The Swede

by Maureen Smith

  He just stared at her. The pallor of his skin was alarming, but his eyes were bright and keenly alert. The directness of his gaze made her even more nervous.

  He spoke to Hedda in Swedish, his voice weak but steady.

  She paused, a flicker of worry crossing her face. She glanced over her shoulder at Scarlett, then turned back to her father-in-law and leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

  He nodded slowly, but his gaze hadn’t left Scarlett’s face.

  Hedda pulled away and gave him a look of stern warning, then left his bedside and walked over to Scarlett. “He wants to speak to you alone.”

  This caught Scarlett off guard. “He does?”

  “Yes.” Sensing her apprehension, Hedda hastened to reassure her, “He promised to be on his best behavior. His quarrel with Viggo has nothing to do with you.”

  Scarlett stared at Hedda, wishing she could tell her the truth and bring her out of the dark once and for all. But she would never betray Viggo like that.

  Hedda gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I’ll be right down the hall.”

  “Okay.” Scarlett watched her leave the room, then turned her attention back to Viggo’s grandfather.

  He was still staring silently at her.

  She returned his appraisal. So this was the monster who’d caused the man she loved so much pain. Lying there in the hospital bed, Olof Sandström didn’t look so fearsome or intimidating. He looked feeble and frail. He looked like a dying old man.

  He pressed the button to raise the head of the bed. Then he lifted a weak hand and beckoned Scarlett closer.

  She hesitated, then moved forward until she reached the foot of the bed.

  Olof stared up at her, studying her face with those intense gray Sandström eyes.

  She tucked her hands into her coat pockets and waited uncomfortably.

  “Hello.” He spoke perfect English with a strong accent. “So you are Scarlett.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t say it was a pleasure to meet him. It wasn’t.

  “Scarlett Warner,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You are American.”

  “I am.” She lifted her chin. “Is that a problem?”

  She saw a flash of something in his eyes. Something that almost resembled admiration. Maybe he appreciated plucky women.

  Without answering her question, he turned his head to stare out the window. “Did he tell you that he’s the descendant of a legendary Viking warrior?”

  Scarlett hesitated. “He mentioned that you took a DNA test that traced your ancestry back to a Viking. But he said that’s not uncommon for Scandinavians.”

  The old man looked disappointed. “Is that all he told you?”

  “Pretty much. He wouldn’t really elaborate.”

  Olof pressed his lips together. He was clearly unhappy.

  Scarlett gave him a wry half smile. “He refuses to watch Vikings with me. Part of the reason is that he doesn’t want me swooning over the lead actor. But the other reason…During our flight here, he finally told me that the show has too many historical inaccuracies. The kind of inaccuracies that would drive you crazy. So he won’t watch the show out of respect for you.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his grandfather’s face. “He told you that?”

  “He did.” Though it was crazy, Scarlett found herself wanting to connect with this old man. Maybe to better understand him. To understand how and why he could hurt his own flesh and blood.

  “What was your ancestor’s name?” she asked softly.

  Olof turned his head to study her, as if to gauge whether she was truly interested or just patronizing him.

  She smiled faintly. “My great-grandfather in Virginia traced our roots back to Angola. It was pretty fascinating to learn about my family history and genealogy. I appreciated every bit of knowledge Pop Pop shared with me, just as Viggo enjoyed your stories when he was growing up.”

  Olof’s expression softened at her words. She’d won him over.

  “Our ancestor’s name was Gunvald,” he said quietly. “He was one of the fiercest Swedish Vikings that ever lived. Not only was he a brave warrior, he was also a very skilled trader. His famous conquests and voyages were recorded in a journal that was preserved and passed down through generations of our family. We even possess an old battle axe that belonged to him.”

  “Wow,” Scarlett whispered, intrigued in spite of herself. “You actually have artifacts?”

  “Yes.” His eyes glinted with fierce pride. “We have been offered outrageous sums of money to hand over these artifacts to museums. But they belong with our family, to be passed down from generation to generation. I keep them locked away in a very safe place, but a copy of the journal is exhibited at the Swedish History Museum.”

  “Wow,” Scarlett marveled. “That’s amazing.”

  “Viggo never told you any of this?”

  She hesitated. Then shook her head.

  “Just as I feared.” There was a bitter twist to the old man’s mouth. “He went to America and forgot his heritage.”

  “No,” Scarlett said sharply. “He has never forgotten who he is and where he came from. He loves this country and he’s proud to be a Swede. But talking about the past…talking about you is painful for him.” Her tone hardened. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

  Olof looked away for an anguished moment, one hand gripping the edge of the hospital blanket. “You think I am a terrible man,” he whispered.

  Anger tightened her chest. “What would you call a man who did the things you did to your grandson?”

  His throat worked on a hard swallow. “You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t,” Scarlett said coldly. “And neither does he. Can you blame us?”

  The old man gave her a searching look. Like he wanted something from her.

  Her hands clenched inside her coat pockets. “It’s not my place to forgive you or absolve you of your sins, Mr. Sandström. I’m not the one you hurt and betrayed. If you want forgiveness—”

  “I’m dying.”

