Chapter 5
FIVE
Ryan
Once I get home from practice I can’t shake this feeling of guilt I have that’s washed all over me. As soon as I set my keys down on my kitchen counter, all I can see is the look on Brandon’s face when he realized I wasn’t offering him a place to stay.
I don’t know. Maybe I should have invited him. But honestly, how would that have even worked? Sure, I have a spare bedroom, but at the moment it’s uninhabitable. I’ve been using it as a second closet for years.
Seriously, though, living with Danton and Vicky is the best thing for him.
He’ll be well fed, he’ll have privacy in the bedroom suite they have set up in their walkout basement beside their game room, and the Foley kids are going to love him.
The Foleys do an excellent job of making everyone who stays with them feel like family.
I should know. Like Roysy said earlier. We’ve all lived there.
Brandon will be moving into mine and everyone else’s old bedroom.
With this in mind, I can let myself off the hook a little about his living situation. After the Bouchards’ house, the Foleys’ is easily the best landing pad in sports.
Unfortunately, though, his living situation isn’t the only thing I did to disappoint Brandon today. I know I need to apologize to him properly for getting him saddled with the worst nickname in sports history.
Feeling like a complete ass, I shake my head as I walk around my kitchen searching for food.
Nothing. My cupboards and refrigerator are bare besides some half-empty condiment bottles.
Usually, when I find myself in this position, I call Cap and get myself invited to his house for dinner.
That’s probably not the best idea right now, though.
I doubt that Brandon would be thrilled about me crashing just as he’s getting settled in over there.
He doesn’t need me bugging him right now because I’m hungry and I feel guilty about his nickname.
Brandon
I know it’s customary for rookies to live with older members of their team, but for some reason, I didn’t expect that to apply to me.
Sure, my lofty dream was to end up living with Ryan, but truthfully, I was fully prepared to end up in the hotel room the team was offering, not longstanding Mules captain Danton Foley’s house.
After practice, he took me home with him.
Apparently, his wife spent the whole day juggling their four kids while setting up for me.
I will admit, now that I’m here, it’s nice. Very nice, actually. The living suite I’m in is way more luxurious than the dorms at UDub and larger than my bedroom back in Green Bay at my parents’ house. I even have my own bathroom. That’s a luxury I’ve never once experienced.
All that said, upon seeing this set-up I’m in, I assumed it would afford me some privacy.
Instead, I have four kids staring at me from around the doorway as I unpack my things while wearing my beat-up University of Wisconsin sweatsuit.
I should have closed the door. And unfortunately, it’s too late now.
Slamming a door in kids’ faces isn’t the best way to make a good first impression with the people nice enough to give you a place to rest your head.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. Danton didn’t even hesitate when it came to housing me, unlike Ryan, who looked as if that was the last thing he would ever consider.
Honestly, though, I’m not sure it matters much who houses me. Like I said, I was figuring on being put up in a hotel as the likelihood of me staying on this team for long enough to justify someone creating space for me is slim.
If I was allowed to bet on myself, I’d wager I’ll be sent home by next Thursday.
I may have been having a decent season at UDub, but I was drafted by this team almost four years ago and they’ve never once invited me to training camp.
So forgive me if I don’t have a lot of faith in how long I’ll be staying here.
Even next season, they’re more likely to ship me off to Springfield, Massachusetts to play for their AHL squad than to roster me here with the big boys for a full season.
I’d be smart to not let myself get too comfortable, no matter how much faith Coach Chris seems to want to put in me.
On the bright side, at least there will be a paycheck waiting for me regardless of where I end up.
Having finally signed my entry level contract earlier today I’m making the league minimum.
Which is great because up until now, I haven’t ever been paid for playing hockey.
That said, I’m not about to start spending money now.
There’s a pretty steep difference between my contract and everyone else’s.
“How are you settling in?” Danton asks me from the doorway.
He’s standing between all four of his kids, who have now taken his arrival as an invitation to cross the threshold into my room.
His youngest, a four-year-old named Danny, reaches into my suitcase and finds my beat-up stuffed hodag from my hometown junior team.
“Mine?” he says, holding it up to me.
“I mean, I guess,” I say, forcing a shrug. I don’t need it. And it was, in hindsight, a stupid thing for me to bring, but also… it’s my goddamn hodag. I’ve had it since before I could competently wield a hockey stick.
“No, Danny,” Danton says, grabbing the toy from his son. “We don’t take other people’s things.”
The child looks completely heartbroken.
“It’s fine,” I say, but I can’t keep the relief out of my voice.
Danton waves me off. “He’s four. He’ll forget about it the minute he walks out of this room and is reminded that cookies exist.”
Danny’s eyes go wide, and he giggles.
“See,” Danton says and gives Danny a gentle nudge out the door with his hand on the top of his head.
“You four go bug your mother for some of her cookies. They’re warm out of the oven.
” He turns his attention back to me. “I may have distracted him for now, but he’ll be back.
The kid loves to explore. So hide that thing somewhere high if you want to hold onto it. ”
“Note taken,” I say as I reach up to place the hodag on the top shelf of my closet.
“Anyway,” Danton says. “Feel free to show the kids the door anytime they’re getting a little too comfortable in here.”
I huff out a laugh. “I know how it is. I was them at their ages.” It’s true.
I don’t think any kid is immune to the draw of exploring their houseguests’ things.
Especially when said houseguest is a hockey player.
Lord knows I gave curious glances to the belongings of every billet who stayed with us when I thought no one was looking.
They did displace me from my bedroom after all. It was only fair.
Strangely, I did manage to stay out of Ryan Christianson’s room when he stayed with us, though. I’d like to say it was because I had finally matured. The truth, however, is that I’d developed such a huge crush on him that I was afraid of what I would find if I went digging.
