by Gina Azzi
The elevator doors ping open and my brother is standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. His eyes are dark like mine, like Dad’s. His eyes scan me quickly, lingering too long on my red, puffy eyes.
Then he sighs, “Jesus, Rielle.” He reaches out and pulls me straight into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my back and squeezing.
My nose is pressed into the soft material of his shirt and the scent of his cologne, familiar, rushes over me. Tears well in my eyes and for the second time in twenty-four hours, a sob works its way up my throat. I fall apart in my brother’s arms but this time, it feels like a homecoming.
“What happened?” Jesse asks a little while later.
I twirl the spoon in my mug of tea slowly and think about how to answer that. He lifts an impatient eyebrow at me and his wife, Mira, places a hand on his wrist. The nanny whisked little Leah out to the park the moment my presence was known.
“Ri?” he prods and I don’t miss the worry that blazes in his eyes.
I sigh, “Which part?”
Jesse pinches the bridge of his nose but Mira turns an understanding gaze my way. “Why don’t you tell us what led you here today? Now? We’ve been hoping you’d connect for years now. After Leah was born…”
A lump grows in my throat and I feel like shit. Sitting across from them now, I can understand the hurt that my disappearance from their lives, from their happy occasions, caused. But in the moment of proving my independence to my father, I never considered how Jesse would feel. I figured he wouldn’t care one way or the other. We were never overly close. I was Mom’s daughter and he was Dad’s son and after Mom passed, I felt like I could never align with the Carter men. But maybe drawing that dividing line was more on me? Did my decision, my choice, fracture us?
I let out a sigh and glance up. Jesse watches me with so much concern, his lips pressed together, his jaw tight, and my chest squeezes. I rack my mind for a moment, a memory, where Jesse and I were truly at odds and I realize there were none. I always assumed he would do Dad’s bidding and I desperately wanted to blaze my own trail. Staring at my brother, I realize that I’ve hurt him just as much as I believed he’d hurt me. I open my mouth, and the whole story tumbles out. College and photography classes and Claire. Jerry Jensen and Stu Sanders and Merck No-Last-Name. Eviction notices and interest rates and unemployment. Torsten Hansen and a magical wedding day, Farmor and a hospital bed, Norway.
When I’m done, Mira has tears streaking down her cheeks. My brother looks like he’s going to be physically ill or put his fist through a wall but he does neither of those things. Instead, he opens his arms again and when I hug him, he murmurs, “God I’m glad you’re home, Rielle.”
I snort-laugh and run my hands over my face. “I never thought I’d come back.”
He shakes his head and pulls back. “Dad was always too hard on you. I kept telling him he needed to compromise with you but he truly believed that being a hard ass was the only way to parent.” Jesse shrugs. “I know you think I never cared or never got involved. But really, Rielle, I was trying to do everything his way so you wouldn’t have to. I know you never wanted the life that came along with Carter Enterprises. You live your life under a microscope with too many fingers in too many pies. I liked it though and thought if I could be great at it, the expectation for you to be involved wouldn’t be there. It didn’t work out that way.”
Surprise rocks through me at his confession. My eyelids drop closed and I recall memories, moments after Mom’s death when I was angry and hurting and confused. With Jesse’s words ringing in my head, I process them differently. My mind flickers to Torsten and his family business. Was Anders trying to protect him too? Or did the drama, manipulation, and hurt send Torsten running like me? If Jesse and Dad welcomed me back into the family fold right now, would I want to stay? When I open my eyes, I process Torsten’s predicament differently. I also see my brother in a whole new light. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m so sorry.” Remorse is heavy in my tone.
My brother squeezes my shoulder. “I am too, Ri. More than you will ever know.” He tips his head to my chair and I sit back down.
Mira reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. I give her a grateful smile.
“Just so you know, Dad kept tabs on you. He was getting ready to intervene right when you threw him a curveball and married the hockey player.”
I inhale a sharp breath. “Dad knew?”
My brother snorts. “Carter’s Steakhouse?” He mentions the exorbitantly priced steakhouse in downtown Boston.
“That’s you guys?”
“It’s all of us, Ri. It’s a family business. Dad thought you’d eventually come home. He waited freshman year. Then, he thought after college. When he found out that Jerry Jensen was the lender behind your loan, he tried to pay it off outright. He hated the thought of you, of any of us, being under Jensen’s thumb.”
“Jensen refused.”
Jesse nods. “Dad was furious. I think his anger is what held him back from reaching out earlier.” Jesse leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I know you think you’re just like Mom, Ri. And you are. You got all of her sunshine and sparkle. You sure as hell got her mischievous side.”
I smirk.
“But your pride? Your stubbornness? That rivals Dad’s. Neither one of you wanted to take the first step. But when Dad saw, truly saw, how you were living, he called me from the parking lot of your apartment building raging.”
“He did?”
Jesse nods.
“Imagine his surprise when he learned you had moved. Had married,” Mira offers.
Oh God. I drop my head, imagining the betrayal my father must have felt. The awful guilt that must have settled on his shoulders to learn that his daughter married a stranger instead of reaching out to him.
