17. Oskar
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
OSKAR
I arrive early for lunch, pretending it is because I woke up early and the sidewalks were not crowded.
That is not true. We had a game last night, so the team plane didn’t get in until after two a.m. I was so exhausted I had to force myself out of bed this morning.
After a long, cool shower, I left my apartment forty-five minutes early for a fifteen-minute walk.
Now I am nervous, wondering if I’m doing the right thing.
It would be easy to leave. I could turn around, walk back home, and decide I was giving Kai the space he asked for.
I would respect his first answer to my text and accept that whatever we had was over.
Truthfully, I wonder if he agreed to lunch only because I pressured him.
He may think an in-person meeting will make it easier to end things once and for all.
But I stay put. I do not want to give up on seeing what we might become. People scurry about, some eating lunch and others carrying things away. I get lost in it and do not notice the person beside me until he says, “Hi, Oskar.”
Kai is even more handsome than he was the last time we were together, and I let myself stare at him for a moment. I am barely able to speak through the big grin that has taken over my face. “It is so good to see you. Thank you for coming.”
I hold out my arms for a hug, but he offers a hand instead.
Bad sign. At least he is smiling, so I will not read too much into this.
I take his hand, but after two pumps, I do not let go.
Eventually I try to pull away, and he becomes the one holding on.
Though he may not want a hug, he is enjoying the touch.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“You know me. Always ready to eat.”
“This way.”
He starts walking, and I hurry to catch up.
“We are having hot dogs?” I ask.
He looks over. “I’ve been wanting them since you sent me those pictures.”
We stop at a place that’s part butcher shop and part restaurant. After ordering two jumbo dogs each, we find a small table and settle in across from each other.
I start with something neutral. “These look like the hot dogs in Sweden. For one to be good, it must reach over the ends of the bun.”
Kai holds a bottle of water midway between the table and his mouth. “Yes. Bonus bites.”
“Right,” I say. “The meat is too big for the bread.”
My stomach twists as I realize how that might sound. I do not want him thinking this is only about sex for me.
“This is a good place,” he says, then shrugs. “Or at least was. I haven’t been here for a while.”
“That is a review you would give a restaurant you do not trust anymore.”
Kai lets out a quick snicker. “Yeah, well. Things change.”
I pick up one of my hot dogs. “Let’s test one. Find out if they are still good.”
“Right.” Kai takes a dog off his plate. “Very scientific.”
“I am known for my rigorous methods.”
He snorts, then takes a bite—more than a nibble, less than a mouthful. He waits until he swallows to say, “Oh yeah, still good.”
“I am relieved.” I take a big bite of mine, and as soon as the flavor hits, I close my eyes and moan.
“Good?” he asks.
“Like heaven’s food. This is what a hot dog should be.”
Kai nods. “Would’ve been a wasted trip otherwise.”
“It would have.”
Irritation coils in my chest. Can we not say more than this?
We devour the rest of our first dogs in silence.
As I reach for my second, Kai asks, “Are they cooked the same in Sweden?”
Fan. “Mostly. Grilled or steamed.”
“What about toppings?”
I hesitate. “I think I have told you some of this before.”
He pinches his eyebrows together. “Sorry, I… I don’t remember what you said.”
“Perhaps you did not like it.”
“That bad?”
A nervous chuckle escapes me. “Mashed potatoes. Fried onions. Sometimes shrimp or cucumber salad.”
At least he does not grimace. “Okay. That’s… a lot.”
“You would enjoy it more than you think.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”
The silence becomes more relaxed as we eat. After we finish, Kai offers me a small smile. “Can we have the talk we should’ve had last week?”
A little alcohol might soften the blow I’m afraid is coming, but I only ordered water. I take a deep breath and hold out a hand, telling him to go on.
“I was shocked to see you in the Fury’s goal,” he says. “But you already know that. I’ve been wondering why you didn’t tell me, and… well, why I didn’t tell you about me.”
“Right.” My voice is shaky. “I was going to, but—”
“I was too. Then I got confused and scared, and when Jace’s dad died, I—”
“He died? I am sorry to hear it.” My stomach sours because I have wondered if Kai actually left town at all.
