Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Brandon
So there is definitely more than one plus side to sweeping your opponent.
First, foremost, and obviously, it’s the glory.
But second, it’s a time to rest and regroup.
Which I think we can all now use. Five days off after the first round would have sunk us, but now, after winning two rounds, we have the confidence to push forward even after some much-needed rest while we wait to find out who our next opponent will be.
“Who’s hungry?” Danton asks as he steps outside onto his patio carrying a tray of food that is swirling steam around him. The entire team plus everyone’s wives and girlfriends are at his house for a team dinner.
Vicky, as always, has made a tremendous spread.
There’s the balsamic-glazed chicken breasts that Danton just placed on their large farm-style outdoor table, handmade four-finger cavatelli topped with Vicky’s signature vodka sauce, and a huge salad filled with fresh vegetables and dressed with olive oil and lemon juice, plus garlic bread, and sliced meats and cheeses.
The food looks incredible, and it complements the gorgeous night we’re having here in St. Louis. Summer is right around the corner, and I can feel it in the air: fresh and sweet with the smell of their garden blooming. It’s a perfect night for us to celebrate winning round two.
“So who do you all want?” O’Shea asks. “Dallas or Seattle?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Danton says at the same time Ryan says, “Seattle.”
“Are you crazy?” Roysy asks. “The Squatch are the last team I want to face.” He shudders. “I hate visiting Seattle. The food sucks, and it’s filled with weirdos.”
“Okay, that’s a solid point.” Ryan laughs in his seat beside me.
“Yeah!” Clemmers says. “Give us Dallas. I want some barbecue.”
I take a bite of Vicky’s chicken and melt into my seat. “Who needs barbecue when we have Vicky?”
“Kiss-ass,” O’Shea says, ruffling my hair.
Vicky points her fork at me. “I knew I liked you.”
“Ryan,” Clemmers’ wife, Ashley, says. “You’re from Dallas. I would have thought you would want to play in your hometown.”
Ryan wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Dallas hasn’t been my home in a long time.”
“But surely you have family there that would want to come see you play,” she says.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Vicky subtly shake her head at her. She winces, then mouths sorry to Vicky.
“My family isn’t really into hockey.” Ryan shrugs.
I know he’s lying. But I also don’t know the truth. I wish he would open up to me about it.
“Are you saying they’re not the Bouchards?” O’Shea asks. He looks at me and teases, “Has Baby’s family ever missed a game?”
“Definitely not.” Ryan and I laugh together.
“I like Baby’s parents,” Ivanov says, his mouth full of food. “Nice people. They hug too much. But still nice people.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say, and chance a glance at Vicky. She appears to have calmed down now that the conversation has shifted to my family over Ryan’s. A misplaced tinge of jealousy hits me. Maybe Ryan has told her the full story.
Danton rises from his seat and places his hand on Vicky’s shoulder, then says, “Honestly, it doesn’t matter who we play as long as we keep kicking ass!”
The team erupts into cheers, and Vicky smiles up at her husband.
“Speaking of kicking ass,” Roysy says. He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Vicky, I need to hire you. Please come cook for me.”
“No way,” I say as I grab more cavatelli from my plate with my fork. “I’m pulling the rookie card and claiming her first.”
“No one is claiming my wife!” Danton exclaims. “But you all are always welcome here for dinner. I hope you know that by now.”
“What’s a few extra mouths to feed?” Ryan says. His eyes are wide as he fills his plate with more food. “I mean, besides the kids you all keep adding to the pile.”
As if on cue, their youngest, Danny, picks this moment to climb onto my lap. He grabs my fork and starts eating the food off my plate. I’m not mad about it. I like this kid and the way he just rolls with the surrounding chaos.
“I swear,” Danton says, leaning over and kissing Vicky on the cheek, “she gets better after each baby.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” she laughs. “We are definitely done. Danny was my last.” She reaches across the table to ruffle Danny’s head in my lap.
He grins up at me, and there’s pasta sauce all over his face.
Vicky flicks her gaze between me, and Ryan then settles it on him. “You should come by more often, though, Ryan. I know from experience that you can’t cook.”
“I can cook,” Ryan says, then takes a bite of his cavatelli.
I can hear him moan beside me. It practically vibrates through my chair. I grab another fork from the table and dig into my own food that Danny has made an impressive dent in. It’s fine, we can share, and I’ll fill our plate back up soon enough.
Ryan looks around at Danton’s family. Every single one of them is staring at him, and the older two kids are giggling. “I swear!” Ryan says again. “I can cook!”
