Chapter 45
Freddie
The first week of January is cold, rainy and lonely.
I’ve been beside myself with anxiety since losing the flash drive.
It hasn’t turned up and it’s not like I can tell my dad I’ve lost it.
I wouldn’t put it past him to take real legal action against me if he finds out I’ve misplaced such sensitive information.
Even worse is the idea of someone else getting ahold of it and releasing the terms of the deal before they’re made public.
That might tank the whole thing—which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but I’d rather have some control over the fallout.
His meetings with the private equity firm are getting more frequent, and I can tell they’re closing in on a sale.
I wish I could feel excited about how well the Monarchs are doing, but on top of the team’s impending demise, I can’t shake the sensation that something’s wrong.
Falkenberg will hardly look at me when I try to get his attention, and he’s been nothing but short and icy towards me at practices.
I know I burdened him with babysitting me and probably overstayed my welcome the next morning, but I thought we’d reached a tentative peace. It’s not like we hooked up again. I wonder if my father said something to him—maybe threatened him, the idea of which makes me shake with rage.
My heart soars when I finally get a text from him one afternoon two weeks after the Christmas Gala—then plummets when I read the message contents.
Mattias
We need to talk. This afternoon, preferably.
Once again, curt and to the point. Something’s wrong.
Freddie
Okay. Where?
Mattias
The pier is fine. Five?
He offers no explanation as to what he wants to meet about. It feels like a breakup, like he wants to put an end to whatever’s between us once and for all. I feel like Deborah Harry in Videodrome, trapped in a torture loop that I’m not sure is based in reality. I can’t know until I meet him.
Freddie
Sure.
My stomach is in knots the rest of the day.
The pier is windy and gloomy. Waves crash against the rocks, sending sea spray across the beach. I bundle up in a hoodie and a windbreaker. Cold air whips my hair the whole way down to the beach, dread filling my steps.
He’s there before me, of course. I see him loitering by the pier entrance, wrapped in a black wool coat and pacing back and forth with his hands in his pockets. He looks up when I approach, and stops in his tracks, leveling me with a long, hard look. He hasn’t looked this coldly at me in months.
“Hi,” I say, uncertain.
“Hey.” His tone is stoic, his eyes reflecting the icy grey of the sky. The beach is pretty empty, probably because the weather is shit, but he says, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
I brace myself and nod, wrapping my arms around my stomach as I follow him to a bench.
White caps mark the water and a puff of chilly sea spray lands on my face as a wave crashes against the jetty.
The roiling, nauseating motion of the ocean looks exactly like how I feel inside, a Perfect Storm.
I wish I could huddle against him for warmth, but Mattias has maintained a gaping distance between us and something tells me not to cross it.
He reaches into his pocket, fishes something out, and offers it to me. “I found your flash drive.”
I stare at it, unfurled in the center of his palm. I should be relieved. I should be wrapping my arms around him, screaming with joy. Instead, I just feel empty and cold.
The emails. The deal terms.
The sale.
My name, attached to the memorandum.
He knows. I’m fucked.
I drag my eyes to his, finding a resigned expression on his face.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he says.
My jaw clenches. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Anger flashes across his pale irises, hot lightning on a cold night. “Apparently you’re set to profit quite well from selling the Monarchs. Or have I misunderstood?”
It’s like he’s thrown me into the sea and is content to watch me drown.
I knew it would be like this, if any of them ever found out.
I want to beg him, plead with him, tell him he doesn’t know—that I’m not going to take the money.
That I don’t want this any more than he does, he just needs to wait and see, but I know it’s too little too late.
Until very recently, I had every intention of taking it. Of destroying the team. Of fucking him over, personally, and crushing every one of his dreams. I can’t tell him no, because that would be a lie—and I’m done lying.
“Is it real?” he presses.
I force myself to swallow my pride, my ego, every last scrap and shred of dignity I have, and nod. “It’s real.”
I thought I’d seen him angry, but I realize that until now, I hadn’t.
There’s no other way to describe the look on his face except for true fury.
He’s white as a sheet, a muscle flexing in his jaw, and I can see his breath trembling.
He shoves the flash drive at me when I don’t take it, like he can’t stand to touch it another second. I quickly pocket it out of sight.
“How long have you known?” he says slowly, like every word is a struggle.
The shame is so heavy, it drags my gaze down to my feet. “Since before I started working on the documentary.”
He sucks in a breath, then lets out a string of curses in Swedish that I don’t understand, raking both of his hands over his scalp. He shoots to his feet, like he can no longer tolerate being near me. I feel my own anger rise.
He scoffs, incredulous. “I can’t believe I let you get this far. What else are you lying about? Should I be concerned about my injury getting out, too?”
His words are a douse of cold water.
I get to my feet, too. “What the fuck, Mattias. I would never. You know I would—”
“I don’t know anything. I don’t know you,” he says. “I can’t believe I was so careless.”
It’s as if he’s slapped me.
“You weren’t careless,” is all my dumbstruck, shell-shocked brain can think to say.
He looks at me doubtfully.
“Please believe me when I tell you I was going to resign this week. I want nothing to do with selling the team. You know how I feel about my father,” I plead.
“Do I?” He gives me a cold look. “It appears as though you two are business partners.”
That cuts deep. He knows I’m not like my father. Doesn’t he?
“I’m not going to take the money, Mattias. I’m quitting. Please believe me,” I whisper. I sound so desperate, even to my ears. “What was I supposed to do, go to the news? That would have ruined the rest of the season.”
He closes the distance between us, so we’re just a breadth apart. His eyes are blocks of ice.
“You used me to boost your career, which you’re going to build off the destruction of mine. What are you going to do with the money?”
My heart feels like it’s breaking and I can’t seem to put words together.
“What are you going to do with the money, Freddie?” His voice drops a note lower, more threatening. It raises the hair on the back of my neck.
“I was going to make movies with it. But I told you, Mattias, I’m not going to take the money anymore. I’m sorry,” I reach for him, but he steps away. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my cheeks, my throat so thick I can barely swallow.
“I don’t believe you.” He gives me a long, rueful look. “I think you’re just sorry you got caught.”
“That’s not true,” I gasp. “I was going to tell you.”
“When? Because to me, it looks like the deal’s already been inked.”
“I—”
“Fuck!” He rakes in sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again. “I can’t fucking believe you.” He shakes his head.
“Mattias.” I reach for his arm but he jerks it away.
“How could you do this to us?” There’s a desperation in his voice—hurt showing through the cracks in his fury. “How could you do this to me?” he whispers.
I don’t have an answer for him.
“We’re done.” When my lips fail to form around words, he looks at me like I’m nothing more than a cockroach, and it shatters me into a million pieces. How cruel it is to think just days ago, he was housing me. Clothing me. Feeding me. Caring for me like I mattered to him.
He turns on his heel and starts to walk away.
“Mattias,” I choke out. Then, more insistent, I shout his name. “Mattias!”
He stops in his tracks, his shoulders rigid.
“You can’t tell the team,” I say breathlessly. “It’ll kill them.”
He casts me one last, lingering look over his shoulder, then disappears up the hill.