  Scarlett frowned, staring at him. “Did the doctor say—”

  “The doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Olof stabbed a finger into his chest. “I know my time is almost up.”

  Scarlett fought not to feel sorry for him. He didn’t deserve her pity or compassion.

  “I heard you sing at the game,” he said quietly. “You have a beautiful voice.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  He turned his head on the pillow and stared off into the distance.

  She waited for him to speak again.

  “Can you do something for me?”

  She gave him a wary look.

  He met her gaze, his eyes imploring. “Please?”

  After another moment, she acquiesced with a nod.

  Chapter 43

  Viggo

  Dead Memories

  * * *

  An angel was singing.

  That was the first thought that went through Viggo’s mind when he rounded the corner to his grandfather’s hospital room and heard a woman’s beautifully melodic voice singing the Swedish national anthem.

  The angel sounded an awful lot like his angel. But it couldn’t be. Scarlett didn’t know Sweden’s national anthem…did she?

  When he reached the door and looked inside the room, he got the shock of his life.

  Scarlett stood to one side of the hospital bed, her eyes closed as she belted out “Du gamla, Du fria.”

  In Swedish.

  Unbelievable.

  Gathered around the bed were Viggo’s mother, sisters and several nurses. They were beaming with pleasure as they held up their phones, recording Scarlett’s near-flawless rendition of the anthem.

  But what really stunned Viggo was the sight of his grandfather listening to Scarlett with an utterly rapturous expression. He couldn’t have looked happier if he were seated on a heavenly cloud being serenaded by harp-playing angels.

  Viggo sta
red in awed wonder at the old man and then at Scarlett.

  When had she learned his country’s national anthem? The woman was an intoxicating bundle of surprises.

  He listened, spellbound, a thick lump rising in his throat as she sang the last line, “Ja, jag vill leva, jag vill dö i Norden,” which translated to “Yes, I want to live, I want to die in the North.”

  She held the last poignant note in a soaring vibrato that sent chills down his spine. As her voice faded away, the room exploded in applause.

  Viggo watched in amazement as his hard-as-nails grandfather wiped tears from his eyes and beamed radiantly at Scarlett.

  An excited buzz of conversation broke out as the others complimented her performance and told her how impressed they were. She smiled and blushed, looking both pleased and embarrassed by all the praise.

  Everyone started to clear out of the room, still chattering animatedly. Freya, Astrid and Svea grinned at Viggo and told him, “Don’t ever let her go.”

  He had no intention of doing so.

  As his mother was leaving, he stopped her at the door. She was smiling, still basking in the glow of Scarlett’s singing.

  “Wasn’t that just beautiful? What a treasure she is. And how gracious of her to sing the anthem twice—first for your grandfather and then an encore for the rest of us.”

  Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you left her alone with him?”

  His mother’s smile dimmed. “I did.”

  He gave her a long glare. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

  She seemed taken aback at first, but then she reached up and gently cupped his cheek. “I can see how much you and your grandfather are hurting. It’s not coronary disease that’s killing him. He’s dying of a broken heart.”

  “That’s not my problem,” Viggo said harshly. “And he’s not a victim, so stop treating him like one.”

  His mother studied his face for a long moment. “It’s time to put an end to this feud, my darling son. It’s time for both of you to lay down your swords and reconcile. One day you are going to become a husband and father. Don’t you want to be whole and healed for your family?”

  When Viggo opened his mouth to argue, she silenced him with a finger to his lips. There was a steely glint in her eyes. “Someday soon, when you are ready, you will tell me what really happened. No matter how bad it is. No matter how painful. You will tell me the whole story, and we will go from there together. As a family. Do you understand?”

  Viggo swallowed hard, hesitated, then gave a tight nod. She was right. She’d been kept in the dark too long. It was time to break the cycle of silence.

  Her eyes probed his. “Maybe when you get back home—”

  “No.” His voice was low. “After we win the Cup in June. We’ll talk after that.”

  “Okej.” She smiled tenderly and stroked his cheek. Then she looked back at his grandfather with narrowed eyes, as if she were piecing together a great mystery. Her lips pursed for a moment, then she gave Viggo’s cheek a gentle pat before walking out the door.

  Jaw hardening, his emotions turning to ice, Viggo turned to look at his grandfather. He was smiling and talking to Scarlett, complimenting her performance. They both turned to stare as Viggo approached the bed.

  His eyes were trained on his grandfather. “Did you hear everything I said to you yesterday?”

  The old man met his cold gaze and nodded tightly. “I heard enough.”

  “Good. I meant every word.” Viggo looked at Scarlett. “Let’s go.”

  She nodded without hesitation and allowed him to take her hand to lead her from the room.

  “Vänta!” his grandfather called out.

  Viggo froze, his chest so painfully tight he could barely breathe.

  “Wait. Please.” His grandfather’s voice was low and tremulous. “Don’t go.”

  Viggo turned and glared at the old man. “I’ve said everything I came here to say.”

  “Yes. And now it’s my turn.”

  Viggo let out a caustic bark of laughter. “What makes you think you deserve a turn?”

