Right then I knew I was so lucky to have found this man.
“I think it hurt him a little that the truth of us maintaining our relationship and keeping it on the down low hadn’t come from you.” Axl flashed his teeth. “But he loves the fact that he’s the only one in your family besides Dallas who knows.”
One-upmanship. Jens would love having something to lord over our brothers.
Axl kissed me again. “Get dressed and come out to face the music.” He hopped off the bed, ditched the condom and slipped on his sweatpants.
I said, “Wait,” when his hand grasped the door handle. “You’re going out there like that?”
He raised that haughty eyebrow at me. “Usually I don’t bother with the pants.”
I threw a pillow at him and he left the room laughing.
Twenty-five
___
AXL
Coach’s Christmas “gift” to us was one of the most torturous practices I’d ever suffered through.
Flitte stretched out on the ice at the end of practice like he was making a snow angel and groaned.
Everyone thought he was being funny, but I suspected he wasn’t, so I mustered the energy to skate over and offer him a hand.
“Sweet baby Jesus, Hammer-time, I think I love you.”
“Then I expect a kick-ass Christmas present.”
When he was upright on his skates, but still bent over with his hands on his knees, I started to get concerned.
“Seriously, man, are you okay?”
“This is why I hate fucking Christmas. Coach does this to us every year on Christmas Eve. Our bodies pay the physical price for three days for one damn day off. A day that I spend sleeping because I’m too freakin’ sore to do anything else.”
“You don’t go home to your family?”
He snorted and finally pushed himself up to standing. “My family sucks. They think because I have a big salary I should spread the love and buy them all a new car or some damn thing. I send ’em each a ham and a gift card to Red Lobster.”
I laughed. “I hope they appreciate that. But if you need a place to go after you wake up from the sugarplums dancing in your head, I’m having food and football at my place tomorrow.”
“Food as in . . . Swedish meatballs?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. “No.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll pass if it’s lutefisk.”
“It’s chili and it’s casual. Drop by anytime between noon and eight.”
“Thanks, man. I just might do that. BYOB?”
“If you want. After today’s ‘gift’ I’ll limit myself to one beer. I don’t need booze to make me wanna puke any more than I do right now.”
“No doubt.”
We were all moving slow. The saunas were full; so were the whirlpools and even the showers.
I’d intended to just rinse off, but the instant that hot water hit me, I never wanted to move. Or maybe my muscles seized up and I couldn’t move.
The family guys had bailed by the time I hobbled into the locker room.
“So, Hammer-time, got all your shopping done?” McClellan asked.
“I guess. No one really to buy for, so it’s easy.” A lie. I’d rush-ordered Annika’s gift right after Thanksgiving when she showed me how much she loved the holidays by spending an entire day decorating my place. I had a Christmas tree overloaded with ornaments, lights strung up on the balcony and around my front door, a holiday blanket for the couch and even a freakin’ snowman candy dish—which I’d have to remember to hide tomorrow so I didn’t take crap from my teammates about it.
It’d taken Annika two full days to deck out her apartment with her boxes upon boxes of Christmas decorations. She even had holiday-themed tableware she only used the month of December. It seemed she was baking something every other day and I’d added half an hour of cardio into my workout just so I could sample all of her delectable sweets.
I winced as I lowered to the bench to slip on my shoes. Extra cardio was not happening today.
“You’re lucky, then,” McClellan said. “I thought I was done shopping, right? My girlfriend just texted and reminded me to pick up stocking stuffers. What the hell? Aren’t stocking stuffers for kids and you’re off the hook with that shit when you stop believing in Santa Claus?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really into Christmas.” But Annika was. Now that I thought about it . . . she’d hung stockings with both of our names from her mantel. And I’d bet I’d wake up tomorrow morning to find my stocking full of . . . whatever the hell people put in stockings. Which meant I’d have to drag my ass out and brave the crowds now or else Annika’s stocking would be empty and she’d be disappointed. Rather than panic, I casually said to McClellan, “What do you buy for your girlfriend’s stocking?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe I oughta go to Victoria’s Secret and buy panties in every color and style plus some of those sexy garters.”
I nodded. That did sound like an excellent idea. One I planned to steal.
The locker door behind us slammed. We both jumped and turned around.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Dykstrand said. “The point of a stocking is to fill it with things she likes, not things that will benefit you. And it’s especially a bad idea if you’re dumping out your stockings in front of her family because then you’d really look like a deviant if all you bought her were thongs.”
