Page 18 of Pucking Strong

She nods, turning her attention back to the little stuffed bear.

I zip the backpack shut, hiding the other bears, and drop the bag at my feet. I’ll make sure we leave them with the charge nurse to give to the other kids. Meanwhile, Karlsson says a few more words to her in Swedish. As they talk, he surprises the hell out of me by reaching across the bed and taking my hand.

What the hell is he doing?

Oh god, he’s holding my hand. Henrik Karlsson is holding my hand. I can’t breathe, can’t think.

Never taking his eyes from his niece, he gives my hand a grateful squeeze, and I relax, all tension leaving my shoulders. In this moment, I think I’d be content to sit here and let Karlsson hold my hand for the rest of my life. He talks to his niece in Swedish for a while, and I just watch, listening to the rhythm of the words I can’t understand. But the feelings are there: love, grief, safety.

“Karro has come up with a name for her bear,” he announces in English.

I blink myself out of my stupor and sit forward. “Oh, yeah?”

“She doesn’t want to call him Nalle.”

“Well, what do you want to call him?”

Gazing across the bed at me, Karlsson smiles that smile that only touches his eyes. “She wants to call him Teddy.”

After an epically long day of travel and sitting vigil at the hospital, I’m ready to brush my teeth and fall into bed. Any bed. Hell, I’ll sleep in a dog bed on the floor. I’ll sleeponthe floor. Anywhere I can stretch my body out in a fully horizontal position.

My fatigue aside, it was a good day. Karlsson got to talk to Karolina’s doctors and hear their rehab plan. She’ll be in the hospital for a few more days, at least. She gets her arm casted tomorrow for the broken ulna, but they need the swelling in her leg to go down before they’ll cast that too.

The hospital kicked us out a little after eight o’clock, declaring visiting hours over. Karlsson put up a fight, demanding he get to stay. Ultimately, I made a show of putting Teddy the Bear in charge of security for the room, which Karolina found funny. Teddy the Bear kicked Morbror Henrik out for being a noise nuisance, and I set him up as sentinel at the foot of her bed before I left too.

She’s a tough little kid. Sweet and smart, if super shy. But with Karlsson as her uncle, that only makes sense. She knows her mother is dead. She knew without Karlsson having to say a word. I pray I’m wrong, but I think she might have been conscious when they pulled her from the car. Who knows what she saw that night? She’s desperately sad about it all. They both cried on and off all day, holding each other and whispering soft words in Swedish. I gave them space to grieve as best I could.

Around lunchtime, I found my way down to the hospitalcafeteria. I bought Karlsson and me salmon salads and a couple bags of chips. I also found a coffee cart. Too nervous to try to order my fancy oat milk latte with a double shot of espresso, cold foam, and a drizzle of caramel, I just got us boring coffees. Karlsson usually drinks his black, but fuck that. I added two creams. We ate in silence, Karlsson not leaving his niece’s side.

Now we’re sitting in the back of a taxi, heading to what I hope is a hotel. I’ve just been on autopilot all day, following wherever Karlsson has led. Somewhere in all the chaos, I lost track of my duffel bag. Did it even make it off the plane? Am I going to be wearing this underwear for a week? Shit, my head scarf was in the duffel too.

The taxi pulls over, and Karlsson says a few words to the driver, flashing his phone on the card reader to pay for the ride. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I step around the taxi and up onto the curb. “This doesn’t look like a hotel.”

Karlsson is already headed for the double glass doors. “It’s not,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Well, then where are we?”

“My apartment.”

Of course. Why wouldn’t the multimillionaire professional hockey player own real estate in both the U.S. and Sweden? Here I am, ready to stay at a backpacker’s hostel or a motel with a shared bathroom. But no, Karlsson keeps a pad in downtown Stockholm.

I follow him inside the lobby. It’s sleek and modern, very Swedish. He leads the way over to the elevators, and we ride up together to the fifth floor. The doors open to reveal a narrow hallway. There are only four units. Karlsson leads me to the last door on the left, unit 5B. The door unlocks via an electronic keycard, then he’s swinging it open. “I can’t be sure what state I left it in,” he warns, standing back to let me through first.

“I’m sure it’s great.”

He cuts on the light, and I do a slow half turn. Okay, this might be the coolest apartment I’ve ever seen. It has a massive, slanting glass wall that offers a great view of the city. The main floor is all open concept, with a kitchen, dining table, and living room allleading to a perched loft area. That must be the bedroom up there. There are no walls to close the area in, just sleek metal rails that frame the space. Under the bedroom platform is a room that looks like a mix of office and library, with bookshelves lining the back wall.

I turn to Karlsson with a wide grin. “You’re a maximalist.”

He raises a brow. “A what?”

I look around again. He’s got stuff everywhere, but it’s not messy. It all feels super curated. Stacks of books on every subject rest on more shelves and teeter in piles by the couch. Framed modern art prints are stacked along the wall, too many to hang. So much camera stuff. He has an impressive vinyl collection too. And don’t get me started on the textures. It’s a total mix of metals and woods, soft blankets in muted colors. A wide leather sectional looks plush enough to dive into.

I turn back to face him. “Does the IKEA Council know about you?”

“The what?”

“Karlsson, this apartment is awesome. I thought all Swedes had, like, four straight-backed chairs, exactly one pour-over coffee pot, and a MALM bed frame. This place looks like a thrift shop had sex with a library and made a baby. The vibe is so cool.”

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