No drawn-out Rocky Balboa-style slugfest.
When all was said and done, the media-hyped “Battle of The Swedes” turned out to be not much of a battle after all.
When the final horn sounded, the arena burst into a celebratory frenzy of music and towel waving. Viggo and his teammates whooped and hugged and bumped chests like they’d just won the Stanley Cup. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
Angry and dejected, Jöran stormed off down the tunnel, receiving a send-off of heckling laughter, boos and jeers.
A few minutes later, the stars of the game were announced with much fanfare.
When Viggo was handed the microphone, he looked up toward the owner’s box, found Scarlett’s gaze and drawled, “Yo, Adrian…”
Scarlett squealed as a thunderous roar of laughter and cheers engulfed the arena.
What a night to remember!
Chapter 39
Scarlett
The Reckoning
* * *
The afterparty was held at Reid’s house.
The Rebels believed in working hard and playing hard, so they threw big parties at least twice a month. It was Reid’s turn to play host. He had an amazing rooftop terrace that overlooked the mountains. It was enclosed by glass, so it was the perfect party spot all year round.
The champagne was flowing, the music was pumping and the guests were having a great time. Viggo slung his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders as they moved through the crowd, chatting and mingling. Everyone congratulated Viggo on his impressive victory and praised Scarlett’s anthem performance.
Their phones had been blowing up all night. Apparently they were both trending on social media, and their individual performances were racking up views on YouTube. GQ jumped on the buzz-wagon by tweeting a teaser pic from their steamy photo shoot. Scarlett’s ears were still ringing from the excited squeals unleashed by her mom, Aunt Eden, Nadia, Bianca, Ana and Jess.
She grinned at Viggo as they wandered across the starlit terrace, practically joined at the hip. “I still can’t believe you said that line from Rocky,” she teased him. “You are so corny!”
He laughed, nuzzling her temple. “You know I couldn’t resist.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t. It was the perfect ending to an unforgettable night.”
His gaze softened, and he smiled at her. “We make a great team.”
She winked. “About time you realized that.”
He laughed and took her hand, leading her toward the packed dance floor. “C’mon, baby, they’re playing our song. One of them, anyway.”
That night they danced under the stars, drank champagne and laughed like there was no tomorrow.
They were still buzzing with exhilaration when they walked through the front door of Viggo’s penthouse several hours later. When his phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket and stared down at the screen.
“It’s my mom.”
“Again?” Scarlett teased. “She already called to congratulate you after the game. Your whole family did.”
“I know.” There was a furrow between his brows. “I should take the call.”
“Go ahead. I’m getting some water.” Scarlett kicked off her high heels and padded barefoot into the kitchen as he answered his phone.
“Hej, Mamma. We just got home. Is everything—” He broke off abruptly. “What?”
Alarmed by his tone, Scarlett spun around to stare at him. The color had leached out of his face and his body had gone rigid with shock.
“When?” His voice was hoarse.
Scarlett started toward him as he dragged a shaky hand through his hair and closed his eyes, listening into the phone.
“I’ll get home as soon as I can,” he told his mother. “And I’m bringing Scarlett. I want everyone to meet her.”
Scarlett stopped in her tracks. Home? To Sweden?
“I need to call Coach to request a personal leave. Then I’ll call you in the morning to let you know when we’re arriving.” He listened another moment. “Love you too, Mamma. See you soon.”
He got off the phone and just stood there, stunned and ashen.
Scarlett went up to him. “What is it? What happened?”
“My grandfather…” His voice was raw. “He had a massive heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” Scarlett whispered. “I’m so sorry, Viggo. Is he…?”
“No.” His throat worked on a hard swallow. “But it doesn’t look good.”
“I am so sorry.” Scarlett took his hands and gently backed them into the living room so they could sit on the sofa.
Viggo looked completely shell-shocked. “He was at my parents’ house watching the game with the rest of the family and their friends. My mom said he seemed just fine when they sat down to eat after the game. Halfway through the meal, he collapsed at the table.”
“Jesus,” Scarlett whispered.
Viggo raked a hand through his hair once more. “I told my mom I was bringing you home. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think...I should have asked—”
“It’s okay,” Scarlett assured him. “I can go home with you. It’s no problem at all.”
“Thank you,” he said thickly.
“You don’t have to thank me. I love you, Viggo, and I want to be there for you.”
He reached out and stroked her hair from her temple to her neck. His hand was shaking and his eyes were tormented. “If he dies…the last words we spoke to each other…” He trailed off, swallowing roughly.
“Don’t think about that right now,” Scarlett said soothingly. “Try to think positive. He might pull through.”
He grimaced. “I must be insane for wanting him to.”
Scarlett stared at him as she rubbed his thigh, the muscles bunched tight. “What happened between you and your grandfather?”
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and shook his head.
“You promised to tell me after the game,” she reminded him.
“You’re right. I did.” He sat back against the sofa and pressed the base of his palms against his eyes. “It’s a long story. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” she gently suggested.
