But now, a pang of guilt runs through me as I listen to her.
“Hi,” I say again. “It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “I know you like to keep private, but Ander assured us you wouldn’t mind if we called…”
“Do you have the map open?” I hear Mr. Bouchard say in the background.
“No,” she says. “Just keep following the signs. It’s all very clear. It’s not that hard to find St. Louis.”
Ah. Got it. I should have known they’d be coming into town for Brandon’s rookie debut. But that doesn’t explain why they’re calling me.
“Mrs. Bouchard?—”
“Ryan, dear, you know better,” she says, admonishing me in her loving manner.
“Right. Sorry,” I say, shaking my head at myself. “Momma B. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. The reason I’m calling, dear, we’re surprising Brandon today and I was hoping to get your help. If you’re unavailable, Ander gave us a few other of your teammates to call but we thought we’d start with you. It would be so good to see you again. We consider all of our former billets family and it’s unfortunate we haven’t had a chance to see you in person in ages.”
I take a breath for both of us.
“Anyway, we’re enroute. We left about two hours ago.”
I’ve never made the drive myself, but they’ve got about six more hours to go. That’s plenty of time for them to get here beforepuck drop. I suppose the polite thing to do would be to meet them somewhere, but that will cut into my pregame nap routine. But I’m also still unclear on what they need.
“As I was saying,” she continues. “Brandon has no idea we’re coming. He claims this is no big deal, and he doesn’t want us to make the trip, but we don’t care what he says. We are just so excited for him. Making his debut, and he’s playing with you, this is all such a dream come true for him.”
I’m sure the bit about him being excited to play with me is an exaggeration on her part.
“So how can I help you?” I ask before she can take a breath to gear up for another tangent.
“We were hoping we could come in the players’ entrance with you. Ander assured us this wouldn’t be a problem.”
He was correct. It’s not. All of my teammates’ wives and girlfriends use the entrance. It’s much easier this way and they can bring their kids and babies with them as well without being hassled by the general public. The behind-the-scenes of an NHL game is always one big family affair. Unless you’re me. No one connected to me has ever taken part in the pre- and post-game perks of having an NHL player in their life. Not my parents. Not my sisters. Not even for my rookie debut. Maybe if we make the playoffs this year they’ll take me up on an offer to finally come to a game.
“Not a problem at all,” I say around the lump in my throat. “I’d be happy to help you out.”
“Excellent, dear. We will call you when we’re close. And if you’re free after the game, we’d love for you to join us for dinner.”
“It might be late,” I say. This is all a little much. This phone call alone has drained my social battery for the day as it is.
“If not tonight, tomorrow then,” she says, undeterred.
“Alright,” I agree. I can come up with an excuse tomorrow if I need to. “We can play it by ear.”
Brandon
After our morning skate Coach Chris encouraged me to go home and rest up for the game. Unfortunately, I’m finding nothing restful about this as my nerves are buzzing under my skin in anticipation.
It also doesn’t help that Danton’s kids seemed to have missed the memo about team-mandated nap time. All around the house I can hear their footsteps thudding across the carpeted floors. Or their voices yelling at each other in both play and hurt feelings. It’s a terrible soundtrack to accompany my tossing and turning. All it’s doing is making me more anxious. And as it is, I’m already someone who tends to get nervous on game days.
Giving up on falling asleep, I throw the bedding off and get out of bed. Then, I open the dresser drawers and grab a pair of running shorts and my UDub hoodie. It’s a little cold outside for shorts, but I also know once I get moving, I’ll warm up.
Once dressed, I toss my earbuds in and select my pregame playlist. It’s filled with the typical mixed bag of hockey player music. Hip-hop, classic rock, country, and the occasional bit of EDM that never seems to go away.
“Oh no,” Vicky says when she sees me by the door. “Did the kids keep you from taking a nap?”
“Nah.” I wave her off. No need to make her feel bad. She’s already gone through so much effort to make me comfortable here. “I’m just not a big nap guy.”
