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.
And I hate myself a little bit for not learning them all sooner.
Another week without Rielle passes and it nearly destroys me. My hands reach for her in my sleep, my thoughts circle around her during the day, and my heart craves hers.
But tying her down to me, a man who’s relocating to Norway, a guy who needs to rebuild so many bridges with his family, a person who is financially secure, emotionally stunted, and mentally drained, isn’t fair. Not when she’s on the cusp of her life. Her twenties have barely gotten started. She hasn’t had the time to explore the kind of future she wants, to find the type of man who deserves to be by her side.
If I’ve learned one thing in my time married to Rielle Carter, it’s that I’m not deserving enough. Not if I would drag her to Oslo, ask her to confront my farmor, and then push her away. Not if I would choose to stay behind and deal with my family business bullshit while she boarded a plane headed for the States.
The only silver lining to my heartache is that things in Oslo, at Hansen Manor, are so twisted that I lose myself in the business, my family, and preserving Magnus’s legacy. The week after we bury Farmor, I spend a solid twenty-four hours drunk out of my mind. Anders, Daniel, Johan, and I sit on the back deck of the Manor and pass a bottle, then two, of whiskey, the good stuff, around. We get rip-roaringly drunk. The kind of drunk that serves as a truth serum. Shit from our childhoods, grudges we’ve held on to, hurts we’ve kept buried, all bubble to the surface and float away with the sunset at nearly 10 p.m.
The four of us spring into action in the following week since Uncle Erik and Father have stepped aside. Father is spending some time in France while Uncle Erik went to visit a friend in the Middle East. It feels like we all breathe a little easier with them out of Norway. Even though Father and I spoke, it feels necessary to put some emotional distance between us.
His absence leaves me with more time to focus on my other relationships. Like gaining back my brother and my cousins. Like spending time with my amazing nephew, a little mini me, who loves hockey and skating, and looks at me with stars in his eyes.
I focus on all of this and try to ignore the dull throb in my chest where my heart used to be. Any thought of Rielle sets me back, distracts me, causes me to turn a million what-ifs and if-onlys over in my mind. During the day, I try to block her out, but it’s impossible. Everything I see somehow reminds me of a memory associated with her. Eating smoked salmon, a childhood staple, now has me recalling that first breakfast I made her in our kitchen. By the end of each day, I’m desperate for sleep to claim me just to ease the longing in my chest. Still, she finds me in my dreams.
Twelve days after she left, I can’t take it anymore. I cave and dial her number.
Listening to the phone ring has my nerves bouncing around, eager and insecure and hopeful.
“Torsten?” Her voice comes through the line and I clench the phone. I take a moment to let her voice wash over me and it’s even better than I remembered.
“Hey Ri,” I murmur.
“You okay?” The concern is heavy in her tone and it causes emotion to swell inside of me because if she answered my call, does that mean she still cares?
“I miss you,” I admit. “I miss you every second of every day.”
She sucks in an audible inhale and I pause, giving her time to collect her thoughts.
“I miss you too, Torst.” Her words are exactly what I want to hear but the emotion underlining them, the hurt and the thinly veiled anger, causes my stomach to twist.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you away, Ri. You were right when you said I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I knew better and I did what I thought was best without ever considering your thoughts.” I blurt out the truth, needing her to know that I realize just how epically I messed things up between us.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “It seems to be a theme in my life.” I frown but before I can ask, she volunteers the information. “My dad.”
“Are you guys talking again?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I should tell her I’ve had eyes on her since she landed in New York but right now, I don’t want to rock the boat. The truth is, I’ll never not worry about Rielle. Panic seized me when she left Norway with no access to cash, no plan, no nothing. Immediately, I called a guy I know in the city to keep an eye on her. He keeps assuring me she’s fine and still, I can’t let her safety go.
“Yes. We’ve been spending some time together. I’m staying with Jesse, my brother, in the city. Reconnecting with my family has been good for me.”
“Good. That’s great, Rielle. I’m…I’m really happy for you.”
“I’m happy for you, too. Mending things with your dad, fulfilling your promise to Farmor.” Her voice cracks and I wince.
“Yeah,” I agree after a moment.
She’s quiet for a long beat. “Too bad we couldn’t fight hard enough to fix us, huh?”
The sadness in her voice squeezes me like a vice. “Rielle, I—”
“Made your choice,” she finishes for me.
“Don’t think. Just answer. What’s your choice?” I blurt out, my curiosity getting the better of me. My fingers nearly tremble from clenching the phone so tightly.
She sighs. “Me. Right now, I choose myself. I have to.”
Disappointment rocks through me even though on some level, her answer pleases me. I want her to put herself first. It’s what I’ve always wanted for her. But then why the hell does her confirming it hurt?
“Good, sweetheart. You deserve everything. The best.”
“That’s what I keep hearing.”
I flinch at the hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Rielle—”
“I’m not okay, Torsten. But I’m getting there.” She disconnects the call.
I hold the phone in my hand and stare at it.
An incoming email from Bill lights up my screen.
Subject: Divorce papers?
I swear and throw my phone down on the bed.
I’m in love with my wife. I love Rielle Carter Hansen. And even though I have to, I don’t want to divorce her. I want her forgiveness and her love. I want to be her choice.