Page 191 of Pucking Strong

Before I can respond, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I check the caller ID and see my dad’s name. I look to Teddy, holding up the phone. “I have to take this.”

His eyes go wide. “Is it Poppy? Elin?”

“My dad.” Turning away from the kitchen, I walk down the hall and accept the call. “Hej, Dad.”

“Oh, Henrik, what have you done?”

Closing the door to the bedroom, I sit down on the edge of the bed and try for a tone of levity. “I take it the story about my new devilish reputation has arrived in Sweden?”

“This is no laughing matter, son. A reporter came to the house this afternoon.”

My heart stops. “What?”

“He asked all kinds of questions, upsetting your mother, confusing her with rumors of your infidelity. The questions played with the holes in her memory. She told him you weren’t married. She’s been crying all evening. Now she keeps asking for Petra.”

My rage surges. “Why did you let him in? Why did you speak to the reporter at all? I told you, never talk to the press!”

“I didn’t,” he retorts. “Your mother let him in while I was out in the yard. The man said he was writing an article about your hockey career. He asked for pictures from your time in the SHL.”

I groan. “Dad, any pictures he could ever need are already publicly available. Or he could contact the teams I played for directly. Same for the NHL. He doesn’t need to go to my mother.”

“Yes, well, you know how she gets confused. By the time I came inside, she’d already sat him down with coffee. She denied you were married. I assured him that you were. But then he kept asking whether you had a violent nature as a child, which upset her greatly.”

“He was just trying to get a new angle on the story making the rounds in the American papers.”

“He showed us the pictures of you and that poor nurse,” Dad goes on. “Henrik, infidelity is so distasteful. I’ll admit, I’m surprised at you.”

“It’s not true,” I shout. “Dad, I am very happily married to Teddy. Hanna is our employee. She’s Karolina’s nurse. Nothing inappropriate has ever taken place. Not even close.”

“Well, why put yourself in the position to be compromised in the first place?”

“If greeting someone on a public street is proof of infidelity, then we are all unfaithful every day of our lives!”

We’re both quiet for a moment. My chest rises and falls with each breath as I clench my fist, trying to calm down.

“Son, we’re just worried about you,” he finally says. “You’ve been so careful to keep your reputation all about hockey.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “No, Dad. All Ihadwas hockey.”

“What?”

Rising to my feet, I pace into the bathroom. “Before Karolina came to stay with me, before Teddy, all I had was hockey. It was my whole life.”

“Well, you were dedicated.”

“I was a ghost! Practice and games, practice and games. Planes, busses, hotel rooms. I had no life, Dad. No friends. No focus, no dreams, no plans. Nothing outside of hockey and the four of you. Then Petra died, and I wanted the earth to swallow me too. But then Teddy and Karro came into my life, and now …”

Dad waits. “And now, son?”

I smile, looking around at the mess in my bathroom. Teddy’s hair products are piled on the edge of the counter. Karro’s bath toys litter the floor of the shower. My gaze settles on the lonely sink, and I laugh, dragging a hand through my hair. “God, Dad, now I have so many plans.”

Well, we’re right back where we fucking started, sitting on the couch in Poppy’s office, waiting for her to tell us how she’s going to make this all go away again. The only difference is that her lovely Chaddy receptionist has been replaced by a highly competent Korean college student named Yoon Hee.

Henrik sits next to me, looking as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. Why is he not more upset about all this? Why isn’t he freaking out? It’s been two days, and Hanna is still a mess. Now Poppy is pacing, and I feel like I have gravel churning in my stomach.

But he’s just sitting there, sipping the coffee Yoon Hee brought us, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He catches my anxious stare and smiles, placing a hand on my thigh.

“Can’t even go away for three weeks without it all going to hell in a hand basket,” Poppy mutters, still pacing.

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