Page 103 of Pucking Strong

It’s a balmy Florida night, jarring compared to the chill of the arena. The crowds of fans have cleared out enough that no one tries to stop us from circling the side of the building, cutting back around towards the team entrance to the parking garage. Cops are still out, directing the last of the traffic. The blue lights of their patrol cars flash. A man stands on the corner, busking with a saxophone, filling the night air with smooth jazz. It’s calm. Idyllic, even.

But my heart is in my throat. I’m alternating from feeling breathless and feeling buried.

What the fuck was that? Why did Mama have to go and fucking do that? Why did she have to plant those seeds of doubt in me? And what she said to Henrik? Distracted, I stumble on a crack in the sidewalk, squeezing tighter to Henrik’s hand. “Hey, do we need to walk so fast? I promise they’re not chasing us.”

But he doesn’t slacken his pace. He doesn’t even look at me. Doesn’t speak. He just weaves around the “PRIVATE PARKING” signs, scaring the shit out of the attendant who was half asleep in a folding chair.

“Mr. Karlsson?” The older white lady gasps, sitting up andadjusting the radio clipped to her parking vest. “Are you—” She glances at me, then peers around. “Honey, where’s your car? And shouldn’t you be coming at me from the other direction?”

“Have a good night, Pearl,” is his only reply as he slips around the arm of the parking gate. He pulls me along behind him.

“We can drive separate,” I offer. “My car is just over in Lot D. Really, I don’t mind—”

“No.”

I all but trot to keep up with him as we round the corner of the near-empty garage. His gorgeous Porsche 718 Cayman sits alone under the humming lights, waiting for us. It’s the perfect shade of ocean blue. He was going to get rid of it when we first got back from Sweden, which felt like a crime against god, and nature, and the car itself. In the end, I convinced him to open his damn purse strings and invest in a more sensible SUV. A man like Henrik can certainly afford two cars.

Now he’s striding forward in his custom grey Prada suit, thin black tie, and Italian leather loafers. The headlights of the car flash in welcome as he approaches. Fuck me, this is what fantasies are made of. Fighting a groan, I try to pull away again. “Seriously, you can just drop me off at my car—”

“Stop!” he shouts, his voice echoing around the empty garage.

I blink back tears of surprise. “Don’t yell at me.”

He drops my hand like it burned him. His chest rises and falls as he takes a step away from me. He looks confused, almost concussed.

I reach out on instinct. “Henrik …”

“Just go.”

Now I’m the one who feels burned. “What?”

“Go back to them.”

“No.” I step in closer, shrugging back into my WAG jacket. “Henrik, I wanna go with you.” With a flick of both wrists, I free my locs from the collar of the jacket.

But Henrik turns away, striding over to his car. “I can’t do this. I’ll not be the thorn that festers your relationship with your family. Teddy, please just go back. Do what you can to make it right. Before it’s too late.”

I’m reeling. What the fuck is happening? “Too late?” He tries to open his door, and I lunge forward, blocking it with my hand. “Hey,stop. Henrik, what the fuck? You stand up for us all night, defending me to the press and holding your own against my sisters and my scary-ass mother. And now you’re just rolling over?”

He shakes his head, unable to even look at me. “Your family is waiting for you. They came all this way. Please, go be with them. I can’t—” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead, looking around like he’s lost. “Teddy—”

I try to reach for him again. “Henrik …”

He tugs at his tie, loosening it. “I can’t do this,” he says again.

Shit, he’s spiraling out, and I don’t know how to stop it. Taking a deep breath, I ghost my hands over his arms, afraid to touch him, afraid he’ll break. “Henrik, look … What my mom said back there … I’m the baby of the family, okay? She was always gonna take my getting married too much to heart, no matter how it happened. She was just upset—”

“She was prophetic!”

I search his face, seeing the hurt there, the confusion and pain. She wounded him. Each of her carefully sharpened arrows clearly found their target. Reaching out, I press my hand to the middle of his chest, my fingertips brushing over his mussed tie. “Take me home,” I whisper. “Henrik, please, just take me with you.”

He shakes his head, and I wanna die. Wrapping a hand around my wrist, he removes my touch from his chest. “Your mother is right. I took advantage of you to serve my own ends. I trespassed on your kindness, your goodness.”

“Stop,” I plead, twisting free of his grip. “I offered, remember? You have to trust me to know the limits of what I can handle. She never has, and that’s her problem. They’re always trying to protect me, and then they take things too far, like what just happened in there.”

“Someone has to look out for you. I’m glad you have such fierce defenders.” He offers me a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now I know where your loyalty to Karro comes from.”

“And my loyalty toyou.” I grab both his arms. “Henrik, I did this for Karro, but I did it for you too.”

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