Yeah. He wouldn’t tell me anything. Said it’s confidential. Of course, I overreacted that day, but our discussion did plant a seed of doubt in my mind.
Well, that seems conclusive, she states.
What do you mean? I ask.
A guy who’s too principled to reveal details that would clear his name isn’t the type of guy who would frame someone, she declares, with all the assurance of a woman who spends way too much time watching true crime shows.
I guess, I agree with zero enthusiasm. I don’t like being wrong. And besides, there’s no proof, other than Mats’s personality.
Becks leans closer to me. Nellie, if you actually like Mats and want this to go anywhere, you need to talk to your brother and straighten this shit out. Like, yesterday. Because Mats seems like the kind of guy who holds the people around him to a pretty fucking high standard.
She’s right, and I vow to grill Jordan the next time I see him in person. But that may not be until he picks me up for our mom’s birthday party in early March, which is over a month away.
Then I shake my head. You know, you’re getting carried away. All I said was that I don’t hate him anymore. That doesn’t mean I like him.
We grab our towels and head to the showers. Becks is not giving up, though.
You know, I can see you guys together. That whole opposites-attract thing. You’re the Little Miss Sunshine of our team. He’s Mr. Dark and Stormy.
He’s not like that, I protest. Mats is just a normal guy, nothing like his online image of a brooding grouch. Can we drop this? We need to catch our bus.
Then I turn the shower on, so I don’t have to hear another word.
8
CONE OF SILENCE
MATS
I grab Zee on the way back to campus for a Monday night meeting of the Athletic Council. Generally, we meet three times a year, plus a holiday event with the dean. But this special meeting means there must be an issue. The last time this happened, we discussed Jordan Nelson’s case.
How are your donor dinners going? he asks.
Pretty well, actually. Much to my shock. I never expected to enjoy the dinners, but these Tuesdays have been a complete diversion from the stresses of my normal life. If only the food was healthier.
That’s good news. What’s this rich donor like?
Marjorie Schultz is pretty chill. She’s like your grandmother—if your grandmother was a radical feminist in the sixties.
I have Ukrainian babusi, so I can’t relate, Zee jokes.
I’m actually starting to look forward to these nights. Marjorie really lived a big life, so it’s interesting to hear her stories. Of course, sometimes it feels like she’s toying with us. Recreating the dances of the sixties made me feel like a performing monkey.
What about Cleo? Things going okay now? he asks.
It’s getting better. Not sure she’s over the whole Jordan thing yet.
Not to overstep, but do you blame yourself for that as well? Zee watches me closely. Of course, he discerns more than anyone else would. But that’s what makes it easy to talk to him; I can be more honest.
I nod. Yeah. Because I would never have complained about his racist behaviour if I hadn’t been explicitly asked. Would he have been suspended instead of kicked off the team if I’d kept my mouth shut?
After Nelson’s departure, I’d researched others problematic hockey players, and many received suspensions or changed teams after similar incidents. Of course, all those players had been highly skilled, because hockey is only forgiving if you’re valuable to them.
What would have happened if he got suspended instead? Zee’s tone is neutral, like we’re talking about alternate endings to a popular show.
Hopefully, he would have learned his lesson. He would have come back and been a better player, a better teammate. Like his sister. Cleo seems to be beloved by her teammates.
Zee laughs. The sound is jarring in the context of our serious conversation.
