Chapter 11
ELEVEN
GREEN BAY, WISCONSIN—EIGHT YEARS AGO
Ryan
“Here,” Momma B says as she places a plate of warmed-up leftover meatloaf, carrots, and mashed potatoes on the table beside my schoolwork. “Eat up before Ander and Brandon get home. There won’t be anything left by the time they’re through.”
“Thanks,” I say as I dig in and take a bite over my notes and math textbook.
When I came here I had the option of enrolling in the local high school that Ander and Brandon attend, but I chose to go the homeschool route instead.
I don’t need the distraction of high school life right now.
I need to stay focused on hockey, because without it, I have nothing.
If my play slips, I’m out. If I fail my studies, I’m out.
If I get caught doing dumb shit that often comes with attempting to fit in in high school, I’m out.
And being tossed out of junior hockey means I’d have to go home.
But I don’t even know if I have a home to go back to anymore.
Momma B sits across from me at the table with a smaller plate of the same array of leftovers I’m eating.
She cooked it yesterday, and as always, she made enough to feed a small army.
She’s doing the same now, except tonight’s meal will be her typical Thursday fried chicken, green beans, and mac and cheese.
It’s easy to know what day it is around here just based on what Momma B has cooking in the oven.
I can count on one hand the number of meals my own mother has ever cooked for us. Preparing dinner was always the nanny’s job, until I got old enough to fend for myself at the ice rink I was dumped off at.
A feeling of satisfaction moves through me as I take another bite of my pregame meal.
Never in my life have I eaten as good as I have over the past four months.
I don’t even care that it’s a rotation of the same seven meals over and over again.
In fact, I quite enjoy the predictability of it all.
It’s stable. Nothing changes here. New rules and decrees aren’t suddenly implemented that only pertain to me.
We all eat the same thing and it’s equally distributed.
I dip another hunk of the meatloaf into my mashed potatoes, then bring it to my mouth.
“So…” Momma B says, attempting to keep her tone light.
I keep my head down, avoiding her gaze as I eat. I know where this is going, but I feign innocence and let her ask her question anyway.
“Any word from your parents about a flight home for Christmas yet?”
Same as I’ve done the last three times she’s brought this up, I shake my head no. I don’t know why I just can’t bring myself to tell her that a ticket for me isn’t coming.
“Do you want me to call them?”
I wipe my lips with my napkin, then grab a sip out of my water bottle.
“That’s not necessary,” I say as I shake my head no again.
There’s no point in having her call them.
I already talked to my mom a few days ago when she told me that she feels it would be best if I stayed in Green Bay for the holidays.
I don’t doubt that she does feel that way. I’m sure that without me there, reminding everyone I don’t belong, things in Dallas are picture perfect, running smooth as can be.
It’s so stupid. All of it. And I’m stupid for not being able to just tell the Bouchards that I have no place to go for the holidays.
“I’ll call my mom again and ask her,” I say around a mouth full of food, keeping my gaze focused on my schoolwork.
“Ryan,” she says, and I can’t ignore the gentleness in her voice. “If it doesn’t work out, would you like to spend Christmas with us instead?”
A lump instantly forms in my throat and my eyes begin to burn. I attempt to swallow, and everything goes down harsh. But I still manage to nod my head yes.
“Okay,” she says, and I finally look across the table at her. She’s smiling at me, but it’s a sad smile as she takes me in.
I don’t know what to say, and I’m not sure if I’d be able to talk right now anyway.
It’s been so long since anyone has looked at me like they want me around.
And that’s exactly what she looks like right now.
It’s overwhelming and even though I want to luxuriate in it, it feels wrong and undeserved.
Momma B has her own sons she already loves. She doesn’t need me.
“Mom!” Ander’s voice carries across the kitchen as he and Brandon come through the back door. “What do we have to eat? I’m starving.”
Momma B keeps her gaze on me as she shakes her head, laughing lightly. She points at the food that’s left on my plate. “What did I tell you?”
Feeling better, I smile back at her, then dig back in, finishing what’s left of my lunch before we need to head to practice.
PRESENT DAY
Ryan
Coming home to my empty apartment after that quick trip up to Chicago feels strange. I’m restless from the moment I finish unpacking my suitcase and the thought of spending the evening here alone sounds completely unappealing.
Sitting on my bed, I open my phone and flip through my contacts. Of course the whole team is in there, but most of them are married and I know they’re eager to be home with their wives and kids.
O’Shea and Roysy are single, and well, Brandon is too. So we could all go out as a group of four and be each other’s wingmen. But what would be the point of that? It’s not like I’m going to ask any of them to help me pull a man.
Especially not when the man who keeps entering my mind is Brandon.
Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of that thought.
