A/N: Okay, I tried eight versions of this first chapter and I didn't like any of them except this one. I've gone through several possible story formats and didn't like any of them except this one. I don't expect this story to go beyond 12-13 chapters in all honesty, so it's going to be a short ride.
My life has been a bit of a continuing tumult since grade eight, my friends just seem to keep on leaving. Going into Grade Nine, I was going into high school with a set group of friends. I had Brad, Jack, Jimmy and Arleigh who were my closest friends. Tim Ross had left town at the end of grade eight to go to Phillip-Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. But we ended up adding a new friend in Peter Ashby who was playing on the school Varsity hockey team with Brad as the only other freshman.
Well, Brad and Peter became the star recruits of the United States National Team Development Program for USA Hockey. They'd go to all the major tournaments and play for Team USA. In August, the two of them would be in the Czech Republic playing for Team USA in the Ivan Hlinka Tournament against the best hockey players under the age of eighteen from the best hockey playing countries in the world. In December, they'd join Team USA again at the World Under 17 Challenge in Canada and then in April they'd go back to Europe to play for Team USA at the International Ice Hockey Federation's Under Eighteen Championship.
Then at age fifteen, their agent convinced them to register for the Ontario Hockey League draft just so that no avenues would be closed to them in the hockey world. In December of last year, instead of the two of them going to the World Under 17 Challenge, only Peter went. Brad was selected by Team USA to represent the country at the World Junior Hockey Championship which is the tournament for the elite players in the world under the age of twenty.
Now, since I've bored all of you to death with all this talk, I guess I'll just get to the point. After those two tournaments, Brad opted to join the Ontario Hockey League team that had drafted him the year earlier and Peter followed a similar route. By the middle of January, Brad was billeted with a family in Kitchener, Ontario and playing for their Kitchener Rangers, marketed as some kind of sixteen year-old wunderkind. Peter's route took him to Erie, Pennsylvania to play for the Erie Otters.
In my life, I've had romantic feelings for only two men; Tim Ross until I was thirteen and Brad Ross everyday since then. Yes, I know it's weird to have romantic feelings about two brothers – especially when they're two-thirds of a triplet – but I've come to terms with it and would be thankful if you all out there would refrain from judging. Now, the reason this matters is that my best friend and secret crush (although after two kisses, I'm not sure how secret it is any more) now lives a thousand kilometres away in a Canadian city, I've never been to, playing for a team I've never heard of.
So, now that our senior year has started, we're still in two different places. I'm toiling away in Arlington, Virginia most days of the week and he's in Canada playing hockey, travelling around from city to city on road trips with twenty friends on a charter bus. But tonight, tonight I came to Kitchener to watch the Rangers' home opener.
You walk into this arena and you're hit by the strikingly blue collar atmosphere. You can't take five steps around here without seeing a union cap or a bomber jacket. It smells of popcorn and grease from the deep fryer. The arena seats about 6,000 with standing room for about five hundred and I've been given seats in one of the luxury boxes for the night. It's amazing to listen to the buzz in this arena. Everyone's wearing their blue jersey, as if Friday night games in this city are a ritual like a religious service or something.
I'm standing here with most of Brad's family looking at the blank sheet of ice below. The house lights are down and loud thumping music beings to play. The gate opens at the far end of the rink and the opposing team skates out on to the ice. I notice the familiar name and number of one of the Erie players; number 14, Peter Ashby.
Then the music lowers a bit and a spotlight flashes on the gate by the benches. I guess that's where the Rangers come on to the ice. The Public Address announcer here at the Kitchener Auditorium welcomes the capacity crowd to the first home game of the season. He begins by announcing the players on this season's Kitchener Rangers roster as they skate out on to the ice and line-up side by side on the blue line. After the first fourteen skaters were announced, it was time for the starting line-up.
"Starting in goal for your Kitchener Rangers, from Holland, Ohio, number thirty-nine Richie Moran!" As soon as it came over the PA, the Kitchener goal hopped on to the ice and skated toward his goal at the left end of the ice. "Starting on defence for your Kitchener Rangers, from Massena, New York, number four and Alternate Captain Nolan White!" The large defenseman hopped on to the ice and joined his team-mates on the blue-line. "And number twenty-four, from Kingston, Ontario, Kyle McWilliam!" Another large defenseman stepped on to the ice and joined his team-mates on the blue-line.
