Page 82 of The Trade Deadline
“Why haven’t you called?” As soon as he answered the phone, he heard the chiding accusation.
Lars looked apologetically at Ryan, snuggled against him on the couch while they watched a movie. Or rather, while Ryan watched a movie and Lars watched him. He nudged Ryan’s shoulder so he could get up.
“I’m sorry,” he said in Swedish as he walked towards the window. Baltimore was dim and gloomy, an awful day of slush that made him miss actual snow. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’re always busy,” she countered. “Your brother, too. Neither of you have ever been too busy to call unless you’re distracted.”
Anders was distracted for several years, but sure.
“I have been distracted,” he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder to Ryan, who was politely playing on his phone.
“Good distraction or bad distraction?” He could practically hear the cogs in her head turning, calculations about how much to worry. “You’ve been playing well. Another hat trick,” she mused aloud. “You did seem a little off at Christmas.”
He sighed. He’d done his best, he really had, to put his full attention into the visit, and he’d felt successful more often than not. Sure, his mind had drifted to Montana and he’d jerked off more times than he cared to admit, but he was only human.
“Sorry,” he said again.
His Mormor tsked. “So what is it? Is there a problem with the team? Are you unsatisfied? Will you leave in the off-season?”
“No, the team is great.” The vibe was definitely better than Portland, not that he’d realized the negativity until he’d been freed of it.
“Then what is it?” There was a pause so short Lars didn’t have the time to consider his answer before she gasped, “Who is it?”
Lars wasn’t a good liar in general, but certainly not to his mormor. He only briefly thought of denying it then gave in. “It’s another player,” he hedged.
The line went silent; he knew better than to think she’d given up.
“It’s that Russell, isn’t it?” she asked. “The pretty one?”
He couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan, sprawled across his couch. “Maybe.”
She was quiet again. “Is that why he’s been doing so well this season? Because of you?”
“He’s been doing well because he’s good,” Lars countered.
“He is,” she conceded. “But he’s been doing better, yes?”
“Technically—”
“You’ve been doing well. Better than the projections thought you would, given the team.”
“We’re not even on a line together.”
“If you both are happy outside of the rink, it shows in the rink,” she said. “Your father was that way, anyway. Your brother, too. Your father had his best years when you were born, and Anders played terribly that season when Astrid was sick all the time and got her tonsils out. It’s normal, I think. For good times to build you up and stress to pull you down.”
Happy. Good times.
He couldn’t hold back a soft smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You might be right.”
She scoffed. “How many years does it take to learn this? I’m usually right, Lillen.”
“Yes, Mormor.”
They chatted a little more. She must have sensed he was distracted, because she let him go without much fuss, only warning him to be discreet.
“And happy,” she added before hanging up.
I’m trying.He walked back to the couch and tossed his phone on the coffee table. Ryan looked up at him expectantly.
