Pucking Around: Chapter 64

This is a nice restaurant. Situated on the water’s edge, a view of the skyline blinks before us all yellow, white, and orange. There’s a light rain, making the lights look hazy through the glass. A live jazz group plays in the corner while a woman sings. I’ve got an expensive glass of red wine in my hand, and a beautiful man sits at my side.

I should be feeling light as air, relaxed to finally have the answers I’ve been craving for weeks. But I’m not. How can I be, when the tension between Ilmari and Doctor Halla sits heavier than a lead balloon?

I clear my throat, taking a sip of my wine. Apparently, Finns are comfortable sitting in the world’s most awkward silences. Neither of them has spoken for a whole three minutes. That may not seem like a long time, but sit perfectly still for three minutes across from another person and see how quickly the tension sets in.

Maybe I’m the only one who feels it. Am I the only one squirming in my chair?

“I find it hard to believe you were so surprised to see me today,” Doctor Halla says at last, his gaze locked on Ilmari.

“I can’t see why,” Ilmari replies.

Halla purses his lips in slight annoyance, setting aside his wine. He ordered the bottle for the table. I’m not surprised when Ilmari drinks only water. “You were traveling to Cincinnati to see a hip and knee specialist,” Halla says. “You truly didn’t consider whether it would be me?”

It’s a fair point. I’m curious myself. I glance over at Mars.

“I would have to consider you at all,” Ilmari replies. “And I don’t.”

The chill in the air is enough to give us all frostbite.

Doctor Halla clears his throat. “Not even when you’re going to see a specialist? You never thought to ask for the doctor’s name?” He turns slowly to look at me. “You didn’t think it important to inform your patient of who they were seeing?”

“I trusted my doctor,” Ilmari says for me. “And the last I heard, you were in San Francisco.”

“That was five years ago,” Halla replies, taking a sip of his wine. “I’ve made contact since then. Christmas cards, birthdays. And I’m told you received my gift when you signed with the Rays.”

“I don’t need your money and never have,” Ilmari counters, seeming almost bored with the whole conversation. “I donated it all to a local charity. Your generous gift is now preserving sea turtle habitats.”

I fight my smile, hiding it behind my wine glass. Mars and his sea turtles.

“Good,” Halla murmurs. “The money was yours to do with as you wished. I’m glad you made use of it for such a noble cause.”

I glance between them, surprised Halla was able to turn that around so smoothly. Clearly, Ilmari is annoyed. He wanted it to sting more than it did.

“How is your mother?” says Halla.

At that question, Ilmari freezes, his hand reaching for his water glass. He snatches it off the table, taking a sip. “Dead,” he replies, setting it back down with a hard clink.

Doctor Halla and I both shift uncomfortably. “How?” he murmurs. “When?”

Ilmari glares at him. “Cancer. Thirteen years ago.”

I do the math quickly. I know he’s thirty years old, meaning he was still a boy when she died, only seventeen. His own father didn’t know about his mother’s death? Ilmari has been alone for thirteen years?

“Do you have any siblings, Mars?” I ask.

“No.”

“Other family?”

“I have the Kinnunen’s,” he replies. “Juhani took me in and paid for my hockey.”

Across the table, Doctor Halla grunts, his gaze darkening. “I paid for your hockey. I sent money to you both every month, double what was required. I never missed a month.”

“And we never wanted or needed it,” Ilmari says again. “Mother didn’t keep a single euro. I owe you nothing. There is nothing between us.”

I see the way his words hurt Halla. Even though I’m pissed at him for tricking me, I feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Maybe he was just desperate. Ilmari doesn’t make getting close to him very easy.

“You are determined to see the worst in me,” Halla mutters with a tired shake of his head. “There is no room for grace in you, Ilmari. There never has been.”

Ilmari’s hand curls into a fist on the table. “You left us—”

“I left her,” Halla corrects, his blue eyes narrowed at his son. “It was never my intention to leave you. But sometimes people disappoint us, Ilmari. They make mistakes. They act selfishly. How long will you punish me for my sins? Are we never to reach a point of equilibrium where you can accept that, while I may be flawed, I am still your father?”

Ilmari says nothing, but I can sense the tension roiling in him.

Halla shakes his head again. “Now I see my lack of perfection is an unforgivable sin in your eyes. After twenty-three years of trying, you may have finally convinced me to give up on ever having a relationship with my only child.”

“Good,” Ilmari mutters.

He’s playing it cool, but I sense his pain. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be so alone. As a twin, the idea of living in a world without Harrison leaves me with a physical ache.