"These kids are huge!" I hear Uncle Nate whisper to my dad who nods in agreement. "I don't remember being in that good of shape when I was seventeen." They share a laugh.
"Now your starting forwards! At left wing, number ninety-four from Harlem, New York City, Carey Moore!" An African-American skater stepped on to the ice and skated over to his spot with his team-mates. "At centre, number sixty-eight and a native of Liberec, Czech Republic, Tomas Hudarcik!" This time it was a slightly smaller and thinner boy who stepped on to the ice. "And finally, last year's Ontario Hockey League rookie of the year, starting on right wing for your Kitchener Rangers, from Washington D.C., number seventy-nine and alternate captain, Bradley Ross!" Brad stepped on to the ice and took two strides to join his team-mates. The arena had erupted into applause.
There was a short ceremony held where the two team Captains took a ceremonial face-off, both national anthems were sung and then the two teams readied their starting lines for the start of the game. Blue has always kind of been Brad's colour when it came to hockey. He wore it in high school for the Bishop O'Connell Knights; he wore it for Team USA and he wears it now for the Rangers.
The puck is dropped and Peter Ashby wins the face-off for the Erie Otters and draws the puck back to his defenseman. The Erie defenseman moves back a bit with the puck, preparing to cycle it around. He fed a pass up the middle back to Peter but the second Peter got the puck, Brad lined him up for a hit and dropped him like a sack of bricks. That may look like hard feelings, but I'm sure they'll laugh about it after the game.
Brad scooped up the puck and slid a pass over to Hudarcik. The little Czech was able to turn on all kinds of speed as he wheeled down the right hand side of the ice to a spot behind the net. A flurry of snow was created as his skates came to harsh stop. Hudarcik lightly shuffles the puck, going from his backhand to his forehand. The Erie defence is trying to set up. The Czech centre slides a pass up to Brad at the half-boards. Even among conditioned young adult hockey players, Brad's size gives him an advantage since he's six-foot-six on skates. He moves in toward the net from the half-boards, his build allowing him to deflect attempts to knock him off the puck. He flits a quick pass over the stick of an Erie defender to left winger Carey Moore who fires home a one-timer shot to give Kitchener a 1-0 lead.
The arena bursts into a giant eruption of blue commotion. 6,500 people begin to chant along with the music, shouting "Oh-oh-oh, let's go Rangers!" I have to smile, this is the kind of environment that Brad always wanted to play hockey in. Here there are little kids wearing copies of his jersey in the stands and cheering him on as if he were a hometown boy. The Public Address announcer cuts off my train of thought. "Ranger goal, his first of the season scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore! Assisted by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number sixty-eight Tomas Hudarcik. Time of the goal, 1:08."
The line hops on to the bench and hangs over the side. The blue mouth guard in Brad's mouth makes his smile look particularly unattractive even though it's beaming from ear to ear. It was an extra long shift, but it ended in a goal, so the coach isn't too upset with them for eating up another thirteen seconds of ice time. The period stretches on. Erie responds with a power-play goal on a shot from the point to tie the game. Brad seems to be one of the go-to guys on this team as he never seems to leave the ice during the last two minutes of the period.
There's another Kitchener penalty near the end of the period and Brad comes on to the ice after a short break with the Czech centre Hudarcik, as well as the defensemen White and McWilliam. They set up in a sort of diamond pattern on the penalty kill. Ranger defenseman White breaks up an Erie pass along the boards and sends a long lead pass straight up the middle of the ice to Brad who's already around centre ice. He's streaking in on the Erie goal. Try though they might, no one on the Erie defence is going to be able to catch him once he has a few strides on them. He's in on goal and it's a move I've seen seventy or eighty times over the last decade. He pumps a hard fake to his backhand to get the goalie to commit, and the Erie goalie bites like a champion walleye. Brad curls his stick and skates at an almost impossible angle to bright the puck back to his forehand and slid it around the sprawling goaltender to give the Rangers the lead.
The arena erupts again as Brad is mobbed on his way back to the bench by his celebratory team-mates. The fans begin to chant as the pandemonium eventually gives way to the public address announcer. "Ranger goal, his first of the season, scored by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross!" The camera for the jumbo-tron fixed on Brad on the bench. "The assist goes to number four, Nolan White! Time of the goal, 19:48." Twelve seconds later, the period ends.
