Stockholm Diaries, Caroline 2

by Rebecca Hunter

  As they neared the top, Caroline finally looked up at the small crowd outside the long row of doors. Yes, there were a few cameras, but many of the people looked like parents with their kids, looking for autographs.

  Caroline let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. She could handle this.

  One boy in a jersey called out Niklas’s name. Niklas glanced down at Caroline, as if to ask if he should stay with her or go take the pen the boy was holding out.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered.

  She watched Niklas kneel down to ask the boy about hockey. His smile was wide and genuine, and his voice, soft. She wondered if Niklas had enjoyed public appearances before his reputation had taken a downward turn last spring. This wasn’t the first time Caroline had noted that he was good at this side of the business, too. Caroline considered the toll the past year of his career had taken on him. The knee surgery and insinuations of abuse themselves were the most obvious hits, but she wondered if going from hockey hero to threatening menace in the press had hurt his self-confidence more than he let on.

  Niklas stood up, shook the boy’s father’s hand and walked back over to her. He led them past security, through the hallway passage and into the empty arena.

  “If you sit a little higher up, you might get a better overview of the game,” Niklas said from behind her shoulder.

  Caroline shook her head.

  “I think I want to see you close-up,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll be out in a while.”

  His thumb stroked her back through her clothes, but he made no move to kiss her. He was keeping a considerate distance, and she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. She wanted his physical reassurance as she stood next to him at the top of the arena stairway, the air infused with the smell of the ice.

  A sprinkling of other spectators sat around the rink. All men. No wives.

  Though she’d see him on the rink soon enough, she longed to close her eyes and rest against his chest, to breathe in his scent and soak up his warmth, just to hold her over for a while. In their months traveling together, she had seldom held back this urge, but she did so this time. This was real life now.

  Niklas stood still behind her, watching his teammates warm up on the ice below. He tucked his large hand under her shirt and traced the edge of her jeans around her hips. His hand left her, and she felt him walk away.

  More players entered the ice as she walked down the steps toward the lower seats. Caroline had never been to a hockey arena without a crowd, and she was surprised at how much she missed the teetering chaos spectators brought. She had never quite understood why people paid hundreds of dollars for sports tickets when they could easily watch the game at home for free. But as she sat down on the red cushion of a fourth-row seat, she felt the dull absence of the crowd.

  Still, the arena wasn’t quiet. Instead, the sounds from the rink took over. The players’ skates scraped against the ice, the puck slapped against sticks and boards, and the players muffled words and laughs traveled through the Plexiglas and into the stands. Some of the players glanced in her direction, but most of them ignored her as they curved around behind the goal.

  Though she had been to a handful of hockey games, she had never thought about the players as people, all with the complications of their own, off-the-ice lives. But as she scanned the faces of the men who glided by, she wondered for the first time who each of these players were. Were any of them married with kids, leading otherwise typical lives off the ice? Niklas had mentioned that a handful of Swedes played for the Red Wings, and she wondered which ones they were. How did they feel about living so far from home?

  Caroline wasn’t sure how long she sat there, lost in the purgatory between her thoughts and the players skating around the ice, but suddenly it was Niklas skating by, looking up at her. He didn’t smile, but his eyes glimmered with intensity and excitement. She drew in a breath. After months of traveling with her, he was on the rink again, and she couldn’t ignore the happiness on his face.

  Until that moment, she hadn’t thought too much about just how much he must have missed hockey that summer. He hadn’t talked about the sport this way. They hadn’t talked much about hockey at all, in fact. When the subject came up, it mostly concerned the problems he faced over the last year. But his joy in skating around the rink again, his stick resting in his hands, shone on his face. He loved this sport—that much was clear. It allowed her to hope he wasn’t just giving the Red Wings a try for her.

  Niklas skated around the rink a few times, talking to other players and shooting stray pucks at the goals. Caroline had forgotten just how fast he could skate, still controlling the puck as if it were gliding next to his stick of its own free will. She had only worn ice skates when she had to, and never very successfully, so it was hard to imagine trying to stay in standing position while aiming a puck at the goal. But each powerful push of his skates made him look more in control, not less. He stopped to talk to another player—Johansson, she read off the back of the guy’s jersey—and his deep laugh echoed over the boards.

  The players gathered in the middle of the rink, half in white, half in red, while a couple guys not in jerseys skated around the rink, gathering extra pucks. Someone on the team spoke, and the players turned to Niklas, a few patting him on his back. The group broke up, dividing by color, with Niklas and the other red jerseys filtering over to the side opposite from where Caroline sat. Some players headed for the bench, but Niklas took his position back near the goal.

  The players all froze into a tense tableau, waiting for the scrimmage to begin. The puck dropped, and they sprang to life. The white jerseys won the face-off and headed into red territory. Niklas hung back, anticipating a white player’s move toward the goal, while another red player took on the puck holder directly. The puck holder passed to the guy Niklas shadowed, and Niklas raced around to steal the puck before it hit the white jersey’s stick. He dodged the white jersey but didn’t head straight for the goal.

