Chapter 34
Freddie
I wrap the rest of my filming for the holiday special on Halloween day.
Fontenot makes gumbo, H?kk?nen rice pudding balls, and Morales some Christmas tamales.
I can’t wait to see how the special comes together when Grace puts her editing spin on it.
My father’s consultants should be pleased enough to stay away a while longer.
Halloween night arrives the following Friday.
Living with your parents as a twenty-something has a way of sapping the fun out of going out, so rather than getting drunk and coming home at three in the morning with burrito stains down my shirt, I’m staying in.
Plus, I’m beat. I’ve been at the arena and traveling nonstop since the season started and I need a break, especially since we’ve got an afternoon home game against the Mallards tomorrow.
Luckily for me, Margot is antisocial as hell and Grace is jetlagged from her recent trip to the Philippines, so they’re both coming over for wine and scary movies.
Margot’s the first to arrive. I hear my mom fawning over her when the door opens downstairs.
I can’t make out the entire conversation, but I hear snippets of your studio must be doing so well and your parents must be so proud.
It’s a glaring reminder that Margot is the daughter my parents wish I was—the daughter Elle is shaping up to be.
Smart, successful, and business savvy, with an MBA and JD hanging her wall.
“Margot,” I say over the banister. I shoot my mom a look that says she can leave us alone now, and she looks back at me like I’m a bitch for interrupting.
“I brought wine.” Margot offers when she comes upstairs. I take the bottle of nebbiolo to the bar and am in the process of pouring two glasses when Grace walks in.
“Oh my god, have you all seen the Monarchs’ story?” she says.
“No?” I reply.
“Why would you ask me that?” Margot echoes drolly.
Grace opens her phone, scrolling till she finds what she’s looking for. “This. I can’t.”
It’s a repost from Westergren. He’s dressed as a vampire, and with a cape and fangs, he’s a dead ringer for Bela Lugosi.
The person to his left is dressed as Jason Vorhees, vintage hockey mask and all—Poirier, I think, from the wave of dark hair peeking out from behind the mask.
Finally, I drag my eyes to the third person and burst out laughing.
Mattias isn’t dressed up at all. Still, my immediate thought is what they’re doing—who they’re seeing.
“Uh-huh. You have some explaining to do.” Grace looks at me in an accusatory way while she helps herself to the wine. “Tell us about your little scandal.”
“Not you, too,” I groan. “That was clickbait and the Flicks girlies ran wild with it.”
Grace lowers her voice to a whisper. “You can lie to your parents, Freddie, but you can’t lie to us. You’re practically drooling all over my phone screen.”
“You’re imagining things.” I take a large gulp of wine.
“You’ve hooked up with him,” says Margot.
“Shut up,” I hiss and point downstairs. I don’t think my mother would tattle, but I can’t be too careful.
“Oh my god, you did.” Grace gasps.
“Did he make you come?” Margot asks.
I drag a hand over my face. “Oh my god, guys.”
Grace looks at me expectantly. “Well? Was it good?”
I snatch the bottle of wine and my glass and lead them towards the media room. Once the door is safely shut behind me, I turn and face them with a grimace. “It was good. Like, the best I’ve had.”
“You fucked him!” Grace exclaims.
“I didn’t!” I shake my head and proceed to recount the events of the night. By the end of it, Grace is cackling and Margot is trying to bite back her smirk.
“That man ate you for dinner,” the latter says.
I sink into the sofa, covering my face. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Well, why the fuck did you invite us over? You should be out in some slutty costume luring him back into your web,” Margot replies.
“Absolutely not. It can’t happen again,” I say quickly.
Grace snorts, nearly choking on her wine. “Doesn’t that just make it hotter?”
“A forbidden tryst,” Margot adds.
“Please shut up, or I’m going to lock you both in the panic room like the 2002 thriller. I am not having a tryst. It was a mistake and it can’t happen again. Especially not with what’s coming,” I blurt.
Both of them frown.
“What do you mean?” Margot asks.
I sigh. I know I should keep my big mouth shut, but this has been weighing on me for too long and they deserve to know. Grace especially, given she’s involved now. “My dad wants to sell the team. The whole reason I’m making this documentary is to boost the team’s value for a more lucrative sale.”
“That’s…wow. Falkenberg would hate you if he knew,” Grace replies after a moment.
“I know. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to him to get involved.
We hooked up once and it’s not going to happen again.
Why? Because my father saw the same clickbait you did, and he told me I’m off the documentary if that happens.
Mattias Falkenberg and his skilled mouth aren’t worth what looks like the only chance I’ll have at financial independence. ”
“Damn. I’ll have to think about how I feel about all of this,” Grace replies.
I nod. “If you no longer want the gig, I’ll understand.”
“I’ll let you know.” The mood turns somber. They exchange a look as the weight of what I’ve said settles between the three of us.
Margot adjusts her glasses, looking thoughtful. “By the way, how many NDAs did you just break?”
“A lot, and I’m going to be extra fucked if either of you say anything.”
“Jesus.” Grace comes and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I did this to myself. I thought this would be clean cut, but it’s turning out so much messier than I thought.”
“That’s so depressing,” Grace mutters with a sip of wine. “But you don’t need to decide anything right now.”
Margot nods in agreement.
“Popcorn?” I say miserably.
“I’ll grab it.” Grace hurries out of the room.
“Don’t sweat it too much, Fred. I’m sure Falkenberg would have turned out like the rest, anyway,” Margot tells me as we settle into the sofa with our wine and hit play on Jennifer’s Body. I lean my head on her shoulder, like I did when we were kids.
Any other day, I’d be that annoying person, pointing out all the metaphors in the film and rambling about how ahead of its time it was and why Megan Fox was unfairly maligned by the industry, but I don’t.
Instead, I find myself routinely flicking my phone open, glancing at the Monarchs’ story for any sign of how a certain team captain might be spending his evening.
“Just focus on the documentary. At the end of the day, if your father sells the team, that’s his decision. Not yours,” Margot says quietly.
I know she’s right, but when I think of Ines, Coach Marshall, the team, and even Sam, I can’t help feeling like the biggest piece of shit alive.