Danton claps me on the shoulder. “That’s right! You know all about having a billet.” He steps away from me and heads towards the door. “I’m gonna go grab a cookie before they’re all gone. I’ll put one aside for you. Baked goods disappear quick around here.”
“I’ll be up in a minute. I just have to unpack a few more things.”
The door to my room has barely even closed when my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see that it’s my brother.
“What’s up, Ander?” I ask as I tuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder. With my hands free, I attempt to put my clothes away into drawers.
“Baby Bouchard!” He’s laughing on his end of the call. “I can’t believe that name stuck.”
“It didn’t. It got resurrected from the dead.” I slam shut the drawer I just shoved all my underwear and socks into. The force rattles the lamp placed on top of the dresser. “How the fuck did you hear about that, anyway?”
“Dude. Ever heard of this thing called social media? Your team posted an introduction for you.”
“Great.” I rub my hand roughly across my forehead.
“Don’t be such a baby about it,” Ander says with irritating emphasis. “It’s a good sign. Nicknames tend to be reserved for players who are going to stick around for a while.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. They’d just call you ‘rookie’ if they thought you’d be going back to Wisconsin by the end of the week.”
“I can still be sent back to Wisconsin by the end of the week,” I argue because it’s true. I’ve had one practice with the team and while I did well, there’s no guarantee Coach Chris is going to keep me around. Being good in practice means nothing if I can’t produce points during a game.
“I checked your schedule,” Ander says. “You play Tampa Bay at home tomorrow. That’s an easy intro for you.”
“You think?”
“Definitely. They’re so bad they make the Mules look like Stanley Cup contenders.”
“Love your confidence in my new team,” I say dryly.
“I guess I shouldn’t be that harsh. The Mules are on a bit of a win streak and now with Chicago tanking, there’s a solid chance you all might sneak into the playoffs.
That still doesn’t make you contenders. You’ll have to avoid getting bounced in the first round before we can have that conversation. ”
I shrug and tip my head to the side, which causes my phone to slide out of position and fall to the floor with a thud. I pick it up and this time put it on speaker so I can set it down while I continue to unpack. “Fair point.”
“And you’re going to love Coach Chris. He’s great. And totally fine with—”
“Me being gay.” I roll my eyes as I finish his sentence.
“Yeah!” He laughs. “That.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not telling him anyway.”
“Oops.”
My stomach drops in panic, at the same time anger flows through my veins. It’s an interesting and confusing combination. “Ander. What the fuck? You didn’t, did you?”
“Nah!” He starts laughing again and I want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “I only told him about your silky mitts.”
Shaking my head and sighing, I say, “They’re not that silky.”
“They are, and I should know. I’ve taken more shots from you than anyone else in the league.”
“Considering I’ve never taken a shot at anyone else in the league until today, I don’t know if all of those count.” I lie all the way back on my bed and stare at the ceiling fan that’s slowly spinning above me.
“They count,” he says, like it’s a definitive fact. “Hey! Speaking of. What’s Ivanov like to shoot on? He’s having a surprising season.”
“Why? Are you planning on switching to forward and trying to score on him?”
“No.” He laughs. “But I am curious about him. He’s been bounced around a lot, you know? There’s got to be a reason for that.”
“If there is, I couldn’t tell you. But after one day, I can see the guys on the Mules love having him here.”
“That’s good. Things didn’t end so well with him in Toronto.”
“Nothing ends well for anyone in Toronto,” I say.
Outside of the Blizzards, that was the only other team I would have hated to be drafted to.
The media there is a nightmare for players to navigate, and the fans love to send death threats to their players at the first sign of a playoff-missing season.
“So,” Ander says. “What are you doing tonight? How are you celebrating?”
“Sleeping.”
“That’s no fun.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us are the team’s social director like you are. I’m just tired. I haven’t slept yet.”
“Then take a nap and text Ryan when you wake up. He’s a nice guy and you already know him.”
“No shit,” I huff out. “He’s the reason I got stuck with this terrible nickname.”
“One. It’s a great nickname. And two, then he owes you. Ask him if he wants to get some food or grab a drink.”
Trust me, he doesn’t.
“I don’t have Ryan’s phone number.” For which, thank God, because the last thing I want to do is text him like some desperate pest looking for a dinner date.
Besides, I can smell the chicken parm Vicky is cooking along with her cookies all the way down here in my room. My stomach is rumbling in anticipation.
“Here,” Ander says, as my phone pings with an incoming text.
I look at it. He’s sent me Ryan’s contact info.
“Even if you don’t text him tonight, you’ll want it at some point.
Besides, having these connections is half the reason why Mom and Dad billeted all those hockey players while we were growing up. ”
“Right. Like you’ve kept in touch with all of them.”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s great! I have friends on every team. They all ask about you, too, by the way. Everyone wants to know how Baby Bouchard is doing. Do you know how stoked they’re gonna be when they see you do your rookie lap tomorrow?”
“Oh, no,” I laugh. “I’m not doing a rookie lap.”
“The fuck you aren’t! There’s no getting out of that, it’s tradition!”
“Fine,” I say with a long-suffering sigh. Truthfully, I’ve always wondered what a rookie lap would be like, but now that it’s upon me, I’m terrified. What if I make a complete ass out of myself alone on the ice with no one else on there to distract from me?
“That’s the spirit!” I can practically hear him fist pumping the air over the phone. “And make it a good one. I’m hosting a watch party.”
“Ander, come on. Why?”
“Because you’re my little brother.” Goddamn it. He sounds proud.
“Alright. I’ll do my best to make your party worthwhile.”