Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3)

by Katy Paige

  Just like that, in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t over. The relief he felt was so huge and so humbling, he shivered and wanted to weep. He hadn’t lost her after all.

  Her throat must be on fire after being so sick for hours on end. He took the glass of water from the bedside table.

  “Drink something, Ӓlskling.”

  He put one hand behind her neck to prop her up and with the other he lifted the glass to her lips. Then he put the glass back on the bedside table and used a tissue to wipe her lips.

  Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again. She murmured something and he leaned in to understand her. “…mig inte. Lämna mig inte, Erik.”

  Don’t leave me. Erik’s heart clenched as he stared at her face, running the back of his fingers across her soft, warm, dry cheek. “I won’t. I promise I won’t leave you, Ӓlskling.”

  “I won’t get too attached. I promise. Don’t leave.” Her voice was small and ethereal like a little child, a cross between a whisper and a sob. He was able to make out her words, and they just about broke his heart. She was trying to reassure him as she lay so weak and tired.

  It made him ashamed of himself, of his words that had hurt her so.

  He stood up, wiggling his feet out of his shoes and pulled down her covers, slowly, softly. When he lifted her, she stirred again, opening her eyes to look up at him and murmur nonsensically before closing them again. He moved her deftly, like he’d done it a hundred times before, settling her on the right side of the bed. He pulled the covers back over her, and lay down on top of them beside her, on his side facing her, and put his arm over her gently.

  “Jag är här, Katrin. I’m here,” he whispered. “Söta drömmar, Ӓlskling. Jag är här. Somnar, Ӓlskling, somnar.” Sweet dreams, sweetheart. I’m here. Sleep, sweetheart, sleep.

  He murmured soothingly, lightly pushing her hair back from her temples, stroking the feather-light strands made silver in the moonlight. In her sleep, she turned toward the sound of his voice, and his heart filled until he thought it might burst out of his chest.

  I will be an “us,” if that’s what it takes.

  I will figure out how to do this, because I’m not losing you again.

  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Then, pillowing his head on his flattened hands, he watched her face long into the night until he finally fell asleep.

  ***

  The rising sun shining hot and bright on her eyelids made her stir from sleep, but she wasn’t ready to open her heavy eyes. As she roused herself from the cocoon of sleep, her body rebelled: one big ache. From the rawness of her throat to the muscles in her abdomen that felt like they’d taken a beating with boxing gloves. Even her shoulders and arms ached, and her belly too. She realized, with a cross between amusement and irritation, that she was hungry, but dreaded trying to keep something down.

  She felt warm, not hot, thank God, but the covers were tucked especially tightly on her left side, and she could barely move her left arm from where it was almost trapped.

  Erik. Her dreams came over her like a wave. Erik had come to her in her dreams, speaking to her tenderly in Swedish, promising he wouldn’t leave, stroking her head like a doting lover. The sweetest dreams she had ever had. The more she woke up, the more she lost them, even as she fought to hold onto them.

  She had been so terribly lonesome for him in the days that followed their fight on Sunday night, so sad that he didn’t seem to be able to overcome his fears, so angry with herself that she had allowed her heart to care for him. But, mostly lonely; for his funny texts and the promise of his company on Sunday, for the safe way he made her feel, for the touch of his lips on hers, and his hands on her body. She had grieved all of it with a startling sorrow, not realizing how deeply he had touched her heart, how terribly she had come to care for him in such a short time.

  Don’t leave, dreams. She struggled, clenching her eyes shut, trying to grasp onto them, slip back into them, if only to be with him again. Come back…

  They were gone. The sunlight won the fight as her dreams slipped away, pockets of dreamy darkness swallowed by the greedy sun. She sighed, that old heaviness of loss filling her heart. But it wasn’t for her father or for Wade anymore…it was for Erik Lindstrom who didn’t care for her enough, whom she missed, whom she grieved, who seemed lost to her.

  Her eyes opened tentatively at first, partially because she hadn’t opened them for a while, and partially because they had burned almost constantly during so much violent vomiting and heaving, but mostly because the sun was shining directly into her eyes and blinding her.