“They hadn’t been close for a while,” he says, “but they loved each other.”
I take a sip of water. “I had hoped to talk to you while I was at training camp.”
“Which is when I was at ours,” he says. “Something else you already know. I didn’t want to text about it. I thought about calling, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to talk.” He swallows, then goes on. “We hadn’t spoken for a while by then, and I was afraid you wouldn’t want to hear from me.”
“A stupid fear, if I may be frank. I will always want to hear from you. When you left and didn’t tell me why, it hurt me. Your texts were… guarded. I thought you were giving me off the brush.”
The first part of a laugh bursts out of him, but he catches it like the goalie he is.
“You can laugh,” I say. “I got that wrong?”
“I won’t make fun of you for trying to use an idiom.”
“Why not? You should hear all the shit my new teammates give me about my English. They are kidding around, and I laugh too, but it is good to be back with my proper tutor. What should I have said?”
He laughs again, this time for real. “Two options. Either ‘brushing me off’ or ‘giving me the brush-off.’ I think most Americans would say it the first way.”
“Thank you.” I imitate my teammates. “I thought you were brushing me off, big daddy.”
This time, his laugh is very loud. “You need to watch what you pick up from your teammates. ‘Big daddy’ is so last decade. But if you’re going to say it, I’m not your big daddy. That would be you. To me.” His cheeks turn red, and it takes me a minute to understand why.
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be your big daddy?”
The color spreads from his face to his throat. “Your English is sounding a little more natural. It’s good to have a lot of coaches.”
“That’s it. They can be my coaches. You are my tutor.”
“Fair. Want to take a walk now?”
“Let’s go.”
Outside, he asks, “By the river?”
“Yes.”
He leads us through the wind until we come to a walkway. “This is called the esplanade,” he says, then points at the pier in front of us. “That’s Pier 57. We should come back sometime.”
I only smile.
Walking by the water reminds me of being in Stockholm.
“I love the autumn,” I say. “The air is crisp, and I like wearing jackets and sweaters.”
“Me too. This is beautiful, huh?” He gestures at the brilliant red and gold foliage dotting the esplanade.
We stop to admire a spectacular tree, and after we rate it ten out of ten, Kai’s expression turns serious. He swallows hard, and his voice comes out raspy. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to do that.”
My stomach flutters so much I put a hand over it. “I knew you were scared. But I did not expect you to run.”
He flinches but does not look away.
“It was difficult,” I add. “I thought we had more trust than that.”
“I’m not the only one who could’ve been in touch more, you know.” He clamps his mouth shut and takes a moment before saying, “That was unfair. You tried to stay in touch, and I blew you off.”
Now it is my turn to laugh. “You blew me off? Yes, a few times, but not while you were away.”
The red returns to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean like that. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to, but… God!” He rolls his eyes and lets out a little sigh. “That expression has two meanings. The one you know, and the one that means to ignore someone.”
I will not tell him I knew this. “Thank you. I am afraid I will never learn to speak American.”
He bumps my arm. “You already do, you big oaf. Just use more contractions and slur your words together a little. As for slang, let me teach you. Don’t listen to those dumbass Fury guys. It’s a well-known fact that they’re not very smart.”
I puff my chest out as much as I can and slur my words. “Fuck off, man. I’m a Fury guy, and I’m fuckin’ brilliant.”
“There you go.” He brushes the back of my hand with his thumb. “Now you sound a hundred percent American.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“Back to the important stuff. I’m sorry I—”
“Enough.” I can’t help touching the cuff of his jacket.
“You have already apologized, and I accept it. I need to apologize too because I should have been more forthright last summer. And because I could have found a way to let you know I play for the Fury before our game. I chose not to try. By then I felt…”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Since I had not heard from you for so long, I thought you deserved the surprise.”
More laughter bubbles out of him. “You fucker! I knew it. You did stage it.”
“Not quite the way you mean it. I didn’t know Morrison would be hurt, and I had planned to come to your locker room after the game. When it turned out I had to play, I assumed you would recognize my name. I wanted to… what’s the saying… show you what you were missing.”
He laughs yet again, the loudest one today, and we start walking again.
“You find an apartment?” he asks.
