12
VIGGO
Bad Blood
Viggo’s heart was pounding as he skated into the faceoff circle.
There were only twenty seconds left on the clock and his team was down by a point. He was the captain, so everyone was counting on him to tie the score and send the game into overtime. He couldn’t let them down.
He crouched low to the ice, bringing himself almost nose to nose with his opponent Jöran Axelsson.
Jöran sneered at him from behind his visor.
Viggo sneered right back. He hated Jöran’s guts, and the feeling was mutual.
The referee dropped the puck.
Viggo and Jöran pounced, hacking and whacking at the puck.
Viggo won the faceoff and sent the puck to his right winger, who took off like a shot. Viggo charged after him, laying a shoulder into Jöran to knock him off balance.
He could feel the clock ticking, could feel his pulse roaring in his ears as his wingman passed him the puck. He scooped it up and raced up the middle of the ice, skating for all he was worth. After deking the opposing defenseman, he pulled back his stick and fired the puck toward the left corner of the net.
But his aim was off and the shot went wide, hitting the post with an agonizing clang!
As the buzzer sounded, the other team and their fans burst into celebration.
Viggo stood there stunned.
The game was over. His team had lost. He’d let everyone down.
His parents would be disappointed.
Farfar would be furious.
Jöran skated past, bumping Viggo’s shoulder with a triumphant smirk. “Better luck next time, loser!”
Viggo gritted his teeth and choked back the tears that clouded his vision.
Not daring to look toward the stands, he hung his head and skated off the ice, following his dejected teammates into the locker room.
He sat through Coach’s postgame speech without crying. The pep talk only made him feel worse, and he couldn’t look anyone in the eye.
When Coach dismissed them to go home, Viggo took his time getting dressed. He was still there when the last of his teammates left.
Stalling some more, he sat on the bench and started unwrapping the tape from his hockey stick. That’s when he heard voices on the other side of the lockers.
His grandfather and Coach were talking. About him.
He broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach started churning and he wanted to throw up.
Coach didn’t allow parents in the locker room. But he always made an exception for the great Olof Sandström.
Viggo’s heart pounded as Farfar came slowly around the corner, his old tweed hat pulled low over his hard gray eyes.
“Viggo.” His voice was deceptively calm. “What happened out there?”
Viggo looked up at his towering grandfather. His stomach was twisted into knots. “I thought I could make the shot,” he mumbled.
“You thought?”
Viggo swallowed fearfully. “I’m sor—”
Farfar viciously seized his arm, yanking him off the bench and slamming him up against the lockers. The metal shuddered and groaned from the impact of his body.
He was too stunned to cry out, too scared to move.
Farfar pushed his face into Viggo’s and snarled furiously, “Why did you let him get inside your head? You’re better than him!”
Viggo dropped his eyes to the floor. “I know, Farfar—”
“Do you? Do you?” Rough fingers grabbed his chin and forced his head up. “What are you made of, Viggo Sandström? Are you made of Viking stock? Are you a warrior or a wimp?”
Viggo swallowed hard. “I…I—”
Farfar jerked his hockey stick out of his hand and broke it in half over his knee. When Viggo whimpered in protest, his grandfather savagely grabbed his shoulder and shoved him to the cold floor.
As he stood over Viggo and raised the sharp end of the broken stick, Viggo stared up at him in blind terror.
“No, Farfar—”
The stick slashed down across his arm, wrenching an anguished—
Viggo bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, a scream trapped at the back of his throat. His heart was pounding and his body was drenched in sweat.
He whipped his head from side to side, wild eyes scanning the shadowy darkness. He was in a hotel room, and he could make out the shape of someone sleeping in the next bed over.
As his mind slowly caught up with reality, he dragged shaking hands through his damp hair and exhaled a ragged breath.
He’d been dreaming again. Fuck.
Cold and shaken to the core, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands, his hair falling forward over his face.
It had been a while since he’d dreamed about that day. The memory must have been triggered by his upcoming game against his childhood rival, who now played for Tampa Bay. Jöran had been doing a lot of trash talking on TV, taking cheap shots at Viggo and questioning his heart.
Clenching his jaw, Viggo looked down at his right arm, fingering the small scar on his bicep. It was covered with a tattoo of the Swedish flag. A mask of patriotism that concealed a boy’s deep-rooted pain.
Mouth twisting grimly, he got up and lumbered into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. When he looked in the mirror, he saw his grandfather’s steel-gray eyes reflected back at him.
What are you made of? the old man’s voice whispered through his mind.
He clenched his jaw harder and leaned close to the mirror, peering deeply into his face until the malevolent phantom vanished, and the only eyes he saw were his own.