He exhaled a deep breath and clenched his jaw, looking down at the floor. “My grandfather was an abusive son of a bitch.”
Scarlett stared at him, her stomach knotting with tension. “He abused you?”
Viggo nodded tightly. “It started when I was nine.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her heart twisting with sympathy. She wanted to hug him, but she was afraid he would retreat from her. “Did he…did he…”
“He didn’t molest me,” Viggo said gruffly, answering the question she couldn’t finish. “He just used me as his fucking punching bag.”
A chill of horror rippled through Scarlett. “You were just a child.”
“I know.”
“What about your siblings? Did he hit them, too?”
“No.” His tone was hard. “Just me.”
“Why?” Her voice cracked on the word. “Why did he single you out?”
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Because I had the misfortune to be good at hockey.”
“I don’t understand.” She frowned. “He beat you because you were good at hockey?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
“I guess I should give you some family backstory,” he muttered.
“That might help.” She tucked herself into the corner of the sofa and drew her legs up under her.
He let out a deep breath and began talking. “My father has never been an athlete. When he was growing up, my grandfather tried to get him into hockey. But he didn’t have the skill or the desire to play the sport that had made his father a legend. He was a bookworm and a science nerd, and there was nothing my grandfather could do about that. So he gave up on my dad and turned his attention to his other sons. They played hockey but they were never as good as the
old man, no matter how hard he pushed them.”
Viggo’s gaze drifted to the windows as he spoke. “So Dad grew up, became a university researcher and had three sons. With each birth, my grandfather saw another opportunity to groom his heir apparent. He waited patiently, biding his time. But Leif wasn’t interested in hockey. He had a head for business from an early age and was always coming up with money-making schemes, so it was pretty clear that he was headed for a business career. Next came Rikard. He loved skiing like he was born with skis on his feet. Everyone knew he was destined to become an Olympic gold medalist.
“And then there was me,” Viggo said with dark humor. “I’m the one who drew the winning card. I took to hockey like a duck to water and learned to skate when I was two. The first time my grandfather saw me skating around the ice with a hockey stick, he celebrated like he’d just won the fucking lottery. He finally had his heir apparent. His prodigy. His perfect victim.”
Another chill ran through Scarlett. She reached over and touched Viggo’s bicep through his shirt, drawing his troubled gaze back to her. “The scar beneath your flag tattoo…that’s not an old hockey injury, is it?”
“No.” He looked down at his arm. The pain twisting his features was like a knife in her heart. “I got that little souvenir after losing to Jöran’s team when we were kids. After the game, my grandfather was so furious that he broke my hockey stick and beat me with one of the halves. The jagged edge tore my skin open.”
“Oh my God,” Scarlett gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “Viggo…”
His jaw tightened. “He used to drive up from his farm and stay with us for days at a time so he could attend some of my games. If I had a bad game, he would come up with different ways to punish me. Sometimes he’d beat the ever-living shit out of me, or he’d make me run laps until I was so fucking exhausted I’d collapse. Sometimes he’d dunk my head in a sink full of cold water and hold me down just long enough to make me think I was gonna drown. I pissed my pants the first few times he did it. Eventually I stopped panicking and just started holding my breath. So after a while, he stopped using that form of punishment. He said I’d learned to overcome my fear, so the lesson worked.”
“Jesus.” Scarlett stared at him in teary-eyed horror. “Where the hell were your parents? Why didn’t they stop him? Why didn’t they protect you?”
“They didn’t know.”
“What? How could they not—”
“He never laid a hand on me when they were around. He knew better. Just like he knew not to break any bones or injure me in such a way that I wouldn’t be able to play hockey. He was very methodical.”
Scarlett was outraged. “Why didn’t you tell your parents that he was abusing you? Did he threaten you?”
“He didn’t have to.” Viggo’s voice was grim. “As much as he’d been hurting me, I still loved him and looked up to him. He hadn’t always been a monster. I still remembered the early days of him running drills with me and teaching me the fundamentals of hockey. He was stern and he pushed me hard, but he was never cruel. When he started abusing me, I blamed myself for not living up to his expectations. I told myself that if I just worked harder and got better, he’d stop being so fucking angry.” His lips twisted bitterly. “Obviously I was wrong.”
Scarlett’s heart was breaking at the thought of a young, defenseless Viggo being terrorized and abused by a man he’d trusted and worshipped. It was absolutely unbearable.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I knew my parents would be furious if I told them what was going on. They probably would have banned my grandfather from our family, and maybe that would have been for the best. But I didn’t want him gone, so I kept my mouth shut. I blamed my bumps and bruises on hockey injuries, but my father was starting to get suspicious. My stories weren’t adding up, and he’d noticed me flinching away from my grandfather. I was fifteen when he finally put two and two together. He was even more furious than I’d expected. I’d never seen him in such a rage. He’s not a violent man, but I honestly thought he would kill his father that day. He went to him and confronted him, and they had the worst fight. My grandmother told me about it. It was pretty bad. We didn’t see the old man for several months after that.”