“Yes. It is very nice. Would you like to see it?”
He delays a beat too long, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
“Maybe not today,” he says, “but soon. I’m tired from the roadie and don’t know if I feel like going to Jersey and back.”
“It’s not in Jersey. I live in Chelsea, not far from where we are now.”
He tilts his head. “My place isn’t far either.”
“I know. That will make it convenient if we want to hang out.” I hold my breath for a second, then say, “Living in Manhattan is worth the commute, which does not usually take long.”
He looks out at the water so long I brace myself for the worst.
When he turns back, his lips are trembling. “I’m glad you aren’t far. Can I ask a question?”
“By all means.” My stomach clenches. I have not been able to do much bracing.
“After we met, I was happier than I’d been for a long time even though I was afraid. I’ll probably always be scared, but I…”
His voice breaks, and I rest a hand on his arm. “Say what you need to.”
He looks into my eyes. “I was much happier with you in my life, and I’d… I understand if the answer is no, but would you be interested in seeing each other again? More than hanging out. I’d like to know if we can fix what went wrong. If you still want to.”
It’s hard to breathe. I’d almost convinced myself this would never happen, and now, he is the one proposing it.
“There is nothing I would like better, even winning the Laurentian Cup. We have things to work out, but I am willing to try if you are.”
His lips are shaking again, more than before. “Good. I’ll try hard because I like you, Oskar. Very much.”
“I will give it everything I can. I have one condition, though, and I can’t compromise. It would be bad for both of us if I do.”
“What is it?”
“No running. If we get scared, we get scared. If we want out, we want out. But regardless of what happens, we talk about it. We do not treat each other as expendable.”
He nods. “I might need help not screwing it up.”
“That is why talking will be important. As long as we are in this together, I will help you any way I can.”
“I’ll talk,” he says. “Promise.”
I want to kiss the doubt off him, but I hold back. Something tells me we need to let things happen at their own pace.
“So, do you want to see my new apartment? No funny business. Kors p? halsen.”
He tilts his head. “Course po hahlsun?”
I repeat it slowly. “Kors p? halsen. It means ‘cross my throat.’”
“Cross your throat? That sounds painful.”
“It isn’t. You would say, ‘cross my heart.’”
He sighs but can’t hide his smile. “If you know ‘cross my heart,’ why didn’t you say it?”
“Because I am Swedish,” I say. “Kors p? halsen is prettier, and it makes me happy. You should learn some Swedish.”
“Mm hmm. Perhaps you will be my tutor?”
“Perhaps.”
He lets me take his hand, and we walk on.
After a moment, he says, “Let’s hold off on seeing your place until we get a few things settled. I want to do it soon, though.”
“No worries. May I text you tonight?”
“You’d better. I’ve never dated another goalie before. We’re used to not liking other goalies much, so you and I need to prove we’re trustworthy.”
“I am trustworthy,” I declare.
He narrows his eyes. “So you say. I am trustworthy.”
“So you say.”
“We’ll text tonight then?”
“I would not miss it for the world.”
He looks back the way we came. “My condo is up there. I should get going.”
“My apartment is only a few blocks that way,” I say, pointing in the other direction. “So I will walk you home.”
“Oskar, let’s not—”
“I will only go as far as your sidewalk, but it would be rude to let the man I am working things out with walk home alone. Not being rude is important to Swedes.”
He nods in the direction he has to go. “Come on, then. Never let it be said I made a Swede feel rude.”
It is a short walk, and we joke the whole way there. I keep my word and stop on the sidewalk outside his building.
“Thanks for meeting me, Oskar. I’m excited about what might happen, but I’m still scared. So you know.”
“I will be patient with that. As long as you do not run.”
“I won’t. Cross my throat.”
Now I cannot resist kissing him. I keep it short, more a touch of lips, but it feels incredibly good.
This could still go wrong, but thinking about that will not help either of us.
He trails a finger down my arm. “Thank you. That was nice.”
“Mm. I thought so too. I’ll be in touch tonight.”
I turn to leave, and after I take a few steps, he calls out, “Can’t wait.”
Looking back, I channel one of my teammates. “Later, dude.”
His laugh is beautiful background music as I walk away.