The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (ink ebook reader .TXT) 📗

wall he seems to erect between us is confusing and hurtful. I try to lean into his touch but he straightens, his arm slipping away as his fingers press into the small of my back.

I smile politely at the staff as Lars leads us to a room. Torsten shuffles along slowly and I know from his breathing that his leg and shoulder are causing him pain, to say nothing of the concussion he’s battling. He needs rest and care. The last thing I should do is pile more stress on his already overflowing plate. So I bite back my questions, swallow down my hurt, and vow to do what is in his best interest.

Once we cross the threshold into our room, Lars closes the door behind us. Our room is more than just a room, it’s like a hotel suite, with a sitting area, a desk, an en-suite bathroom, and I wager, a closet larger than my old apartment in Southie.

“Rielle.”

I look at him, searching his eyes for something to latch onto, some emotion to help me feel closer to him and not like we’re on opposite sides of the Atlantic, about to sink.

“Say something,” he demands. “The first thing that comes to mind.”

I hold back all of my questions about us, forcing myself to bury my fears regarding our relationship. Instead, I think of Farmor and her request. “Make things right with your dad.”

Torsten jerks back as if I slapped him. A shudder drops over his eyes and I realize too late that he was trying to connect with me too and I ruined it.

“Torsten, wait—” I reach for him.

But he holds up an arm and turns his back, gesturing that he needs to use the bathroom. I watch him limp across the room with apologies dying on my tongue and tears filling my eyes.

19

Torsten

I hate myself for involving Rielle in all of my family drama. Over a month ago, she warned me she didn’t want to lie to a sweet, old lady’s face and that’s exactly what I made her do. On Farmor’s deathbed no less.

The anguish in Rielle’s face haunts me. The hurt in her eyes lances at my chest, cutting me wide open. The way she looked at me and told me to make things right with my father, like I’m some spoiled, overindulgent child, landed like a jab to the jaw.

I can barely look at her without disgust and shame for myself welling in my throat, clogging my ability to breathe.

Early this morning, I went to the hospital to sit with Farmor. She’d already slipped into unconsciousness but the rise and fall of her chest soothed me. Just knowing she was still here calmed some of the erratic thoughts fighting for room in my mind. After an hour, I kissed her forehead, thanked her for giving me a beautiful childhood, for believing in me when no one else did, and blessed her spirit. I slipped from her room, casting one last look over my shoulder. But Farmor asleep in a hospital bed isn’t how I want to remember the woman with mischievous eyes and a too-big heart. When I arrived back at the house, Rielle was still asleep.

Now, I’m dressing to meet with my father and Anders. We’re sitting down with my uncle Erik and his sons, Daniel and Johan. The lawyers are meeting us to go over Farmor’s wishes, things related to the business and the future, things that can be discussed given the current situation. More than anything, I want to race back to the hospital and be at Farmor’s side but Father demanded I attend this meeting and since I promised Farmor last night that I’d make nice during my time here, I’ve agreed.

The bathroom door opens and Rielle steps out. God, she’s beautiful. Her hair is a wild curtain of curls. It’s different than the sleek, straight style she rocked when she worked at Hendrix. She’s clad in jeans and a light sweater, casual boots on her feet.

I clear my throat. “I’m speaking with my father this morning.”

She gives me a genuine smile. “Good.”

“There’s horses if you ride?”

She shrugs. “On occasion.”

It strikes me just how little I know about her life, her past, her. It leaves me feeling more unsettled, more disjointed. I’ve brought Rielle to Oslo, to my family home, to meet my farmor as she passes into the next life and I don’t even know if she rides horses or where her family lives now or if she likes her meat cooked well done or medium. Another layer of shame settles in my chest, this one nearly reaching the base of my throat.

I run my hand over my head. “What are you going to do this morning?”

She picks up the DSLR camera I gave her and places the strap around her neck. “Explore.”

I frown. “It’s not safe to just wander—”

“Magnus is coming with me.”

The sight of my nephew, of Anders’ son, running toward me flares in my mind. Of course I knew I had a nephew but God, is he already four? Did I really miss his entire life, never once meeting him? My disgust with myself grows larger. Soon, it will eat me entirely. That is, if I don’t suffocate from it first.

“Don’t worry about me. I can entertain myself.” Rielle moves to pass me but at the last moment, I catch her wrist. The flash of blue catches my eye as I hold her tightly, my gaze drawn to the sapphire and diamond ring on her index finger.

“She gave it to you,” I murmur, shock racing through me. I promised Farmor, in addition to making things right with my father, that I’d give my future wife, the woman who owns my heart, her ring. I brought it back, hoping we could talk about it today, hoping I’d have some time with Farmor to explain that my relationship is complicated but not without deep feelings. At least, on my end. And yet, Farmor already knows because