names. I want to know.”

“What, now? Like, right now?”

I lean back against the cushions with a groan. “No. I’ve had too many beers to try to remember anyone’s name besides my own tonight.”

He joins me on the couch. “Good. Because I think I forgot them all anyway. Man, jet lag is a bitch, huh? Can you believe we started this day in Sweden?” He glances around the apartment. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

I hum my assent.

“Where’s all your stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

He sits forward, gesturing around at the simple furnishings of the living room. “I mean, if I hadn’t seen your secret loft in Stockholm, I wouldn’t know this apartment belonged to the same person. There’s nothing here, Henrik. No books, no camera stuff, no art. Where’s all your stuff?”

I just shrug. “I don’t live here.”

He laughs.

“What?”

“Hen, that makes no fucking sense. You spend more time living here than you do in Sweden.”

“I work here,” I correct. “My life is in Sweden. It will always be in Sweden.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

I sit forward with another tired groan. “A noise from you is always something. What does the ‘wow’ mean?”

He dares to roll his eyes at me. “Okay, it means, ‘Wow, I had no idea you were a fourth-degree black belt in compartmentalization.’ I suspected it, obviously. But this is off the freaking charts, even for you.”

“What?”

“Henrik, you’ve put literal living in a box. And apparently that box stays in Sweden. So, this place is … what? Where you just power down like a robot? Rest and refuel between games?”

“Pretty much.”

He snorts another laugh. “Let me guess, you’re a Virgo. No wait—” He holds up a hand. “Oh god, don’t tell me you’re a Capricorn.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve said that to him over the last two weeks.

“When’s your birthday, Henrik?”

“January ninth. Why?”

“Yep.” He slaps both his thighs as he slowly bends forward and stands. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“I’m fake married to a Capricorn. It’s my own fault, really. I made this bed of thorns, and now I’m gonna lie in it.”

Virgos and Capricorns? I understand now. In my tired state, it took me a moment to translate it in my head. “You believe in the zodiac?”

“And you don’t, right? Typical Cappy.” With that, he wanders off towards the kitchen.

“What makes you think I resemble a Capricorn?” I call after him.

He turns around, both hands raised. “Look, I don’t think either of us is sober enough to open this particular can of worms tonight, okay?”

I rise to my feet, wobbling only slighting. “Go on, tell me.”

“Fine. Where to start?” He ticks each point off on his fingers. “How about being a super serious workaholic who is inflexible, stubborn, a total pessimist—oh, and totally repressive towards feeling his own emotions?”

I cross my arms, glaring at him. “A damning list of faults, to be sure. Have I any virtues in your eyes, partner ?”

He blinks, swaying a little too. I sense the exact moment he doubles the defenses on his high walls. Damn, how does he do that so fast? “I can’t remember.”

My irritation rises. “You’re lying to me. What did I say about lying?”

He groans, turning away. “Look, it’s late. And I’ve still gotta call an Uber.”

My annoyance pops like a balloon. “Wait—you’re leaving?”

“Well, yeah.”

I follow him, my heart suddenly racing. “Teddy, it’s late. We’ve been traveling all day. Where are you going?”

“My hotel.” He ducks behind the side of the couch, grabbing his blue duffel and backpack off the floor.

Alcohol and fatigue are making my brain feel foggy. “Why would you go to a hotel?”

Teddy turns, searching my face as if I’m now the one with acute memory problems. “Because I live there. Or at least I was living there, remember? Vicki set me up in hotel until my unit at the team apartments was ready. But now I don’t need it because I’m moving here.”

“So then why are you leaving?”

“Because look around.” He waves with his free hand. “Do you see any of my stuff here? It’s all over at the hotel. I gotta go get it and bring it here.”

“I still don’t see why you need to do that tonight. You’re tired, Teddy. We both are. Surely it can wait until morning.”

He shifts his weight, not looking at me.

I step in closer. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m out of clean clothes, remember? We couldn’t do laundry because we were traveling, so I’ve got nothing to wear.

Come on, it’s no big deal,” he adds, stepping around me.

“I’ll only be gone for one night. I’ll do laundry, get my shit, and be back tomorrow.

Besides, you’re a natural with Karro. You don’t need me here to do a wheelchair transfer, right? ”

“No,” I admit. Because he’s right. I don’t need him here. Not so long as my schedule allows me to stay with Karro.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re dying to get me out of your hair, right? Don’t think I didn’t see you climbing the walls all night having strangers in your crib. I’d take it back if I could but … well, it’s too late now,” he finishes under his breath.

I don’t even realize that I’ve followed him to the door. “Teddy …”

“Really, it’s okay. You’re a private person, and that’s totally cool. If I felt more sober, I’d just drive myself over there. But an Uber works too. Why don’t you shoot me a text in the morning, or whenever, and we’ll make a plan from there? I’ll only come back when you’re ready. That cool?”

He goes to open the door. He gets as far as turning the knob and pulling it in an inch. Then I’m right behind him. Reaching over his shoulder, I push the door shut. “Stay.”

He stiffens, hand still on the knob. I practically have him pinned between me and the door. “What are you doing?”

“Stay,” I say again. “You’re tired, and I think you’re a little drunk. I’d feel better if you stayed.”

“I need my stuff. Henrik, I gotta change my clothes.”

“I have everything you need here. Please. What’s mine is yours, you know that.” He should know it. He’s standing here now in my sweater and jeans, a spritz of my cologne at his neck.

He groans, pressing his forehead to the door. “Will you stop being so damn polite? I know you want me out, okay?”

Christ, is that what this is about? I drop my left hand down from the door and place it on his right shoulder. “Look at me, Teddy.”

He lets himself be turned, back pressed against the door.

“What do you want from me, huh?” His green eyes are narrowed, jaw tight.

His stance is almost defiant. I know what he’s doing.

He gave it away with his little speech. This isn’t about needing clean clothes.

He had no problem hunting through my “fly as fuck” closet back in Stockholm.

He’s running from me because I made him think I don’t want him here.

I hold his gaze, my hand still on his shoulder. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Man, whatever.” He tries to turn away. “I’ll just see you in the morning—”

I press in as he turns, pinning him to the door.

He drops his bags, both hands going to the door as he pushes back with his hips. “Henrik— fuck —”

“I want you here.”

He groans. “Come on, man, don’t.”

“Fuck the others. Having them all here was admittedly very difficult for me. Because you’re right—I’m a private person. I don’t like sharing my spaces with anyone.”

“So then let me leave,” he says, his tone almost pleading.

I drop both hands down to his shoulders. “Not until you understand the difference.”

“What difference?”

“You are not anyone to me,” I pant. “Not anymore.”

The fight goes out of him as he presses himself to the door. “Then what am I?”