Also a good point—not that I had to worry about the dumping-it-out-in-front-of-family thing. Annika was spending most of Christmas Eve at her parents’ house and heading over to the big Lund family gathering at noon tomorrow. We’d carve out time for us in between all that. It bothered her we couldn’t be together with her family. But I wouldn’t let her back out of the traditions that meant so much to her.
“And how do you know so much about stocking stuffers, Dykstrand?” McClellan demanded.
“Because I used to have a girlfriend, dumb-ass. She was into all the holiday stuff, which meant if I wanted to get laid, I was into it too. So here’s some free advice. Put things in her stocking that will mean something to her and not just gift cards, lingerie and candy.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like socks if her feet are always cold, gloves if her hands are always cold. Nail polish if you know the brand she uses. A minibag of her favorite coffee, or an airplane-sized bottle of seasonal booze. You can put candy in, but make it special candy, something you can’t buy for her the rest of the year. A book or a magazine is good. Maybe some small candles. My girl was crazy for those Lush bath bombs, so I put those in. A travel-sized bottle of her favorite perfume. A gift certificate for a massage or a spa day. Jewelry. Frames for pictures of the two of you. Funny, funky, silly trinkets. You know. Stuff that shows her you pay attention to the little things about her.”
McClellan and I stared at him with our mouths hanging open.
“What?”
“Dude. You are like ninja good at this stuffer stuff,” McClellan said in awe. “Why is it that you don’t have a girlfriend?”
Dykstrand aimed his gaze at the floor. “She died. Car wreck. Going on four years ago now.” He lifted his head and gave McClellan a hard look. “So don’t bitch about having to do this, man. I’d give anything to be out fighting the last-minute shoppers and filling my shopping basket with things for Sara.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It is what it is. But it’s why I’m with Flitte in hating Christmas. It reminds me of her. Reminds me of what I lost.”
Neither McClellan nor I knew how to respond to that. McClellan just clapped Dykstrand on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, man. I mean it,” before he walked out.
Then Dykstrand and I were alone. I groaned like a ninety-year-old man as I pushed myself to my feet.
“I heard you don’t have big Christmas plans tomorrow either,” Dykstrand said to me.
“I’m planning to make a voodoo doll of Coach and every time I hurt someplace, I’ll jab a pin in the same pla
ce on him. See how the sadistic jerk likes that.”
Dykstrand grinned. “I knew you were slinking off to a voodoo shop when we had that stopover in New Orleans last week.”
“Busted.” As I buttoned my coat, I said, “Look, if you don’t have anything going on tomorrow, swing by my place to watch the games. I’ll have food.”
His eyes lit up. “Swedish meatballs?”
“You’re funny.”
“So, are you serving lutefisk?”
“What is it with you guys and your obsession with lutefisk? Not every Scandinavian person eats that shit because it’s tradition.”
“Just yanking your chain, Swede.”
I flipped him off.
“Thanks for the invite. If I can haul my ass outta bed tomorrow, I’ll show up.”
I pulled on my skullcap and gloves, prepping myself to brave the weather and the crowds.
• • •
Immediately after I returned to Annika’s apartment, I snagged her stocking and filled it; then I shoved it in my bottom dresser drawer. My body ached like on my first day as a rookie at training camp. I popped the maximum amount of anti-inflammatory meds recommended and spent a solid hour in the sauna before I crawled into bed and crashed.
I woke four hours later and felt slightly more human. I dressed and headed to the kitchen to forage. My phone rang right after I’d finished eating and I was surprised to see my mother’s name on the caller ID. It would be Christmas morning in Sweden. Well, at least she was getting the obligatory phone call out of the way early. I said, “God Jul, Mamma.”
“God Jul, Axl. How have you been?”
“It’s been a busy hockey season. How are you?”
“Good. I’m traveling a bit more than usual, running oversight on the project in Oslo . . .”
The polite exchange went on and I decided I’d much rather suffer through the Lunds’ manner of saying hello—letting Jensen punch me in the face was better than this.
You’re just exhausted.
“Axl?”
“Pardon? Bad connection there for a moment.”
“I asked what your plans were for today.”
“I’m having a few teammates over. We’re back on the road the day after Christmas, so it’ll be a day of rest for us. How are you and Lars and Birget spending the day?”
