So far, they've done it. I don't try to understand why things happen in hockey a lot of the time, I just kind of follow it on a very shallow level. Two days ago, the Americans beat Denmark 10-1. Brad had four goals and four assists in that game. They played the Finns yesterday and won 5-2. Brad had a goal and an assist. Through three games in this tournament, he has six goals and seven assists for thirteen points. I mention this because getting time with him over the last few days has been like getting an audience with the Pope. He practices and works out with the team for three hours every morning and then does thirty minutes with the press and signs autographs. After the press, he usually spends up to two hours with NHL Scouts so that they can assess his personality.
I came here to spend time with my friend and instead, he seems to be spending time with everyone in the City of Philadelphia but me. Add to that, the fact that the hot water in my hotel room isn't working today so, I spoke with Peter Ashby who said it was fine if I used the shower in his and Brad's room, which is what I'm doing right now. I get out of the shower and walk out in to the room with one towel covering my body and another over my hair. Peter's standing watch outside the door so no one walks in. I hear the lock on the door click. Well at least he was standing watch.
Brad walks into the room and it's easy to tell by looking at his posture that his mind is elsewhere. He looks up at me and grins maniacally. He moves over toward me and I don't know what the hell to do. "Now this is a very interesting situation we find ourselves in." He sounds like the big bad wolf licking his chops at Red Riding Hood.
"Brad…" I warn.
"A little sliver of towel holding things together." He goes to reach forward and I jump away. "Oh, a game of chase, sounds like fun." He moves toward me, catches me and starts to tickle me. I get away, just barely holding my towel up. He starts after me again in this playful pursuit and I start out the door into the hallway. He chases me toward the stairwell and up the stairs to the floor where my room is located. We're still running and I know he's going easy on me because he probably could have caught me eight times by now. I dash down the hall and laugh when I pass my dad who's just coming out of his room. I hear Brad stop jogging behind me. "Hi, Mr. Rabb." He says nervously.
"Brad." My dad eyes him suspiciously as I peak through the door.
"Mr. Rabb, this isn't what it looks like. See, Sasha was showering downstairs in my room and…See, I realize how that sounds but really what I meant to say was that I saw her in a towel and…you know what? I'm just going to leave now." Brad heads back toward the staircase. I have to laugh, that poor guy just can't catch a break off the ice. Wait a second…I was in a towel in Brad's hotel room, he kept trying to take it off me and I ran away? What the hell is wrong with me?!
I slump down against the floor. Am I ever going to get it right with this man? Are we doomed to keep running in circles? I look up at the clock on the wall. It's currently just before dinner according to the clock. I get dressed and lightly dry my hair before heading downstairs to the little bistro for dinner. I see Brad's team-mate from Kitchener and Team USA, Nolan White, sitting at the bar with an older man. I recognize him as the Philadelphia Flyers scout from the Erie Game in Kitchener at the beginning of the year. I can overhear their conversation at the bar.
"Nolan," I hear the scout say, "you brag about Ross an awful lot but what can you tell me about his personality?"
"He's a great guy. Total team player, coach assigned me as his mentor when he got to Kitchener last season. The kids in Kitchener love him, he signs autographs, goes around to the hospitals to talk with the kids even volunteers at some hockey practices during the week if he gets the time. Our Junior coach likes him because he stands up for his team-mates and doesn't complain. The guys in the Team USA dressing room love him because he's unselfish with the puck and he knows how to get them riled up in the dressing room." That's a pretty glowing review. I remember Brad telling me about Nolan once. He said he was the strong silent type. Last year, Philadelphia took him 16th Overall and right now they're using him to get a read on Brad.
"That's all good and well but I want to know what he's like as a teenager." The scout says plainly.
"Are you asking me about whether he plays with the ranch hands?" Nolan replies bluntly.
"Ranch hands?" The scout questions.
"It's a play off the Ranger team nickname, it's what we call the puck bunnies." Nolan explains. The scout nods for him to continue. "Listen, there's a lot of them, maybe twenty or twenty-five around after a game, even more at school or something. I know most of the guys like Spencer or Carey or hell, even me, have taken advantage of certain opportunities presented to us. I don't know that I can say the same thing about Brad."
"But you can't rule it out." The scout persists.
"Listen Bobby, the kid was sixteen last year when he put up sixty-six points in thirty-four games with the team not including playoffs. Is it outside the realm of possibility that in a city of which the Rangers are the beating heart that a sixteen year-old took a few girls up on some offers of sex? Hell no. Do I know for sure that he did or didn't? No. And if you want to know so badly, ask him." Nolan gets up angrily from the bar and heads for the exit from the bistro.
