“Don’t you worry about what the rest of the city will say? This is going to make a lot of people hurt,” I press. “A lot of peoples’ lives will be ruined.”
He levelsme with a patronizing look. “Like I said, Fred. It’s business. They’ll never know the half of it.”
I open, then close my mouth. Surely all of this is illegal, but when was the law any bastion of morality? That’s kind of the whole reason I dropped out of business school in the first place. I hate that I’m related to him. I wish I could rewrite my DNA. Change my name—the same name inked to this document, this documentary, but if I want to make a name for myself, independent of him, I’m going to have to be my own person. I’m going to have to own who I am.
“I understand why you’re worried, Fred. I know you’ve grown attached to the team, but don’t throw your future away over a bunch of hockey players. They’re not worth it. Besides, you’ve earned this. When the documentary comes out, you’ll finally have the distinction you deserve.”
You’ve earned this. The words ring in my head. One way or another, the news is going to get out. I just need to make sure it tells the real story, even if I’m collateral damage.
Chapter 49
Mattias
I’ve just stepped off the ice after a particularly grueling morning skate when Coach pulls me aside.
“Can I speak to you a sec, Mattias?”
I nod, unstrapping my helmet and pushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes. I’ve been sore all week, but that didn’t stop me from pushing myself to my max. Ever since I found out about the sale, I’ve had a seemingly endless well of energy and rage to burn through. Coach leads me into the penalty box where we can speak more privately. The rest of the guys filter into the locker room.
“You don’t gotta clue me in too much if you don’t want to, but I gotta ask—is something bothering you?” He offers me an uncertain, gap-toothed smile.
I should have known this was coming.
I look him dead in his earnest, brown eyes, and I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him he’s about to lose his job. I want to tell him that this time next year, this sports center will probably be bulldozed. That I don’t know how I’m supposed to stay focused, knowing my career is being cut abruptly short.
I want tospill it all. It’s fucking killing me to practice and play with these guys, knowing how heartbroken they’re all going to be when they hear the news. The way their lives are all about to be uprooted as they’re forced to move to new cities, start over with new teams if they’re lucky, or just move home, like me. Possibly like Poirier, too. My chest goes tight.
I can’t tell him. When the time comes, this is the Hearsts’ mess—not mine. One way or another, Freddie and her father will have to stand in front of the team, look them in the eye, and admit the truth.
“I have some things going on at home.” I’ve never been a very good liar, so I avert my eyes.
He claps a large hand on my shoulder. “I understand. I know things at home can be tough, especially when you’re a world away. Just know I’m always here to talk, alright? And if you need some time, the Players’ Association is there. Just say the word.”
I purse my lips. I don’t need a mental health leave. I just need to play my ass off for the rest of the season and end my career on a high note before I’m forced to ship off back to Sweden.
“Thanks, Coach,” I say. He claps me on the shoulder again and stands.
“Let’s go debrief.”
I nod and follow him into the locker room. I don’t expect it to explode with noise and color the moment we walk in.
“Happy birthday, Mattias!” shouts a chorus of my twenty-two teammates, a familiar mix of voices and accents I’ve come to treasure. They’re all wearing children’s party hats and holding those irritating streamers, and Häkkänen is holding up a big cake with the number 24 on it. It must be homemade, given how sloppy it looks. Ines is there, too, holding a cluster of balloons in Monarchs colors, a huge grin on her face.
Suddenlymy chest hurts, and despite being a grown man I almost feel like crying. Almost.
Is it really my birthday already? I look at my smart watch. January 16th. And I'm twenty-eight years old.
“Wow,” is all I manage to say, because I couldn’t possibly put into words how much it means to me that they took the time. That as irksome and prickly and demanding of a team captain I can be, they wanted to make me happy on my birthday.
“Put his face in it,” Thompson says to Häkkänen. “Nail his ass.”
Häkkänen looks like he’s actually considering it.
“Not if you like your nuts untwisted,” I say.
“Bullshit. Everybody knows Falkenberg doesn’t fight,” Poirier says, punching his palm.
“Hold him down,” Bell adds.