“Rielle,” Mira’s voice breaks through my voice. “Why don’t you stay for a bit?”
My brow furrows. “Pardon?”
She grins. “Do you have anything to get back to in Boston?”
I shake my head.
“Then stay. Please. Spend some time with Leah, with us. We’ve missed you.”
If the lump in my throat could expand anymore, I’d be suffocating. I swallow past it and nod, tears filling the corners of my eyes. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Besides, you shouldn’t go through a divorce on your own.”
My brother’s eyes narrow at the word divorce. “You’re pretty torn up about a fake marriage.”
I look down at the table but see Mira scold him from the corner of my eye.
“What?” he mutters.
I look back up. “I’m in love with him.” I declare it to the room even though it makes me look pathetic. My tears make me appear weak. But in many ways, I’ve already hit rock bottom and anything I say and do now can’t possibly make me feel any worse.
Jesse swears but Mira nods, understanding in her eyes. “I know,” she says. “So, stay. New York is a great place to lose yourself in when you feel lost.”
I nod, thinking over her words.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” She stands from the table, clasping the handle of my suitcase.
Right before I clear the table, Jesse’s hand darts out and wraps around my wrist.
I turn and look at him over my shoulder.
“I’m glad you came here,” he says and the conviction in his tone tells me he’s serious.
“Me too.”
He squeezes my wrist. “But don’t ever fucking do that to me again, Ri.”
I smile. “I won’t, Jes. Promise.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up and he drops my hand. I follow Mira to a bedroom they’ve designated for guests, taking in the pretty white lace bed coverlet and the elegantly framed photos on the walls. Once I’m alone, I lie back on the bed. Exhaustion sweeps through my body and the thud of my heartbeat echoes in my temples.
Jesse’s concern and Mira’s inv
itation were definitely not what I was expecting but God, it felt good to belong somewhere. To belong to someone, a family. A flicker of relief catches in my chest that I’m not going to have to navigate this next chapter alone. A shock of warmth blooms in my stomach that all this time, while I was swearing off my dad, he was still watching from afar.
I roll to my side and dig through my purse for my phone.
When I see Torsten’s name on the screen, my fingers begin to shake. I swipe right and read the message.
Torsten: Please, Ri. Just tell me your safe. Where are you staying?
Me: Make things right with your father.
I text instead, letting him know I’m okay but also upholding my promise to Farmor. Torsten replies immediately.
Torsten: Are you okay?
His words cause a fresh wave of pain to crash over me. Will I ever be okay without him? It’s only been a handful of hours and my heart misses his so much it aches.
I bite my bottom lip to keep my emotions in check. I’ve cried more in the past two days than I have in the past two, hell, five years. Now that the dam holding back my feelings has broken, everything I thought I was managing has rushed forward, manifesting through traitorous tears and broken sobs.
Me: No. But I will be.
Then, I dial my dad’s number.
“Rielle?” he answers on the first ring.
“Daddy,” my voice cracks but the breaks in my heart begin to mend.
22
Torsten
She’s staying in New York.
It’s been a week since Rielle walked out of my life and I broke my promise. I let her go. Watching from the window as Lars pulled out of the driveway with her bundled into the back seat haunts me. I miss her warmth, her presence, her.
“Hey. You okay?” Anders asks as he comes around the corner. I’m standing by said window, staring at an empty space, wishing the memory of a week ago wasn’t playing on a mental loop in my head.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and step away from the window. “I’m fine.”
Anders rocks back on his heels. “You shouldn’t have run her off like that.”
I sigh and scrub my palm over my face. “This life isn’t for her.”
“Maybe not,” he agrees and I look up sharply.
My brother’s face is etched with lines of wisdom only gained from personal failures and heartaches.
I lift an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
He shrugs. “You didn’t give her the choice, the chance, to come to that conclusion on her own. One thing I know about strong women, they don’t like others making decisions for them, dictating their own happiness.” He tilts his head toward Father’s office. “Come on. He’s waiting.”
But I don’t move. Is that what I did with Rielle? In trying to give her the future she deserves, did I take away her freedom to choose? My hands tighten into fists as I think of my girl, my wife, with her tearstained face and pleading eyes.
“Torsten?” Anders calls.
I nod and follow him to meet Father.
Rielle’s text blares in my mind. I need to make amends. I swore to Farmor that I would. I promised Rielle I’d follow through. I need to set things right with Father and then I could lose myself in thoughts of Rielle, can admit how much I fucking miss her.
“Father.” I slip into the office and close the door behind me.
He’s seated behind his desk, his eyes so pale they’re nearly translucent. But they’re ringed in hardness and bitterness and for a blink, I catch a glimpse of what I’ll look like in thirty-some years if I let the anger eat my soul.
He stares at me long and hard, as if seeing me for the first time. I sink into the chair opposite his desk, remembering all the times I was scolded in this exact chair for silly little things that children do. Running in the hallways, stealing biscuits from the kitchen, putting a frog in Anders’ bed…
“She always loved you best.” His voice shakes me from my thoughts and I meet his gaze. In them, I see a sliver of regret but it’s overshadowed by his genuine dislike for me. “The best Hansen,” he scoffs.
