Chapter 36
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
Florian
Reporters look delighted to see me. Schei?e. Of course there are reporters here. They are going to watch the game, then speak to the hockey players after.
Now they also get to speak to me.
“Florian!” one reporter shouts.
Should I pretend not to hear them? Not to see them?
No. I had a brain injury. I cannot pretend that. They must think I am cognitively competent.
Running sounds behind me. “Florian.”
I turn around. Mateo sprints toward me, his cheeks pink from the cold, his large eyes worried. “I heard. I’m sorry. You should have told me.”
“I just found out.”
He nods, but my cheeks heat. I could have gone to see him after Jason exited the massage room.
“Is your boyfriend going to go with you to Nashville?” the reporter shouts.
My throat dries. I clench and unclench my fists.
I know the answer.
Mateo and I are not really together. Mateo and I are only together because I got hit on my head, and Mateo didn’t know how to tell me that I was single and not dating him.
Even though I spent my life single and not dating him, and that really shouldn’t have caused a medical emergency.
But I have vague memories of nurses rushing into my hospital room and being incredibly relieved when Mateo told me that he’d only been trying to tell me that my parents weren’t at the hospital yet.
I’ve put Mateo into this situation. And though we’ve been acting like everything is real… And though sometimes it feels like it’s real…
I know the truth: Mateo and I are not together. We’re not.
Not the way people truly sometimes are boyfriends. The relationships that start with someone asking someone on a date. Ice cream or coffee or dinner.
“Of course,” Mateo says, bright smile pasted onto his pretty face.
“Really?” the reporter looks astonished.
“Yes,” Mateo says, jaw out slightly. “I will accompany Florian to Nashville.”
The cameras flash, and I force my lips into a smile, the American kind that shows all my teeth, as if it will distract the reporters from the fear in my eyes.
It’s better this way, I decide. The headlines won’t say that hockey defenseman Florian Richter broke up with his boyfriend because he was traded.
That can come in a later announcement. Maybe they can put something about the Nashville weather or something.
Or the long distance. Or the fact Mateo doesn’t have a job in Nashville, that he worked hard to get his job in Boston, that he would have to abandon his sister, his career to follow me.
I feel sick.
Mateo’s arm around me tightens. “Are you okay?”
I give a curt nod, because saying I feel like I’m about to throw up isn’t exactly the sort of thing you say in front of cameras. The goal of every press meeting is to be as boring as possible. Getting amnesia and coming out as gay have so far not conformed to that principle.
I feel Mateo’s eyes on me, and I’m not entirely surprised when he leads me away.
I relax against his frame. How did I manage without him?
How could I have thought the first time I saw him that there wasn’t a world where we weren’t together?
I should have gone straight to the florist and started ordering him weekly bundles of red roses to his home and workplace. I should have wooed him.
“It was very nice of you to tell the reporters that you will accompany me to Nashville,” I say.
“Oh.” Mateo’s throat moves. “I wasn’t sure what to tell them.”
“I am sorry that was a stressful situation,” I say.
“You don’t have to apologize for that.”
I smile, because the man is silly. He wouldn’t be embroiled in any of this if not for me.
“Did I say the right thing?” he asks, his voice soft.
He trembles slightly, and I frown.
Maybe he’s catching a cold. Perhaps we can pick up some chicken noodle soup on the way home.
Maybe I can tell my mother to gift him some woolen sweaters.
I have never spent a winter in Boston, and now I never shall, but I have seen the pictures of Boston in the winter.
It involves snow. And ice in the Boston Commons where there should be a lake.
It involves many things I do not desire to ponder.
“You always say the right thing,” I say.
I wait for Mateo’s pleased, proud smile to come but it doesn’t arrive.
I have the feeling that I’ve said the wrong thing, but I’m not sure where I went wrong.
“I have to pack,” I say.
“I know.” He hesitates. “Most of the men use professional movers. I think Daniela probably has some contacts. It was in the handbook.”
I nod. My memory might be back, but I can’t remember all the details.
The doctor might say that I’m fine, but I’ll always need to be alert for possible warning signs.
If one can avoid getting hit on the head, one should definitely avoid it.
Not that I would trade the weeks I’ve had with Mateo for anything, despite all the artifice and awkwardness.
It is a selfish instinct, but fortunately Mateo says he feels the same.
We return to my apartment.
Mateo helps me pack. He’s even more quiet than before, and his language has devolved into what I want to put in my suitcase before the movers handle the rest.
It’s… Well, it’s not great, but I’ll take any version of Mateo over being without him.
I want to tell him how much he’s meant to me. Instead, I say thank you when he hands me my sweatpants and sweatshirt.
I zip up the bag and carry it to the door.
Finally, he sighs.
“I know I told the reporters that I would come with you,” Mateo says.
“That was very nice,” I repeat. “You are excellent fake boyfriend. A fake boyfriend would say just that.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“Is that a real option?”
“Everything is a real option.”
“I-I would prefer that,” I admit. “I know it is selfish, but—”
And then Mateo kisses me.
He wraps his arms around me and sucks on my tongue. It is a wonderful, wonderful sensation.
I hoist him into my arms so he can kiss me more, then I carry him to the bedroom and its bed which makes kissing even extra easier.
It’s… Well, it’s nice. It’s always nice to kiss Mateo. I will miss kissing Mateo a lot.
I want to tell him that, but right now his tongue is in my mouth. It is the best way to spend time.
The doorbell rings, and Mateo steps away. “It’s Gina. I forgot to tell her—”
“It is fine. You will need to pack. Can you get away from the Blizzards?”
Mateo winces, and I think about the time that Mateo has already taken off because of me. “For a few days. I’m not the only massage therapist, and I did travel with the team on the recent trip—”
“Good. I will book your ticket.”
Mateo’s eyes widen, like he thinks I won’t want him by my side if I have to pay for his domestic flight.
The doorbell rings again.
Florian
Gina enters the apartment. Her look is sad.
“I can’t believe you’re being traded,” Gina says. “You’re new!”
“It is part of being a hockey player.”
“Sports Sphere reported that Mateo is joining you in Nashville.”
“Yes, I am booking his ticket.” I pull up my app and purchase him a business class seat. “What is your e-mail address, Mateo?”
Mateo’s cheeks are pink as he tells me.
“And your phone number?”
Mateo’s cheeks are more pink as he recites the digits.
“You’re moving with Florian to Nashville?” Gina asks.
For some reason, she looks confused, even though Gina is going to one of the top universities in the country. Certainly, she must be confronted with more difficult concepts than this all the time.
Except…
I frown.
Does she know? I glance at Mateo. He is trembling.
Oh, God.
Of course, she must know. Mateo would have told her if he was dating me. Gina and he lived together. She would have noticed that he hadn’t been going to have sleepovers at my place, no matter what he said afterwards.
I think back to the days after I woke up, when my head was pounding, and everything was aching. Mateo had been my main focus back then. I’d been so pleased to discover that I’d somehow managed to get a boyfriend, that I’d spent my time watching him in fascination.
But Gina had been there too.
She’d been bringing Mateo his clothes, she’d been cooking, she’d been chatting with my parents and sister.
And she’d been lying.
“Yes,” Mateo says. “Of course I’m moving to Nashville. “
Gina presses her lips together. She’s scowling.
Maybe she thinks Mateo has already been too helpful to me, and… Oh, yes. She’s right. He definitely has been too helpful.
“Mateo.” Gina’s voice is stern. “I don’t think—”
“I need to go!” Mateo blurts. “Come, Gina. Dinner is canceled. I need to pack.”
And then Mateo drags Gina out of the apartment.