Chapter 4
Soren
New York is a big and sometimes strange place. People have encounters with odd people all the time. So why can’t I forget him?
He’s in my dreams now, dreams where I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
In these dreams, he makes me laugh and smile so hard my cheeks hurt.
Wherever we are, it’s somewhere cold, full of rugged natural beauty.
He looks at me like I’m his entire world, kisses me like he can’t get enough.
We talk. I don’t know what about. Our conversations are muffled, like I’m hearing them from underwater.
Every time, I wake with an ache in my chest and sometimes even tears in my eyes because I know I’ll never find anyone who loves me like my dream man does.
My dreams become more and more intense. Tender kisses become heated.
Every touch has me aching for more. Beneath me, his eyes dark with lust and adoration, he falls apart as I drive myself deep into the heat and tightness of his body.
He feels like home. His gorgeous lips part as he utters moans I can’t hear.
When he comes, his lips forming the shape of my name over and over again, I realize that all my life, something has been missing.
It’s him. It’s the love we share in these dreams.
It’s so damn pathetic.
“Are you sleeping well? You have bags under your eyes,” Fergus points out one night, worriedly rubbing beneath my eyelid.
I move out of his reach to plate up the piping hot veggie lasagna we’re having for dinner. “I’m fine. Just having weird dreams.”
I hand him his plate and we sit at the table together.
“Nightmare?”
“I guess.” No, they’re anything but. However, I’m not telling my granddad I’ve been having wet dreams about a weird stranger.
Fergus’s knife scrapes the bottom of his plate. He forks some lasagna into his mouth and sighs contentedly. “This is delicious. Eat, boy. Did anything happen recently that bothered you?”
I shrug. “Something happened last week.”
Fergus frowns. “Drunks at the bar causing trouble?”
I take a sip of my coffee, sucking it down like its oxygen. I need the energy since I’m working all night at the bar tonight. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. My brain was like a TV that wouldn’t shut off, replaying my encounter with that strange man who was both familiar and not.
“I wish. This guy came up to me just as I got home.” Where do I even start? Do I mention his antique style of clothing? His archaic way of speaking? How he’d looked at me in a way no one ever had before? The devastation on his face when I’d told him I didn’t know who he was?
Fergus frowns. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, he didn’t hurt me. It was just weird, that’s all. He acted like he knew me.”
“You’re sure you’d never met before?”
I nod. “That’s the thing. I know I haven’t, but there was something familiar about him.”
Ceramic clanks hard against the table as Fergus sets his drink down. “What did he look like?”
“Like he’d walked off a film set. Kind of like a character from some Viking movie or something.”
Fergus is quiet for so long, I look up and freeze. His face has gotten paler, his knuckles whitening around the handle of his mug.
“Gramps? You okay?”
He jumps, sucking in a breath. “If you see him again, let me know at once. If he comes looking for you again, stay away from him.”
My stomach churns. I’ve never seen him so serious before. “I will.”
He exhales slowly. “Good. I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” His eyes water, and I chuckle.
“I’m fine, Gramps. Besides, he wasn’t dangerous.” If I’m sure of anything, it’s that. He’d looked at me with such tenderness, I’d known on an instinctual level he’d never hurt me. “He just seemed sad when I didn’t know who he was. It’s so odd. I could have sworn I’d seen him somewhere before…”
“You haven’t, Soren. You’re being kind and empathetic, that’s all. He was mentally ill. Hopefully, he will get the help he needs but knowing how little this city cares about helping people like him, it’s not likely.” Fergus gives me a tight smile, his lips whitening. What’s with him?
He rises and approaches my chair, then leans down and hugs me tightly.
I chuckle, putting an arm around him. “Hey. What’s going on?”
He laughs, low and rusty, and I smile into his shoulder. “Oh, hush and let me hug my grandson.” He grips the back of my neck and squeezes. A warm sensation runs through me, making me feel like a boy again, running into his arms for comfort and safety. “Have a good shift, my boy.”
I give him a squeeze. “Thanks.”
I give the ice-cold shaker a long rattle.
It’s a good night. The dance floor is packed, and there’s only standing room at the bar.
I’ve been busy, bouncing between the bar and the kitchen to bring people food.
There’s an ache in my feet, and my head’s starting to pound with every throb of the music.
There's only an hour left, and then I can go home.
I strain the drink into a glass, garnish it with an orange peel twist, and then hand it to my customer. “Here you go.”
