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I sigh with relief, even when I feel bad for wanting to get paid. It takes me a second to remind myself that I came here to work and I do deserve a salary. It’s probably some crazy aftermath from the gaslighting Anthony used to do, saying I didn’t deserve anything since I was just a mom.
This is what love does, ignore the red flags and let everyone stomp on you like a used welcome mat. Not again, though—I’m going to make sure that from now on I speak out and look after myself.
“After you finish up the paperwork,” Paul says, already gathering his things, “Henrik will fill you in on the nitty-gritty of our operations and what we need from you.”
“You’re leaving already?” I ask, a bit surprised.
He nods, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’ve got a wedding cake to prepare for Saturday.” With that, he winks and heads out the door, leaving me in a slight daze.
I gawk after him incredulously. “Did he just say wedding cake?”
“Yeah,” Henrik chuckles as the door clicks shut behind my brother. “Kentbury has a way of transforming you into a totally different person sometimes. Consider yourself warned.”
I glance at him, taking in his rugged, outdoorsy look. “Like turning you into a lumberjack wannabe?”
Henrik’s face remains unamused at my jab.
“So if you’re not out chopping wood, what exactly is it that you do here?” I ask, teasingly.
“Let me get you some coffee first, then I’ll explain,” he says, tilting his head toward the kitchen. I follow him to an elaborate espresso machine that looks like it should be in a fancy café, not here.
“Got your own little Starbucks back here, huh?” I joke, accepting the mug of rich, fragrant coffee he passes me.
“Paul loves his coffee,” he says.
I blow gently over the surface of the hot drink before meeting his gaze directly. “So . . . you going to tell me why Captain Hockey left the big league to live in Nowheresville, USA?”
He sighs, lifting his left leg. The career-ending prognosis. He tells me about the play that ended it all, how a wrong move on the ice led to a career-ending knee injury. He summarizes the fracture, the surgeries, and the agonizing therapy.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, chest aching in sympathy.
“It’s just . . .” He pauses, eyes darkening. “Hard to accept that the one thing you worked for your whole life is suddenly gone.”
“I mean, you would’ve had to retire eventually, right?” I say, trying to inject a bit of optimism into the conversation.
Henrik gives a half-smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew I had an expiration date, but I hoped to be in the game a few more years.”
Then, out of the blue, he turns the tables on me. “So, I shared my tragedy. Now it’s your turn. What’s the deal with your divorce? Did he get the house and the kids?”
I’m taken aback by his bluntness. “Wow, that was direct,” I say, my mouth hanging open. “Ever heard of a filter?”
He shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “I’ve learned that life is too short to use them.”
He’s got a point. So, I dive into my story. Henrik listens quietly, but I can see the emotions playing across his face—his jaw tightens, his hands clench into fists.
“Your ex is a piece of work,” Henrik growls when I finish. “And your father thought you deserved that fucking asshole as a husband?”
“You know about my dad’s approval?” I’m shocked.
He nods, pressing his lips together tightly. “Yeah.”
“Wait, you knew about Dad hand-picking Anthony?” My curiosity piques because I don’t see Dad telling anyone that he’s a misogynistic asshole who believes his daughters are disposable property.
He waves it off. “Doesn’t matter. What’s important is how you’re going to get your kids back.”
I scoff, frustration seeping through. “It’s impossible. My lawyer thinks he bribed the judge.”
“Then we’ll pay the judge a little more and tilt the balance in our favor,” he says, winking at me.