Turning away from the mirror, he flipped off the light and walked out of the bathroom. Instead of climbing back into bed, he pulled on a hoodie and sweatpants. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up a pair of Reeboks.
Whenever he awakened from one of the nightmares, he had to go running to clear his head.
To outrun the shadows.
To exorcise the demons.
He knew the demons would always be there. But running quieted them, at least for a little while.
“Hey,” Reid spoke quietly from the other bed. He’d been Viggo’s roomie-on-the-road since their rookie season. So he knew all about the childhood dreams that haunted Viggo.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah.” Viggo stood and grabbed his phone and earbuds, jamming them into the front pocket of his hoodie.
He could feel Reid’s eyes on him, studying him intently.
“Which one was it this time? The barn, the gym, the locker room—”
Viggo grunted.
“Damn.” Reid regarded him another moment. “I’ll run with you.”
“Nah. I’m good.” Viggo tossed a shaky smirk over his shoulder. “Go back to jerking off to Nadia’s picture.”
Reid grinned and flipped him the double bird.
Viggo chuckled as he went out the door. Walking down the hallway, he pulled up Off The Grid’s album on his phone, plugged in his earbuds and tugged the hood up over his face. As a song called “Eternal Menace” erupted violently in his ears, he rode the elevator down to the lobby and headed outside.
The sun was just starting to peek out over the horizon, bathing the Dallas skyline in an early morning glow. The air was crisp and cold, though not as cold as the winter temperatures he was used to.
Traffic was light at that hour. He easily crossed the street and sprinted toward the entrance to the wooded park. Even when he was on the road, he liked to go running before practice or morning skate. So he appreciated the hotel’s proximity to a park.
With the music blasting in his ears, he headed onto the jogging path that wound through the park. He started off at a slow pace, focusing on his breathing as the memories churned inside his head.
He’d been playing hockey since he was seven, distinguishing himself in one of Sweden’s most elite youth hockey leagues. He knew he had big shoes to fill because his grandfather was a hockey legend and a national hero. He’d attended most of Viggo’s games, which would have been great if he came in the capacity of a doting grandfather. But he came as an inspector to scrutinize everything Viggo did and didn’t do. He came as a judge who would mete out punishment for every mistake made, every missed shot on goal, every unacceptable loss.
Viggo never knew what kind of punishment was in store for him. Sometimes he had to do pushups and run laps until he collapsed from exhaustion. Other times his grandfather would beat the shit out of him, vowing to make him tougher, stronger, the best hockey player in the world.
The cold morning air burned Viggo’s lungs as he ran faster, his sneakers slapping the pavement, his hot breath gusting and his heart pumping hard.
Was it possible to love and revere someone he’d feared all his life? To still crave the approval of a man who’d nearly destroyed his love for hockey?
The troubling questions spurred him on as Scarlett’s voice pounded in his ears, snarling out lyrics filled with rage and frustration. Where did she draw her inspiration? he wondered. What kind of pain was she tapping into? What drove her to write such dark, soul-wrenching songs about obsession and longing, violence and despair? He wanted to know but was almost afraid to find out.
He was running at full speed now, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He’d always trained at a high level, so he was used to pushing his body to the limits. He enjoyed the physical pain. Welcomed it. Because it was on his own terms.
The thought burned into him as he tore through the park, his arms and legs pumping furiously. When he’d had enough, he made his way back to the hotel, the brisk morning air cooling the sweat on his body.
When he got back to the room, Reid was lounging on the sofa in a pair of Timbs, sweats and a Rebels T-shirt. He was laughing and talking quietly into his phone. Viggo didn’t have to guess who was on the other end. Only Nadia could reduce Reid Holden to soft laughter and gooey smiles.
Chuckling to himself, Viggo headed to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, gulping down more than half the bottle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a package sitting on his bed.
“That just came for you,” Reid told him. “The concierge was kind enough to deliver it personally.”
Chugging the rest of his water, Viggo walked over to his bed and picked up the small padded envelope. There was no return address, but it was postmarked from Brooklyn, New York.
He stared at the curvy handwriting and started to grin.
Reid chuckled. “I take it you know who it’s from.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Burning with curiosity about the contents of the envelope, Viggo headed to the bathroom. He’d barely closed the door before he was tearing the package open and pulling out a small bundle of black tissue paper tied with a gold velvet ribbon.
Rebels colors, he thought with a grin.
He eagerly untied the ribbon and peeled back the tissue paper to find a pair of zebra-striped panties inside.
A delighted laugh rumbled out of him. “Holy shit.”
They were the same panties Scarlett had been wearing the night of their Skype-sexing. The same pair he’d half jokingly asked her to send to him.
