Page 94 of The Trade Deadline
“You’ve never taken Astrid,” he pointed out. He flashed a smile to Anton to assure him he wasn’t angry athim. He wasn’t angry at all, in fact. Nope, not even a little.
“She’s never wanted to go,” Anders said with a shrug. His hand was on Anton’s shoulder, as if he, too, wanted to comfort him. “I invite her every year, but she says it would be too embarrassing. Anton’s old enough that I let him decide.”
“I can’t wait!” Anton said enthusiastically. “Pappa said I could skate with him if I wanted to, but could I skate with you, too?”
“Of course,” Lars said. He winked at his nephew. “Just make sure you have a Team Sweden jersey.”
“This your teammate?” Anders said pointedly, and finally Lars understood what was wrong. Anders was speaking in English. They never spoke in English to each other.
Worse, Lars had forgotten Ryan was there.
“Yes,” he said and hoped no one noticed his burning cheeks. “Ryan, this is my brother. Anders, this is”—he faltered briefly—“Ryan Russell.”
Anders held out his hand and the two politely shook.
“Honor to meet you off the ice,” Ryan said stiffly. “Think I’m still sore from our last game.”
Anders’s lips twitched but he didn’t allow a smile. “We’ll be on the same team this weekend, so no worries. I’ll make sure you’re on my line. No goals while we’re out.”
Lars’s head whipped around. “Make sure?” He had no idea if he’d said it in Swedish or English.
Anders gave him an almost pitying look. “I’m the captain of the Metro team. Didn’t you hear?”
He hadn’t. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t paid attention. He’d been convinced Anders wouldn’t be there, and since no one had contacted him to sayhewas the captain (a responsibility he’d blissfully avoided every year), it’d been a non-issue.
“Fantastic,” he mumbled. “We have to go check in.” He kneeled down and offered his fist to Anton, who didn’t so much bump it as punch it as hard as he could. “I’ll see you on the ice, Lillen,” he said quietly. “Have you been practicing?”
Anton nodded solemnly. The little boy had made it clear he didn’t want to play hockey professionally or even competitively, but he was enthusiastic about playing knee hockey with his uncle when he visited.
“Tell your pappa to text me your room. I’ll come play with you tonight, okay?”
“Yes!” Anton yelled eagerly. “I brought a foam puck. Pappa said I can use it if I’m careful.”
“Good. But we’ll have to do it before your bed time so your mamma doesn’t get upset with me.”
Anton leaned in. “I won’t tell her and Pappa won’t either,” he promised.
“ButI’llhave to tell her,” Lars said apologetically. “And I’m old. I need my sleep.”
He didn’t bother saying goodbye to Anders, simply shooting him a glare before he pointedly walked away with Ryan in tow.
“Sorry,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I shouldn’t have made that so awkward for you.”
“It was fine,” Ryan said. Lars might’ve believed him, if he hadn’t added, “Totally normal. Not weird or awkward in the slightest.”
Lars grimaced. “Sorry.”
“You said that.”
“I am, though.”
“Well, let’s check in so you can make it up to me.”
Lars’s eyebrows rose. They didn’t even have rooms yet, and Ryan was breaking his own rule?
“It’s the middle of the day, Lasse,” he teased, as if he could read Lars’s mind. “No one will think anything of it if two teammates hang out.”
Ryan pulled ahead of him towards the check-in desk, and Lars couldn’t help look over his shoulder. Anton was babbling excitedly to Anders, his whole body in motion as he spoke; Anders was staring directly at Ryan, his expression unreadable.
