She nods at me. “Me neither. Game days have always made me nervous.”
“Hmmm.” I hum as I push my feet into my running shoes, not quite confirming my agreement, but also not denying it.
She reaches to the right of the door and pulls a set of keys off a nearby set of hooks. “Here. I meant to give these to you yesterday.”
I take them from her.
She places her hand on my shoulder and gives me a motherlysqueeze. “Come and go as you please, alright. We’re not your wardens. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you,” I say as I place the keys into my pocket. “I appreciate you letting me crash here.”
“Our house is your house.” She smiles at me and gives me one more squeeze with her slender hand before she walks away. She truly is the prototypical captain’s wife.Welcoming, organized, and clearly in charge. I bet the rest of the WAGs look up to her.
Once out on the road, jogging the streets of the St. Louis suburb Danton lives in, I take it all in. St. Louis is twice the size of both Green Bay and Madison, the only two places I’ve ever lived. Which is already a plus in St. Louis’s favor. And while it’s not particularly warm out right now, it’s still a solid twenty degrees warmer for a late March day than it would be in Wisconsin. If I was still at UDub, I’d be dodging black ice on this run, but here, there’s clear sidewalks and sun on my face. I can get used to this.
As I jog, my thoughts shift from my nerves about tonight’s game to wondering what Ryan is doing right now. If my memories from his days with us as a billet are any indication, he’s likely at his place deep in slumber. I remember him always being annoyed at how loud the Bouchard household could be. Funny how now I finally realize how jarring it can be to be kept from napping.
I wonder if he ever thinks back on the time he spent with us. I know it’s been eight years, but to me, in some ways, it feels like yesterday. But Ryan never seemed like someone who spent time reminiscing. As much as we all tried, it was impossible to get him to open up. Hell, he wouldn’t even talk about his family back in Dallas and they never once came to visit. I could never figure out whether that bothered him. I could never figure him out at all.
Which is frustrating because I’ve always felt like he could see right through me. I spent most of my time that year trying to decipher everything about him. He was always a challenge. And being around him again is like having someone in my life who I want to impress. Who I want to prove how good I am to. Who I want to see me as worthy. And not in the way I want my coaches or my parentsto feel about me. With them, it’s always about living up to their expectations. In the case of Ryan, I have no idea what his expectations are. Instead, just like when I was young, I’m back to craving his approval.
Ryan
The Bouchards are exactly as I remember them. Loud and overly huggy. We’re still in the underground parking area where I told them to meet me before the game and they’ve already drawn a ton of attention.
“This your family, yes?” Ivanov asks as he walks past us. He’s dressed in his usual no-nonsense blue suit. But, of course, he’s walked directly into nonsense.
“Oh, no.” Mrs. Bouchard giggles as she lets me go from the second hug she’s given me in two minutes. Her arms don’t stay empty long as she immediately engulfs Ivanov into her embrace. She’s an average height but robust woman and Ivanov, who is six foot four, stands there stunned with stiff arms. “I’m Brenda Bouchard but all the boys call me Momma B.”
Ivanov’s brow furrows as he looks at the top of the head of the woman who’s still wrapped around him like an octopus. He looks at me with dawning on his face. “This Baby’s mother.”
“The one and only,” she says as she lets him go and steps away. She looks him up and down. “Well, aren’t you handsome?”
Ivanov looks visibly flustered. But I can’t tell if it’s because she called him handsome, or because she held him for a very long time in what looked like it might have been his very first hug. Ever.
Mr. Bouchard steps forward and extends his hand. “Big Mike Bouchard,” he says, standing eye to eye with Ivanov. “Pleasure to meet you. Brenda and I are huge fans.”
Ivanov’s lip curls up. “You are?”
“Oh, yes!” Momma B agrees. “We’ve watched almost all of your games since you’ve been with Ryan’s team. The Mules are lucky to have an elite goaltender like you.”
Ivanov’s brow furrows again as if he’s just translated their words wrong and can’t believe what they’ve said. But a smile eventually pulls at his lips. “Yes. This team is lucky to have me. It was nice to meet you.” He turns around, still looking mildly confused by this encounter and walks away towards the players’ entrance.
“So,” I say, grabbing the Bouchards’ attention again before Momma B can accost another player. “Where are your seats?”
“Nosebleeds,” Big Mike says. “Best we could do last minute?—”
“But Brandon will hear us just fine all the same,” Momma B pipes in.
I shake my head. Not because he won’t be able to hear them. I’m sure he will. “Let me talk to the team manager. There’s gotta be some room in the WAG box.”
Big Mike claps me on the shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. Those seats are the best in the house and the ladies who are here will love you.”
“If you insist,” he says.
“Of course he insists,” Momma B says as she pats me on the cheek. “Ryan’s always been such a good boy.”
