Page 30 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH

RASMUS

T he rink is silent except for the skates cutting through the ice.

The comforting sound mixes with our heavy breathing as we push and battle, neither of us willing to let the other win.

Everyone else has left, but we weren’t ready to call it a day.

It started with lazy shots at the net after a light practice.

Then ?kerman challenged me to a one-on-one like he often did back in college, and like hell I was going to back down.

Using what little strength I have left, I skate past him, my body screaming in protest. I’ll be so sore tomorrow. Exhaustion creeps in, but I don’t care. I spot my opening and go for it?—

And then I don’t. Because fucking ?kerman hip-checks me.

Not braced for impact, I hit the ice, sprawling onto my back. The cold seeps in through my gear and my chest rises and falls with each breath. I move my limbs, checking for injuries. Nothing feels broken, so when I’ve caught my breath, I push myself up slowly.

?kerman doesn’t say anything as he starts another play as if he didn’t send me flying. When he makes contact again, I drop my stick and gloves, and grab a fistful of his jersey, yanking him toward me.

He barely has time to react, other than let go of his stick, before I pounce. My fist is now curled around his collar, pulling him in, my other hand ready to swing.

For a split second, I actually want to hit him. He must sense it, as his eyes narrow and his body tenses, bracing for my next move.

As I look deep into the eyes of a man who used to be my closest friend, my brother in everything but blood, something inside me cracks wide open.

I don’t want to do this.

I don’t want to fight him.

I don’t want to keep carrying this resentment around. I’ve worn the anger toward him as armor, but it’s paper-thin now, tearing under the weight of everything we never said.

My breathing is ragged as I shove him back. Not hard, but enough to create space between us. He stumbles, then exhales sharply and pulls off his helmet.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What are we doing? Aren’t you also tired of this? We’ve been skating in circles, blaming each other for what happened, for years. I’m getting tired, man. So fucking tired.”

A lump rises in my throat. I can feel the pressure behind my eyes. If I blink too long, I might actually cry. And I don’t even care anymore. This ends right here, right now.

“Yeah,” I croak. “I’ve been tired for years, too. ”

And I mean every word. The years of anger and silence, the grudges we’ve never talked about, the stupid pride that’s kept us hostile. It’s all been dragging me down.

?kerman studies me, eyes shining. “We’ve been holding onto shit, acting it still matters. But does it? Does it really matter anymore?”

His words rattle something deep in my chest, something I’ve refused to acknowledge.

No, it doesn’t matter.

I rip off my helmet. My hair is damp with sweat as I drag a hand through it and admit one of my deepest secrets. “I was jealous of you.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

I shrug, the weight on my shoulders already easing. “You had it all. The talent, the grades, the family. Everything I cared about seemed so easy for you.”

“You think growing up in a hockey dynasty meant my life was all sunshine and rainbows?” He lets out a bitter scoff with his words.

“It meant failure wasn’t an option. I didn’t get to have bad game days.

I wasn’t allowed to struggle. You—” He gestures at me.

“You played in a way that proved you had nothing to lose. That fire? I envied it. If I’m being honest, I was jealous of you . ”

I stare at him, stunned. “You were jealous of me ?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “It was easier to be jealous than face my own shit.”

The words hit harder than anything he could’ve said with his fists.

My mouth opens, then closes again. That word—jealous—coming from him feels like a sledgehammer to the ribs.

For years, I thought he was untouchable.

That he couldn’t possibly understand what it was to always feel I was catching up. But he does. Maybe he always did.

“Then the rumor about me sleeping with her started going around the campus. And you believed it. Every. Damn. Word.” He drags a hand down his face, his voice cracking when he speaks again. “That hurt more than anything else.”

“I didn’t want to believe it. But I did. I let it get in my head.” I look away, guilt washing over me. “I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You should’ve.”

“At the time, she was one more thing you had that I didn’t. But I didn’t just lose her. I lost you, too. And I was too damn proud to admit how much that destroyed me.”

My voice breaks on the last two words. I wipe at my face with the back of my hand like it’s sweat, but it’s not.

