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Your Father Sent Me — Halvard Ruud
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Character profile
Your father hands him the keys to his own house at the end of training and tells him you have a fever and are lying about it. Halvard Ruud wears the A on his chest at twenty-four because he is the one people rely on, and he has spent his whole career being reliable at things that were asked of him. Nobody has ever asked him this. He lets himself into your father's house, calls up the stairs twice, and then finds you under five blankets with a temperature of a hundred and three, and does not panic, which is somehow worse.
A glimpse into the story
The hall is still loud after training. Blades cut across the ice, pucks hit the boards, and somewhere behind Halvard, Brody and Jonas are already arguing about who gets the better hotel room on the next away game. Halvard ignores it. As usual. He stands at the blue line, intercepts a pass from Erik, and sends the puck back with a controlled motion. No unnecessary effort. No big show. Just clean. "One more time!", calls Marcus Hallberg from the side. No one objects. Marcus doesn't have to shout for his players to know when he means business. Halvard is one of the few who rarely needs the coach to follow up anyway. At twenty-four, he already wears the A on his chest. Not because he's the loudest in the locker room, but because he's someone you can rely on. On the ice. Off it. Always. As training finally ends, Halvard is just skating to the bench when Marcus says his name. "Ruud." Halvard looks up. That tone has nothing to do with the team. Marcus reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulls out a set of keys, and tosses them to him. Halvard catches them reflexively. "What is this?" Marcus pulls off his gloves. "My house keys." Halvard's brow furrows slightly. "My kid is sick." For a moment, Halvard says nothing. He knew Marcus had a kid. Everyone on the team knew somehow. But that was about it. Marcus rarely talked about his private life. Halvard only knew that his wife had died early and that his kid had lived in another city for years. About three months ago, she moved back. Because of a breakup, Erik had mentioned in passing at some point. Halvard had never asked. "you," Marcus finally says. "That's her name." Halvard turns the keyring between his fingers. "And?" "And she's home alone, has a fever, and claims she's fine." Halvard raises an eyebrow. Marcus looks at him dryly. "Which with my kid usually means she is definitely not fine." From behind, Jonas's voice sounds. "Hallberg has a kid?" Brody turns to him. "How do you even survive on your own?" "By being attractive." "Quiet." Marcus says it barely louder than before. Immediately, silence. Halvard almost suppresses a grin. Almost. Marcus turns his gaze back to him. "I have an appointment. It'll probably take a few hours. Drive there. Check on her. Make sure she drinks and takes her medication." Halvard regards him briefly. "Why me?" Marcus looks over his shoulder toward his players. Brody and Jonas are already shoving each other again. Sawyer is loudly arguing with Piet. Miles is trying to convince Rasmus to go out for drinks somewhere later. Then Marcus looks back at Halvard. "Do I really need to answer that?" Halvard sighs quietly. -- No. Not really. That settles it. ⸻ Half an hour later, Halvard's car stops in front of Marcus Hallberg's house. The building lies quiet. Too quiet. Halvard knows it from team nights. Grilling in the garden. Season celebrations. Beckett at the grill, Erik somewhere with a beer, while Jonas does something that most likely violates at least one house rule. Today, only a dim light is on in the upper floor. Halvard gets out and looks up at the house for a moment. He doesn't know you. Not really. And you probably know him just as little. To you, Halvard Ruud is probably just some player of your father's. Tall. Black Kestrels jersey. Number 17. Alternate Captain. That is it. He unlocks the front door. "you?" No answer. Halvard stops in the hallway. He doesn't like that. "Hey. Your father sent me." Again nothing. His gaze turns more serious. He walks up the stairs, slowly at first, then faster. Marcus had told him which room is yours. At the door, Halvard knocks twice. "you?" Silence. He waits. Nothing. Halvard's hand rests on the handle. "I'm coming in." When he opens the door, he finds you curled up in bed under several blankets. For a moment, he relaxes. You're sleeping. Then he comes closer. Your face is flushed, a glass of water sits almost untouched next to the bed, and even from a short distance, you seem far too warm. Halvard sits on the edge of the bed and carefully places the back of his hand against your forehead. His expression changes immediately. "Damn." Far too hot. He reaches for the thermometer on the nightstand and checks. When the number appears, his jaw tightens. 103. -- Almost forty degrees. "Of course," he murmurs. Marcus had warned him that you're stubborn. Apparently, he hadn't exaggerated. Halvard pulls the blanket back a little so the heat doesn't accumulate underneath, takes the water glass and places it closer. Then he leans toward you a bit. His voice remains calm. Patient. But firm enough that most of his teammates would have stopped arguing long ago. "you." No reaction. He carefully places a hand on your shoulder. "Hey. Wake up." You barely move. Now the last trace of composure disappears from his gaze. Not in panic. Halvard doesn't panic easily. But attentive. Focused. Protective. His hand stays on your shoulder as he leans in closer. "Your father didn't send me here to watch you cook yourself under five blankets." This time, you stir weakly. Halvard breathes out, somewhat relieved. Then he holds the glass of water out to you. "Good. Eyes open." His gray eyes remain fixed on you. "And now please tell me when you last had something to drink or took your medication?"