  Why? Caroline racked her brain for the explanations Ludvig had given her earlier that summer, but she couldn’t remember the details. Probably something about being offside, though she still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. She’d have to ask Niklas later.

  In the time she had let her mind wander, the puck had changed hands again. Red jerseys struggled to regain possession of the puck as white jerseys passed it back and forth in what looked like an intentional pattern.

  Caroline couldn’t take her eyes off Niklas. When she had watched him play back in Sweden, it was only shortly after they had met, when Caroline was still trying to get her mind around the idea that the man she had found herself kissing outside her apartment was the same man fighting on the ice.

  Caroline’s heart jumped as Niklas skated by, mouth guard pushing his lips into a sneer as he raced toward the puck. He hit a white player with enough force to knock the guy back and get what he was after. He stole the puck on the offensive side and, without fully turning around, passed it to another red jersey snaking in front of the goal.

  The guy didn’t reach for the puck. Niklas’s pass shot directly to the middle of his teammate’s stick with a loud slap. He didn’t hesitate. The red jersey hooked around the goal, nudging the puck in right as he passed the post.

  The red jersey skated toward Niklas with his glove up, ready to celebrate, but Niklas turned to skate back down the ice, ignoring him, leaving the guy behind. Caroline thought she had missed yet another nuance in the hockey game until the red jersey turned back around, giving her a view of the name written on his back: Bauer.

  Oh. The events of the last hour hadn’t just disappeared the moment Niklas stepped on the ice. She wondered if Niklas had been more willing to put off-the-ice issues aside before, back in the spring after the hints of abuse had appeared in the media. Bauer’s reaction to the goal suggested that this might be true, though Bauer hadn’t come off as particularly insightful about Niklas’s fl
ashpoints. Was Niklas more easily set off by Bauer now? Was this because of her?

  If Niklas joined the Red Wings, he’d see Bauer every day. That wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

  Niklas’s line headed for the bench, and another group of players took their places. But Caroline was no longer watching the scrimmage. Her gaze was fixed on Niklas. He sat at the end of the bench, looking at the ground in front of him, as someone—a coach?—talked in his ear. Niklas nodded but didn’t look up. The coach made a sweeping gesture towards the tunnel where the players had emerged from and stood back up.

  Niklas took a drink from his water bottle and raised his eyes to the game in front of him. His gaze moved across the rink and into the stands, onto her. Caroline studied his face for emotion, but he didn’t let anything show. He looked like the version of him she had met in the Stockholm hallway months ago, face impassive, impervious to everything around him. She couldn’t bring herself to smile at the person staring at her. After another moment, his eyes fell to the floor in front of him again.

  He didn’t look in her direction for the rest of the game. Not that Caroline had expected it, but after the events with Bauer, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Niklas’s experiment merging his two worlds was failing. She didn’t have a place in this world; in fact, her presence only made it harder for him.

  Now she wished she had taken his keys when he offered them. She could have driven away, but instead she was stuck inside the arena, imagining ways the next hour could play out.

  Actual events were much more mundane. After another line change, Caroline could see Niklas loosening up on the ice, even enjoying himself again. For once, she kept her focus on the game, not letting her mind wander into darker territory. And when the players left the ice, she simply stared out at the empty rink.

  What was she thinking? She couldn’t be a part of this world, and seeing Niklas on the ice today, she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to be. He had made the distinction when they met: Hockey was a world that prized physical skill, fighting, intimidation and single-mindedness—qualities opposite those a relationship needed. Well, maybe the physical skill part overlapped.

  Caroline didn’t hear Niklas until he sat down in the chair next to her. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned over and kissed her. She closed her eyes and took in the familiar scent of him, mingled with soap and aftershave. She let out a long breath. His hand slipped under hers, and he twined their fingers together, squeezing gently.

  It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out, he seemed to say to her.

  She wanted to believe this was true, but after watching him on the ice, the possibility seemed farther away. His lips met hers before she could take that thought further. Gently, he coaxed her mouth open, as if to wordlessly remind her of all the reasons she had come to the arena in the first place.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “What about you?”

  Niklas shrugged. “There are a lot of great guys on the team.”

  “And then there’s Bauer.”

  “Yep,” said Niklas, running his hand through his hair. “And then there’s Bauer.”

  She sighed, unsure of how much further she wanted to take this discussion.

  “Not now,” he whispered. “Later, when we’re home.”

  Niklas stood, keeping her hand firmly in his, and led them up the stairs and back out of the arena. They drove out of the city, through the sunken concrete walled highways and back to the lush green of Niklas’s neighborhood. When they walked into the quiet house, smells of summer barbeque wafted from the kitchen. Caroline looked over at Niklas for signs of surprise but found none.

  “Did someone break in and cook us dinner?” she asked.

  Niklas chuckled. “That would be the housekeeper you were so hesitant about. What do you think now?”

  She smiled. “The idea is growing on me.”