“Mars,” I murmur, unable to help myself. My hand brushes his thigh, and he tenses.

“Will you treat her the same?” Halla asks, gesturing at me.

Ilmari goes still. “What?”

“When she disappoints you,” Halla presses. “When she makes a mistake, when she proves to you that she can’t be perfect. Maybe she’s done it already,” he adds. “Lord knows she’s got a foul temper—”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Ilmari growls, valiantly defending my honor.

It’s enough to make me let out a little laugh. Now my hand really is on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. “It’s fine, Mars. Doctor Halla is right. I’m a foul-tempered, potty-mouthed disaster. And I’m sure my past would have you running for the hills.”

Neither man laughs at my poor attempt at levity. I bury my soft groan behind my wine glass as the waiter comes with our salads, cracking pepper atop them and refreshing Ilmari’s lemon water.

As soon as the waiter leaves, Doctor Halla is glancing between us again, a look of sadness on his face. It stirs something deep in me. He’s lonely too. Damn it, I wanted to hate him for the stunt he pulled on us today. Why is he making me feel sympathy? I shift in my chair, wanting him to look away.

“Don’t treat her like you’ve treated me, Ilmari,” he says, a note of tenderness in his voice.

Ilmari stills, salad fork in hand, not looking up at either of us.

“It’s cold in the harsh winter of your hatred,” his father goes on. “I can take it, but then I’m a Finn. She is not.”

Slowly, Ilmari raises his gaze to look at his father. Doctor Halla switches to Finnish, asking him a question. I can’t understand it, but god I wish I could. Ilmari is quiet for a long moment before he finally responds with one word, spoken so softly. “Joo.”

Our Uber pulls up outside the Cincinnatian Hotel and I let go of Ilmari’s hand. It’s still raining—more like a soft mist. I open my door as Ilmari opens his. He’s around the back of the car in moments, stepping in next to me as we duck out of the misting rain. We move quickly through the doors into the sparkly hotel lobby, my heels clicking on the tiles.

“I just need to get my bag,” I murmur, phone in hand. Since it’s raining, I’ll hop in another Uber to head over to Tess’s apartment. I’ve been sending her and the boys updates when I can. They’re all frothing for more details of the soap opera reveal that Doctor H is Ilmari’s long-lost father.

Meanwhile, tension sits heavy between Ilmari and I. He’s so difficult to read. I can’t tell what he wants from me, what he’s feeling. The rest of the dinner was bearable, but only just.

We walk up to the front desk, and I find a smile for the clerk. “Hello, we should have a pair of bags on hold back there. Last name is Kinnunen.”

“Okay, just let me check,” she says brightly, flashing Ilmari a winning smile as she ducks away through an open door.

I just roll my eyes. If I summoned up the energy to get annoyed any time a woman looked appreciatively at one of my men, I would live in a constant state of triggered. No one has time for that. Ilmari is gorgeous in a totally unobtainable, I’ll-eat-you-for-breakfast kind of way. He doesn’t even try. He just breathes. She can look all she wants.

The clerk comes back empty-handed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kinnunen. It doesn’t look like I have any bags back here. Are you sure you didn’t have them taken up to your room already?”

I sigh. We don’t have time to unpack her calling me ‘Mrs. Kinnunen’ in front of a moody, possessive goalie. She may as well have just stripped me out of a big trench coat to reveal me wearing his jersey…and nothing else.

I glance over my shoulder to see he’s standing two steps closer, his expression hungry. “Mars, did you send our bags up to your room?”

“It seemed prudent,” he replies with a shrug. “You may have valuables.”

Of course. I let out another breath, turning back to the desk clerk. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” she says. “If you get up to your room, and they’re not there, call down, okay?” Her cheeriness is so at odds with our mutual, slow-burning heat.

“Great,” I say, pushing off the counter and stomping towards the elevators. Ilmari follows close behind me. Once we have distance between us and the desk clerk, I turn. “Will you go get my bag while I call another Uber?”

Ilmari’s gaze drops away from my face to trace my body. The man is undressing me with his eyes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I hold still, heart in my throat. I don’t want him to see that I’m nervous. His gaze levels on me again as he smolders. “No.”

I gasp. “What? You’re seriously going to hoard my bag? You need contact solution and a pair of fuzzy panda sleep socks?”

“No.”

I cross my arms, giving him my best glare. “Don’t one-word-answer me, Mars. I’m not in the mood. Is this a manners thing? Please go get my bag.”

Stepping into my space, he raises his hand and brushes his thumb over my parted lips. “If you want it…come and get it.” Not waiting for me to respond, he turns on his heel and stalks off towards the elevators.