He brought the underwear to his nose and inhaled deeply. They smelled incredible, the sweet scent of papaya mingled with a teasing hint of Scarlett’s intoxicating essence.
His mouth watered and his dick throbbed as he stood there sniffing the panties like a total perv. He wished the sexy owner was there so he could bury his mouth between her legs and feed on her honeyed juices.
Just the thought of tasting Scarlett made him so hard he almost burst out of his sweatpants. He was totally gonna whack off to her panties.
As he lowered the lid on the toilet seat and sat down, a small white card fell out of the envelope. He bent over to pick it up. There were no words, just a link and a password to a webpage.
He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and quickly typed in the short URL. When the password-protected page came up, he eagerly entered the code.
When Scarlett appeared on the screen, his heart jumped into his throat and his dick shot straight up.
“Holy fucking shit,” he breathed.
Scarlett sat on her hotel bed like a pinup mermaid, her shapely bare legs stretched out to one side. She was wearing a black lace corset, high-cut black panties and black stilettos with straps crisscrossing around her ankles. Her hair was shaved low on one side, the other side sweeping seductively over her right eye. Her soft, pillowy lips were slicked red.
Viggo was practically drooling all over his phone. Like a starving man, he feasted his eyes on her gorgeous face, her succulent brown skin, her rounded thighs, her plump breasts swelling above the corset. He wanted to suck her pretty nipples into his mouth, wanted to cup her tits and slide his cock between them. Just for starters.
Licking his lips, he pressed the button to play the video.
“Hey, Viggo,” Scarlett greeted him with that bewitching smile of hers. “If you’re watching this video, it means you’re in Dallas and I’m on my way to Providence. It’s been a real grind, baby, but each stop on the tour brings me one step closer to seeing you again. So that’s what I keep telling myself.”
A warm glow of pleasure spread through Viggo’s chest.
“Do you like your little gift?” she asked with a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “I bet you have your face buried in it right now, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Damn right I do!”
Scarlett laughed as if she’d heard his response. The sound was music to his ears. God, how she affected him.
“Anyway,” she continued warmly, “Nadia and I love watching indie flicks and campy teen dramas. It’s sort of our thing. So there’s this old Zoe Saldana movie we love called Center Stage. It’s about a group of young ballet dancers and it’s kinda corny, but there’s a song from the movie called ‘I Wanna Be With You’ by Mandy Moore. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard this song before, but it pretty much captures how I’m feeling right now.” She smiled shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Since we can’t be together, I decided to send you a virtual singing telegram. So, um, here goes.”
Viggo got all excited as she cleared her throat and looked into the camera. Her dark-eyed sensuality ensnared him as she began singing a cappella: “I try but I can’t seem to get myself to think of anything but you….”
Viggo’s throat ran dry. The pure beauty of her voice sent chills up and down his spine.
He leaned closer to the screen as he stared at her, completely mesmerized as she serenaded him. The emotion in her voice took his breath away and curled his toes. He couldn’t help marveling at how she could go from belting out angry rock songs to crooning sweet romantic ballads. Her vocal range was phenomenal.
Staring deep into his eyes, she drew out the last note of the song on a whispered, “I wanna be with you…oh yeah…”
After her voice trailed off like fragrant smoke, Viggo just sat there staring at her. He felt like he’d been put under a spell.
Scarlett grinned a little sheepishly. “Hope you enjoyed the song. I miss you so much, Viggo, and I seriously can’t wait to see you again.” She sighed. “And now I’m gonna enjoy something sweet in your honor.” Like a magician, she produced a chocolate cupcake out of nowhere and took a big bite.
Viggo barked out a delighted laugh that ended on a groan when she ran her tongue over her plush lips, savoring the sweet chocolate residue. Then she gave him a wink and a smile before the screen faded to black.
Viggo was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. His heart felt full and his groin was throbbing. He didn’t know whether to burst into song or start whacking off.
He replayed the video three more times before Reid banged on the door and called out, “Yo, Vigs! Let’s go grab some breakfast before morning skate.”
“Be right out.” Grinning, Viggo bookmarked the webpage and took another deep whiff of Scarlett’s panties before stuffing them into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
As he brushed his teeth and washed up, that morning’s dream already seemed like a distant memory. Scarlett’s gift had been a welcome distraction, chasing away the darkness.
When he came out of the bathroom, Reid was waiting by the door across the room. He took one look at Viggo’s face and smiled knowingly.
“Those Warner girls. They’re angels, aren’t they? Good for a man’s soul.”
“Definitely,” Viggo agreed with a quiet smile. “Damn good for the soul.”