Page 66 of Pucking Strong

I just don’t know what to do. Everything feels so impossible. I couldn’t keep Petra from getting hit by a drunk driver. I can’t mend Karro’s broken bones. I can’t keep my father from climbing ladders. Can’t hire a teacher. Can’t fulfill my contractual commitments to my sponsors. I can barely get my damn key in the door!

After fumbling with the lock, I push the door open, all the while juggling the heavy bags of groceries.

Teddy sits up. “Hey, Morbror’s home. Wanna see what we did today?”

“Morbror, look,” Karolina calls.

Hanging my keys on the hook by the door, I take in their smiling faces. Karolina is sitting on the sofa, surrounded by art supplies. Scraps of paper and every color of crayon and pencil lie scattered all over the coffee table. Her cheeks are rosy with laughter, all evidence of her black eye nearly gone.

Teddy’s smile falls. He gets up from the floor, the paper in his hand fluttering away. “Henrik …”

“Look,” Karolina says again, pointing with her crayon at the wall.

Taking a deep breath, I turn. The narrow stretch of white wallnext to the doorway is now a five-year-old’s personal art studio. It’s a riot of color—rainbows and princesses, unicorns, flowers. There’s even what looks like a portrait of me playing hockey and Teddy holding Teddy the Bear.

“Teddy calls it ‘Princess Karolina’s Magical Wall of Fun,’” Karro says in Swedish. “I wanted to draw your friend Elin, but Teddy said lawyers aren’t fun.”

“What are you saying about me?” Teddy teases in English.

Karro goes stiff, eyes wide, looking like she’s just been caught sneaking cookies from the jar.

“I’m hearing my name. What did we say about speaking Swedish when Uncle Teddy is in the room?”

She giggles. “I won’t say it!”

“What’s the rule?” he challenges. “If you speak Swedish and Uncle Teddy hears his name, you have to say it.”

“No,” she squeals, trying to hide under her blanket.

“Say it!”

“No,” she says through a muffled laugh.

“Say it, or I’m eating all the ice cream!”

Slowly, she peels down the corner of her blanket, still giggling. Her face is bright pink, eyes alight, as she glances from me back to Teddy. Finally, she opens her mouth and gasps out in English, “I’m a Swedish meatball!”

Once the words are said, she disappears back under her blanket, laughing hysterically. Teddy uses the distraction to cross to my side. His voice is low and tense. “What’s wrong?”

Glancing her way, I just shake my head. I can’t do this here, not in front of Karolina. Or Teddy. I have to stay strong for them. I have to stay focused.

Teddy grabs my arm, takes the grocery bags, and guides me around the back of the sofa. “Karro, honey, Morbror and I will be right back. Don’t move, okay? Make like a meatball and just sit.”

She laughs harder at this. The joyous sound should bring me comfort. Instead, it only makes me feel worse. I’m failing her. I’m failing them all. God, my parents. Mom sounded so panicked on the phone this morning.

“Come on.” Teddy pulls me through the apartment, tossing the grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen. He doesn’t stop until he’s dragged me all the way through my bathroom and into the closet. Dropping my hand, he turns, blocking the doorway, hands on his hips. “Okay, now tell me. What the hell happened?”

I just shake my head. I feel like a dam, holding back the worries of the world. God, and if I break?

He sighs. “Henrik, I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”

“I’m failing,” I say on a breath. “Teddy, I can’t—can’t do this. It’s too much.”

“What’s too much?” He steps closer. “Talk to me. Let me help you.”

I close my eyes tight. “I’m trying. Christ, Teddy, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well maybe Idoknow what to do. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me try to help.”

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