by Gina Azzi
This time, it’s his turn to choke. I grin bitterly and push over the napkin dispenser. Beth shoots us a confused look before shaking her head and dropping off two plates stacked with blueberry pancakes.
“Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars?” he hisses. “Who the hell do you owe that much money to?”
I smirk at him, feeling some of my sadness give way to a hardness I grasp onto with both hands. Moving from shaky ground to a higher elevation, I find my footing once more. I take a sip of my coffee, pour some maple syrup over my pancakes, and cut into them. “That’s a long story.”
He glances around the diner. “I’ve got time, Ri.”
“Eat your pancakes, Torsten.”
“No fucking way are we leaving it at this. Last night, you were almost sobbing at Taps because you lost your job. Some asshole clearly manhandled you.” He glares at my arm. “I tugged a goddamn eviction notice off your door. Now, I find out you are hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt and you want me to just drop it?” His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.
I glance up, gasping at the ice in his eyes. Fury fills the lines of his face. His hand is clenched around his fork. “Torsten.”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell, Ri. Tell me what’s going on.” He leans closer, beseeching me with his eyes.
I wince, cursing myself for being honest. Once again, my stupid pride sets me back. Instead of being truthful, I dig deep for my bitchy abrasiveness. Anything to get him to stop caring, to change the subject, to walk out of here and never turn his pitying eyes my way again. “What’s it matter to you, huh? I’m nobody to you. Just your captain’s little sister’s friend. A girl you sang karaoke with drunk at a bar.”
His lips press into a firm line and his fork clatters to the table.
“You okay, Torsten? The pancakes all right?” Beth calls out.
Torsten glares at me, his expression furious. Slowly he releases an exhale and rolls his neck toward Beth. “Yes, Beth. The pancakes are great. Thank you.”
“All right, hon. I’m just going on break before the lunch rush hits. Holler if you need me.” Beth pushes through the double swinging doors toward the kitchen.
Torsten turns back toward me and my breath lodges in my throat. Outside of a hockey game, I’ve never seen him look so angry, so intense. His flashing eyes cause a thrill to shoot down my spine, a throb to clench in my lower abdomen. I press my thighs together and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. Torsten zeroes in on the movement, his restraint slipping, his eyes swirling, dark blue like a violent ocean storm.
“Rielle Carter,” he whispers and I like the way my name sounds on his lips. Like it so much more than I should. “If you think I don’t care about you at all, then I’ve done a piss poor job at being your friend.”
“Friend,” I repeat, working a swallow.
Torsten grins but it’s sinister. I’ve never seen this side of him before and I like it. “Sweetheart, come on now, I’ve always sought you out. At every Hawks event you show up to, I find you.”
“You flirt with everyone,” I remind him.
A growl escapes from his chest and his eyes narrow. Ooh, I’ve pissed him off. My thighs clench tighter and I wring my hands together. What the hell is wrong with me? How did this conversation go sideways so quickly? Minutes ago, I wanted to die of embarrassment, now I don’t care if Torsten knows all about my mistakes if he just eases the inferno building in my bloodstream.
“You’re right,” he agrees and I feel like a tidal wave of cold water puts out the fire in my body.
His eyes clear some and he straightens his posture. I let out a shaky exhale, feeling unsteady. I reach for my water glass and fumble it. Torsten’s hand darts out to grasp the glass before it tips and his hand wraps over mine, large and strong and heavy. “I think I can help you out, Ri.”
I freeze, shooting him a look of disbelief. Whiplash seizes me and I stare at him, my mouth falling open. My heart hammers in my chest; my thoughts swirl in my head.
Torsten takes a deep breath, stares directly into my eyes, and says, “Marry me.”
“What?” I gasp. I definitely heard him wrong. That’s it. I’ve officially lost my mind. My wild and reckless has given way to unhinged.
Because there is no way in hell that Torsten Hansen, Norwegian sex god, just proposed to me at a corner diner in South Boston.
I blink slowly, trying to regulate my breathing. But when I meet Torsten’s eyes again, he’s still staring at me. His hand is still covering mine. His intensity is still dragging me under like quicksand.
He glances over his shoulder as the bells over the diner doors chime. Regulars begin to enter and Beth comes back from her break.
“Hear me out?” he murmurs, his voice low.
I nod, too confused to voice an objection.
“Sorry, Beth. Something came up. Any chance we can take these to go? I’ll take the check.”
“You got it.” Beth sidles up next to our booth a few moments later with white Styrofoam containers and a bill. She gives me a long look that toes the line between uncertain and dislike.
Torsten pays while I fill the takeout containers with our pancakes.
“Let’s go back to your place. We’ll grab our cars later.”
“Okay.” I slip out of the booth, don my coat, and grab my purse. Torsten’s fingers find the small of my back and guide me forward. I feel unsteady on my feet, in shock.
When he clears the door and we’re back on the street, Torsten stops suddenly. “Rielle, wait.”