“No, you can’t,” Danton laughs. “We tried to teach you years ago, and you failed spectacularly.”
“He burned the rice,” Danton’s oldest, Violet, says. She’s ten and looking at Ryan like he’s a god.
Same, girl. Same.
“I did not!” Ryan tries to defend.
“You did, actually,” Vicky says. “Which is impressive. That’s hard to do… twice.”
“Lies and slander!” Ryan exclaims.
I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Rich coming from the man who almost lit my childhood home on fire microwaving a Pop-Tart.”
Everyone at the table bursts out laughing.
“That was one time!”
“Also twice,” I say, then eat a bite of my chicken.
“Wow,” Ryan says. “And to think I thought we all came here to enjoy a home-cooked team dinner.” Despite his words, I can still hear the fondness in his voice. I can tell that, like me, he’s happy to be here.
Ryan
I needed this. Dinner at the Foleys’. Dinner surrounded by my teammates. Dinner with Brandon beside me, no matter the secret status of our relationship. It’s incredible having this mix under one roof. I’m practically high on it. I don’t even mind being the focus of everyone’s teasing.
“Look,” I say, still defending myself, “it’s not my fault. Nowhere on that box does it say you can’t microwave it.”
“Sure,” Brandon says with a lopsided grin. “But you’d think you’d learn from the first time not to do it again.”
I look around the table. “He says this, and yes, he is correct. But his family stored them in the refrigerator. Who does that?”
“Wait,” Danton says and looks right at Brandon. “I’m sorry. But what!?”
Brandon points his fork at me, which has three pieces of cavatelli dripping in pasta sauce hanging off of it. “First, don’t deflect this onto me. And second… just use the toaster like a normal person!”
Danton tips his head back, laughing. “He’s got you there, Rye. But…” He pauses and takes his attention back to Brandon. “Again, who stores Pop-Tarts in the fridge? I don’t think it’s possible for those things to even go bad.”
“It’s not!” I say. “I should know. I’ve been slowly making my way through a case I bought at Costco when I first moved out of here and into my own place.”
Vicky visibly slumps. “Ryan. No.”
Damn. I thought she reserved that tone for Moxy alone.
“I’m taking back my request,” Roysy says. “Ryan and Baby clearly need Vicky’s help more than I do. I can at least manage a Pop-Tart and all other forms of toaster strudels.”
“Or,” Clemmers’ wife says, “you could all grow up and learn to take care of yourselves.”
“Oh, right,” O’Shea says. “Like Clemmers over here can make a meal. The man can’t even bite into an apple.”
Clemmers shrugs. “I puree a mean cauliflower soup, though.”
His wife kisses him on the cheek. “You do, honey.”
“It’s starting to sound like this team should put out a cookbook,” Danton says.
“Actually,” Vicky says, her eyes lighting up, “that’s a good idea.” She then turns her attention to the wives and girlfriends. “Ladies, let’s do this. It can be a lot of fun and we can raise some money for charity with it.”
“Agreed,” Clemmers’ wife says, and they all begin chattering about the details. I’ve seen these women in action enough times in my years here with the Mules. They’ll have a full-on publishing company up and running by next Tuesday if that’s what it takes for them to get this accomplished.
“So,” Danton says with a clap of his hands. “Who’s up for some pool?”
Brandon
It’s gotten late and almost everybody else has left but Ryan seems to be in no hurry.
I don’t want to rush him either. It’s interesting.
Ryan has always been a pretty even-keel guy.
Measured, steady. Whereas I’m always the one of us who’s a bit of a tornado.
However, there are moments when I feel his energy shift.
Not in a bad way, but in a way I can’t soothe by myself.
I noticed it when he lived with my family when we were younger, and I notice it now.
So if he wants to play another game of pool down here in the basement while Danton and Vicky are upstairs going through their nightly routine of getting the kids ready for bed, I will.
It’s not like I’m itching for him to leave anyway.
That’s one of the drawbacks from not being on the road. We sleep apart.
But down here in the basement we can have some time together. Even if it’s accompanied by the soundtrack of everyone’s footsteps running back and forth above us. Big feet and small feet racing around, winding down their day with a dog chasing after all of them.
“They never stop, do they?” Ryan muses. He’s standing next to the pool table, leaning forward, braced by his stick while he watches me line up my next move. Not that it matters. I’m terrible at pool. He, of course, is great.
“Nope,” I say as I completely whiff my shot, sending the cue ball into one of his instead of mine. Thankfully, there isn’t much power behind it, and it only knocks his ball a few inches forward.