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This was his life now. He had money but no job. People around but no friends. And an ache in his chest but no idea how to even begin soothing himself. Was he a monster, or was there hope for him that he could be better than the creature his mother had set out into the world?
He wondered if that was a question he’d ever get an answer to.
CHAPTERTWO
“Okay, Mr. Nelson…”
“Nilsson,” he corrected absently, then realized the contractor probably didn’t give a single rat’s ass how to say his last name.
The guy grimaced and pulled off his baseball cap, ruffling his hair before shoving it back on. “If you don’t have any questions about the quote or how this works, then please sign in the three highlighted spots on the form.”
Emil had been half listening to the terms of the contract, but he really didn’t give a shit what needed to be done or how much it was going to cost. He’d pay any amount of money so long as he didn’t have to think about what was happening. If they damaged something, it wouldn’t be worse than what she’d done to the house in her years there alone, and if there was anything worth saving, he didn’t want to know.
The cheap plastic ballpoint pen felt too light between his fingers as he scratched his signature, then handed the clipboard back off to the man, who pulled the white copy away and offered Emil the yellow imprinted one.
“We should be finished by Friday, then you’ll do a walk-through provided that it’s not declared a hazard after the city inspection. Once that’s done, I can give you the names of a couple reno companies in the area that have pretty decent reputations, or if you’d prefer to have it demolished, I know a couple guys in that field.”
Emil nodded, feeling vaguely numb as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He felt odd and out of place in his polished shoes amongst a sea of work boots. He’d never worn them before. He’d never had a callus on his hands. He’d never done a day’s manual labor in his life—not even when he lived with his mother.
“You need anything else from me?” he asked.
The guy looked over at him with an expression of vague surprise, like he’d forgotten Emil was there. “We’ll call if we need anything, Mr. Nilsson.”
And just like that, he was dismissed.
The last place Emil wanted to be was his hotel, so he found himself walking toward a little seafood bistro that overlooked the water, not too far from where he was staying. The area was familiar, but in the way that he often felt as a tourist when he stood in one place for too long. The city was preparing for Christmas, fairy lights everywhere, fresh pine garlands hanging from every old-school-style gas lamp post, and big red bows that almost seemed mocking.
It gave him a strange sensation of nostalgia that took him a long time to figure out where it was coming from. After all, he didn’t do holidays with his mom. They did them just enough for photos so his mom could lament about what it was like to have a solitary, lonely Christmas with a dying child.
But there were never presents. He didn’t have a Christmas morning with hot breakfast and warm hugs and mugs of cocoa waiting. Santa didn’t visit. No one ever gave a shit about him.
But there was one year when he was seven, the first and only time his mom let him out of her care. He didn’t remember how or why his dad had managed to get him, but he showed up in a big black car and put Emil on a private jet. The flight took hours, and he slept most of the way, terrified because he had no idea what was coming or what to expect.
His dad didn’t treat him like he was sick—like he had weeks to live—and he wasn’t quite sure how to process it.
They landed in Oslo, then drove for hours and hours along snowy roads to Trondheim. He was half-asleep when they reached the city, but when he opened his eyes, it felt like a page from his fairy-tale book had come to life. There were lights everywhere, and food, and shops that all smelled like gingerbread and cinnamon. There was a giant Ferris wheel brightly lit against the dark night sky, and for a single moment, Emil wished the world would stop turning and time would freeze.
At the market, his father hadn’t looked twice at him, but his current wife had taken him by the gloved hand and bought him a hat with reindeer knitted along the brim. He had food with names he couldn’t pronounce, and he felt like the entire world would be okay if everything stayed exactly the way it was.
He cried himself sick on the plane when he went home, and he didn’t see his dad in person for another ten years. By the time Emil went back to Norway, his father was on his sixth marriage, and when Emil asked about the woman at the Christmas market, his father just laughed and told him she got what she’d come for: his money.
And that was the moment Emil understood the world he was now part of, and there was no escaping his fate.
Victor had faith in him that he could become something else, but it was only after the fiasco with Charlie and Victor’s fiancée that Emil was willing to allow Victor’s hope in his life. He didn’t have any himself, of course, but maybe Victor’s would be enough.
“Just one today, sir?”
Emil blinked up at the young woman behind the desk, then nodded. “Thank you. Something by the window if you have it.” He stopped, then added, “Please.”
He was used to barking orders and getting his way, and manners were most definitely a new concept.
She didn’t seem very fazed though, offering him that same friendly smile as she walked him to a long bench that stretched along the window overlooking the river. Every few feet were tables barely big enough for one, let alone two, and only a couple of those were occupied.
There was no one close on either side of him, so he stretched his legs out and stared at the menu for a while. The idea of eating made his stomach twist in on itself, which he knew wasn’t a bad sign, considering he was running solely on coffee and a prayer.
But what he wanted was a drink. A big, stiff, strong drink.
“Can I—” he started, but he realized the hostess had walked off.