“Good,” Scarlett growled, rubbing a knuckle under one eye and then the other. “I hope your dad kicked his fucking ass up and down the street. My God, Viggo. You went through hell for six years. Six fucking years!”
He stared down at his hand on his thigh, watching his fingers clench into a fist. His knuckles were bruised from pummeling Jöran’s face. Other than that, he didn’t have a scratch on him.
“Later that same night,” he went on, “my dad came and talked to me. He had tears in his eyes and he apologized profusely for not protecting me all those years. He promised he would never leave me alone with his father again. Then he put his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said, ‘Your mother must never know about this. It would kill her.’ And he was right.”
Scarlett frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My mom’s father died when she was little, so she didn’t know him very well. That has always haunted her. After she and Dad got married, my grandfather became the father she never really had. He doted on her and she idolized him. If she ever found out that he was hurting one of her children, it would have broke her heart. I couldn’t do that to her. So I promised my dad that I would never tell her.”
Scarlett was stunned. “So she still doesn’t know? Even after all these years?”
He shook his head, his jaw tight. “And I plan to keep it that way.”
“But she’s your mother, Viggo. She has a right to know.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Viggo—”
“Look, my mom had her hands full with six kids. She absolutely loved being a mother, but after Svea was born, she went through a period of postpartum depression that was so severe, my father was afraid to leave her alone. My siblings and I were pretty young, but we could tell something was wrong with her. She actually stopped working outside the home after Svea was born, which was a big adjustment for her and pretty uncommon back in Sweden. She received a lot of help and support from Dad and her doctor, so she eventually got through her postpartum depression. But even after things went back to normal, Dad remained super protective of her. She’s a strong woman, always has been. But everyone has a breaking point.” Viggo looked at Scarlett. “There’s a reason you never told your parents about Myles and the emotional abuse he put you through. Sometimes we keep secrets to protect those we love because we don’t want to cause them unnecessary pain. I’m a grown man now. I see no reason to tell my mother what happened in the past.”
Scarlett was frowning. “Why does she think you’re estranged from your grandfather? What does she think happened?”
He ground his teeth. “She thinks we had a falling out over my decision to play in the NHL. Which we did.”
Scarlett shook her head at him. “Do any of your siblings know the truth?”
“Just Rikard. We shared a room growing up and we were close. I could never keep anything from him. Even when I tried my damnedest, he always saw right through me.” Viggo swallowed hard, his throat muscles working above the open collar of his dress shirt. “As soon as he found out, he wanted to go straight to our parents. But I was in so much pain, I threatened to kill myself if he told anyone. He believed me.”
“Dear God.” Scarlett covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
Viggo stared out the windows, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for that.”
Scarlett scraped away more tears and took a deep, shuddering breath. She felt raw, battered by the intensity of her emotions. When she spoke again, her voice was a shaky rasp. “So your grandfather had a problem with you playing in the NHL?”
Viggo gave a tight nod. “He wanted me to stay home and keep playing in the Swedish Hockey League. It’s one of the top leagues in the world. But it had always been
my dream to play in the NHL, like most boys I knew. The league had been scouting me for years. A few months before my eighteenth birthday, I was invited to the scouting combine in Canada. I was pretty excited, but my grandfather convinced me to sit out the draft and spend another year playing for Djurgården, which was the pro team in Stockholm. He told me I wasn’t quite ready for the NHL, and he insisted that staying home another year would be good for my growth and development. I figured he knew what he was talking about, and I had always valued his input and expertise. So I listened to him and stayed home.”
“So that’s why you were drafted at the age of nineteen, not eighteen.”
He nodded. “Fortunately the NHL still wanted me, even after my team lost in the finals that year to Jöran’s team. That was a fucking heartbreaker, and of course my grandfather took it really hard. He pointed to that loss as proof that I wasn’t ready for the NHL’s big stage. But the thing is, I don’t even think he believed that. He was just trying to keep me out of the NHL at any cost.”
Viggo’s expression hardened with fury. “He called me over to the farm one day so we could discuss my future. I’d gotten bigger and stronger and more confident, and I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. I’d made up my mind about entering the draft, and I wouldn’t let him talk me out of it this time. So we got into a big argument. The days of me being his victim were over. So when he went to hit me, I blocked the blow and shoved him back. My grandmother was shouting at him, begging him to stop and leave me alone. That made him so furious that he hauled off and slapped her. I saw her fall backward and I just…I lost it.
“I charged him and tackled him to the floor. And then I just started whaling on him. I could hear my grandmother crying and screaming, but I couldn’t stop. I was yelling and cursing and calling him every fucking name I could think of. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to make him pay for all the pain and suffering he’d put me through. My grandmother had to pull me off him, and it took all her strength to do it. I was like a wild animal unleashed from a cage. I couldn’t—” He broke off and squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching at his sides as he relived the harrowing memory.
The Swede Page 61
