Chapter 41
Freddie
I would have liked it better if my father had slapped me across the face.
I can’t believe he called me an amateur in front of the investors.
Part of me wonders if he did it on purpose, to make sure they don’t take me seriously.
To remind me that I can’t do anything without his help or approval, that he’ll sabotage me if I try.
The night has been horrible. Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked it off by reviewing my father’s NDAs and reading through his sale documents, but I wanted to know what I was up against. Knowing I can’t trust him not to fuck me over, I downloaded all the documents to the flash drive Coach gave me, which I’ve tucked away in my purse to review with Margot later.
A tray of champagne passes me on the way to the bathroom and I snatch one, downing it in one gulp before ditching it in a planter.
I don’t even care who sees me being sloppy.
My father has already done a masterful job of humiliating me tonight.
How could it get any worse? I’m almost to the bathroom where I intend to have a full-on menty b, when a hand catches my elbow and whips me around.
It’s Mattias. My night just got worse.
“Freddie,” he says. “Stop.”
“Get off me.” I try to shove him away before I start crying, but he drags me out of the main banquet hall into an empty hotel corridor. “Fuck off, Falkenberg, you don’t know anything about this.”
“Falkenberg, is it?” He drops my elbow. “I’m sorry he said that. It’s not true and you shouldn’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Every player in the room could tell from his toast that he doesn’t know shit.”
The lump in my throat thickens, making it hard to breathe. “Doesn’t matter,” I choke out. “They listen to him, not me. I’m just his spoiled daughter. Nothing I do matters.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
I look up at him. I’ve never seen him so disheveled with his previously waxed hair falling down around his face, his bowtie slightly crooked, and his eyes full of concern I certainly don’t deserve.
“I don’t know. Not really. I’m nobody without him.” Even though they’re practically a whisper, my words carry in the silent hallway. They’re words I’ve said in my mind so frequently they’ve become part of who I am. The tears start to fall. Falkenberg steps closer to me, hesitant.
“Don’t let him tell you what you’re worth, Freddie. He doesn’t know real value when he sees it. Everything is just business to him.”
I slump back against the wall, struggling to keep my chin up. “What would you know about feeling worthless, Falkenberg? You’re the star player of an NHL team. Do you know how many kids want to be you?”
A muscle tics in his jaw. “Believe me, I’m very well familiar with feeling worthless.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I have an inkling it might be related to his mother.
And here he is, sharing this burden with me.
This knife in his gut that he suffers alone.
Without thinking, I lift my hand and brush his hair out of his face, letting my fingertips linger at his temple, then drift down slowly to brush his jaw.
His expression hardens, his attention flickering briefly to my mouth.
I’m a little dizzy as I push myself off the wall and snake my arms around his neck, dragging him down to me and pulling his lips to mine.
A soft groan escapes him as I recklessly thread my fingers through his hair and slant my mouth over his.
My back hits the wall as he steps into me, cupping my face between his palms, and for a second my eyes go out of focus.
“Fuck,” I slur between kisses. “I need you so fucking bad.”
It’s not the kind of thing I would normally say, but my head isn’t exactly clear right now.
A wave of nausea hits me, then—champagne threatens to bubble up my throat, and I pull back for air.
Bracing a hand against the wall, I clap a palm over my mouth.
Thank the Cenobites, I manage to keep it down.
I reach for Falkenberg again, weaving my arms around his neck and pulling him to me, but his hands close around my wrists.
Even as I press myself against him, he untangles himself from me, looking down at me with large pupils.
“I think we should stop,” he says.
Suddenly, I’m Icarus, burning to pieces and falling from the sun. He doesn’t want me. He probably thinks I want to be his girlfriend. I’m not so conceited to think he’d ever see me seriously. I just want him once, just this one time.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” I mumble, reaching for his shirt again. “I know you wouldn’t ever want me for real. I’m not that naive.”
I try to kiss him again, but he catches my wrists again and pins them to my sides. I stumble back, my shoulders colliding with the wall again.
“Freddie.”
Shit. I need to get out of here. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” I refuse to meet his gaze and dig around in my purse for my keys. I find them and start off down the hall.
“No.” He catches up to me and snatches them from my hand. “You’re not driving.”
“I’m not that drunk.” I try to snatch them back.
He holds them over my head. “I’ve told you you’re a bad liar. I’m taking you home.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me to him as he guides me out of the hall, just like he did that first day on the ice. I deserved more pity then than I do now. Another tear rolls down my cheek.
“You must think I’m such an idiot,” I mumble as I follow him to his car. “All I’ve done is make your life harder.”
A surprised laugh escapes him as he unlocks the car. “I can’t disagree with that.”
It stings, but I let him help me into the car and turn my face away to stare out the window. His car smells like him, and I hate how even after being rejected, his scent comforts me.
Pathetic.
He doesn’t say anything else as we pull out of the parking garage. He doesn’t even ask me for my address, so I close my eyes.
My head is swimming. I knew I should have avoided bubbles—they always upset my stomach. I clench my teeth, determined to make it the rest of the way home without throwing up in his car. The last thing I need is for Mattias Falkenberg to watch me puke my guts out.
It’s no use. We’ve just barely pulled onto the freeway when a wave of nausea hits me, so strong that I scramble to roll down the window.
“Need me to pull over?” he asks.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod, pinching the bridge of my nose.
He puts on his blinker and switches lanes, pulling into a gas station parking lot.
He’s barely parked the car before I’m jumping out and heaving my guts onto the asphalt.
I retch and retch, and when I think I’m done, I retch some more.
A tentative hand lands on my back, grabbing a fistful of my hair.
“Don’t take me home,” I gasp suddenly. “I don’t want to see him. Can’t let him see me like this.”
The idea of looking my father in the eye, of being anywhere near him after what he said tonight fills me with unbridled rage.
“Is there a friend you can stay with? I can drive you,” he offers.
I shake my head. I don’t want Grace or Margot to see me like this, either. They’ll ask too many questions, tell me too many things I already know.
“Can I stay with you?” I say suddenly, looking up at him. I know Falkenberg will just let me sleep. Let me be. “I won’t bother you. Just put me on the couch. I’ll figure it out in the morning.”
I expect him to protest, but he doesn’t. “Okay.”
My eyes widen, but I don’t have time to question him, because I vomit again.
I don’t even give a shit that it’s stained my dress.
When I’m confident it’s over for the time being, I get back in the car, but in my haste to empty my stomach like a third rate Regan MacNeil, I didn’t realize I knocked the contents of my bag all over the floor.
He helps me gather them up, and drives us to his place in silence.
I pass out long before we get there.