I never thought of that. I always assumed that Brad was the same guy he was when he left. But I mean, Major Junior hockey in Canada and high school football or even College football in the States is the same kind of sports atmosphere with the same kind of amenities. Why wouldn't the girls have thrown themselves at Brad? He's tall, he's good looking, he's talented as hell and he'll probably be a superstar in two or three years. And who's to say he didn't indulge a few urges? Suddenly my insecurities and doubts ravage my mind and I no longer have much of an appetite. I run into Nolan again at the elevator as we're both waiting for the thing to hit the lobby floor. "Sasha, right?" He questions.
"Yeah, and you're Nolan." I answer, shaking his hand.
"Is it raining outside?" He asks indicating my hair.
"No, I just got out of the shower not to long ago." I answer with a slight laugh.
"Oh. Well, how are you enjoying the tournament so far?" He asks, trying to maintain the small talk.
"It's fine, actually the hockey games are pretty good and it's kind of interesting to walk through an arena and hear four or five different languages being spoken at one time." I can't shake some things from my mind. "Would be nice to get to hang out with Brad a bit more."
"Yeah, he's normally in a lot of demand at these kinds of tournaments." Nolan answers, staring straight forward at the elevator door. "But if we win tomorrow, we get a by through to the semi-finals which means that he'll get three days off including New Year's day, so that's a bonus."
"A day off for you guys is basically a light skate in the morning and only one hour in the gym in the afternoon isn't it?" I question somewhat sarcastically.
"Yeah, that's basically it." He replies with a chuckle. Nolan seems like a pretty good guy. He's about six-foot-four, with a mop of straw blonde hair and a persistent goofy expression on his face. But he's a genuinely nice enough guy.
"How important is this tournament to, you know, draft status in June?" I ask tepidly awaiting an answer.
"Last year, when I got to this tournament, I was the eleventh ranked OHL skater according to NHL Central Scouting. I was projected as an early second rounder and Team USA took eight kinds of flack for inviting me but I pushed myself and pushed myself. I finished the tournament with one goal and three assists in seven games. It was a golf shot for me. Central Scouting ranked me as the twenty-first overall North American skater and the Philadelphia Flyers took me at sixteenth overall." He takes a deep breath. "This tournament is a game-breaker for a draft eligible kid. The fact that Brad could be the first prospect to ever get twenty points in it is driving scouts nuts; it's no wonder why he's focused."
"I didn't realize it was so…intense." I say hesitantly.
"He's the Captain, he's the guy we all lean on, who we know can handle the brunt of the load without complaining and the one guy we all know will walk through fire to get us to the gold medal game." Nolan answers. "Now, can I ask a question?"
"Sure." I nod at him.
"What the hell is with you two?" Nolan laughs. "Carey, Spencer and I all have a bet on what the real story is. Carey thinks you and Brad dated for a while, broke up and want to get back together but aren't going to. Spencer's buying the official party line that you two are only friends, but he also thinks that you both secretly want to fuck each other's brains out."
"And you?" I question curiously.
"I think you two are friends, but I think you slept together a few days before he left to come to Kitchener last year and neither of you know how to deal with it. See, a quick internet check tells me that you both would have been under the age of consent in the state of Virginia, which means there's no legal reason not to. But he would have been very young for a first timer and you would have been even younger so now you're walking around like the eggs under your feet might crack. Which is really funny considering the two of you have already made an omelette." The elevator doors open and Nolan steps out. The shadow darkens over my face as the elevator doors close again.
Am I that obvious? If I am, why the hell doesn't Brad see it? He can't be wrapped up in the games that tightly can he? At least the consensus seems to be that he has some feelings for me to. I just can't see them, which isn't exactly helpful. Team USA plays the Czech Republic tomorrow afternoon and with a win they can clinch a birth in the semi-finals and guarantee the right to play for a medal. I guess I can let him think of that tonight.
Sitting here watching the Czech Republic game against the US, I find it hard to concentrate. If I didn't I'm sure I'd be able to tell you in depth detail about the fact that Brad has had to skate through two-man coverage all day and as such has been unable to set up plays or score goals. I'm sure I'd also be able to tell you about the amount of joy my parents expressed when my acceptance letter to Harvard had been forwarded from the house in Virginia to the hotel. But I just can't shake the conversation I had with Nolan yesterday. Brad's getting frustrated out on the ice and you can tell. There's a Czech winger and defenseman practically glued to him the whole time. The winger steals the puck from him and Brad lays a two-handed slash across his ankle and the winger falls to the ice. The referee calls a penalty and Brad heads to the box for two minutes. He throws his stick against the back of the penalty box on his way in.
He never takes frustration well. He sits there for two minutes watching the team perform. The penalty kill is Peter Ashby's time to shine on the ice for Team USA. He can win face-offs and control the draw. He can keep the puck on a string with the way he stickhandles and he can clear the puck very well. He doesn't play like Brad does because he doesn't have the size to. Peter plays finesse, Brad plays force but the scouts keep a keen eye on both. After two minutes, Brad comes out of the penalty box and Peter hits him with an outlet pass. Two Czech players trap him along the boards and Brad looks for another passing option. He hits Carey Moore travelling up ice and Carey takes the puck into the Czech zone. He drops a pass back for Schaefer who handles the puck for a second before lobbing a pass down low to Peter Ashby who fires a wrist shot into the net.
