Chapter 27
Mattias
Micke’s here.
I never told him that I would be in town, and he came anyway.
I should have expected it given how closely he follows the season, but it’s still a shock to see him sitting there.
It’s been three years, but he looks the same: several centimeters taller than me, but with less muscle, lighter hair and a rounder face.
Maybe he has slightly more wrinkles around his eyes.
My mother is nowhere in sight, not that she’d ever come to a hockey game. She never has before. ?sa Falkenberg doesn’t leave her house, especially not to watch hockey.
Just when I thought my cortisol had peaked, I notice Micke talking to Hearst. Does she know he’s my brother?
If she doesn’t yet, she will soon, and I’m rankled by the thought of her learning things about my life, or specifically about my mother without me present.
I immediately want to separate them, but I’m halfway across the arena and I’ve got a game to focus on.
Leave it to Hearst to nose-dive right into my personal life during the one moment I can’t push her away.
“Let’s spank these goons,” Bell says from my left. The noise of everything else fades away as I zero-in on the match.
We don’t win, but it’s damn close.
“Matte!” Micke practically tackles me the moment I step off the ice, the sound of my nickname and my brother’s familiar scent of diesel and peppermint snus snapping me back to my childhood. For a moment, I almost feel home.
“Fyfan, Micke,” I rasp as he squeezes the life out of me.
He gives me one last squeeze, then lets me go. Switching to English he says, “You think I don’t follow the season? If you won’t tell me you’re in town, I’ll have to ask your boss. Isn’t that right, Freddie?”
It’s then I notice Hearst standing a few steps away, a self-satisfied glint in her eye as the wind tousles her dark hair.
“You have my number,” she says, punching Micke lightly on the shoulder. My fingers twitch.
“Did you hear that? I have her number,” he says sweetly.
Of course Micke went and made friends with the one person I’d rather he never utter a word to in his life.
He’s a wellspring of information I don’t want her to know about me.
She’s already wormed her way into my team, I don’t need her worming her way into my personal life, too.
My change in expression must be an ugly one, because Micke’s grin turns wicked. Asshole.
“I’m sure Hearst’s father would be extremely pleased to hear she ran away with an electrician from Sweden. He’d probably send the CIA after you,” I say.
“My father wouldn’t, but one of the lizard people he lobbies might,” she replies matter-of-factly.
I give her a reproachful look.
Micke grins. “I’m not scared of the CIA. I’ve seen all the Bond films.”
“Those movies are shit. Do you have a favorite horror flick? There was a pretty good one called The Ritual a few years back, set here in Sweden.”
“I haven’t seen it. I’m a baby when it comes to scary movies,” Micke replies, casting a sidelong glance at me.
“Back when Mattias was recovering from his head injury after the accident, I used to sit and watch The Lord of the Rings with him on repeat until he was out of the hospital. Those are still his favorite movies, right, Matte?”
My blood runs cold and my attention splits to Freddie, who’s looking at me with something like surprise. It makes me want to slapshot myself in the face.
She doesn’t know about that, I want to yell at him, and I can see it dawning on Micke’s face as he realizes what he’s said. He’s always had the biggest mouth.
NHL teams don’t require your medical history when they draft you, and I’ve never disclosed the injury to them. This is the first time anyone affiliated with the team is hearing about it. Oh, I’m going to kill him.
“Give me a minute to speak with my brother, Hearst,” I say tightly.
“Her name is Freddie,” Micke has the nerve to correct me.
“Sure. See you back at the hotel. Nice meeting you, Micke,” she says, before turning to reunite with her film crew, but not before looking back once over her shoulder.
“The Monarchs don’t know about my injury,” I snap, switching back into Swedish as soon as she’s gone. “Nobody does.” I want to grab him by the collar and throttle him like I used to before he outgrew me.
Micke throws his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry. I thought it didn’t matter, since you’re already under contract.”
“It could make me appear less valuable to other teams,” I say, scathing. “They might think I’m a risk.”
“Why are you worried about other teams?”