I look up at the television screen and see a reporter from the local media standing in the hallway that leads to the Ranger dressing room. Ranger hockey is literally a religion in this city. The reporter pulls Brad aside for a second. His hair is dripping with sweat and the blue mouth-guard is popped out of his mouth. The reporter is an older, greyer, chubbier, balding man with glasses and drooping jowls. "Brad, that was an impressive period to start the season, were you maybe trying to impress dad a bit since he's in the stands tonight?"
"No, I forgot he was here while I was out there." Brad laughs and pushes the hair back out of his face. "It was a tough period, Erie's a good team and they came at us hard, I just tried to help hold them off."
"You laid a pretty good hit on your old buddy Peter Ashby out there, any hard feelings?" The reporter presses and Brad laughs again.
"Nah, when we were in school I use to tell him to stay out of the trolley-tracks at centre ice but he stepped into them out there so I laid him out." Brad smiled into the camera.
"After last year's disappointing seventh game, double overtime loss in the OHL Championship to the Niagara Ice Dogs, how badly does this team want to make it back there this year and maybe even all the way to Kingston for the Memorial Cup?" The reporter can only ask one more question as the Kitchener coach stands in the background waiting for Brad.
"Oh, that was harsh for us; I think we hit the ice in July this year trying to make sure it didn't happen again this season. We're a good group with Huddy and uh, Mickey and Gags and all the guys so, we've got a real chance at it this year." Brad catches a towel from the coach and wipes off his face. He nods at the interviewer and follows his coach into the dressing room.
I'm feeling hungry; dad says I have mom's appetite. I think he's right sometimes but I'll never tell him. I move out of the stairwell into the main concourse where the concession stands are. Trying to move around down here is vaguely reminiscent of salmon race. I finally get in line for a slice of pizza and a Coke. I'm gonna have to get a slice of vegetarian, it's the least likely to give me a coronary the next time I try to climb the stairs. I elbow, and I do mean elbow, my way out of the crowd back toward the stairwell.
"Miss Rabb!" I hear a voice shout and I turn around to hear a stout, short, balding man come running up to me.
"Can I help you?" I inquire as I watch him carefully.
"Yes, I'm with the Philadelphia Flyers organization and according to every magazine and news organization on the planet, you're a friend of Brad Ross." He breathes heavy to catch his breath. "I want to know what kind of person he is."
"I'm his friend, I'm sure that's not the kind of objective opinion you need." I try to compensate but he's got this fond, Keebler Elf kind of smile on his face.
"I talk to coaches, parents, billets, team-mates and none of them have objective opinions. It would be nice to get the opinion of someone who has no vested interest in how he does as a hockey player." The scout explains. I have to think of how to answer this. Does he believe all the tabloids that say Brad and I have been having some kind of illicit affair since High School started? Does he realize he's asking me to give him an opinion about a guy I've been in love with for a few years now?
"You get what you pay for." I tell him cryptically. "He doesn't hide a lot, if he's got a problem with anyone; he'll confront it and get passed it. He trains a lot to stay in shape, from what I remember in High School back home, he was always the first one on the ice and the last one off."
"I can hear all this from the Ranger coach." The scout interrupts me. "I want to know what kind of person he is, who he is, all the stuff you don't get from the coach."
"Well, his favourite athletes are Tom Brady and Josh Beckett. His favourite colour is Blue; he seems to wear it for every hockey team he has ever played for. He likes being the go-to guy, and he loves having to perform under pressure." I'd be so tempted to make a sex joke hear if I weren't talking to a sixty year-old man who might keel over. "As good as he is at dealing with reporters; he kind of hates having his picture taken. He loves hockey and I know it's cliché to say but from October to April of every year it was impossible to really get much time with him outside of school because all he wanted to do was put on skates."
"Thank you." He nods and heads back through the concourse toward the stands. Uncle Nate invited a scout from the Boston Bruins to tonight's game and last I checked he was chatting with Jack up in the luxury box. The second period goes much like the first. There's a faster pace than high school hockey back home and there's a lot more hitting. Erie scores on a power-play to tie the game about five minutes into the period and the score is tied: 2-2. A few moments later, Peter Ashby breaks in on the Kitchener goalie with a team-mate of his. The whole time he plays like he's going to pass before rifling a hard wrist shot over the shoulder of the Kitchener goalie to give Erie the lead.
