Chapter 6
SIX
Ryan
It’s game day. On game days I like to keep a very tight routine. Even with Coach Chris taking over, my regime stays the same. And it always starts with a nice, leisurely morning before I head to the arena for a quick morning skate with the team.
Unfortunately, that leisurely morning is already being disrupted by an unknown number. But I can tell by the area code it’s a number from Green Bay, Wisconsin. This must be Brandon.
Jesus Christ. It seems Ander loves to give out people’s contact info.
I can’t say I’m surprised, though. There is a running joke around the league that he is the unofficial social director.
He has connections on every team and is constantly organizing nights out, events, and connecting new teammates like it’s his side-job.
I hit the answer button, assuming that I’ll hear Brandon on the other end. “Hello.”
“Ryan!” The unmistakable voice of Mrs. Bouchard rings through the speaker.
It’s been ages since I’ve spoken to her, but she always sounds the same.
“It’s so good to hear your voice again, dear.
You know we watch every one of your games.
We never miss a period. You’ve been playing so well and we are so proud of you. ”
I’m pretty sure she said that all in one breath.
Which, if I’m being honest, is slightly overwhelming.
But that might be because this is already more enthusiasm about my career than my own family has ever given me.
And now I’m feeling guilty for not having kept in better touch with the Bouchards since I left their care.
There’s a reason why they’re beloved around the league.
Unfortunately, I’ve been a bit aloof when it comes to my connection to them.
Sometimes it’s just easier to pretend all families are like mine. It makes it hurt less.
But now, a pang of guilt runs through me as I listen to her.
“Hi,” I say again. “It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “I know you like to keep private, but Ander assured us you wouldn’t mind if we called…”
“Do you have the map open?” I hear Mr. Bouchard say in the background.
“No,” she says. “Just keep following the signs. It’s all very clear. It’s not that hard to find St. Louis.”
Ah. Got it. I should have known they’d be coming into town for Brandon’s rookie debut. But that doesn’t explain why they’re calling me.
“Mrs. Bouchard—”
“Ryan, dear, you know better,” she says, admonishing me in her loving manner.
“Right. Sorry,” I say, shaking my head at myself. “Momma B. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. The reason I’m calling, dear, we’re surprising Brandon today and I was hoping to get your help.
If you’re unavailable, Ander gave us a few other of your teammates to call but we thought we’d start with you.
It would be so good to see you again. We consider all of our former billets family and it’s unfortunate we haven’t had a chance to see you in person in ages. ”
I take a breath for both of us.
“Anyway, we’re enroute. We left about two hours ago.”
I’ve never made the drive myself, but they’ve got about six more hours to go. That’s plenty of time for them to get here before puck drop. I suppose the polite thing to do would be to meet them somewhere, but that will cut into my pregame nap routine. But I’m also still unclear on what they need.
“As I was saying,” she continues. “Brandon has no idea we’re coming. He claims this is no big deal, and he doesn’t want us to make the trip, but we don’t care what he says. We are just so excited for him. Making his debut, and he’s playing with you, this is all such a dream come true for him.”
I’m sure the bit about him being excited to play with me is an exaggeration on her part.
“So how can I help you?” I ask before she can take a breath to gear up for another tangent.
“We were hoping we could come in the players’ entrance with you. Ander assured us this wouldn’t be a problem.”
He was correct. It’s not. All of my teammates’ wives and girlfriends use the entrance.
It’s much easier this way and they can bring their kids and babies with them as well without being hassled by the general public.
The behind-the-scenes of an NHL game is always one big family affair.
Unless you’re me. No one connected to me has ever taken part in the pre- and post-game perks of having an NHL player in their life.
Not my parents. Not my sisters. Not even for my rookie debut.
Maybe if we make the playoffs this year they’ll take me up on an offer to finally come to a game.
“Not a problem at all,” I say around the lump in my throat. “I’d be happy to help you out.”
“Excellent, dear. We will call you when we’re close. And if you’re free after the game, we’d love for you to join us for dinner.”
“It might be late,” I say. This is all a little much. This phone call alone has drained my social battery for the day as it is.