I clench my jaw, having no interest in dumping that on him, too—giving him another reason to worry about me. “I’m not. It’s just a theoretical scenario.”
“Relax. You’re okay. I’m sure if you ask Freddie to keep it between you, she will. She seems to respect you.” His blue eyes fill with concern, his cold-tinged cheeks pink above his scarf and his pale blonde hair mussed by the breeze.
“It’s too late. She already knows.”
“So, this is about her, then?”
“No,” I snap. I drag the heels of my palms over my face.
“I swear, I thought everybody already knew. I thought you had to disclose it.”
“I didn’t. It’s not their business. If I’m able to play well, that should be all that matters.”
“Just talk to her and I’m sure it’ll all clear up,” he says. He always was more optimistic than me. “How are things going over there?” he asks when I don’t say anything. “I’ve been worried about you.”
Not good, I want to say, but I just shrug instead.
I oblige him when he gestures for me to take a seat on the bleachers next to him, and for the first time I let my eyes wander over the Stockholm skyline.
Warm candles flicker in windows and twinkling rope lights hang over the streets.
A few stray snowflakes land in my lap as a group of young hockey players pass us, carrying their sticks, laughing and joking with one another.
It’s a glimpse into the life I’ve chosen not to live.
There are people who care about me here. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like, to just sit with someone who knows you, really knows you, who isn’t measuring you by your athletic statistics.
“Everything’s going well,” I say, not looking him in the eye. I want to be honest with him, but he has enough on his plate looking after our mother. I shouldn’t add my own stress or the pathetic details of my dying career to his list of things to worry about.
“Are you sure?”
He always had a good intuition.
“I just hope we can make a better showing this season. I want to see the playoffs at least once before I’m forced to retire.”
“Helvete. Don’t worry about that, Matte. You’re going to play till you die. I saw the news about the scandal, though.”
“The league is working it out. We’re going to pull through it, and even in the worst case, I have enough money to keep the lights on over here.”
“You’re not worried?”
“No. It’s all going to be fine. Has mother said anything?”
“About the team? Or about you in general?”
“Either,” I say, examining my cuticles. A snowflake lands in my palm and I smear it away on my sleeve.
Micke pulls out a packet of snus and stuffs one into his cheek, shaking his head. “No. She hasn’t mentioned you since the last time you left.”
My throat thickens, but I don’t think it would have been better to hear otherwise. It’s better if she’s put me out of her mind. I swallow, drumming up the courage to ask my next words. “How is she?”
Micke’s face turns shadowed. I can see a muscle working in his cheek while he sucks on the snus, like he’s trying to figure out what to say.
“The same,” he says finally.
“Anything urgent?”
He shakes his head again. “Not that we know right now, but I made her get a physical in the spring and the doctor is worried about her liver. I brought up rehab, but she didn’t want to hear it. I don’t know how much longer she can keep going like this.”
My heart thuds, my stomach twisting in ropes. Even though I no longer have a relationship with my mother, I can’t bear the thought of losing her, too. If she left this world without ever sparing me so much as another glance—it’s too painful to even think about.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I change the subject. “What about you, Micke? Taking care of yourself?”
He shrugs. “I’m trying to. Work has been a little slow. I’ve been seeing a girl, though.”
“Another one?”
“Shut up. I like this one. And it’s been two years already, if you must know.”
Something sharp twists deep inside my chest. Two years. A painful reminder that so much life can happen in so little time. What else have I missed while I’ve been away?
“What’s her name?”
“Astrid. She’s a nurse.”
“Are you sure she’s up for the task of looking after a big baby like you?” I say, deflecting from the feelings of guilt threatening to swallow me whole.
“I guess we’ll find out. Not all of us have fortune and fame. Some of us have to take what we can get. You, on the other hand, should consider finding yourself a girl. Especially if you’re going to be in the U.S. for a while. You need somebody to look after you.”
I pause, glancing at my watch. “I’m looking after myself.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I don’t have room in my life for thoughts about family and the future. Deep down, however, I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have something to live for besides hockey.