“This isn’t EMDR therapy. Talking about your future isn’t the type of therapy I specialize in, but I acknowledge it is something that could come up in a therapy session.”
Eric turned down the heat on the potatoes and put a lid on the pan. They’d end up steamed rather than pan fried, but that was going to be good enough.
The silence was long and painful.
Elijah finally cleared his throat, passing Eric the cutting board with the dry, prepared fish on it. “You don’t want to talk about your future.”
He took the cutting board on reflex, taking a clean knife and cutting the fish into appropriately sized pieces before putting them into the sauce.
Eric braced his hands on the counter on either side of the cooktop, staring down at the pot and pan. He was vibrating, as if the question was a bell that Elijah had rung and the sound waves were bouncing around inside his body.
“I wasn’t supposed to have a future,” he said quietly.
“Why not?”
“I was supposed to die.” Eric hunched further, the warm, heavily scented steam somehow calming. “After my wives died and I was finally able to step down from being admiral of Kalmar, I became a mercenary.”
He needed something to do with his hands. He turned off the heat on the fish, letting it finish cooking with residual heat. “They didn’t make me become a knight again once I stepped down. After everything that happened, the territory just sort of…left me alone.”
Elijah made a soft noise that might have been agreement or sympathy.
“I didn’t know what to do with my life. I’d failed at everything that mattered, but I was a good fighter. Clever enough to handle complex situations. I signed on with a private security company specializing in international and high-risk operations.”
“A soldier for hire.”
“Yes. The company is as bad as you expect from private security, but I was a contractor and selected my jobs.”
“This is when you met Colum and Josephine.”
“Yes. I couldn’t bear to go back to the apartment in Stockholm or move back to Copenhagen. A cottage in rural Ireland felt like a good place to be left alone.” Eric snorted, taking the lid off the potatoes and turning up the heat. Maybe there was hope yet for crispiness.
“Instead, you found family.”
“A family I failed to protect.” The words came out almost as a reflex.
Wincing, he looked over his shoulder at Elijah, who raised his brows.
“I found a family,” Eric agreed. “And tragically, my adopted sister was murdered.” He turned back to the potatoes. “Then Ihunted down the person who murdered her and broke her neck—I didn’t torture her first though.”
“Er, well done.”
“Thank you. I consider it personal growth. Then I found the man who orchestrated it and ripped his head off his body with my bare hands.”
Elijah sighed loudly.
Eric laughed and took the potatoes off the heat.
“At least you stopped blaming yourself for the murder…” Elijah muttered as Eric plated, spooning the sauce over the potatoes and then adding the big pieces of fish.
They carried their plates to the table, scooping up forks and napkins on the way.
They ate in silence for several moments. Elijah wasn’t watching him, didn’t seem to care one way or another if their conversation continued, but his question about Eric’s future was like an itch he needed to scratch.
“I wasn’t supposed to have a future,” Eric repeated. “I figured I would die in an alley or jungle while on a job.”
“Then you became fleet admiral.”
“Considering the last one was murdered.” Eric turned and pointed toward the large windows. “Murdered just over there actually.”
