Chapter 51
Freddie
“Any word?” I say when he steps out from the bench.
His expression turns sympathetic as he draws me into a hug. “Not yet. They took him to St. Andrew’s. I’m heading up there now.”
“Can I ride with you?” I ask. “I won’t get in the way.”
I just need to know if Mattias is alright.
“Sure. I’m heading out now.”
At some point, Ryan and Parker materialized beside me.
“Want us to tag along?” Parker asks, their hard mouth twisted with worry. I shake my head. I don’t want the cameras anywhere near Mattias, pretty much ever again. He made it clear he’s done with this documentary, with me, and the least I can do is honor that.
“No. See you guys later, gotta go,” I reply, skipping to catch up with Coach Marshall.
He tells the team they’ll debrief at morning skate tomorrow, but from the sound of it, some of the guys are heading up to the hospital, too.
I’ll go just long enough to hear his diagnosis and make sure he’s alright. He’ll never know I was there.
“Damn!” Coach Marshall slaps the steering wheel as we slide into his truck. “I don’t know what got into him.” I think he’s talking more to himself than me.
It’s cold and he cranks up the heat, though there’s a chill in my bones that isn’t helped.
I stare out the window so he doesn’t catch sight of the tears stinging my eyes.
If what I did had anything to do with the way Mattias played tonight, if he sustained any long term injuries because of this, I don’t know how I’ll look myself in the mirror ever again.
You’re going to do something about it, I tell myself, which is true. I just should have done something earlier. Regardless, I’ll drop by Grace’s tomorrow. She’s been gathering some backstory and clips about Eros to throw into the cut, and we’re almost ready to put it together.
Hopefully it’s enough to stop the sale.
I just need to premiere it. I’m only going to have one shot at making sure this thing sees the light of day, so my best bet is to get as many eyes on it as possible.
Church isn’t going back in the bag. I’m going to bury him in his Pet Sematery for good.
The team, corporate staff, the media, and everyone in between has to see this.
Grace is running two cuts of the film. The one my father thinks we’re making, and the one we’re actually dropping.
Once I book a premiere date, I can send out the invitations.
When we arrive at the hospital, I box those thoughts up for later.
The lobby is filled with creepy statues of praying nuns, and I wonder what off-color comments Mattias would make if he saw the place.
Probably something along the lines of, does the hospital know the nuns would be ashamed of them, if they saw the fees being charged for their services?
Coach Marshall and I sign in as guests. Poirier and Fontenot have beat us here.
“He’s in the ER. Probably gonna have to stay overnight. Nothing to do but wait,” Poirier gives us the update when we get there. He sinks into a chair, his hair and skin still sweaty from the game.
I’ve never been very good at waiting.
I’ve only been seated for a half hour when I get up and start pacing the perimeter of the lobby.
I keep thinking of his face—completely, disturbingly blank.
I’m so angry. I’m angry at him for playing like that and taking too many risks.
I’m angry at myself because it’s not my place to be angry.
And I’m angry at Armstrong because he’s an asshole that deserves to have the shit beat out of him.
Another half hour passes, and I go to find a vending machine. Footsteps trotting after me make me turn, and I find that Poirier has followed me. He looks uncharacteristically grim.
“Shitty night, eh?”
“That’s putting it gently.”
“I’m gonna kill Armstrong. Gonna make him trip on his own skate and make it look like an accident when he bleeds out on the ice.”
“I won’t stop you,” I mutter, pulling some cash out of my wallet. I hit vend on a chocolate bar. “Do you know why Mattias was so mad tonight?”
Poirier gives me a knowing look.
“What?”
“Don’t give me that, Hearst.”
A cold fist squeezes my heart as he gives breath to my anxieties. Does he know about the sale? My breath hitches, and I wonder who else might know—if this is all going to spiral out of my control, corrupting everything like the Shimmer in Annihilation.