Jamie takes his drink but doesn’t sip right away, taking a moment to admire my work. I do make nice-looking drinks, and I’ve been told they taste as good as they look. I’ve come a long way from my days of spilling beer and dropping glasses. Okay, I still drop a glass from time to time.
“This looks amazing! Cheers, puppy dog!” He lifts his glass to the rugged, handsome man beside him.
“Cheers!” Anders returns, and he drinks his beer.
Jamie and Anders are newcomers. They’ve been showing up at least every other night for the past two weeks. Anders seemed like a broody grump at first, but Jamie, and a few drinks, helped loosen him up.
“So good!” Jamie says. “This may be the best Cosmo I’ve ever had!”
My face lights up with pride. “Thanks. Glad to hear it.”
“How long have you lived in the city?” Anders asks.
“All my life,” I answer. “How about you?”
“Just moved here myself. Me and my twin.”
Dear God, he has a twin? Is he single?
Nope. Doesn’t matter. No more relationships for me.
“Where from?”
“Iceland,” Jamie chimes in. “Ever been?”
I had noticed Anders’s intriguing accent, but I hadn’t been able to place it.
“Wow, that’s exciting. Can’t say I’ve thought of visiting.”
“Would you be open to showing my twin around the city in your spare time? Jamie and I have busy schedules, or we would offer.”
That sounds fun. “Sure,” I say. It would be nice to meet someone new and do something outside of work for a change. “Give him my number. My evenings are busy but my weekends are free.”
“Thank you,” Anders says, smiling gratefully. “He’s a good man, my brother. A bit thickheaded.”
Jamie laughs. “Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”
I give Anders my number so he can pass it along to his brother. My shift gets busier after that, so I’m not able to chat much, and Jamie and Anders leave before my shift is done. Craving a warm bed, I drag myself home and all but collapse.
When I wake up the next day, there’s a message on my phone from a new number.
Greetings. I am Anders’s brother. Thank you for your kind offer.
No problem! This’ll be fun. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to see?
Do you know of any mead halls?
Mead halls? I guess that’s something they have in Iceland.
We don’t have mead halls, but I bet I can find a place that serves mead.
Sounds like he’s feeling homesick.
After a quick Google Maps search, I find not only a place that serves mead, but it’s also Viking themed. It sounds fun.
We make plans to meet at the bar around noon.
I spend the rest of my morning getting ready for the day and brainstorming interesting places we could go. I think I have a pretty good plan by the time I leave the house and ride the train over to Hell’s Kitchen, where the bar’s supposed to be.
The bar, Valhalla, is nestled amongst a whole block full of bars, mostly catering to the LGBTQ community.
It sure stands out with a name like that.
The interior is as cool as I’d hoped it would be, full of Viking-esque decor and horned helmets on the walls.
It’s like I walked into a mead hall from the Viking era.
“Soren?”
That voice… It can’t be…
I turn and can barely stop my mouth from falling open.
It’s Lyall. He’s dressed differently from the night we met, in a sweater that hugs his thick chest and a leather jacket.
He’s tied his golden mane back into a ponytail and shaved his beard to stubble.
His eyes. They’re identical to Anders’s, and now that I’ve met Anders, there’s no mistaking the family resemblance.
Well, shit. What are the chances?
“You’re Anders’s brother?”
“Aye. His twin.” He smiles, looking much happier than the night I met him. “Fancy seeing you again.”
I chuckle. “I know, right? Only in New York. So. Nice to meet you. Again. I’m Soren.”
“I know—my brother told me,” he adds quickly.
“Lyall. A pleasure to meet you. Again.” He gives me a playful smile that I pretend doesn’t make my stomach flutter.
Shit. He’s stunning. That’s fine. Nothing wrong with appreciating a handsome guy.
We’re not dating or anything. There’s no harm in looking.
“I hope you like the place. They serve mead.”
Lyall looks around with a smile. “Why are there horns on those helmets? Is that not impractical? Suppose you’re fighting and someone grabbed onto those horns and pulled. They could easily get a hit on you.”
I shrug. “You could gouge an eye out.”
Lyall laughs. “I hadn’t thought of that! Aye, that could work, but see the way they’re curved? You’d leave a bruise for sure but you wouldn’t come close to taking an eye out.”
“Yeah, but you’ll look epic while doing it.”
“You’ll look dead.”
“And cool.”
He huffs in amusement, but before he can reply, the bartender hands us some menus. Lyall orders right away. “Mead,” he says.
“Sure. Which kind?”
He doesn’t even look at the menu. “Whichever is your strongest.”
“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” I add.