“If not tonight, tomorrow then,” she says, undeterred.
“Alright,” I agree. I can come up with an excuse tomorrow if I need to. “We can play it by ear.”
Brandon
After our morning skate Coach Chris encouraged me to go home and rest up for the game. Unfortunately, I’m finding nothing restful about this as my nerves are buzzing under my skin in anticipation.
It also doesn’t help that Danton’s kids seemed to have missed the memo about team-mandated nap time.
All around the house I can hear their footsteps thudding across the carpeted floors.
Or their voices yelling at each other in both play and hurt feelings.
It’s a terrible soundtrack to accompany my tossing and turning.
All it’s doing is making me more anxious.
And as it is, I’m already someone who tends to get nervous on game days.
Giving up on falling asleep, I throw the bedding off and get out of bed. Then, I open the dresser drawers and grab a pair of running shorts and my UDub hoodie. It’s a little cold outside for shorts, but I also know once I get moving, I’ll warm up.
Once dressed, I toss my earbuds in and select my pregame playlist. It’s filled with the typical mixed bag of hockey player music. Hip-hop, classic rock, country, and the occasional bit of EDM that never seems to go away.
“Oh no,” Vicky says when she sees me by the door. “Did the kids keep you from taking a nap?”
“Nah.” I wave her off. No need to make her feel bad. She’s already gone through so much effort to make me comfortable here. “I’m just not a big nap guy.”
She nods at me. “Me neither. Game days have always made me nervous.”
“Hmmm.” I hum as I push my feet into my running shoes, not quite confirming my agreement, but also not denying it.
She reaches to the right of the door and pulls a set of keys off a nearby set of hooks. “Here. I meant to give these to you yesterday.”
I take them from her.
She places her hand on my shoulder and gives me a motherly squeeze. “Come and go as you please, alright. We’re not your wardens. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you,” I say as I place the keys into my pocket. “I appreciate you letting me crash here.”
“Our house is your house.” She smiles at me and gives me one more squeeze with her slender hand before she walks away. She truly is the prototypical captain’s wife. Welcoming, organized, and clearly in charge. I bet the rest of the WAGs look up to her.
Once out on the road, jogging the streets of the St. Louis suburb Danton lives in, I take it all in.
St. Louis is twice the size of both Green Bay and Madison, the only two places I’ve ever lived.
Which is already a plus in St. Louis’s favor.
And while it’s not particularly warm out right now, it’s still a solid twenty degrees warmer for a late March day than it would be in Wisconsin.
If I was still at UDub, I’d be dodging black ice on this run, but here, there’s clear sidewalks and sun on my face. I can get used to this.
As I jog, my thoughts shift from my nerves about tonight’s game to wondering what Ryan is doing right now.
If my memories from his days with us as a billet are any indication, he’s likely at his place deep in slumber.
I remember him always being annoyed at how loud the Bouchard household could be.
Funny how now I finally realize how jarring it can be to be kept from napping.
I wonder if he ever thinks back on the time he spent with us.
I know it’s been eight years, but to me, in some ways, it feels like yesterday.
But Ryan never seemed like someone who spent time reminiscing.
As much as we all tried, it was impossible to get him to open up.
Hell, he wouldn’t even talk about his family back in Dallas and they never once came to visit.
I could never figure out whether that bothered him. I could never figure him out at all.
Which is frustrating because I’ve always felt like he could see right through me.
I spent most of my time that year trying to decipher everything about him.
He was always a challenge. And being around him again is like having someone in my life who I want to impress.
Who I want to prove how good I am to. Who I want to see me as worthy.
And not in the way I want my coaches or my parents to feel about me.
With them, it’s always about living up to their expectations.
In the case of Ryan, I have no idea what his expectations are.
Instead, just like when I was young, I’m back to craving his approval.
Ryan
The Bouchards are exactly as I remember them. Loud and overly huggy. We’re still in the underground parking area where I told them to meet me before the game and they’ve already drawn a ton of attention.
“This your family, yes?” Ivanov asks as he walks past us. He’s dressed in his usual no-nonsense blue suit. But, of course, he’s walked directly into nonsense.