  “I thought we’d have barbecued ribs, corn on the cob and potato salad out on the back deck,” he said. He raised an eyebrow and added, “If that’s okay with you.”

  The housekeeper must have left just minutes before they arrived, judging by the kitchen. The corn sat on a serving platter in the middle of the kitchen, still steaming hot. Silverware, plates, and napkins sat on a carrying tray. On the stove lay a long rack of ribs, which looked as if they had been slow-cooked while she and Niklas were out.

  “Hungry?” asked Niklas, standing right behind her. “The potato salad is probably in the fridge. I just need to put the ribs on the grill out back.”

  Had he organized this to make sure the day ended right? The idea was enough to melt the last of the tension from the rink. Caroline turned and put her arms around his waist, leaning against the warmth of his chest.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You know, you’re pretty good at this boyfriend thing.”

  Niklas kissed the top of her head and smoothed her hair down her back.

  “Beginner’s luck,” he whispered, kissing her again.

  Caroline smiled. “You must be starving. I’m hungry, and I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

  “Don’t worry. You can earn it later,” he said, his gaze darkening.

  Chapter 8

  CAROLINE LEANED AGAINST the railing of the deck, looking out at the lake, while Niklas turned the ribs on the grill. At this moment, reality and fantasy had merged into a perfect, late-summer evening. Though he had neighbors, the houses were staggered in such a way as to make Niklas’s deck feel private. His lot sloped down, enclosing them in a hill on one side, and a clump of mature pine trees blocked the view on the other. In front of her, the lake spread out, calm and flat in the evening heat.

  This could be their life together. They could sit on this deck and watch the evening come in silence. Every night, they could make love in the bedroom just a few steps away, and every morning, she could wake up to his warm, solid body against hers. She felt a giddy sense of excitement take over as she indulged in this fantasy.

  Niklas crossed the deck and came up behind her. He slipped his hands under her shirt and brought them to her stomach, pulling her gently against his body. Her body awakened to his, responding to each of his movements. He bent down and scraped his teeth over the base of her neck.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he said.

  Caroline chuckled.

  “I thought you were going to say something else.”

  “Do you want me to?” he asked, his voice lower and huskier.

  Her body whispered, yes, but she shook her head. If she was hungry, he must be starving.

  “We should eat.”

  His lips brushed over her neck one more time before he straightened up behind her. His hands left her skin, and she let out a sigh. Niklas walked over to the outdoor table, and pulled out her chair for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, sitting down.

  Despite the modern theme of his home, the table was small and rustic, and sitting across from him like this felt intimate, as if no one else existed in this world they were creating. Someone—the housekeeper, no doubt—had spread a white linen runner along the center and placed two candles, matches, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew and two glasses, upside-down, on top of it. The sun was still shining across the lake, so Niklas brushed aside the matches and reached for the corkscrew.

  Caroline took in the sounds of the trees and the water gently lapping at the shore. They had traveled all summer long, and Caroline hadn’t realized how much she missed summer life in Michigan. The last few months had passed without picnics or visits to friends’ cottages or trips to the endless string of Lake Michigan beaches. She had given these up for her trip around the world—and her time with Niklas.

  She tried to imagine adding Niklas into her Michigan summer life, but it was difficult. Would he even want to be a part of it? She’d ask later, but for now, she took her cues from Niklas.

  They ate their meal in intoxicating silence, slowly, his legs wrapped around hers. S
he met his eyes, and he didn’t look away. His smile was filled with warmth and tenderness, and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. As the sun made its way toward the horizon and the sounds of crickets and frogs filled the evening air, Niklas leaned forward and lit the two candles between them. He poured a little more wine into her glass.

  “I came in late yesterday and forgot to ask. How was your meeting with your photography friend?” he asked her, his face glowing in the candlelight.

  She hesitated.

  “Depends on your perspective,” she said slowly.

  Caroline had spent the rest of the day wishing she had taken Jess’s path right after college. If she had dived into the fun projects, the kinds of assignments that would have taken her to new places, maybe she would be ready to go with Niklas to Stockholm. But instead, she had just opened the door to travel photojournalism. She wasn’t ready to put it aside so soon.

  Some of Niklas’s smile faded as he waited for her to continue.

  “Jess has some great projects lined up, and she passed one onto me. It’s for the tourism board in New Hampshire. I’d be doing a lot of the things I did this summer.”

  She paused. His eyes narrowed. He understood where this was going.

  “I’d be gone for a month,” she said. “And the thought of being away from you for that long is painful.”

  He stared at her.

  “A month?” He kept his voice calm and even, but she could see the strain on his face as he spoke.

  She tried to keep her own voice light. “I’d have to travel around, meet people, visit parts of the state that rarely get any publicity. And that would take time.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Niklas flatly.

  Caroline frowned. “This is a job that I’d love.”

  “So you’re interested in the kinds of jobs where you’d have to spend most of your time away from home?” he growled.

  She studied him for a moment, trying to register the force behind his response.

  “You already know that, Niklas,” she whispered. “I don’t have the job yet, but I want to try for it.”