  As a cloud passed in front of her window, her vision started to clear, and a hazy image of Erik’s sleeping face, just inches from hers, came into focus. She blinked in surprise. Have I fallen back to sleep? Am I dreaming again?

  Disoriented, she leaned into him and felt his breath on her lips as he slept soundly beside her. He moved a little in his sleep, taking a deep breath and shifting his legs. Her drowsy, half-lidded eyes flew open. This was no dream! This was Erik. Here. Sleeping. In her bed.

  “Erik?” Her heart was pounding.

  Erik opened his eyes and looked at her, then closed them and a lazy smile spread out over his face. “Mmm. Morning, Ӓlskling.”

  She shook him. “Erik. Wake up. What are you doing here?”

  He rolled onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the sun. “Came last night to talk. You were sick. I stayed.”

  “I…I told you not to come.”

  “You didn’t get my last text.” His eyes were still covered by his arm, which muffled his voice.

  “What did it say?”

  “It said we needed to talk. It said I was coming for us.”

  “Us?” she asked, her heart picking up speed as she began to understand his meaning.

  Erik lowered his arm and turned to meet her eyes. “Us.”

  Us. She nodded back at him feeling happy, happy, happy, happy, happy.

  ***

  Erik propped himself up too so they faced each other.

  Katrin’s red, blotchy face was transformed by a grin that poked two huge craters in her crimson cheeks. “Are you, um, cold?”

  He grinned back at her, understanding what she wanted. He got up, moved the covers aside and joined her underneath, pulling her body into his, loving the feel of her pajamed legs entwined around his jeans.

  “Not anymore. Although when I told you I wanted to be in your bed, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “This isn’t doing it for you?”

  Erik pulled her as close to him as he could, pressing his lips to her forehead.

  “Um, you know, strangely enough, as I’m sure you can tell, this is, in fact, doing it for me, which is sort of weird, since you look…you look…terrible, Kat.” He laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “You are so very magenta.”

  Katrin beamed. “Sick girls. Maybe a new fetish for you?”

  “You are twisted.” He shook his head, unable to still his body’s response to having her so close to him, lying next to her in a bed, even though he knew nothing was going to happen. “I’ll tell you something, though. That, uh, raspy voice? Pretty sexy, Ӓlskling.”

  “My poor voice.” She wiggled away from him and gestured to the glass of water on the bedside table. “Can you—”

  He handed her the glass of water and watched her drink it all down.

  “Want more?”

  She nodded, trying to clear her throat and wincing from the effort.

  He padded to the bathroom and filled her glass then crawled back into her bed, fluffing up a pillow behind him to sit comfortably beside her. She finished drinking, handed him the glass and snuggled back under the covers on her side, resting her head on his chest. He brushed her hair gently back from her temples, humming something softly.

  “You did that last night.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “What were you humming?”

  “Some old lullaby my Mamm
a used to sing to me and Jenny.”

  “Swedish?”

  “Norwegian.”

  “You miss her.”

  “I do.” He took a shaky breath. “She died so alone.”

  “She had you and Jenny. Your Pappa. Your brothers. Didn’t she have a full life?”

  “I don’t know. They started out in love. I know that. But, it was hard for him, I guess, watching her fail. Watching her die.” So he didn’t. He ran away. He left it all to me and my little sister.

  He swallowed against the lump in his throat and briefly stopped stroking her hair to run the back of his hand over his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I think she died broken-hearted. He didn’t love her at the end, and she knew it.”

  “Oh, no, Erik. I’m sure he did.”

  I’m not. He touched her hair again, allowing the miracle of Katrin in his life to balance the terrible sorrow he felt for his mother. I promise not to be like him. I can do better. “Let’s not talk about it. It is what it is.”

  “Is that why you’re so…”

  “Why I don’t trust in love?” He shrugged. “I read all the books, but I never saw anything in real life that came close to the stories. Except my folks. I wanted what they had. Always did. But, then it turned out they weren’t…I mean, he didn’t…”

  His voice broke and he looked down at her helplessly. She put her arm over his chest, holding him tightly.