“I never touched her. I’d never do that to you. You believing that I could be so cruel was the most painful part,” he whispers even if we’re the only people here. “It wrecked me.”

“I know,” I admit. “I think I’ve known for a long time. Just like I know that we both were at fault.”

He steps closer, eyes searching mine. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t know how at first. And by the time I did, it felt too late.” I look up to the practice arena ceiling, trying to stop the tears. “But I missed you. Even when I thought I hated you.”

The unfiltered words hang between us, years of silence cracking wide open with every syllable .

“I missed you too,” he says, voice hoarse. “You were the closest thing I had to a brother. Losing you over something so damn stupid bruised me in ways that not much else has,” he pauses, swallowing hard. “And maybe I couldn’t admit that until now because I wasn’t ready to feel it.”

“I wasn’t ready either. I buried everything so deep I convinced myself I didn’t feel much at all. But I was lying to myself.”

“Fuck, Ras. How did we both miss how the other was hurting?”

I laugh, but it’s a broken sound. “We were idiots.”

“The biggest,” he adds.

For a while, we just stand there. Two sweaty, emotionally bruised idiots, surrounded by ghosts of who we used to be.

Then, without a word, ?kerman steps forward and pulls me into a hug.

It’s awkward with all the gear, but it’s solid.

Real . I freeze at first, but then my arms wrap around him, the years of anger bleeding out with every second we hold on.

It’s the kind of hug that says everything we never managed to say out loud before today.

I'm sorry.

I missed you.

We’re okay.

Jasper finally lets go of me. He sniffs and scrubs a hand over his face, avoiding my eyes like he’s afraid I’ll call him out for getting emotional. But I won’t. I don’t think I could speak right now even if I wanted to.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, I need to shower before I’m late for my Valentine’s Day date with Vivian.” He starts skating off but then pauses. “Happy birthday, Ras. ”

“Thanks,” I mutter, shoving his shoulder playfully as I skate past him to grab my stick. He follows, and as we both slow to a stop near the benches, I glance at him. “See you tomorrow, Jasper.”

I move to skate away, but his hand on my arm stops me.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Jasper in years.”

I shrug, not looking back as I step off the ice. “Took me long enough.”

The weight of the overdue conversation with Jasper still presses on me as I walk toward my place, but the feeling is somewhat different now. Lighter. A little raw but so damn freeing.

I made peace with Jasper today.

Our conversation was years in the making. Too much time was wasted holding onto a grudge that stopped being about the past a long time ago. It became a part of who we both are. But now, for the first time in a long time, that feeling is gone.

I know it’ll take time for us to be good friends again, but I’m hoping today was the first step toward that. Because like I told him, I’ve missed him.

Shutting the door behind me, I breathe in the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. It’s something familiar, something rich and— holy shit .

“Did you get Swedish meatballs?” I call out.

Haisley’s laughter filters in from the kitchen. “You should be a detective, Westerholm. ”

I round the corner and find her at the kitchen counter, unpacking takeout.

I take her in, committing every detail to memory, my chest tightening the way it always does when I look at her too long these days.

Her long golden hair is twisted into a loose bun, a few strands framing her stunning face.

Her ankle is still in the walking boot, and every time I see it, I can’t help wondering how she’s really holding up.

“Happy birthday, Rasmus,” her voice brings me back.

“Thanks,” I murmur and check the bag. “You really went to Scandi Kitchen?”

“You might have mentioned it’s the only place in the City that gets Swedish meatballs right.” She smiles and hands me a deep plate. “I figured you might need some comfort food today. So, I took the liberty of picking up your favorite for tonight’s impromptu TV dinner.”

My fingers tighten on the plate as I look down at it. It’s such a small thing, but it means more than I know how to put into words.

“Thank you,” I barely get out. I’m close to tears because today has been a lot, and this woman made it even better.

We settle on the couch with the plates balanced on the trays.

The screen plays a rerun of a sitcom I’ve seen a thousand times, but neither of us is really paying attention to it.

Haisley tells me about her fashion scouting trip, which is coming next week, and I listen carefully, trying to remember every detail.

