Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
GREEN BAY, WISCONSIN—EIGHT YEARS AGO
Brandon
“Mom!” I yell from the back door of the house. I glance at the kitchen clock; it says four fifty. Ryan and Ander’s game starts in ten minutes. I should have gone with Dad when he took them to the rink an hour ago. “We’re gonna be late!”
She doesn’t answer me. So I try again. “Mom!”
Still nothing, but I can hear her voice talking to someone on her phone in my parents’ bedroom. Huffing, I leave my post at the door and walk down the hall to get her. She can carry on this conversation in the car.
“We’re planning on going down to Chicago to watch the boys play.” My mom’s voice stops me in my tracks.
This is the first I’ve heard of this. Sure, we’ve traveled to watch the Hodags play on the road a few times this season now that Ander is on the team, but no one has mentioned going down to Chicago to watch them play to me.
Excitement runs through me. I’ve never been to Chicago.
“I just figured I’d invite you to meet us there since it would be a quick flight,” my mom says. “I know most of the other locations the boys play in aren’t as easy to get to, or as glamorous. But we can book a dinner for everyone and finally meet…”
She’s rambling. I wonder when whoever she’s on the phone with last got a word in.
“… Yes. I understand. I know how hard it can be to book last-minute travel… Oh… I see.”
My eyes narrow and I lean in closer to the crack between the door and the frame. Who is she talking to? And why does she sound so upset?
“It’s just… I think it would be good for him.”
Good for who?
“No… alright. I understand. Thank you for taking my call. I’ll tell Ryan you say hello.”
The sigh she lets out signifying the end of that conversation sounds like the opposite of relief. Suddenly, I feel very guilty about eavesdropping, even though I’m left with more questions than answers.
I start to back away, but before I can turn around, the door swings open and my mom appears.
“Oh.” She startles, then quickly shifts her face to a more pleasant expression. It does nothing to hide the redness to her eyes or her flushed cheeks. She reaches for me and fixes the collar of my coat. “Are you ready to go?”
“Uhh, yeah!” I say, trying to sound excited. She looks like she needs it right now, and I don’t want to give away that I was listening. I hold my hat up and wave it between us. “I forgot my hat in my room.”
She smiles at that and nudges me to turn around. “Come on. I’ll buy you a hot dog at the game.”
PRESENT DAY
Brandon
Something is going on with Ryan. He’s playing like a man possessed. I get it, we all want to win tonight, but Ryan is trying not just to win, but to put a hurting on Las Vegas.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they did something to him personally. There’s a level of aggression to his game tonight that is usually only seen out of players like Gavin Marshal.
It’s fucking hot.
It’s also very effective. We’re currently up two–nothing as we skate off the ice at the end of the second period.
“Rye!” Danton yells as we make it back into our locker room. “What has gotten into you tonight?”
Roysy bumps Ryan with his shoulder before Ryan can answer and looks at Danton. “He’s got that dog in him!”
“He’s coming for your job!” I shout over everyone to Roysy.
“Let’s not go that far,” Ryan says, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as he sits down at his stall.
Before I head to mine, I go to him and nudge him with my elbow. As amazed as I am with his play tonight, it’s still not characteristically him. Something’s up. I’ve felt it since he came by the house the other night.
Quietly I ask him, “Are you good?”
“Good?” He laughs. “I’m fucking great!”
Clemmers comes over and puts Ryan in a headlock. “You’re a fucking beauty, is what you are!” He kisses him on the side of the head, then lets him go and walks away.
“Alright!” Coach Chris exclaims when he enters the locker room.
“Twenty more minutes!” he says as I towel dry my sweat-soaked hair.
“That’s all that’s between us and the playoffs.
So let’s get out there and play a full two-hundred-foot game.
Pretend this is game seven of the Stanley Cup playoffs.
Do not give them an inch. But…” He pauses and looks directly at Ryan.
“Let’s also play smart. We have them right where we want them, and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.
So keep it clean. Don’t take unnecessary risks.
Now let’s go back out there and kick some fucking ass! ”
Ryan
I jump and slam my shoulder into the glass behind Las Vegas’s net in celebration the moment our goal horn blares.
With that shot, I’ve made the score three to zero.
Any fight that Vegas had left in them is gone.
They’re done. It’s evident in the way their goalie is slamming his stick into the side of his net and the way their defensemen are hunched forward, supporting themselves with their sticks resting on their knees.
“Nice fucking shot!” Brandon says to me as he joins me by the glass and wraps me in a hug.
I hold him back, squeezing him harder than is truly necessary right now.
But he feels so damn good against me, I can’t help myself.
If this is the only way I get to have him, then I’ll take it, even if I want more.
