Page 64 of The Trade Deadline
Seven Years Earlier
Lars wasin one of those deep sleeps where no dreams, nothing even resembling a thought, took shape. The kind that made it hard for his brain to boot back up when an annoying, grating ring broke through the nothingness. He frowned and rolled over, sighing in contentment as he found another warm body next to him. The ringing didn’t stop.
And that’s when it clicked that it was a fucking phone.
Lars jolted awake. The person next to him stirred slightly, and he shushed them gently, patting their back before scrambling to find his phone. Except it was the hotel telephone beeping indignantly at him, so he picked it up and disappeared into the bathroom so he wouldn’t disturb…whoever the fuck was in bed with him.
“Hello?” he asked, opting for English because he wasn’t one hundred percent sure where he was except that it wasn’t Sweden.
“Pick up your fucking phone when people call you.” Swedish. Angry Swedish.
Ugh. Anders.
“It ran out of battery last night,” he grumbled back defensively, also in Swedish. It had been a dead weight in his pocket most of the evening. Given how he was a lovely combination of still drunk and hungover, it was probably for the best that he hadn’t had access to it while he was that far gone. “I was sleeping. I haven’t charged it yet.”
Why did talking to his brother always make him feel like a child?
“Look.” He could tell it was Anders’s “I’m doing my best to remain patient with you but I’m all out of patience” voice. “I need you to pack up and get your ass to Gothenburg.”
“What? We’re scheduled to fly out this evening?—”
“Morfar’s in the hospital. He had a stroke.”
Luckily Lars had already been braced against the vanity, or he’d have fallen. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say? His head had only just registered the words but they hadn’t reached his heart yet.
“Are you there?”
“Yes,” Lars croaked. “Sorry. Yes. I’ll…I’ll do that.”
“I need you to fly out there to help Mormor. She’s distraught about Morfar and she’s worried because we couldn’t reach you.”
He nodded, realized his brother couldn’t see him, and forced out, “I’m coming. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” He was definitely less drunk now, but was regretting the growing hangover. “Are you already on a plane?—?”
A pause. “Lars.”
Oh.
“You’re not coming?” Anger shot through him. “Morfar’s had a stroke and you’re not?—”
“Ican’t.”
“It’s just a few fucking games. Your team will understand. Your grandfather’s in the hospital?—”
“You think I give a shit about the NHL? You think I care about hockey more than my family?” It was lucky he steamrolled right ahead, or Lars would’ve answered and neither of them would’ve been happy rehashingthatargument. “You know Amanda’s due any day now. I can’t leave her alone with Astrid to have a baby.”
Lars wanted to call him out, to say he absolutely could find a way if he actuallywantedto…but he didn’t bother. If it had been back when Anders first moved, Lars would’ve been right. He’d had no one but himself to watch out for in North America, and even back then he’d come for a week in summer at best. As soon as he married Amanda, Lars couldn’t really complain without feeling like an ass. They were married, and now there were kids involved. Anders’ responsibilitiesweren’tin Sweden, and Lars felt like a dick for being upset about it.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll pack and head to the airport. I’ll charge my phone and call Mormor. I’ll be there.”
Anders’ relief was palpable, even with an ocean between them. “Good. Keep me updated.”
“Sure,” he lied. He’d leave that to Mormor, since Mormor and Anders actually enjoyed talking to each other. “Send pictures when the baby’s born.”
Anders grunted what was presumably a confirmation. Lars was about to hang up, when Anders said, “Congrats on gold, by the way. You had a good game.” Then the call ended, giving Anders the last word.
“Easy to have the last word when you’re the one ending the call, prick,” Lars grumbled. He allowed himself five seconds to quietly fall apart, then he pulled all the pieces back together and set to work.
As quietly as he could, he grabbed his stuff and shoved it in his duffle bag. He got enough charge on his phone to start looking at flights. The only thing left before he headed down to the lobby was…