I turn toward him, craning my neck so I can meet his eyes. “This is crazy,” he blurts out, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I—”
“I want to hear you out,” I cut him off, surprising the hell out of both of us. I have no idea what Torsten’s motivation is for proposing marriage but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. Or a tiny bit hopeful. When I look at him, I see a soft place to land, a shoulder to lean on, a person who understands me on a deeper level. No matter how crazy his idea is, the fact that he wants to help me find a solution, is enough for me to want to listen.
He searches my eyes for a long moment before shaking his head. “Okay. Okay, we’ll talk.”
“We’ll talk,” I agree, falling in step beside him.
4
Torsten
I walk beside her, wondering if I’ve lost my damn mind.
What the hell was I thinking? Did I seriously just propose marriage to a woman I’ve spent a total of fifteen hours with, in group settings, over blueberry pancakes?
Yes, yes I did.
We’re quiet as we walk, both of us lost in our thoughts. Except mine swing from angry to needy to frustrated. I hate that Rielle questioned our friendship, as if I don’t give a shit about her. I know we aren’t close and don’t really know each other but does she seriously think I treat her the same way I treat puck bunnies? Her accusation stung and it shouldn’t have because it’s the perception I’ve spent years cultivating.
I just don’t like that it worked on her.
Then, there’s the fact that she’s obviously in some kind of trouble. Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars? Really? That’s not normal credit card or student loan debt. That’s serious, life-altering, damaging debt. Is someone trying to shake her down? Is that why she has bruises on her arm?
Jesus. I scrape a hand over my face, glancing at Rielle from the corner of my eye. She keeps her head straight ahead, her footsteps even, her shoulders pulled back. I couldn’t get a read on her if I was a fucking mind reader.
But marriage? No, I didn’t propose marriage. I proposed something different. A transaction. And she knows it.
The thought makes me feel cheap and dirty. I already feel like I fucked up by suggesting such an insane idea. But is it really that insane if it helps us both out? This way, I can get my papers to stay in the States and visit Farmor. And Rielle can get out of debt and search for a job she wants because of the
role, not just the salary. It’s like a different kind of friends-with-benefits agreement, right?
Way to rationalize that one, Hansen.
I take a fortifying breath and follow Rielle as she walks down a side street toward her apartment. I’ve escorted her home three times now and know this area pretty well. It’s not the best part of town but seeing it with clearer eyes, in the morning light, with Rielle at my side, makes me wince. We pass a couple of drunk guys, sitting on a curb and passing a bottle back and forth. A woman digs through trash, her cheeks sunken and her expression gaunt.
Fuck. My chest aches that this is where Rielle lives. While I dine at The Ivy and order bespoke suits, this proud woman walking beside me has to step over broken glass and watch her back from men with roaming eyes and vulgar threats. The realization cuts me deep and I don’t miss the way Rielle’s shoulders round toward each other, as if she’s protecting herself from the environment she currently lives in.
Who does she owe so much money to? Who laid hands on her?
We draw closer to her apartment building. Two men hanging in the parking lot stop and stare.
“You good, Rielle?” one of them calls out. He has a thick Southie accent.
Rielle lifts a hand and waves. “All good. Thanks, Merck.”
He narrows his eyes, giving me a once-over. “You sure, girl? Because you don’t have to—”
“I swear I’m fine!” Rielle hollers out, her cheeks blazing red.
I shoot the guy a look and trail after Rielle who seems to be speed walking toward the door.
“Who’s that guy?” I ask her, dropping a hand to her shoulder.
She glances up at me, her eyes filled with shame. “That’s Merck. The property manager.”
“What did he mean—”
“He thinks I’m taking you back to my place to sleep with you. For…for money,” she whispers.
“What the fuck?” I respond automatically, angrily. Dropping her arm, I turn toward the guys in the parking lot and take one step in their direction, practically vibrating with rage. How dare they think that about Rielle? How dare they think of her at all.
A surge of protectiveness mixed with jealousy I’m unprepared for blazes through me, propelling me forward.
“Wait. Torsten, please.” Rielle hangs onto my arm, trying to pull me back.
I pause at the desperation in her tone.
When I glance at her, she looks near tears, even more so than last night, and it shocks me. Because in all the years I’ve known Rielle, I’ve never seen her actually cry. Not once. And I’ve seen Claire throw down more emotional outbursts than I can count.
I falter. “What is it?”
“Please. Just, come upstairs with me. Let’s talk.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What they think—”
“It doesn’t matter. Please don’t make this more embarrassing for me. I’m so humiliated right now. And Merck, he doesn’t mean it the way you think. He looks out for me. For real.”
I scan her face before nodding once. Anger simmers in my veins as I follow her into the building and up the stairs. I note the smell of weed, the bickering behind closed doors, the screaming that rings out on floor three.
When we get to Rielle’s door, she pulls a fresh pink slip off the doorframe and my stomach sinks as I recognize the eviction notice. My stomach twists so painfully, I think I’m going to be sick.
Rielle slips inside and I follow behind her, wincing at the sound the deadbolt makes when it slides into place.
“Want a water or something? We can finish our pancakes.” She gestures toward her small kitchen table.
“Sure,” I say, taking a seat just to put her at ease.