“You okay?” She asks softly as I haven’t spoken in a while.

I nod, but it takes a moment before the words follow. “Jasper and I talked. Really talked. ”

Her eyes lift to mine, curiosity and tenderness flickering in them. “And how do you feel about it?”

“It wasn’t pretty. Almost decked him, and then we said the things we should’ve said years ago. I guess we both held onto the past too long. Anger, resentment, all the usual crap. But it’s hopefully over now.”

“Just like that?”

I shrug. “Not just like that. But I think we finally see each other in a way we never did when we were younger. We needed time to grow up, to live a little, before we could get here.”

“That’s a pretty great birthday gift.”

“Yeah. The best one, honestly. I feel lighter.”

She laces her fingers with mine, her voice soft but sure. “You deserve that, Rasmus.”

I hold her gaze, my chest tightening in the best way. “We both do.”

She lets our hands rest there a moment longer before easing back, a little spark in her eyes. “Good thing I’m not finished spoiling you yet.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Should I be worried?”

“Just so you know, my love language is gift-giving.” She gets up, retrieves the gift bags from the pantry where she’d hidden them and returns to the couch. “I picked something for you.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I can’t even remember the last time someone got me a birthday present.”

“That makes me sad,” she says quietly and places a gift in front of me. “Here’s the first one. ”

Opening it, I find a high-quality leather journal with engraved coordinates.

“This is gorgeous.” I trace the numbers and tilt my head. “Where’s this place?”

“That’s the rink where you skated at as a kid.”

“How did you know?” I ask in awe.

“I actually texted your aunt and asked her.”

Her thoughtfulness makes me choke up. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Open the next one.”

I do as she says and open the bigger bag. Inside it, there’s a cozy loungewear set.

“I noticed your old hoodie had some holes, so I got you a new set,” she explains.

“You saved me a trip to the store,” I joke, smoothing a hand over the set.

“Not everyone can enjoy shopping, I guess.” She sighs playfully and hands me another smaller bag. “Okay, now here’s something fun.”

I raise an eyebrow but take the present from her hands. It’s light and whatever’s inside is folded carefully. I reach in and pull out a touristy white T-shirt that reads Daddy’s Little Meatball.

“No fucking way. You actually got me one?”

“Keep going. There’s more,” she gets out between laughs, practically bouncing on her seat .

My fingers brush soft cotton on the bottom of the bag. I take out the piece of clothing and smile to myself realizing the second part of the gift. It’s a matching onesie with the same design, only in mini size.

I just stare at it for a moment, my thoughts running wild. I can’t believe we are actually having a baby. Half her and half me.

“It’s ridiculous,” Haisley says, filling the silence. “But I saw it and I had to get one.”

“No, I love it,” I say, my voice rougher than expected. “It’s just so small. Impossibly tiny.”

“Babies are small.”

“Yeah, but—” I stop, shaking my head as I rest the onesie over my palm. “In a few months, someone’s gonna be in this. Not only someone, but our kid.”

I glance up at her. There’s a softness in her face that steadies something in me.

“I know. I saw it and couldn’t not get it. It felt real, you know?”

I nod slowly, fingers trailing over the slogan. “It is real. This makes it hit different.”

She reaches for the last gift in a slim black box and passes it to me. “Speaking of our little one.”

When I open it, my breath catches. Inside, framed in a simple metallic frame, is an ultrasound of our little Meatball.

I can’t think past another wave of emotions crashing over me. My fingers carefully brush over the glass. This photo is proof of the life we created. It’s the closest I’ll get to holding our baby right now and that makes it so much more special .

I swallow hard, my voice rough when I finally speak. “Sweetness…”

Her hand lands over mine. “I thought you might want to keep a copy on your nightstand,” she says softly, her eyes shining. “Now it’s the first thing you see waking up in the morning.”

My throat feels too tight to get words out, so I don’t say anything.

She leans in and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my cheek. “Happy Birthday and Valentine’s Day, Rasmus.”

“Happy Valentine’s,” I whisper back, holding back my own tears.