“Snowshoeing. It’s cold but clear and the snowpack is good.”
If I couldn’t get Annika on skis or a snowboard, maybe snowshoeing was an option. “I’m sure it will be a fun day.”
“I need to get bundled up for our trek. I just wanted to hear you’re all right.”
“I’ve never been better. Take care. And merry Christmas.”
“To you as well.”
I hung up. I stared at my phone for the longest time, feeling guilty because I felt nothing. Even during the time of year when sentimentality is expected—and forgiven if it’s out of character—I might as well have been talking to the reservations clerk at a hotel, not the woman who’d given birth to me.
Just then the door opened and Annika burst in, laden with packages, laughing and cursing when she started dropping things. “I swear I’m going to overcome my phobia one of these days and actually use the elevator.”
“Is there more in your car?”
“Nope. I got it all in one trip.” She looked at me. Her cheeks were red from the cold. Her eyes gleamed with brightness that rivaled the lights on the Christmas tree. The tassel on her Vikings stocking cap was askew. Her hair, full of static, stuck around the fur collar of her coat.
I’d never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.
Hearing Dykstrand’s sad history had been on my mind all day. And seeing Annika, I wouldn’t waste another moment in letting her know exactly how I felt about her. I marched over to her, curled my hands around her cold cheeks and kissed her. Then I tilted her head back so I could look into her eyes and she could see what was in mine. “I love you. And although I’m sure you felt it from me, I never said it to you. So I’m saying it now. I love you, Annika. From this day on I will make sure I tell you that every day.”
Her eyes pooled with tears. “That’s a really rockin’ Christmas present, Axl.”
“That’s not your gift.”
“But it’s exactly what I wanted.”
“At least I did one thing right.” I kissed her again and then I began unwrapping her.
“I love you too, you know.”
I paused in unbuttoning her coat. “I’m a very lucky man.”
“Wanna get lucky right now?”
“After we open gifts, yah?”
“Yah. Yay!” She actually bounced with happiness. “I wasn’t sure if you were a Christmas Eve gift opener or a Christmas morning gift opener. I was hoping for tonight.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me into the living room. She stopped in front of the fireplace. “Hey. Where’s my stocking?”
I shrugged. “Santa stopped by to pick it up.”
Annika laughed. “I love this side of you.”
“What side?”
“The side you show only to me.”
We settled on the couch. She carried the presents from beneath the Christmas tree and set them on the coffee table. We’d agreed to limit the number of gifts to each other to three. I handed her the first package—the biggest one.
She didn’t waste time; she ripped right through the shimmering foil wrapping paper. She squinted at the package and then at me. “Really?”
“You’ve been trying to get me to do wicked things to you while you’re spread out on your fur coat. I thought an oversized fur blanket would save your coat wear and tear.”
“But, Axl. This is mink.”
“Look closer. It’s mink on one side and fox on the other.”
“We are totally breaking this in tonight.” She leaned over and kissed me. “Thank you. Now it’s your turn. Here.” She handed me the largest package.
I tore into it with equal enthusiasm. Inside was a framed picture of my Koenigsegg CCX. But not a photograph. An actual artist’s rendering. “Annika. This is amazing.”
“I know, right? I contacted the company and talked to the architectural-concept guy. He said there were only three hand-drawn pictures done of this model. One was hanging in the corporate headquarters showroom, one went to the guy who bought the first model and then this one, which just happens to be the exact color of your car. I thought it’d be cool for you to have a reminder of it during all those months you can’t drive it.”
“It’s . . . stunning. Thank you.” I grabbed the next package. “For you.”
Riiiip. She dumped the envelope on her lap and pulled out the sheet of paper inside. “Omigod. You’re not kidding with this, are you? You trust me behind the wheel of your precious car? I really have a full hour of track time? And I can drive it as fast as I want?”
I laughed. “Yes. The only catch is I have to be there with you.”
“Yes, yes, yes! I so wish I could rub this in my brothers’ faces. Better yet, I wish they could see me behind the wheel of this badass car, because they will be so jealous! Thank you.” She plucked up the next box on the table. “This one next.”
This box contained an envelope. I opened it and read through it before I glanced up at her. “A weekend at a ski resort in Canada? After the hockey season ends?”
“Yes. The only catch is I have to be there with you,” she teased.