  “I promise you, it exists.”

  He took a deep, shaky breath through his nose, exhaling slowly, warding off the lump in his throat, the encroaching panic. I can do this. I can do this.

  “Katrin, about us…”

  “Mmm?” she murmured, still beside him.

  “Yeah, I…” The words didn’t come easily. He stroked her hair, wishing they didn’t have to talk, wishing they could just stay like this forever, but she deserved to hear him say the words. “I want—um, I think I want to, to be with you.”

  He felt her cheeks lift with a smile against his chest, and he wished he didn’t feel so nervous, so exposed and vulnerable putting his feelings out there like that.

  “You want me to be your girlfriend.” A statement, not a question.

  He swallowed again, against a new lump in his throat. Old fears rising up against new strength. You want her in your life? You have to walk down this path. Man up, Erik. He pushed the fears back down and answered her.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay.”

  He waited for a wave of nausea to overtake him, for his forehead to break out in a sweat or for his lungs to start burning as he gasped for air. It didn’t happen. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure she could hear it too. But, his fears about commitment, his paralyzing fear of being tied down…somehow it was all being held at bay.

  He felt his lips twitch as an unexpected grin broke out across his face as he filled his lungs and felt his body relax.

  She said, Okay. He had a girlfriend. Just like that, Katrin Svenson was his girlfriend.

  Katrin leaned back, looking at him with her bright red cheeks flaming. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “I think so.”

  Her lips tilted up and her dimples dented her cheeks.

  God, my girlfriend is adorable.

  “Now that we got that settled, you think you could make me some breakfast?”

  Erik nodded, tilting his head to the side, trying out the words for the first time. “My girlfriend is hungry.”

  “Yes, she is, Minste,” she said, saucily. “But I think we should have breakfast first.”

  “W-Whoa…okay!” He chuckled, eyes widening with surprise, as his body reacted to her insinuation. This boyfriend-girlfriend thing might be alright! “How many days until Friday?”

  “Three if you don’t count today or Friday.” She pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed, moving slowly, like an old lady. He bet she was achy; he could see it. She put on her glasses, inspecting herself in the mirror over her bureau and cringed. “Ooosh. I look bad. Wow. That’s rough. Well, maybe I won’t look so polka-dotted by Friday.”

  “I don’t care if you’re polka-dotted.” He came up behind her, put his arms around her, his arms resting under her breasts, staring at their reflection in the mirror.

  Us.

  She and I are an us.

  He searched his head and his heart, but he didn’t feel the old rising panic at the thought, and it was liberating. He leaned around and pressed his lips to the pulse point in her neck, then rested his chin on her much-shorter shoulder as she reached up to hold onto his arms. She tilted her head and smiled at him, sunlight shining off the lenses of the thick glasses that she’d been wearing the first day he met her, and he smiled back at her.

  Midsommardagen would certainly be interesting.

  Chapter 13

  When Erik was six years old, his father had taken him and his brothers to Big Sky Mountain for his very first day of downhill skiing. That fall Nils had turned eleven and their father had decided he could supervise Lars, which cleared the way for Erik to have his father’s attention and instruction.

  But, at six years old, Erik knew he didn’t have the same non-stop adrenaline gene that his older brothers had. When his parents divided to conquer parenting their offspring, Erik was often left behind with Jenny and his Mamma while the older boys joined their father for weekend adventures. Exciting for them. But Erik, who listened to stories of their escapades, felt deeply grateful that he’d been “left” at home. No part of him grieved that he was missing out on skiing or snowboarding, ice fishing or long, cold hikes in the snow to see wildlife. He was content to stay behind with his mother and sister, happy to be surrounded by their loving warmth, stories, baking, crafts, and hot cocoa.

  So, sitting in the back of his father’s station wagon headed to Big Sky, he felt covered, surrounded, infused with dread. Aside from the fact that he had no interest spending the day skiing, he simply wasn’t as physically adroit as his older brothers, lacking their coordination and strength. It was going to be a disaster.

