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

I lift an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

He shrugs. “You didn’t give her the choice, the chance, to come to that conclusion on her own. One thing I know about strong women, they don’t like others making decisions for them, dictating their own happiness.” He tilts his head toward Father’s office. “Come on. He’s waiting.”

But I don’t move. Is that what I did with Rielle? In trying to give her the future she deserves, did I take away her freedom to choose? My hands tighten into fists as I think of my girl, my wife, with her tearstained face and pleading eyes.

“Torsten?” Anders calls.

I nod and follow him to meet Father.

Rielle’s text blares in my mind. I need to make amends. I swore to Farmor that I would. I promised Rielle I’d follow through. I need to set things right with Father and then I could lose myself in thoughts of Rielle, can admit how much I fucking miss her.

“Father.” I slip into the office and close the door behind me.

He’s seated behind his desk, his eyes so pale they’re nearly translucent. But they’re ringed in hardness and bitterness and for a blink, I catch a glimpse of what I’ll look like in thirty-some years if I let the anger eat my soul.

He stares at me long and hard, as if seeing me for the first time. I sink into the chair opposite his desk, remembering all the times I was scolded in this exact chair for silly little things that children do. Running in the hallways, stealing biscuits from the kitchen, putting a frog in Anders’ bed…

“She always loved you best.” His voice shakes me from my thoughts and I meet his gaze. In them, I see a sliver of regret but it’s overshadowed by his genuine dislike for me. “The best Hansen,” he scoffs.

I straighten in my seat, realization and shock racing through my veins. “You were…jealous?”

“She left you the company!” he hollers, banging his fist on the top of his desk.

Next to me, Anders flinches. But I’ve spent too many years on the ice, surrounded by tough guys fueled by testosterone and competitive edges to be rattled by his posturing.

I nod, working a swallow. “She did. She left me the company even after you tried to smear my reputation, my name. You tried to cut me off from our entire family and still, Farmor saw you for what you are.”

“Torsten,” Anders warns next to me.

I came in here to make amends. But how the hell can we even begin to heal if we don’t address our hurts?

I wait for Father’s outburst but he surprises me again by slumping back in his chair, his eyes closing as if in pain. Is he upset because he’s losing the company? Or is he truly saddened that he was such a colossal disappointment to the greatest woman on Earth?

“You’re right,” he says finally.

Anders inhales sharply beside me.

“You love Magnus,” I say suddenly.

Father’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“I’ve seen you with him. You’re…kinder. More giving than you ever were with us.” I gesture between Anders and me.

Father rubs the space between his eyes. “He’s my grandson.”

“I know. We’re your sons.”

His eyes harden. “I know.” His tone is clipped.

“I don’t want to keep living like this. With no family, no ties. And I won’t do to you what you did to me. I won’t do it to a little boy who clearly admires you either.” I watch Father carefully, committing this moment to memory. I don’t want to live my life with burdens on my soul, with regrets in my blood. I want to move forward with a clear conscience and a family to call mine. “You step away from the business. Let the next generation of Hansen men have our crack at it. If we need your help, we’ll ask. But you don’t get involved. Take your settlement, spend some time abroad, let this wound heal and not fester. And when you’re ready to be a grandfather and a father and a real friend, come home. There will be a place here waiting for you.”

His mouth drops open even though his eyes flash. He doesn’t want to believe me, he doesn’t know how to trust that I’m extending an olive branch, and it’s stamped all over his face. “What’s the catch?” he asks after a moment.

I chuckle humorlessly. “There is no catch.”

“There’s always a catch.”

“No.” I shake my head. “There’s always a choice. And I’m choosing to forgive you. Want the truth?” I lift my chin at him. “I don’t want to be you in thirty years, sitting behind a desk in a cold office, having dragged every piece of good in my life through so much shit that the stench won’t wash away.”

Anders’ head whips to mine and I feel his eyes boring into the side of my face. But I keep my eyes on Father.

“I forgive you, Father. For everything. And I’d like to be able to look up to you one day. But that day isn’t today. It won’t be tomorrow either. You need to go and figure out what you want.” I stand from my chair. “For what it’s worth, I hope you come back when you’re ready.”

He watches me for a long moment and sighs heavily.

“Farmor was right,” Anders says softly.

“About?” I ask.

“You are the best Hansen.”

Father scoffs. Anders’ observation hangs in the air for a moment before Father clears his throat and begrudgingly nods in agreement.

I snort and hold out a hand. Father stands on the other side of the desk and hesitates for a moment before placing his hand in mine and shaking.

“I’ll be seeing you, Torsten.”

“I hope so,” I tell him. Then, I turn on my heel and leave Father’s office.

I stride back to my bedroom, my hands nearly shaking. I’ve never stood up to Father before but God, does it feel good, to get some of the feelings I kept locked away for decades out in