  “I’m asking for one.”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t always get what we ask for.”

  “Please.” The old man’s imploring gaze went from Viggo to Scarlett. “I want both of you to hear what I have to say.”

  Jaw tightly clenched, Viggo glanced down at Scarlett.

  She nodded, her eyes soft with mercy.

  He gave his grandfather a hard look. “You have five minutes.”

  Olof looked humbled and grateful. This was new territory for him.

  Viggo released Scarlett’s hand, then went over and closed the door. He didn’t want his mother or sisters to overhear any shouting.

  Scarlett found a chair in the corner and quietly sat down, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

  Viggo stood at the foot of the bed, folded his arms across his chest and glared expectantly at his grandfather. “I’m listening.”

  “Are you?” Olof countered grimly. “You seem too angry to listen.”

  “Does that surprise you? Don’t I have every right to be angry?”

  His grandfather held his gaze for a long moment, as if he were trying to decide where to start. “I never meant to hurt you—”

  “Stop right there,” Viggo growled savagely. “You used me as your fucking punching bag for six years. You held my head under water as a form of punishment. You tortured and humiliated me every time I didn’t meet your expectations. Don’t you dare sit there and tell me you never meant to hurt me, because we both know that’s a fucking lie!”

  His grandfather stared at him, nostrils flaring. “I wanted to toughen you up, make you stronger—”

  “Jag var bara ett barn!” Viggo roared. “I was just a child! How could you treat me like that? How could you do those things to your own grandson?”

  Olof swallowed hard. “I wanted you to become the best hockey player you could be.”

  “And in the process, you almost destroyed hockey for me! Do you understand that? It was the one thing I had always loved, and you nearly took it from me!”

  His grandfather’s face went deathly pale. “Everything I did, I did to make you better—”

  “Bullshit! You did it because you were a sadistic monster who enjoyed inflicting pain on the weak and defenseless. You did it because there was a part of you that regretted passing up your chance to play in the NHL. You saw my potential and you punished me for it.”

  His grandfather grew even paler at the suggestion. “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” Viggo jeered.

  “Yes! I’ve always been proud of you! I’ve always wanted your talent to surpass mine! That’s why I pushed you so hard! And look where you are today. You’re one of the best players in the National Hockey League! If your team wins the Stanley Cup, it will be largely because of you and the early training I gave you!”

  Viggo barked a harsh laugh. “Let’s get a couple things straight, old man. First, my teammates are the fucking best at what they do, and they will always deserve equal credit for any success we achieve as a team. Second, if I’m lucky enough to help the Rebels win the Cup, it won’t be because of you. It’ll be in spite of you.”

  Hurt and anger flared in the old man’s eyes. He held Viggo’s unyielding glare for a long moment, then turned his head to look out the window.

  Viggo stared him down, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  “I know it’s long overdue,” his grandfather said very quietly, “but I wanted you to know how sorry I am for all the pain and misery I caused you. I couldn’t leave this earth without telling you that. I love you, Viggo Björn, and I am truly sorry for hurting you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Viggo’s heart fisted in his throat, causing his voice to come out as a harsh croak. “You’re right, old man. Your apology is long overdue. But don’t expect me to forgive and forget just because you had a near-death experience and now want to clear yo
ur conscience. You’re still spouting the same rhetoric from years ago, which tells me you still don’t fully grasp why your actions were so reprehensible. That’s a problem. So, yeah, just because you apologized doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept it.”

  A single tear rolled down his grandfather’s face. “I don’t know how much time I have—”

  “Cut that out,” Viggo snapped. “I spoke to your doctor earlier, and he says your prognosis is good as long as you complete your cardiac rehab program. So stop trying to manipulate my emotions with all your talk of dying. You’re not going anywhere. Or did I not make myself clear yesterday?”

  His grandfather looked at him, a glimmer of hope lighting his eyes. “You came back,” he said softly. “When you heard about my heart attack, you rushed back home to see me. You still care.”

  “Of course I care,” Viggo grumbled darkly. “Despite everything you put me through, I never stopped loving you. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive you and welcome you back into my life.”

  His grandfather nodded solemnly. “Jag förstår. I understand.”

  “Good,” Viggo said brusquely. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some young friends to visit, then Scarlett and I have evening plans.”

  “When are you going back to America?”

  “Thursday. I don’t want to miss more than three games.”

  “Of course.” There was a distinctly satisfied gleam in his grandfather’s eyes. “Congratulations on defeating Jöran. Well done.”

  Viggo gave a wry grunt as he crossed the room to Scarlett, took her hand and pulled her out of the chair. As they walked toward the door, his grandfather said to him, “You chose wisely.”

  Viggo glanced back at the old man, then looked down at Scarlett and said, “I know.”

  Once they were out in the hall, Scarlett gave him a fierce hug. He hugged her back just as fiercely, burying his face in her soft hair and not letting go for a long time.

  When they finally pulled apart, she gazed up at him and whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “I am.” He hadn’t realized just how much baggage he’d been carrying around until that very moment. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. Like he’d been liberated from the burden of a past he’d never asked for.