“Seriously?”
He shrugs, one hand on the wheel. “Häkkänen’s giving everyone the fight of their lives this season. If he can keep it up, I think it’s possible. The offense is there now. I hope so, at least.” He says the second part with a strain in his voice. I’ve spent enough time with him to know something’s bothering him. I suspect I know what it is.
“No matter what happens, I think your dad would be proud of you.”
His face falls ever so briefly, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. “He played professionally, but he never made it to the NHL.” He swallows again, and when he speaks his voice is thick. “I wish that he could have seen me play.”
My heart hurts for him.
“Sometimes people ask me why I like horror so much,” I say, glancing out the window again. “Real life is so much scarier—so much more unfair. In horror movies, the assholes usually get what they deserve, and the people who do the right thing are the ones left standing. In real life, too many heroes leave before the story ends.”
I look back at him, and he’s watching the road with a frown, his grip tight on the wheel. “They really do.”
“That, and no genre does a better job of exploring grief and trauma. It’s cathartic when you can examine your darker feelings through metaphorical monsters. Not as triggering. You should let me show you my favorites sometime,” I say with a devious smile. “Unless you’re a weenie.”
“What’s a weenie?” he says, and I burst out laughing, earning a scowl from him.
“A baby. A bitch.”
“I see. Do you really think a weenie could have put up with you all season?”
“Fair enough,” I say. Then, hesitantly, I add, “Has your mom ever come over to watch one of your games?”
“She has not.” His reply is curt.
“I hope that one day she will,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say anything else about it, but for the first time in a while, the silence between us is easy. Peaceful.
“If I can handle you, I think I can handle a horror movie. I’d like to see your favorites,” he says after a long moment, dragging a smile from me. I sigh and lean my head back against the headrest, breathing in the scent of his air freshener mixed with the salty sea air. It feels too right and it makes me too happy to just be with him like this. A fist clenches around my heart, because I know this peace between us can’t last.
“Where in god’s name have you been, Frederica?” My mother is white as a ghost when I walk in the front door, wearing a man’s clothes. I’m a little stunned—taking god’s name in vain is a rarity for Elise Hearst. She wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“A friend’s,” I reply, guilt at making her worry rushing in through the door behind me.
“Your phone is dead. How was I supposed to know if something happened to you? You didn’t bother to call?” The knife twists deeper.
“I’m sorry. I was drunk. A friend took me home so I wouldn’t drive. I should have called.” My cheeks burn.
She steps closer to look me in the eye, and I see how bloodshot her corneas are. “Your friends had no idea where you were. Your father is not happy,” she whispers.
“I know,” I reply, wondering what tirades she’s been subjected to on my behalf.
It almost inspires a new horror script, one where someone’s guilt and cowardice takes the shape of a demon that ultimately consumes every person in their life. As if summoned, a doorclicksupstairs.
“Is that Freddie?” My father appears on the catwalk. His face is red, like his blood pressure’s surging. He doesn’t wait for me to answer him, he just crooks a finger in my direction. My mother’s reassuring look does little to assuage my nerves. I set my bag down, grit my teeth, and follow him.
“Close the door,” he says when I reach his office. I do.
“Hi,” I say delicately.
“Very unprofessional behavior last night on your part.”
I swallow, tired of giving this Boogeyman power over me. Finding my voice, I say, “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“You got too intoxicated and left without saying goodbye to our investors.”
I choose my words carefully. I can’t let this blow up until I’ve figured out how to properly diffuse it all. “I thought it would be better if I left quietly, rather than let them see me like that.”
