Chapter 38
Mattias
We sweep the Pioneers with a hat trick from me and a goal from Fontenot.
When I step into the press room for the post-game wrap, I’m accosted by shouting press and the flash of cameras.
I’ve had some good games, but this level of frenzy is new.
They’re like a bunch of piranhas. I’ve always hated this part of the job.
“Mattias, how does it feel to be the game MVP?”
“What do you think the Monarchs are doing differently than the Pioneers?”
“What did the Monarchs do to regain their confidence?”
I open my mouth to answer, but then I see Freddie, standing off to the side next to Parker and Ryan.
Her camera is pointed at me, and she’s watching through the monitor.
She must see that I’m looking at her because those dark eyes lift to mine.
For a moment, the lights and noise fade away and it’s just us in the room.
“Mattias?” someone says, and my attention is dragged back to the interview. “What do you think the Monarchs need to focus on to become a better team?”
“Everything,” I clip. If they’re going to give me a loaded question, I’ll give them an empty answer.
“Could you elaborate?” the journalist presses.
“That should be your area of expertise,” I reply.
“What does it feel like to be such an effective player, but know you may never win a Cup?”
“Next question.”
“What do you have to say to Lefebvre?”
“I still owe you that reservation.”
“Anything else you’d like to say to your team?”
A man with a microphone and a KDLA badge shoves past Freddie to get to the front of the room, whatever ill-natured answer I was about to provide dying on my lips. She stumbles into the camera, nearly knocking it out of Ryan’s hands.
“What do you have to say about the prospects of a playoff run this season?” The man asks.
“Apologize to her,” I say stiffly.
“What?”
I point at Freddie. “You just shoved her. Apologize.”
The man frowns, turning around. Freddie straightens herself while Ryan examines his camera. Parker looks ready to beat the man silly.
“You wanna pick a fight with a Texan?” I hear them say, and I’m pretty sure they add something about a concealed carry license.
“Sorry,” the man says brusquely, then immediately turns back around. “So, what do you think about a playoff run this year, Falkenberg? Is it the Monarchs’ year?”
I clench my jaw so hard I think I feel a tooth crack. “I think I’m finished here. Fontenot can take the rest of your questions.”
With that I stand, nodding to the rookie beside me. He looks a little stunned but jumps right into fielding their questions while I make my way to Freddie. Her crew steps out of my way and her eyes widen as I approach.
“Are you alright?” I say.
She nods quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Just some asshole.”
“He should apologize.”
“Actually, Mattias?”
I hate the way my heart leaps at the sound of my name on her lips. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if we could get a private post-game from you. We got some great footage of the hat trick, and it would be nice if you could speak to that and the positioning of the team at this point in the season for the documentary.”
For whatever reason, the idea of discussing it with her doesn’t piss me off and make my skin crawl the way standing on this podium does.
I nod and follow Freddie, Ryan, and Parker out of the press room.
The locker room has mostly cleared out when we get there.
After I check it to make sure nobody is running around with their dicks out—and by that I mean H?kk?nen, with his sage wand—we set up against the backdrop of lockers and jerseys.
I proceed to give Hearst a personal account of the game, as dry and professional as possible.
She’s mostly looking at the video screen, but every so often her eyes flicker up to mine, and I have to routinely picture her father’s face to keep myself in check.
It’s too easy to remember what she tasted like.
I think about it all the time.
When we wrap it up and head for the parking lot, there’s an awkward pause as Ryan and Parker hesitate.
“Do you need a ride home, Freddie?” Ryan asks. “You paid for dinner. I don’t mind taking you back to your car.”
“No, that’s fine. You two are going the other way.” I think they live in Silverlake. “The bus goes by the restaurant.”
“You sure?” Parker calls.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“I can give you a ride. It’s on the way for me,” I say. It’s dark out. I’m not going to let her stand around waiting for a bus by herself. In Sweden, sure, but this is Los Angeles.
Her head tilts as she looks up at me and I can’t help myself. I glance down at her mouth and suddenly it’s difficult to breathe.
“It’s fine,” she answers, though I swear she wanted to say yes. It’s probably for the best that she didn’t.
“I’ll wait with you, then.”
I expect her to protest but instead, she just nods and I stay close to her as we walk out of the parking garage and head to the front of the arena.
I’m greeted by the scents of downtown LA: gasoline, stale piss, and the disgusting, mouth-watering smell of those street sausages they always sell after games.
“One of my favorite horror scenes happens in a parking garage.” She shoots me a glance.
“What scene?”
“Have you seen It Follows?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a newer cult classic. In the film, there’s this monster that effectively functions as an STI.
It only stalks and murders one person at a time, and the only way to stay alive is if you fuck someone else and pass the STI along.
The monster will change course and try to kill them instead.
Anyway, the film starts with the main character tied up in a parking garage, and her piece of shit boyfriend telling her he’s been being hunted by this monster and now because they had sex, it’s her problem. ”
“It’s a good thing real STIs don’t work like that,” I say.
“Well the film is highly metaphorical.”
I get the sense she could talk about this for hours. More terrifying than the STI monster, to me, is the fact that I would gladly listen.
“In Sweden, if people get a disease they go to the doctor,” I say blandly.
She scoffs. “People can’t afford that here. You’d better watch out around those puck bunnies. Never know if they’re insured,” she replies without looking at me.
I stop behind her. “Freddie.”
She stops and turns, and I’m all too aware of the closeness of our bodies. Of the disappointed shadow in her eyes. “What?”
“I don’t fuck puck bunnies—at least, I haven’t in a long time. I’m not sleeping with anyone.”
It’s one of the most vulnerable things I’ve ever said to anyone.
Laying down in front of the Zamboni would probably be more comfortable, but for some reason, I just need her to know.
I can’t stand the thought of her having this misinformed idea of me where I sleep with everybody, and care about no one.
“Oh,” she frowns. “I just assumed—”
“Because of Halloween?”
She hesitates a minute before nodding.
“I hate Halloween. I was in bed by ten thirty.”
She blinks slowly at me, and fan i helvete, I have no reason to be telling her all of this.
“You hate Halloween? That’s my favorite holiday,” she balks, an attempt at levity.
I’m not having it. “Mattias—” she says when I don’t reply, taking a step toward me.
My fingers twitch, my hand almost reaching for her, but then she glances over my shoulder, looking disappointed.
“Looks like my bus is here. See you tomorrow?”
I hesitate, then nod. A brush off, as I should expect. What I don’t expect is the way she darts forward and gives me a quick squeeze around the middle. My pulse skyrockets.
How much beer did she drink at the game?
“Thanks again for putting that asshole in his place. Get home safe,” she says, releasing me. Then she hurries up the bus steps, and disappears as they close behind her. I watch as the bus pulls away, my eyes lingering until it’s out of sight.
I’m a complete and utter fool.