The maddening thing is I bet he doesn’t realize what he did. And worse, if he knew I was gay, I know he’ll never do it again. So why be grateful my father disrupted it? Because another second longer of him looking at me like I was something he wanted to fix, or more accurately take care of would be too much for me to bear.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m self-sufficient. For the most part. And Lord knows my family fills in any shortfall. But they’re family. It would be nice to have someone who isn’t related to me take interest in me for something other than hockey.
Sure, Ryan’s a hockey player too. So, of course, hockey will always be at the top of the list of things important to him. But I wonder how much of a stretch it is for him to see me as more than a teammate.
“Brandon!” Coach Chris calls out, breaking me from my thoughts and handing me another beer. It’s right on time, too, as I just chugged what was left of the one I got from Nicole. “Greatgame tonight. That was a hell of a debut.” He waves Ryan over and my heart rate picks up. “The two of you make a great pair on the ice, excellent instincts. Along with O’Shea, your line will be one of our best weapons.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ryan says.
I nod along with him, taking too long to remember I should be thanking Coach as well. “Yes, thank you.”
“If we can make it to the playoffs and survive the gauntlet there, you two will give Marshal and Kennedy a run for their money.”
I choke on my beer and start to cough. Coach slaps me on the back. “Careful there, son. Don’t want to lose you when you’re just getting started.” He turns his attention back to Ryan. “Keep an eye on this one for me, would you? Help ease him into the league.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan says. He looks at me, smiles, and takes a sip of his beer. “I can do that.”
NINE
Ryan
Okay, I know I said I’d keep an eye on Brandon, but at no point do I remember agreeing to room with him on road trips. This is entirely unfair. I haven’t had a roommate on a road trip since I was a rookie. It’s easy to forget how complicated it can be to transition a new guy onto the team. It’s a bit like adding another cat into the house. You have to ease them in.
But, honestly, with the way he’s pacing the room, walking back and forth between the bathroom and his bed, what I think he needs is a scratching post. Something to help him expel this weird pent-up energy he has. We’re supposed to be taking naps, banking our power reserves for tonight’s game against the Chicago Broad Wings. We’re going to need it.
Coach Chris’s return is sure to add an extra layer of challenge for us against the team whose playoff spot we’re gunning for. I just hope Kennedy Sr doesn’t make an appearance. I doubt he will. After all the shit he pulled at the Olympics, he’s lucky he still has a job. For now.
I roll onto my back and open my eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Brandon, what are you doing?”
I hear his footsteps stop and I turn my head to look at him. His hair is a mess and he’s chewing his bottom lip, fretting. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
My lips quirk to the side. “I would have needed to fall asleep first in order for you to wake me.”
He winces. “Sorry.”
“What’s your deal, dude? There’s no way you can be this energized after all those meatballs and pasta you just ate. That was a proper food coma-inducing feast.”
Finally, he sits on the side of his bed facing me. He wrings his hands, then places them between his thighs and uses his legs to hold them steady. I can see his quads straining through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Sorry,” he says again. I’m starting to notice a pattern. “I get too nervous before games to take a nap.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Okay, well, that needs to change.” It’s a matter of fact, and not just because he’s disrupting my highly valued nap schedule. NHL seasons are long. He’ll wear himself out and risk getting injured if he doesn’t learn how to get some rest and let his body recover from the meat grinder that is a professional hockey season.
He hangs his head, then frees his hands from between his thighs to run them through his hair. He manages to smooth it back but a few loose pieces of blond fall forward again over his eyes.
I can’t help but shake my head and smile as a laugh bubbles through my chest. I sit up and face him. “Alright. Today’s nap is obviously a lost cause. But you can’t stay in here pacing this room. You’ll drive both of us crazy. How about we go on a walk?”
He lifts his head. The expression on his face is bewildered. “In Chicago?”
“No. Winnipeg,” I deadpan.
His lips lift, cracking his confused and worried state.
“Obviously Chicago.” I rise off the bed and go to my suitcase to grab a change of clothes. “There’s no better place to take a walk.”
Brandon
Ryan wasn’t wrong. Chicago, it turns out, is a great place to take a walk. It’s also exactly what I needed to calm my pregame jitters.
The city hasn’t fully thawed, but the crisp air keeps me alert and fills my lungs. It is way better than the recycled air that was circulating throughout our hotel room, making everything feel stuffy. I have no idea why Ryan likes it in there so much. I should feel guilty for disrupting his nap, but he does seem to be enjoying himself right now while we stroll down Michigan Avenue with a huge park on one side of us and large skyscrapers on the other, even if this goes against his normal routine.