I straighten in my seat, realization and shock racing through my veins. “You were…jealous?”
“She left you the company!” he hollers, banging his fist on the top of his desk.
Next to me, Anders flinches. But I’ve spent too many years on the ice, surrounded by tough guys fueled by testosterone and competitive edges to be rattled by his posturing.
I nod, working a swallow. “She did. She left me the company even after you tried to smear my reputation, my name. You tried to cut me off from our entire family and still, Farmor saw you for what you are.”
“Torsten,” Anders warns next to me.
I came in here to make amends. But how the hell can we even begin to heal if we don’t address our hurts?
I wait for Father’s outburst but he surprises me again by slumping back in his chair, his eyes closing as if in pain. Is he upset because he’s losing the company? Or is he truly saddened that he was such a colossal disappointment to the greatest woman on Earth?
“You’re right,” he says finally.
Anders inhales sharply beside me.
“You love Magnus,” I say suddenly.
Father’s eyes narrow. “What?”
“I’ve seen you with him. You’re…kinder. More giving than you ever were with us.” I gesture between Anders and me.
Father rubs the space between his eyes. “He’s my grandson.”
“I know. We’re your sons.”
His eyes harden. “I know.” His tone is clipped.
“I don’t want to keep living like this. With no family, no ties. And I won’t do to you what you did to me. I won’t do it to a little boy who clearly admires you either.” I watch Father carefully, committing this moment to memory. I don’t want to live my life with burdens on my soul, with regrets in my blood. I want to move forward with a clear conscience and a family to call mine. “You step away from the business. Let the next generation of Hansen men have our crack at it. If we need your help, we’ll ask. But you don’t get involved. Take your settlement, spend some time abroad, let this wound heal and not fester. And when you’re ready to be a grandfather and a father and a real friend, come home. There will be a place here waiting for you.”
His mouth drops open even though his eyes flash. He doesn’t want to believe me, he doesn’t know how to trust that I’m extending an olive branch, and it’s stamped all over his face. “What’s the catch?” he asks after a moment.
I chuckle humorlessly. “There is no catch.”
“There’s always a catch.”
“No.” I shake my head. “There’s always a choice. And I’m choosing to forgive you. Want the truth?” I lift my chin at him. “I don’t want to be you in thirty years, sitting behind a desk in a cold office, having dragged every piece of good in my life through so much shit that the stench won’t wash away.”
Anders’ head whips to mine and I feel his eyes boring into the side of my face. But I keep my eyes on Father.
“I forgive you, Father. For everything. And I’d like to be able to look up to you one day. But that day isn’t today. It won’t be tomorrow either. You need to go and figure out what you want.” I stand from my chair. “For what it’s worth, I hope you come back when you’re ready.”
He watches me for a long moment and sighs heavily.
“Farmor was right,” Anders says softly.
“About?” I ask.
“You are the best Hansen.”
Father scoffs. Anders’ observation hangs in the air for a moment before Father clears his throat and begrudgingly nods in agreement.
I snort and hold out a hand. Father stands on the other side of the desk and hesitates for a moment before placing his hand in mine and shaking.
“I’ll be seeing you, Torsten.”
“I hope so,” I tell him. Then, I turn on my heel and leave Father’s office.
I stride back to my bedroom
, my hands nearly shaking. I’ve never stood up to Father before but God, does it feel good, to get some of the feelings I kept locked away for decades out in the open. I’m not daft. I know rebuilding a relationship with Father will take time. I also know it will never truly be the relationship I’d like it to be because we have too much hurt in our history. But I feel a ribbon of hope for what my family could look like in the future. Father, Anders, Magnus, Uncle Erik, Johan, Daniel, and me. A bunch of searching men forever held together by our love for the woman who made us. Farmor.
I sit on the edge of my mattress, my chest tight. I miss her. I miss her sparkling eyes and her light laughter. I miss her warm embrace and her wise advice. The image of Rielle holding her hand that night in the hospital slips into my mind, unbidden.
If Farmor were here, I know she’d be urging me to make things right with Rielle. But how can I when I hurt her so badly?
I pull out my phone and text her before I can second-guess it.
Me: It’s done. I spoke to Father.
Rielle: Proud of you.
My throat thickens at her message. Of course she is. Even now, hurting, she has my back and proves her loyalty. It aches and soothes at the same time and more than anything, I wish she was here so I could wrap my arms around her, take her to my bed, and show her all the things I don’t know how to say with words.
Me: Are you okay?
Rielle: No. But I will be.
I frown at her words, the same from last week. I hired a guy to keep an eye on her in New York. I’m sure she’d hate it if she knew but there’s no way I can be here, in Oslo, and not know she’s safe in New York. I know she’s been spending hours around the city, getting lost in Central Park, taking photographs. I know she’s had lunch with her father twice and is staying with her brother and his family, which made me smile. Not for the first time, I realize just how much I don’t know about my wife, her past, and the choices she wants to make for her future.