  Many times he overheard his Mamma ask his Pappa after one of these sorts of manly excursions, “And my Minste?”

  Erik was all too familiar with the hope in her voice, and the awkward response his father would offer, something quiet and embarrassed along the lines of: “Oh, he’ll get there. He’ll get there someday. He’s a Lindstrom.”

  Big Sky Mountain loomed like a frozen monster in the distance, closer and closer, challenging Erik to fall, to fail, to embarrass his Pappa. He wished he was anywhere but here, headed to certain doom, where he would prove, once again, with embarrassing finality, that he wasn’t the Lindstrom Nils and Lars were. He was consigned to be Minste, the littlest Lindstrom, the biggest disappointment.

  His stomach rolled over as he stared with increasing panic out the window, occasionally distracted by Lars leaning forward to smack the back of Nils’s head in the front seat. Nils’s long arms would reach back and grab whatever flailing body part of Lars he came in contact with first, gripping and twisting it mercilessly until Lars cried out in pain.

  “Cut it out, boys. Nils, sit up. Lars? Touch him again and you’ll feel my hand later.” His Pappa looked at Erik in the rearview mirror. “You ready for your first day of skiing, Minste?”

  “Ja, Pappa.”

  Nils looked back at him with sympathetic eyes and an encouraging smile. It occurred to Erik that Nils was so much older he might see things clearly. He might even understand. “You’ll do great, Erik.”

  “Wait ‘til he feels the rush of wind in his hair,” said Pappa, grinning at Nils in agreement.

  “More like the rush of the snow in your face when you tank, scaredy-cat.” Lars elbowed him.

  Erik looked away in misery, leaning as close as possible to the door, trying to keep his body out of Lars’s reach.

  “Shut up, Lars,” Nils said. “Everyone falls at first. I remember a few crybaby tears during your first r
un.” Nils chortled then turned to Erik. “Try to stay up, little brother. You’re a Lindstrom.”

  “That’s right. Erik’s a Lindstrom. Lindstroms ski. Been skiing since we got to Montana and long before that in the old country. Our people skied Åre before it was fancy. Before it was the Aspen of Sweden. Erik’s got skiing in his blood and his bones.”

  Erik gulped at the firm, hopeful tone of his father’s voice. He wanted to bawl like a baby. I’m going to fall and he’s going to see it again: I’m just Minste, the disappointing one, the littlest, the worst.

  “Lars, you’re to stay with Nils. You’re a pair. Nils, I better not see you come down that mountain without your lillebror on your wing. We’ll all stay on Eastern Exposure for today. Green trails, Nils.”

  Nils groaned at this, muttering something about dragging a baby along.

  “I’m not a baby, Pappa,” whined Lars. “I can do the blue ones.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Nils said. “Well, I can do the black ones. Pappa and me even did a double black last weekend when you were sick at home, baby. I’d be doin’ them today if’n I wasn’t babysitting you, Lars.”

  “There’s enough of that, Nils. It’ll be green for today. I need to concentrate on Erik and can’t be distracted worrying about my other boys. Mind me now, Nils, you boys go up and come down as much as you like, but you stay on the green. I catch you on the lift going up to the summit, you’ll feel my hand later, son.”

  Nils nodded, and turned around to face Lars. “You hear that, Lars? Green. And I’m in charge. You follow me or you’ll feel Pappa’s hand.”

  His father had caught his eyes in the rearview mirror again and winked. Erik tried to smile, but couldn’t, and turned to look out the window for what was left of the trip.

  An hour later Erik was suited up and sat beside Pappa as they took a short lift ride to the top of one of three beginner slopes on Eastern Exposure. He listened to his father’s last-minute advice, but he could barely do more than nod, counting down the moments until he embarrassed Pappa, until he fell clumsily into the snow, tears biting his eyes, confirming, once again, that he wasn’t the Lindstrom they all wanted him to be. His hands sweated profusely inside of his mittens, making them soggy. He felt, instinctively, that this was bad or would be bad later, and wished he could stop them from sweating, but couldn’t.