2. Brandon
TWO
brANDON
Brandon reminded himself that this wasn’t forever.
The AHL, the feeder league for the NHL where he would be someday, was a transition, and it was only his second season in the league.
He was developing his game. Finding his footing.
Eventually, he would get called up from Iowa to Minnesota.
And when he did, he wouldn’t have to worry about rooming with Skylar Coburn ever again.
“It’s so stupid to be stuck here,” Skylar bemoaned, a fork in his premade meal from a meal service.
Skylar didn’t cook. He didn’t own pots or pans.
He barely wanted to own a fork. Even though Brandon wanted to make it to the NHL as soon as possible, he understood he would be in Iowa long enough for a frying pan to come in handy.
He and Skylar were both impatient to make it to the big league, but Skylar’s attitude about it bothered the hell out of him.
He was arrogant where Brandon was humble.
They were coming off a game where the whole team had struggled, and while Brandon funneled that energy into either watching game tape or stick handling in hotel rooms while watching TV, Skylar just complained .
“Obviously, I should be up in Minnesota already, and I don’t understand why I’m still wasting my time down here.
” Skylar was objectively hot, which was probably part of his problem.
He was so used to getting what he wanted in life.
He was tall, the slight wave of his dirty-blond hair grown out to his ears, and blue eyes that fucking sparkled.
He was sitting at the table in the kitchen in only a pair of athletic shorts as Brandon worked on cooking his own meal of chicken and rice and veggies.
It was a great day to not be into blonds. Skylar was technically sexy, but his personality did not do it for Brandon. He was grateful he learned how annoying Skylar was before he learned Skylar was gay. Figuring out those facts in a different order could have resulted in some foolish decisions.
But who was Brandon kidding? He’d never made a move on anyone, let alone his roommate.
“Rando, you get it, right?” Skylar, among other things, was a first-class yapper. Brandon was grateful that he was also obsessed with their captain and spent more time than not at Danny Beckett’s apartment.
“It’s called paying your dues, Burnsie, and you have an outstanding bill.”
“My plus-minus is higher than anyone else on the team! I’ve scored the most goals of any other D-man. I was first star last game. Why haven’t I gotten called up yet?”
“Because everyone in Minnesota is healthy. Give it a few weeks, man. The season just started.”
“Fuck, I guess.” Skylar dropped his fork in the empty meal container, then rested his hand on his abs.
One thing Brandon hated when rooming with someone was when said roommate was a naked person, or a sort of naked person.
Skylar currently wore more than just his underwear, but not much.
Even though Brandon wasn’t attracted to him, when Skylar started absently rubbing his chest and stomach, he had to look away.
He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and scooped his rice and chicken into it, then piled his vegetables on top.
It wasn’t the best thing he would eat that week, but it was something.
“I have that group meeting soon,” Brandon said, refilling his water bottle quickly before he grabbed his food and excused himself from the kitchen.
Skylar gave a half-hearted wave and pulled his phone out of his shorts.
Brandon imagined him texting Beck, even though he was apparently busy that night.
Another thing Skylar couldn’t wrap his mind around.
Brandon had a bed, a dresser, and a desk in his room.
His apartment in Iowa was hopefully temporary, but he still prioritized having a desk because he was still in school.
After graduating from high school, he’d enrolled in college, going one course per semester, and two over the summer.
In an ideal world, he would play hockey for long enough to graduate from college before he retired.
He was no brainiac, but he wanted to have something on the other side of this.
His program was all online and mostly self-paced each week, but there was always the occasional meeting he needed to be in live.
This semester’s class was a creative writing class, and while it seemed like it could be easier than a math or science class, he didn’t know how to write.
He spent all of his time thinking about hockey, which didn’t leave room for creative thoughts.
So far, he’d turned the weekly assignments in on time, and his grade was doing fine.
Completion meant a lot in an English class meant for nonmajors.
In the minutes that ticked down before his video call, he shoveled down his dinner and pulled his class notebook out.
The spiral binding already looked worse for wear, since he kept shoving it into his backpack for road trips.
He knew a lot of his classmates were fully digital nowadays, but Brandon had a hard time having thoughts inside of a computer before he had them on paper. Especially brainstorming.
He opened to the page he’d titled Story Ideas.
Their main project for the semester was a short story of three to five thousand words.
He knew he was in for it. The list of ideas he had was pretty pathetic.
A dog wins the lottery. A spaceship gets stuck on the moon and discovers it actually is made out of cheese.
A pair of shoes has a day out on the town.
Jeez, what was that crap?
And then he thought about what he might actually want to write about. A boy who helps his little sister live a full life, even though she’s allergic to everything.
He thought about Ashley, who still lived at home with their parents because it was a stable environment for her.
And because with MCAS, she needed someone to be there if she went into anaphylaxis.
Mast cell activation syndrome, an issue of overactive mast cells, could cause symptoms of anaphylaxis and a host of other problems. He thought about the great lengths he and his parents went through to make it feel like she was never missing out on anything.
He had a lot of guilt when he thought about Ashley.
Complex guilt. On one hand, he felt guilty that he got to live a normal life.
That he didn’t have to worry about reacting to tap water or a different brand of chicken nuggets.
He could fly in airplanes safely. On the other hand, having a sibling with a life-threatening medical condition wasn’t the path to a childhood of love and support and attention.
For most of his childhood, he’d felt like the afterthought.
He was lucky his grandparents had decided he should get involved in a sport and happily paid for it, and they’d either taken him to hockey themselves or hung out with Ashley so his parents could drive him.
His life had been different because of his sister, and if he liked her any less, he could easily see himself being upset about it.
But Ashley was one of his best friends, and having any negative thoughts about how difficult their childhoods were—for different reasons—made him feel like shit.
No matter what he wrote, it wouldn’t be negative.
Now that he had one coherent thought, he had five whole minutes before his meeting started to worry about not being smart enough to be in this class.