For one, though I have my suspicions, I’m also not sure if he’s gay or not.
And two, while I am starting to feel a pull towards him, maybe that’s only because having him around has me feeling nostalgic for the most settled and stable time of my life.
I mean, I do find him attractive. He is exactly my type even without our history.
He’s an athlete. Hardworking. Humble. And has an ass I can bounce a quarter off of.
I just want to grab it, lift him up by it, and place him on my countertop then stand between his legs and wrap my arms around him to soak him in.
Where is this even coming from? Why am I feeling so drawn to my new teammate? The worst bit is that if this was purely about sex, I could brush it off. But it’s not. And try as I might to control my fantasies, I can’t.
Sex does sound appealing, of course, but it’s not even what I’m craving most. It’s companionship.
I’m tired of being alone, but I have no idea how to ask for anything else.
The fact that I can’t pinpoint when and how these feelings started, the fact that they seem to be slowly increasing in me the more he’s around, has me worried this is all just because he reminds me of the first time I ever felt safe anywhere.
Which makes it even worse that I ran from them and that feeling as fast as I could and never kept in touch.
Sighing, I get up from my bed and head towards the kitchen to grab my keys off the counter.
I know there’s no food in the house. So I may as well use that as an excuse to walk over to Mickey’s.
At the very least, Nicole will be there and she’s always good at maintaining conversation with me in between slinging beers for customers.
When I arrive at Mickey’s ten minutes later, the place is quiet.
There’s only a handful of people occupying tables and Nicole is leaning against the bar, looking up at one of the many TVs and watching the Buffalo Blizzards vs Seattle Squatch game.
The Blizzards are up four to zero with five minutes left in the game.
She turns around once I’ve taken a seat behind her. “What’s up, babe?” she says as she leans over the bar to give me a kiss on the cheek. “The usual?”
“Please,” I say, then we both turn our attention to the game.
When it ends a few minutes later, Nicole turns back around to focus on me. “Where’s cutie tonight?”
I cock my head to the side. “Who?”
“The new kid. The rookie.”
“Brandon,” I supply for her. A small amount of warmth flares in my chest. “He’s at Cap’s house.”
“That’s a shame.” She shrugs.
I level her with a look and take a sip of my beer. “You seem a little extra invested in our new rookie. You have a crush on him or something?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the p, and leveling me with her own look. “But I think you might.”
I shake my head. “What on earth would give you that idea?”
“You two just seem… comfortable around each other.”
“You’ve seen me around him all of one time. Excuse me if I don’t think you’re an expert.”
“One time or not, you seemed awfully close for two people who had only known each other for what, two days at that point?”
“More like eight years,” I say, unable to stop the sigh that comes out along with it.
Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes go wide. “Eight years? So, you’ve known him since you were sixteen?”
I take a sip of my beer and nod.
“Did you two used to date or something?”
“Definitely not,” I laugh.
“But you are close?”
“I don’t know if I’d say ‘close.’”
“Well, you’re something. You had your arms around each other practically the entire time you were here.”
“We’re hockey players.” I shrug. “That’s what we do.”
She stares directly at me again, her expression conveying she thinks I’m full of shit. “I’ve seen you with other players. How you were with Brandon was different.”
“No it wasn’t,” I deny, wondering why this matters so much to me.
“Yes, it was,” she says. “Very different. I don’t know why you’re trying to deny it. You’re obviously into him and from what I could tell, he’s clearly into you. The poor guy practically had heart eyes.”
Excitement bubbles in my chest for a brief moment at the possibility, but she’s wrong.
I know Brandon’s expressions. “He does not have heart eyes. That’s just the way he’s always looked.
” It’s true. One of the first things I ever noticed about Brandon was the look of awe he always had on his face.
And why wouldn’t he look that way? He grew up in a house where he was constantly surrounded by the next great hockey player.
Everything about his existence was awe inspiring. If you’re into hockey.
“How did you two meet?”
“I billeted with his family for a year when I played junior hockey.”
“So you used to live together.”
“Sort of… I mean, yeah. But like brothers, you know?”
“I have brothers, and I’ve never once looked at them the way you two looked at each other.” She steps back and leans against the other side of the bar, then crosses her arms and continues to stare at me.
I roll my eyes. All of her questioning is starting to annoy me. Which is the last thing I wanted when I made the decision to come here. She was supposed to keep me from ruminating about Brandon, not over-analyzing my connection to him.
“Look,” she says, softening. “Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. All I’m trying to say is that you looked happy when he was around. And not your usual fake happy. The one you have everyone else fooled with. It was genuine and comfortable. I liked it for you.”
I look down and bring my hand to the side of my face, rubbing harshly around my temple. Quietly I admit, “I liked it too.”