In truth, I’d rather pace her apartment like a caged lion demanding answers to all her fucking problems. Like why she’s in so much debt. And why that man, Merck, thinks she’d sleep around for money. And why she hasn’t told anyone about any of this. Because I know for a fact if Claire knew how rough things were for Rielle, she’d be living in the Merrick family home right now.
Rielle sets two glasses of water down and meets my gaze, a sheepish smile glancing off her lips. I realize I spoke my last thought aloud. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Why, Ri? Not even Claire?”
“Especially not Claire.” She sits down. “Her family—”
“Would have taken you in as theirs in a heartbeat.”
She nods, a wistful look crossing her features before she blinks it away. “I’m not a charity case,” she says, like she’s reminding me.
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I heave a sigh and lean back in my chair. “Do you want to tell me about the debt?”
She shrugs. “Student loans.”
“No way. Unless you went to Harvard, twice, you wouldn’t be in that much debt.”
She bites her bottom lip, her gaze darting out the window before meeting my eyes once more. “My father and I had a falling out. A big one. I took out private loans for college, from a family friend. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been when I read the terms.” She frowns. “I trusted him, you know?”
I nod, because I do know. Only eight years ago, my father and uncle tried to change the terms of my trust. They would have succeeded if Farmor didn’t realize what they were up to and put a stop to it.
“Anyway, his family hit some hard times and he changed the interest rate. So, here we are.”
“Other than the student loans, what do you owe?”
“Nothing.”
“Credit cards, medical, insurance policies?”
“Nope. Just the student loans. And my rent.” She gestures to her apartment.
I nod, keeping my features schooled. Inside, I feel positively ill but Rielle is a proud woman. It’s taking a lot for her to be open and honest with me right now. No way in hell am I going to say or do anything to make her feel like she can’t be straight with me.
“Okay,” I say, opening one of the takeout containers. I nudge the other one closer to her. She goes to the kitchen and returns with some cutlery. Once she’s seated again, I meet her eyes. “Rielle, I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t have a lot of practice with feelings and talking about them.”
She smirks at me and for some reason, it’s oddly encouraging.
“But,” I continue, “I am good at dealing with complicated family members. I know what it’s like to be underestimated and looked over by those you trust. No matter what goes down between us, don’t ever think that I’m not your friend. I’m here for you. If you want to talk or not talk, whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?”
She stares at me for a long moment and some of the pain in her expression eases, like air seeping out of a balloon. She nods.
“Okay.” I smile.
“Will you tell me now why you proposed marriage as a solution to anything?”
I snort. “Yeah. Okay, I’m just going to be straight with you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
I snicker, giving her a searching look. My humor fades as I grow serious. “I need a green card.”
Rielle frowns. “What? Why? You’re on the Hawks. You—”
“This is my last season. No one knows yet except for the owner, some senior management, and our coach.” I shrug, keeping my voice light. “My body isn’t holding up the way it used to.”
Rielle’s eyes widen and her mouth twists. “What do you mean? Are you injured?”
“I’m fine. It’s just, time to hang up my skates. I’ve been in this country for a long time. I’ve built my life here, my future. I’ve started the application process twice to become a naturalized citizen but both times, I needed to head back to Oslo before the necessary paperwork was in order.”
“You can’t just pick up where you left off?”
I shake my head. “The process doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, why don’t you just try again?”
I sigh, steepling my hands together. “I was
going to. I mean, I still can. But my lawyer advised that if I start again, I need to stick around. And I can’t make that commitment.”
“But isn’t this where you want to be?” She narrows her eyes. “Why can’t you stick around?”
I roll my lips together and admit the truth. “My grandmother is ill.”
“Oh.” Rielle leans back in her seat, her expression thoughtful as she processes everything I’m saying. “So, you want to marry for the ability to stay in the US without having to go through the formal process that would restrict your movement?”
“Yes.”
“And in exchange—”
“I’ll pay off your loans. I’ll provide you with a good lifestyle while you figure out your next steps. Whatever you need, you’ll have. And you can take as much time as you need to find a job you love, one that doesn’t burn you out.”
She gasps. Disbelief ripples over her expression. “Just like that?”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her carefully.
“Torsten”—she shakes her head—“I can’t take advantage of your financial success like that.”
I snort. “That’s your takeaway? Rielle, you’re not taking advantage of anything. I’m taking advantage of your situation to try to circumvent the system.”
She wrinkles her nose and looks adorable. Innocent. It’s a glimpse of the girl behind the woman and it makes me smile, even though I’m in the middle of the most serious conversation I’ve ever had.
“Are you serious?” she asks.
“I am if you are. But, you have to know, this is illegal.”
She chuckles and I lean forward, drawn to whatever she’s going to say next. “Torsten, I spent the first eighteen years of my life following every rule you can think of. It left me miserable and hurt. Since then, I’ve broken a bunch just to survive. Trust me, I’m not judging you. Stan.”
I snicker. “So, you’re in?” My heart hammers in my eardrums.
She nods slowly, giving me another one of her smiles. “With conditions. But yes, I’m in.”
“Okay,” I whisper, grinning like a lunatic. “Tell me about your conditions.”