Take Me Viking (Modern Vikings #5)

Prologue

Erik

“I quit my job last week.”

I toss a lighter into the air then catch it as it comes down, squeezing it tightly between my fingers as I fight against the emotions choking me.

My eyes are dry, and at times, I wonder if the pressure in my chest would ease if I let the tears come.

There is no one around to judge me if I cry, not in a place like this. And yet, my eyes remain dry.

“Do you remember when you were fourteen and you told Mom and Pops that you wanted to quit high school and start a rock band with your pals?” I say, pulling out the cigarette pack from my jacket and pinching one out.

I flick the lighter open and light up the cigarette, making no effort to bring it to my lips.

Instead, I stand back and watch the tip turn red.

“You were so convinced you were going to be the next rock star. That was until Mom and Dad laughed in your face then sent you to your room to do your homework.”

I lower the burning cigarette to the tombstone and watch the red tip burn fiercely as it would if my brother were smoking. I always warned him against these nasty things—told him a cigarette would kill him before he hit forty.

It was his motorcycle that took him out in the end. Selfish jerk.

Warned him against that too. I was convinced he'd lose a limb riding around town without a damn helmet on, and goddamn it, he lost more than just a limb. The motherfucker lost his fucking life, and I am so fucking angry that he didn't listen to me. He never did!

I watch the cigarette burn as a low wind picks up.

The red tip burns brighter, and I can almost see Derrick in the afterlife drawing heavily on the cigarette, then releasing a puff of white smoke with a happy sigh.

I can almost see those sharp blue eyes light up with amusement at my disapproving look.

“If these little fuckers kill me, then I’ll die one happy son of a bitch!” he’d tell me, bringing the cigarette back between his lips. “A very happy son of a bitch.”

“Maybe they’ll take you out in the afterlife too,” I murmur, flicking the lighter once more and shuffling restlessly on my feet. “Would be the first ghost to get lung cancer in the afterlife.”

Goddamnit, I need to leave.

Every part of me wants to turn around, to get away from the memories of the only family I had left, but I know leaving won't wipe them out. They'll follow me from this haunted place and onto the boat I intend to board this afternoon.

“So, why did you quit your job?”

Derrick’s voice is in my head. I know it.

It’s my own damn subconscious playing tricks on me, but when the air whistles with a sharp wind and the grass around whispers quietly with it, I can almost picture my brother’s ghost leaning against the tombstone, smoking his cigarette as he pries into my life. Like he always did before.

And I indulge him. This one last time, I let him pry.

“I can’t stay in the city anymore,” I say, finally clicking the lighter shut and shoving it into my pocket. “I’m moving away, Derrick. I don't know how long I'll be gone or when I’ll come back, if I ever come back…”

“Why?”

“Because I can't fucking stay here!” I roar, running a restless hand through my hair, and I’m reminded yet again of the need for a haircut.

It’s been months since I tended to it—since I cared enough to do so.

“You, Mom, and Dad are gone. I don’t have any family left, and this fucking city.

..I see you guys everywhere!” There’s an itch to grab the lighter again, flick it on and off.

Anything to do something with my fucking fingers, but I resist the urge.

Unlike Derrick, I’ve always had the discipline of a saint and refused to allow myself to become addicted or too attached to a habit. To one person.

Fuck, look where that got me. I should have left the son of a bitch and San Francisco long ago.

Would it hurt less? I wonder. Would the pain in my chest burn less if my brother hadn’t been such a central force in my life? Older, yet too reckless. I’d told myself he needed me. That if I stayed, I could help him quit smoking or sell the damn motorcycle.

I failed, didn’t I? I failed to keep my brother alive.

“It’s not your fault, Erik.”

“Of course, it’s not my damn fault. I tried to stop you, didn’t I?” I grind out, but even that heat burns out of me fast. I can’t stay angry at him. I never could.

With a sigh, I pull out another cigarette when the first one burns out, light it up, then slowly place it down next to the first. “I found a job opening for a caretaker position on Southwest Farallon Island and I took it.” I shove my hands in my pockets and look up when the sky thunders.

“I bought a boat, and I’m leaving today. This is goodbye.”

He’s quiet.

I don’t hear his voice in my head. Not as the second cigarette burns just as quickly as the first. And yet, I can feel his judgmental stare.

He was always the adrenaline junkie of the two of us.

Sure, we shared a passion for outdoorsmanship and survivalist camping, but I never took as many risks as he did.

I was the careful son. The responsible one.

The one who went on to become a financier and bought his first house when he was only twenty-five.

Now I’m the only son. The only one left.

My eyes shift to the two tombstones beside my brother’s, and I feel the tightness in my chest again. Our parents. If there is an afterlife, I hope they find each other.

The word goodbye is stuck in my throat, so I don't say it. Instead, I place the pack of cigarettes and Derrick’s favorite lighter by the tombstone, then turn to leave.

The sky opens, and the first droplet hits my face as I walk across the green of the cemetery.

When it begins to pour, I could swear I hear Derrick’s goodbye whisper in the wind.