“I don’t know what went down between you two. Mattias isn’t exactly the chatty type,” he continues, and I exhale a little of the breath I was holding in. He doesn’t know. “But whatever it is, it fucked him up. So did you cut it off with him or what?”
I’m unsure of exactly how much I should say.
“I didn’t cut things off. He did. But I deserved it,” I say finally.
Poirier looks a little surprised, then frowns. “Did you cheat on him?”
I quickly shake my head. “Nothing like that. We were never even together. He just…found out some things about me that I’m not proud of.
I’m sure you’ll hear about it sooner or later.
” I briefly wonder what Poirier will think of me—if he’ll soon be looking at me with the same disgust Mattias does when he learns what I’ve done.
If he’ll remember coming to my office, trying to protect his friend, knowing he was right to be wary.
I tense, thinking about how horrible it’s going to be to air all my dirty laundry on the big screen like that, in front of all of them. I blink those thoughts away. I won’t get cold feet.
“I get it,” Poirier says. Rather than look at him, because I don’t trust my face, I focus overly hard on unwrapping my candy bar. “We all do shit we’re not proud of sometimes. Doesn’t mean you don’t care about him.”
“I don’t know, Poirier. It was pretty bad.”
“Am I wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You still care about him, don’t you? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
I look up at the ceiling tiles. “Yes, I do care about him, but he doesn’t want me to anymore. He’d probably tell me to leave if he knew I was here.”
To my surprise, Poirier pulls me into a hug. “You two are some real idiots, you know. And I’ve met a lot of idiots.”
To my surprise, I laugh—even though the hug pains me, with how uncertain I am about Poirier’s future.
“Mattias will come around. That old geezer’s too lonely to turn away people that love him. Trust me, I know from experience,” Poirier says.
I freeze. Love? Is that what this is? I’ve never been in love before, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be so painful.
I’m not acknowledging that.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” My voice nearly cracks as I look up at Poirier.
“Has to be. Have you met the guy?”
He has a point.
We make our way back to the waiting area. Some of the team has dozed off and a glance at the clock tells me it’s after midnight. I pull out my phone and doomscroll to take my mind off things.
“Darius Marshall?” a nurse with a clipboard comes through the double doors sometime after two in the morning.
She pulls Coach Marshall aside and presumably gives him the update on Mattias’s condition.
I strain to hear, but all I can make out is something about his insurance policy, which makes me want to throw my chair through the lobby window.
He’s suffering through a head injury and they’re talking about billing.
It’s just business, says my father’s voice in my head.
Coach’s face turns uncharacteristically grim. He nods along to whatever the nurse is saying and then he finally makes his way over here. I brace myself. H?kk?nen elbows Poirier and Fontenot awake.
“Grade 3 concussion. They’ve admitted him to the hospital to keep an eye on him for a few days. He’s got some minor brain swelling due to what they think is aggravation of a prior head injury, but with some rest he should be fine.”
My stomach unfurls, if only a little.
“Prior head injury? Like what?” H?kk?nen parrots.
Poirier and I exchange a look. I know this is the last way Mattias would want this information to come out.
Coach Marshall sighs. “This is the first I’m hearing of it. Sounds like our man’s gonna be on the bench for a while. He’s gonna need his rest.”
My heart sinks. Benched right before the playoffs? He’s going to be beside himself.
“Shit,” Fontenot mutters, slumping forward and gripping his hair with both hands.
“Not good,” Westergren agrees.
“All you dickheads better be worried about right now is his recovery,” Poirier snaps.
Coach Marshall nods. “Agreed. The nurse said we can go up and see him now if you’d like. Visiting hours are over, but she said if you give her your name she’ll get you registered.”
The team gets to their feet—a bunch of too-tall men in this too-small lobby—and they all follow Coach Marshall to the elevators save for Poirier, who lingers behind, looking at me.
“You coming?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Keep me posted though. Let me know if anything changes.”
He nods. “I will.”
I grab my things, and as much as it tears me up inside, I force myself to leave the lobby.