Page 13 of Goalie Interference

Brandon looks across the table at Nikolai and raises his drink to him. “I get what you mean, though,” he says. “I’m worried about the same. If things go bad this season, as the rookie, my head is gonna be the first to roll.”

All three of us turn our heads and stare directly at him. Ryan is the first to speak. “When in the history of hockey has a rookie ever taken the blame for a team performing poorly? You literally have the most secure job out of all of us.”

“That’s not true!” He looks around the table at us, incredulous. “I could get sent down. What will happen to us if I end up playing in the AHL this year?”

Ryan’s gaze softens and he reaches like he’s about to put his arm around Brandon’s shoulder, then stops himself short, before he scoots his chair closer and says, “Fuck it.” He grabs Brandon’s full attention. “You’re not going to get sent down. Coach Chris loves you. This entire team loves you. And even if you do get sent down, I love you. That’s not changing. So quit your fretting.”

After his speech, he slings his arm around Brandon like he doesn’t have a care in the world besides keeping Brandon happy. It warms my heart to see. I don’t think Brandon ever thought he could have something like this, and I know for a fact that he’s wanted it with Ryan since the moment he realized he was gay. As his older brother, it’s incredible to witness as all his dreams come true.

But I also can’t help but notice the slight hesitancy there was before the two of them let their guards down completely in public. I look around to see if anyone nearby has noticed. It’s a quiet night here, and no one is paying us any attention.

“And as for you.” Ryan points across the table at Nikolai. “You definitely don’t have anything to worry about. You’re signed through this season, and I know in my gut that you’ll have a contract extension in hand well before the trade deadline. They’re just working through the money, trying to free up as much cash as they can offer you.”

“He’s right,” I say. As someone who’s been through contract talks myself, I know how it goes. It sucks and it’s nerve-wracking, but eventually it gets done. “Let your agent handle the details, and don’t let it affect your mental state and your game. It’ll work out.”

He turns to face in my direction, his eyes searching my face like he’s studying me. “But you are Ander Bouchard. Vezina-winning, Stanley Cup champion⁠—”

“Don’t forget Olympic gold medalist!” I beam.

“Yes, that,” he says flatly. “Your job has always been secure.” He looks down at his glass on the table which is almost empty. “You do not know what it is like to be traded from team to team.”

“No,” I say. “I guess not. But there’s plenty of other goalies who can relate to your experience. Sometimes it just takes longer to find the right team. The team you click with.”

“And you definitely click with us,” Ryan says. “So stop worrying.”

I watch as Nikolai finishes what’s left of his drink. I’m entranced by his long neck as he swallows and suddenly I’m flooded with the memory of him in his Speedo. Feeling parched, I drink what’s left of my beer in one gulp.

Why can’t I rid myself of that image?

I look away from him, but only briefly. My eyes immediately track their way back. Rising, I shake my head and look around the table. “Who needs another drink?”

Everyone signals in some way that they do so I head over to Nicole to order drinks and a few plates of wings or whatever they have on the menu here. She’s nice, and pretty, too. I like her. It’s a shame she doesn’t live in Buffalo. If she did, she could easily be the girlfriend my mother thinks I need.

When I reach the entrance, I turn again to look at our table. My eyes linger on Nikolai and his casual smile as he continues the conversation with Brandon and Ryan.

Taking a breath, I shake my head again, then walk the rest of the way inside.

FOUR

Ander

It feels different to be back in Buffalo. Not bad. Just different. Like it’s missing something. Like I’m missing something, but I can’t place what it is.

Regardless, I’m excited to step onto the ice for the first day of training camp, and I’m sure as soon as I get some reps under my feet, whatever I think I’m missing will return.

In a way, I guess every season is like this. Our routine is grueling. For nine months of the year, everything about our lives is planned out and scheduled. We spend each and every day with the same people, doing the same things. We eat together, play together, sleep together. Well, not sleep together. That’s just Gavin and Connor as far as this team goes. But that’s not what I mean anyway. What I’m trying to say is that for nine months out of the year, I have my Blizzards family with me. And then the other three months, we leave each other and go live our lives separately, with fewer outside forces controlling every hour of our day. There’s always an adjustment period. But like I said, this time it feels different.

For instance, when I arrive at the practice rink, there’s already a horde of press milling around, watching our every move and waiting for their opportunity to photograph, film, and interview Connor Kennedy.

“Getting kind of crazy out there,” I say as I enter our locker room to get changed.

“That’s one way to put it,” Tavish says, following behind me.

“We’re going to need to construct a tunnel for Connor to sneak through,” Bask, short for Basquiat, one of our defensemen says in his slight French-Canadian accent.

“They’ll settle down in a few days,” Tavish says as I make my way to my stall and start to undress out of my street clothes to put on all my gear.

“Like when Connor first got here,” I say, hanging my pants up on the hook. “I actually think they were worse that week.”