Unfortunately, we can’t stay like this forever. There’s still around five minutes left of this game. So we break apart to make our way to the bench. Once seated, I grab a squirt from the water bottle with my name on it, then offer one to Brandon. He opens his mouth wide and lets me squeeze some in.
I swallow when he does. Because goddamn. There are a lot of other things I’d like to do with his mouth.
I stare right at him.
“What?” he asks, all wide eyed.
“Nothing,” I say, laughing as I offer him another sip. He opens his mouth again.
I raise the bottle and tip my head as I oblige his request. Either he’s too innocent, or he’s playing dumb, pretending he has no idea the effect that move just had on me. I’m guessing it’s the former as his eyes are focused forward, paying close attention to the game.
Following his lead, I take my gaze back to the ice. Roysy has just leveled one of Las Vegas’s forwards in the neutral zone. The crowd erupts into cheers. Our hometown fans are really getting their money’s worth.
Even after the hit, Vegas still maintains possession of the puck, and their left winger is trying to get it into our zone. Clemmers has him hemmed up and he’s forced to pass it across the ice. It makes its way to their right winger, who attempts a shot on goal.
It’s a weak shot and Ivanov is able to glove it down easily, stopping play.
“Christianson!” Coach calls out. “Your line is in! Let’s close this out.”
“Got it, Coach,” I say as I climb over the boards. Behind me, Brandon and O’Shea follow, and we make our way to position to the face-off dot right of Ivanov’s net.
“Less than two minutes,” I say to Ivanov as I skate past him.
He narrows his eyes at me from underneath his mask. With a warning tone in his voice, he says, “Don’t.”
“I would never,” I say, grinning at him. “I know not to say the S word until it’s happened.”
Brandon lightly whacks me in the back of the head with his gloved hand. “Don’t just not say it. You can’t even think it. Remove all thoughts from that head of yours.”
Ivanov crouches down and nods his chin at Brandon. “Baby gets it.”
I roll my eyes. “Baby grew up with Ander ‘Shutout King’ Bouchard—”
“Ryan!” Brandon, Ivanov, and now Danton, O’Shea and Clemmers all exclaim in unison.
“Oh, come on! I didn’t say it pertaining to Ivanov and this current game.”
Brandon skates up to me and looks at me seriously. His face is stern. His jaw is tight. His eyebrows are furrowed. “You do not say the S word during game play. Ever.”
My lips pull into a half smile, and I raise one eyebrow at him in challenge. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it if I do?”
He narrows his eyes at me and quietly says, “Not only will I make sure you never get another pregame nap on the road, but I will keep you from getting them before home games as well.”
My eyes go wide. “Alright.” I put my hands up and mime zipping my lip. “Consider me silent on the subject.”
“I have no idea what Baby just said,” Danton says as he gets into position. “But I’ve never seen that particular look of panic sweep across Ryan’s face.”
One of the refs blows his whistle. “Are you all done chatting?” he asks. “Or would you prefer I drop the puck when you’re not ready?”
“We’re good,” Danton says. “Just enjoying the moment.”
“Save your enjoyment for the locker room,” the ref scolds. “There’s still a lot of game left to be played.”
Sure. A lot can happen in the final minute and a half of a hockey game.
Upsets happen. Things fall apart. Mistakes can be made.
Shutouts can be blown. But also, anyone who’s ever played hockey at an elite level can spot the signs of a team hanging on by a thread.
Vegas is cooked. They know it. It’s in the way they’re hanging their heads.
This team is ready for their season to be over.
They probably have tee times at their favorite golf courses locked in for this weekend.
With another blow of his whistle, the ref signals for everyone to prepare for the face off. I take my stance at the dot, ready for the ref to drop the puck so I can send it straight to Brandon where he’s waiting on my wing.
The puck drops and I flick it away from the face-off dot and send it directly to the tape of Brandon’s stick. A perfect, clean face-off win.
Just as quick as the puck hits Brandon’s stick, he sends it towards O’Shea, who has space away from the wall to skate it down the center of the ice on a breakaway.
Brandon and I immediately skate after him to give him support.
We make it into Las Vegas’s offensive zone with him.
He fakes left on their goalie, then sends the puck between his legs to Brandon behind him.
Brandon is lined up and ready. He takes his shot, and it slides right between their goalie’s legs. Straight through the five hole.
It almost feels rude to celebrate. Almost. Not enough to stop O’Shea and me from hugging Brandon. And definitely not enough to stop Brandon from skating past our bench to get his fist bumps once we let him go.
Coach Chris gives all three of us a soft, almost imperceptible smile. We’ve done our job tonight. His top line. And he’s taking us to the playoffs to stake our claim. To cement our place as a team to take seriously from here on out.