On Thin Ice

3. We've Got a Problem

1 month later

May 2nd

Houston, Texas

Søren's POV

Lillehammer.

Sometimes I'd wake up and I'd be dreaming about it. The grassy fields during the summer and spring. The greenery would go all the way up to the roof, covering your house in a sort of moss.

I'd spent the last month there, spending time with my Mom and little sister. It was nice to be out of the U.S. for a while.

As much as I'd been running from home at 20, chasing a dream of being someone out here, I missed the quietness of home.

I missed working on the farm with my sister, tending to the cows, horses, and sheep. I also missed the winters in Norway. The cold sheets of ice on the pond, and the mountains filled with so much snow that at night it was bright. I loved the cold and thrived in it. I think it had something to do with my genetics. I could withstand the cold way better than most people. Most Nords could. Dad always used to bring us to see the Northern lights in Tromso. It was only a few towns over.

I hadn't gone to see them since his death.

I was homesick.

And now that I was back in hot Texas, I was suddenly in need of my mom's home cooking.

But my agent had called me a few nights ago, ending my trip short. He said it was a matter of emergency and that I needed to get back to the States as soon as I could.

I watched the traffic barely move through the window of the agency building. From up here you could see everything pretty well. Despite the fact that I lived in the countryside for most of my life, in a small town at that, I could still appreciate the beauty of the city. But another voice nagged at me, reminding me how much better the view would be from the roof.

I ignored it, fiddling with my watch.

I shut my eyes, leaning back in the lobby chair. Ever since the offseason started, I had a harder time finding ways to distract myself from my own thoughts.

It always happened around this time of year. Everything reminded me of my past. My mistakes. A specific person. It'd been 3 years exactly.

I shifted uncomfortably and ignored the prickly feeling along my arm. A few more months and I'd be so distracted with hockey that I wouldn't have time to think about any of this.

The door opened and Davis walked out, a jersey and dark pants with Jordans. Sometimes I couldn't tell how old he was based on the way he carried himself and dressed.

Davis was 32 but some days he looked 23.

He'd been my agent for the last two years and we got along pretty well. He was a ball-buster, securing me the best contracts and sponsorships.

Though he looked young, he was serious when it came to his work.

And his usual disposition was relaxed, upbeat. However today, he looked worn, stressed even.

We shook hands and he gestured for me to step into his office. I was already on edge.

"I'm glad you could make it back so quickly."

"You said it was an emergency," I sat down across from him and he tapped his hand against the desk.

I'd never seen Davis so stressed in my life.