A sigh sounds on the other side.
“You can be upset, Florian,” Chase says. “God, I sound like my wife. But I know you were settling in… well.”
“That is good,” I say. “Because I am sad.”
“Right. Emotions are—uh—good.” Chase says the line with the enthusiasm of someone who is skeptical that emotions are better expressed than kept in.
I share his doubts.
“You do not need to comfort me,” I tell Chase. “I need to pack. And—” I hesitate. I also need to tell my teammates.
How many of them already knew? They knew Dmitri.
I was telling them I was happy to be here. I was promising to play harder than ever when I recovered.
They probably knew.
I am embarrassed. But mostly I am sad.
I tell Chase goodbye. I am not interested in exchanging platitudes with almost strangers.
I go to the massage room, but the door is closed and calming music which does not calm me comes through the door. Mateo is giving a massage.
I stare at the door.
I am not going to interrupt my fake boyfriend’s work.
I wait outside the door until Jason slips out. His skin reddens when he sees me, and he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Did you?—?”
“I got the news,” I say. “I am to be traded to Nashville.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason says.
I nod, because he probably is sorry in his way.
He looks at me awkwardly, and I hate it.
I’ve never belongedhere. Not really.
The game is about to begin, and I leave the arena. I want to escape the throngs of happy people. I am no longer a Blizzard. I need to pack.
I exit the building, and icy Massachusetts wind beats against me.
Mateo
Jason has left the massage room, and I pick up my phone when a news alert flashes across the screen.
“Dmitri Volkov to replace Florian Richter as Blizzards’ Defenseman.”
I stare at the words on the screen.
No. No, no, no.
I leave the massage room. Where is Florian?
I hurry through the hallway. Jason is entering the locker room, and he turns to me. His cheeks redden.
