“Why is this upsetting you so much?” my mother asks, not letting it rest.
“It’s not,” I deny. “I just don’t like the attention.”
“You picked a strange profession then,” my dad says. “Attention comes with the contract.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Nah,” Ryan says, chewing his food. “I know what he means. We just want to play hockey. It’s a team sport. None of us got into this to be the center of attention.” He looks at my parents and grins at them. “Except for Ander. He loves it.”
“You should love it too,” Mom says, looking at him fondly. “You’re such a heartthrob out there. How have you not found yourself a girlfriend yet?”
Ryan knocks my ankle with his foot, and laughs. “Too busy playing hockey for all that.”
Smiling, my mother says, “I think you two should enjoy the extra attention. You’ve earned it.”
“Maybe.” Ryan spears a potato wedge with his fork then brings it to his mouth. “But I think after the Olympics, and the way people are salivating for content, a lot of this attention is just that. After the Marshal and Kennedy scandal, people are desperate for the next big story in sports since Tom Brady and his allegedly under-inflated balls.”
“Ryan.” My mother shakes her head, but she’s also snickering. “You’re terrible.”
“It’s just the truth.” Ryan shrugs, as he takes the last bite of his breakfast.
TWENTY-FIVE
Ryan
“Hey! Brando!”
Brandon and I exchange a look as we both register that someone from across the red line at center ice is calling his name. Brandon looks horrified but I can’t quite understand why. Minnesota doesn’t have very many shit talkers, nor have they had a tough-guy goon on their team in ages either. They’re exactly what you would expect from a place like Minnesota. Clean in every way possible.
I nod my chin at him just as I hear the same voice call his name again. “What’s up? You know this guy?”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “That’s Richie McDaniel. We played together at UDub. He’s a real piece of work.”
I look over at the guy. He looks like a real piece of work. Sniveling, and rat faced. I guess I was wrong about Minnesota being a clean team. Looks like they called some grit up out of their prospect pool for the playoffs.
Brandon rolls his eyes. “The worst part is, he’s really fucking good too.”
“Not as good as you,” I say as I start to skate towards where this Richie McDaniel asshole is waiting for Brandon to come say hello.
“You’re not Brandon,” he says to me when I arrive.
“Nope,” I say and grab a puck to swirl around with my stick while we chat. I may as well warm up my mitts. “But he is my rookie. What do you want with him?”
“It’s fine, Ryan,” Brandon says, arriving at my side. He sticks his hand out to shake Richie’s. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t realize you got called up. That’s great!”
“Yeah, it is great,” Richie says, but he’s eyeing the two of us skeptically. “GM and Coach asked me to finish out the season with them to help get the team through the playoffs. They’d have been bounced in the first round had I not been here.”
“I’m sure they would have,” I say dryly.
He turns his attention more thoroughly to me. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”
“You know damn well who I am,” I say. “Don’t try to be cute. That’s how you lose fucking teeth out here.”
Brandon raises his eyebrow at me, and his lips pull taut like he’s trying not to smile or laugh. “Anyway,” he says and bumps his fist against Richie’s. “It’s good to see you, Rich. Have a good game.” He knocks me with his shoulder. “Come on, Mr. Tough Guy. There’s some ladies over there who are asking you for a puck.”
I look to where he’s referring. And yep, just as he said, there is a group of girls huddled together by the glass holding a sign asking me for a puck in exchange for a Ziploc bag filled with homemade cookies. Who am I to say no?
I grab two pucks and fling them over, then wink at the girls when they toss the cookies over the glass for me. I give them one last wave goodbye as I skate the bag to our bench to hand over to our equipment manager. Which is when I see that on the other side of the bag, they’ve written out one of the girls’ phone number.
