Chapter 35 #2
Ryan presses his thigh against mine. I return the pressure and take a look around.
The stadium is packed. The ice has been repainted to commemorate that this is the Stanley Cup Finals.
My team is holding their own. And I’m playing against my brother until one of us wins this thing.
Our parents are here watching, not just me and Ander, but Ryan too.
Finally, he gets to know what it feels like to have family in the stands cheering him on.
If anyone had told me eight years ago that this is where I’d be today, I never would have believed them.
I never would have thought any of this was possible.
Ryan
The Blizzards are living up to their name and reputation. They fly around us, near impossible to track. We’re halfway through the second period and while the game has remained scoreless, there is no doubt whose favor the ice is tipping in.
We can’t catch a break. Everything around us is moving quick, and where normally when playing the Blizzards we could have counted on using our power play to score while Marshal sits in the box, we’re no longer getting that opportunity.
Now, with Connor on his team, he’s cleaned up his act.
He’s still brutal. He’s still plowing over all of us.
Clemmers somehow managed to lose another tooth after a massive hit that sent him crashing sideways into the boards.
But still, no one can argue, his hits have been clean and well timed.
And it’s not like any of us are going to bait him into dropping the gloves.
It’s frustrating, and the energy in this arena is building.
The stadium is humming as I crouch down to take yet another face off against Connor in our defensive zone.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he asks. “The fans here in Buffalo, they really know how to get behind their team in the playoffs.”
“Just wait until you come to St. Louis. Don’t sleep on our fans.”
Connor smiles. He looks like he’s having the time of his life. And also as if he hasn’t broken a sweat yet. Like this is some sort of pond game to him. It probably is.
The puck drops, and this time Connor beats me to it. He sends it out right into the slot between the two circles where Alexander Tavish is waiting.
It happens so fast; all I can do is watch. Tavish winds up and chips it right past Ivanov, just over his outstretched glove.
The horn blares. And here we are. The score one to zero.
“Fuck!” Ivanov yells out as Connor, Gavin, and Tavish celebrate off to the side. He flips his mask up and stares over the top of his net into the crowd of Blizzards fans, taunting him from the other side of the glass.
I come and skate to a stop in front of his vision, blocking out everything in front of him. “It’s just one goal,” I say. “We’re still in this.”
He stares at me, stone-faced. “Tell Baby to stop fucking around. It’s time to beat his brother.”
I smirk at him. “Getting trucked by Gavin Marshal isn’t what I’d call fucking around.” I reach over the net and place my hand on his shoulder. “But I’ll relay your message.”
He nods his head and I skate away, readying myself for another shift.
Brandon
Ander is frustrating to play against. It’s like we’re kids again and I’m desperately trying to get one past him, but he’s older, bigger, and stronger than I am.
Every time, he beats me. He’s dialed in and I can’t break his focus.
And worse, I know there isn’t a flaw in his game.
He has no weak points. All of his positioning is right.
His timing is tuned to perfection. His eyes track the puck, missing nothing.
But none of that is an excuse. If anyone is going to figure out how to get one past him, it’s gotta be me. And now, after Tavish scored, the pressure is really on. We can’t let the Blizzards go up by two goals. We can’t give them extra breathing room.
“Remember that first morning in your driveway?” Ryan asks.
“After you moved in?”
He nods his head yes. “Yeah. You and your brother were up at the ass crack of dawn having a shootout in your driveway.”
“When were we not?” I laugh. All those years. All those times when Ander would wake me up and drag me out of bed to shoot pucks at him have led us here to this game. To this next face off. To this moment.
Ryan shifts himself to be in front of me. He bonks his helmet against mine and holds his head there so our faces are all either of us can see. If we were at home, or in our hotel room, I’d think he was about to kiss me. But I know that’s not the case here.
“Imagine it’s that morning,” he says. “A cool, early fall day in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and your brother is taunting you in front of your garage, calling you a cheater.”
“You remember…” I say, my eyes wide as I look into his.
“I remember everything,” he says. “Every moment I ever spent with you even before we became what we are. Now imagine your brother is that goofy, gangly, sixteen-year-old again, and flick this fucking puck past him. Show everyone here that you are no longer just his baby brother.”
He pulls away, then pats my helmet with his hand, telling me one last thing. “Go make Ivanov proud. He’s beating himself up over there.”
I watch him skate towards the dot. A lump has formed in my throat.
Never would I have thought he’d remember that morning.
Even though for years I’ve thought of it, and many others involving him daily.
I look up at the rafters and settle myself.
Now is not the time for me to get sentimental.
Now is the time for me to show the world that the name Bouchard can be synonymous with two things. Stopping goals and scoring them.
When Ryan wins the draw, I’m ready. I grab the puck with my stick, then quickly spin with it in the opposite direction as Gavin barrels towards me. With the extra space I just gave myself, I’m easily able to get the puck out of the neutral zone and into the Blizzards’ end.
My brother is ready. He’s crouched in his stance holding his stick blade down, and his glove forward. The Blizzards’ defense is coming towards me, trying to block my advance. I pass the puck across the ice to O’Shea. He takes possession and is immediately hit by Gavin.
The puck flips away from them, but Danton reaches it first. He keeps it on our side of the blue line and sends it to Ryan as I skate to the other side to cover for O’Shea while he gets back up.
I’m now on my offside, but also in a place where Ander isn’t expecting me.
Ryan skates towards the net with the puck on the end of his stick, looking like he’s going to crash into it.
With Ander focusing on him, at the last second, he passes the puck to me.
Ander turns and sees me. He dives across the crease.
With my backhand, just like Ryan taught me years ago, I chip it into the net, directly over Ander’s outstretched body.
Ryan is the first to engulf me in a hug. He’s screaming into my ear, “I knew you could do it!”
“We’re right back in this!” Danton yells as he joins us, patting my head.
Over Ryan’s shoulder, I see Ander as he gets back up. He looks right at me. I expect him to be pissed. Instead, he’s laughing.
“Enjoy it, baby brother! That’s the last time you’re getting one past me.”