That takes us to the late third period and a Kitchener power-play. Brad shields the puck from Erie checkers behind the Erie net as he tries to find an open passing lane. He turns on some speed as he ducks out from behind the net. He fires a fast pass back to the defence where Nolan White launched a cannon of a slap-shot through a crowd of players and into the back of the Erie net to tie the game back up. The last goal came just as Kitchener finished killing off a penalty. The Rangers had created some short-handed pressure in the Erie zone at the end of the penalty and as the penalized skater came over to the Kitchener bench, the coach sent Brad on to the ice for the final minute. The small French-Canadian centre, Aaron Gagne, hits a streaking Brad Ross below the circles in the Erie zone, and Brad slips a wrist shot home to give Kitchener a one goal lead: 4-3.
That was how the game ended. I slunk away from the crowd up in the luxury box down to ice level, near the Rangers' dressing room. These guys down here all come out of the dressing room in suits, unlike back home when the players left the room in jeans and a bad flannel shirt. I seed Brad come out with another player in a headlock. I recognize the other boy as the other winger from Brad's line, Carey Moore. When Brad's eyes catch mine he hesitates for a second before letting go of Carey and smiling broadly. "Hey there, kiddo." He's smiling at me. He takes two steps and wraps me in a huge bear hug. I keep for getting that I'm only 5'7" and that he comes in at slightly over 6'3". So when he hugs me, he lifts me well off the ground. A grunt comes from behind him. "Right, sorry Carey, this is Sasha Rabb." Brad introduces us. "Sash, this is Mr. Fabulous."
"Mr. Fabulous, that's an interesting moniker." I shake his hand.
"It's an appropriate one." Carey Moore chuckles and punches Brad on the shoulder. "See you at the morning skate tomorrow?"
"Yeah." Brad answers with a nod and the two of us move back down the tunnel toward the ice. "So, how ya been, kiddo?"
"Pretty good." I look over at him, trying to catch his eye. "School kind of sucks without you and Ashby." He points toward the bench and we take a seat.
"Yeah, I bet." He smiles fondly, looks out over the ice and takes a long, lingering breath. "Hate to break it to you but you and Jimmy Roberts were never exactly the exciting type."
"Oh yeah, well I bet you're having tonnes of fun up here in the great white north." I bit my lower lip. "Admit it, you love it here. Every Friday night you step into this building, you're cheered on by 6,500 screaming fans; there's a bunch of kids who look up to you like you're some great Olympian God and they proudly wear blue Rangers jerseys with your name on them to every game. If you could be anywhere in your life right now, you'd be here."
"Yeah, you're right." He nods, not looking at me. "I kind of wish sometimes that you were here with me." His eyes lock on mine. "Just to keep me grounded."
"I'm sure your team-mates do a good job of that." I try to muster up a laugh but I find I'm a little sore from the flight up here and the last three hours standing around this arena. I move my hand up to the side of my neck. He spins me around on the bench and begins to slowly rub my shoulders. This is one of the things I really miss when he's a thousand kilometres away. He's got these big, strong hands that really know how to me the right way. "Damn, that feels good." I moan and I can feel that superior macho smile emanating from behind me.
Can I tell him? Tell him that I miss the times when we'd let our emotions get the better of us and just kiss? Can I let him know why I came all this way to watch him play? I mean, after almost a decade of watching it, I actually do like hockey but I don't usually travel to Canada to watch it. I reach over my shoulder and place one hand on top of his. I can feel the nervous energy course through his body. I know he's going to try and manoeuvre his way out of this situation, but I don't know how. I see him cast a glance down at his watch.
"You know, coach has us on a curfew when we've got a morning skate the next day." He gets up off the bench and stands hesitantly over me. "I've gotta get up at five, on the ice at seven, off the ice at nine-thirty and then into the gym for about two hours. It's kind of a long day tomorrow, but I can probably swing by your hotel around 1300 tomorrow afternoon and show you around for the day."
"Yeah, that sounds alright." I nod disappointedly. I believe that he really does have a skate and a workout tomorrow. After all, this is the team that this city has pinned its hopes of a championship on. This is also Brad's draft year and all the NHL scouts are here taking a look at him. He's gotta stay in peak physical condition. "We're at the Delta K-W downtown, know where it is?"
"Yeah, my billets only live a few blocks away." He grins and extends his arm to help me up off the bench. We head back through the hallways of the arena out to the parking lot where Uncle Nate is waiting with my dad and Brad's brothers Jack and Harry. We pile into the waiting limo and the first thing we have to do is drive the five or so blocks from the arena to Brad's billets' house. We drop him off and the limo pulls away, I cast a quick glance out the back window to see him entering the small post-war home.