Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Mateo
Present day
Florian Richter, defenseman for the Boston Blizzards, thinks I’m his boyfriend.
I glance at my satchel. No, I didn’t just manifest a boyfriend. Obviously, not.
I mean, Gina who is normally wise told me to run through the manifestation exercises. And obviously, she told me to do that because she thought it would be worth my time.
Or she told me because she wanted to waste my time—honestly, that’s a definite possibility.
There are few things in this world I am incredibly confident in, but one of them is that Florian Richter, German defenseman, does not like me.
People who like me don’t avoid me. They don’t walk in the opposite direction when they see me.
But Florian called me his boyfriend.
I press my lips together.
The thing is, he might not like me—at least not when he’s not injured, but it’s difficult not to like him.
Nurses fuss over Florian. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to be alone with him. Now that he’s conscious, there’s been a steady flow of people.
Which is good.
He should be taken care of.
But he’s been sending me happy glances the whole time, and he’s going to be so upset when he remembers everything.
For some reason, Florian seems under the impression that we’re together.
Romantically.
He doesn’t remember that he hates me, and now I have to tell him. He’ll be embarrassed and bewildered, and it will be awkward.
Still. He needs to know.
When the final nurse leaves the room, I hurry toward him.
“Hello…” He breathes.
What would it be like if he were truly my boyfriend? If I were happy that he was finally conscious? If he’d lost his memory of me, but he still trusted that we were together and that it was good.
“There’s something you should know,” I say.
Florian fixes me with a beatific smile. I tremble under the steadiness of his gaze and the way his blue eyes soften as if he’s smiling at someone he likes.
But he doesn’t like me.
I know that.
He can barely stand me.
At some point, hopefully for his sake some point soon, he’ll remember exactly who I am and he’ll remember he hates me.
“So we’re...” I hesitate. It should be easy to tell him that I’m not his boyfriend.
He stares at me the way boyfriends stare at their loved ones in movies when the music is swelling and they’re about to do their final kiss, the kind where the perfect boyfriend dips his beloved down and the camera soars above them in the midst of falling snow or falling rose petals or falling fall leaves.
“This is difficult.” I give an awkward laugh. “You seem to be under the impression of something that… isn’t the case.”
“Tell me.”
I don’t want to tell him.
I want to be in a world where I have a handsome hockey star boyfriend who looks at me with wonder.
“You know how you woke up and saw me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you, uh, made an assumption.”
Florian’s brow furrows. His skin is paler than before.
The monitor pings at a more rapid, more uneven pace.
I swallow hard. This shouldn’t be difficult to say.
“We’re not…” I sigh.
How am I supposed to tell him that I’m only here because Coach asked me to come?
Because his family has been notified, but they have to travel from Germany?
That Coach thought someone from the team should be visiting the hospital, and my schedule is the most flexible?
That if I looked like I was praying, it was because I was doing some ridiculous manifestation exercises in the ridiculous book that Gina got me?
That I dreaded coming to the hospital, because every interaction between us has been awkward, and that I didn’t feel like I was supposed to see someone who liked me so little in his hospital gown while he was sleeping?
Maybe he’ll be relieved when I tell him the truth. The Florian I know would be relieved.
But instead, it feels like I’m breaking his heart, which can’t be the case.
I haven’t broken anyone’s heart.
I know that.
I’ve been broken up with before, though most people I meet on dating apps don’t even bother to do that.
I know what it feels like to meet someone I care about for dinner, then on the way to the restaurant, his face goes serious before he tells me that we’re not what I want us to be, that I’ve had things wrong, that I was foolish to think that long, animated conversations and sex sessions meant anything, so I’m left stranded outside the restaurant, looking foolish in my velvet blazer, blinking rapidly into the night as pedestrians rush around me, casting worried glances at me.
“Mateo?” Florian’s voice pulls me back.
The pings are louder, faster.
The door slams open and three nurses rush in. They usher me away and start taking his vitals. My heart squeezes as they fuss over Florian.
What did I do?
The man is injured. He has amnesia.
If he seems to think I’m his boyfriend, do I need to dissuade him from that impression?
Dr. Davis marches into the room. He glares at me. “What happened?”
“Nothing. We were talking and—”
He gives me a look, and everything in my body crumples. Dr. Davis might be too young to look like the grumpy septuagenarian principal of a school who is lecturing me about my poor behavior, but that’s precisely how I feel.
“Something he wouldn’t want to hear?” Dr. Davis presses me.
“He thinks we’re together,” I say. “But I’m just his team’s massage therapist.”
Dr. Davis’s expression hardens. “I see.”
“And I was trying to tell him, but—” I gesture helplessly toward the traitor monitors.
“No one wants to be broken up with when they’re disoriented and frightened,” Dr. Davis says carefully. “Right now, Florian has attached himself to you. He’s just discovered he’s in a new country, on a new team, and has a brain injury. He might be wondering if he’ll ever play again—”
“That’s terrible. Do you think he might not be able to play?”
Dr. Davis sighs. “We’ll monitor his symptoms. If they resolve, he should be able to.”
“Will they resolve?” my voice trembles.
Dr. Davis gives me an odd look, and maybe I’m not acting like someone who barely knows him.
“I hope so,” Dr. Davis says. “We’ll have a good idea soon.”
I nod, but I imagine he might not have a lot of experience with people with amnesia.
“You should leave,” Dr. Davis says. “I’ll explain things to him when he’s more stable.”
I imagine Florian alone in this hospital room, wondering why the person he thought cared about him vanished.
“No.” I shake my head.
“But—”
“He’s my boyfriend and he needs me.”
Dr. Davis frowns. “You just said—”
“I won’t upset him,” I say. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“But—”
“I didn’t explain that well,” I say quickly. “We’re together. We’re just not… public. I, uh, was trying to remind him.” I give a nervous laugh. “Maybe he thought I meant I was saying we weren’t together.”
Dr. Davis studies me. I hold his gaze and refuse to flinch.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Florian is stable now.”
I approach Florian again.
Florian looks lost and frightened, and there’s no way I can possibly hurt him. My whole life is dedicated to making people feel better. I’m not going to stop that now, even for a hockey player who doesn’t like me.
“Hi there,” I say.
“I thought you’d left.”
I shake my head. “No. I was speaking with the doctor.”
He watches me, and my heart aches.
What is he going through?
“I, uh, think there was a misunderstanding,” I lie.
I wait for him to look hopeful, but instead he looks at me with suspicion. I deserve that.
“I was trying to tell you that your family isn’t here yet.”
“Oh.”
“I thought—”
“They’re on their way, but they’re not here, yet. Unfortunately.”
He smiles. “Well, Germany and the US are far away.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It is okay.” He gives me a relieved glance.
Florian is not supposed to be looking at me with affection. He’s too handsome, too close, too intensely focused on me.
He reaches for my hand, and I take it.
I am such a liar.