Team USA leads the Czechs 2-1 at the end of the first period and Brad hasn't put up a point yet tonight. I look up at the TV in this private luxury box we're in to see ESPN interviewing Brad in between periods. He looks so good up there on the screen that I subconsciously bite my lip. He looks kind of rugged but wide-eyed, it's a great contrast. He's got his helmet off and the sweat is just pouring off of him. "Brad, that was a pretty tough period for you out there, it looks as if the Czechs have got you shutdown pretty good." The interviewer questioned.
"Yeah, I really had a bad period out there and took a stupid penalty but you know, the team stepped up really well, the guys are playing a great game and that's why we're ahead by a goal right now." He wipes the sweat off the tip of his nose.
"Still you've got to be happy about your tournament so far, 13 points in three games; you've got to be pretty pleased with your play so far." The interviewer presses.
"It comes pretty easy when you're surrounded the talent that I've been surrounded with this week." Brad answers before heading into the dressing room. I walk out of the row of private boxes toward the corners of the rink. The scouts love the corners; they think it gives them the best view of the players as it pertains to skating strength and playmaking abilities.
"It looks like Ross is having some problems shaking coverage." I hear one scout say.
"He's doing a sniper's job; he's pulling men off his team-mates and they're responding. They're winning the game after all." I hear another scout say.
"Yeah, but they don't have the same jump without their Captain." The first scout retorts. "Ashby really saved them on that penalty kill."
"He's a medium sized slick centre. He needs to bulk up a bit or he'll get pushed around in the NHL. Ross can charge like a bull if he gets the puck on his stick." The second scout defends. The second scout has a small Boston Bruins logo on his tie-clip that would be indistinguishable were I not standing ten feet from him. The other scout has a Phoenix Coyotes pen in his breast pocket. It really wouldn't be the worst thing for Brad to be shunned by Phoenix, that's kind of far from Harvard, er……far from home I mean. Anyway, the Flyers are the ones that the whole hockey world knows are hot for Brad and after that, it's the Washington Capitals and New York Rangers.
I grab a hot dog from the vendor and head back up to my seat for the second period. Within a few seconds, it becomes fairly evident what Brad's plan is on the ice for this period. He's just going to skate their legs off. He's going to take double length shifts, short legs on the bench and single-handedly wear down forty percent of the Czech team. It's a strategy that any other hockey coach would recognize in a few seconds, but the Czech coach is target fixated (a phrase I picked up from dad) and he just wants to shutdown Brad, and hope that the rest of his team gets lucky with their offence.
About halfway through the period, it becomes obvious that the Czech defender that has been matched up against Brad all afternoon is feeling the strain of it and Brad's basically become Team USA's best outlet passer and pressure valve to relieve defensive pressure. After Peter Ashby puts up his third point of the evening, it becomes obvious that the Czechs can't contain the American attack. The Americans head to the second intermission ahead 4-1. I look up at the television screen showing the same interviewer standing with Peter Ashby this time. The straw blonde hair of Peter Ashby is even more soaked than Brad's was in the first intermission.
"Peter, it looks like the legs are starting to pick up for you guys out there, are you doing anything different this period than last?" The interviewer asks.
"No, the team's just doing a lot better job creating space to get the creativity working with the puck. It all starts with the Cap' though, he's been working through double coverage most of the day and it's opening up the ice for us." Peter fiddles with the cage of his helmet.
"You've got a goal and two assists, that's a pretty good game you've got going so far." The interviewer's trying to get Peter to bask in the spotlight a bit.
"Yeah, you know, you just go out there and go for the net and hope the bounces go your way." Peter clears his throat. I got a good pass from Nolan White on the second goal and I got a good pass to him on the third goal so karma runs two ways."
"Thanks for your time, Peter." The interviewer gives him a pat on the shoulder pad.
"Yeah, any time." Peter heads back toward the dressing room. I'm sitting here in my seat on New Year's Eve watching a hockey game that the U.S. is going to win and all I'm thinking is why am I here? I mean, I imagine the hotel is going to do something pretty big for Team USA tonight, even though their curfew is only ten minutes after midnight. I head for the exit to the arena. I know it sucks to walk out early, but I've watched enough hockey games to know that Team USA has this one in the bag and that they'll get their three days off before tackling either Russia or the Czech Republic in a semi-final game.
I head for the door and toward the car. It's a short drive back up to the hotel so I don't mind but the radio's giving constant updates on the game and I can hear as the Team USA's lead climbs to 6-1 over the Czech Republic with Peter adding two more goals, giving him five points on the day. Brad is still without a single point in the game.
When I get to the hotel I find out that the hotel plans on holding a black tie reception in conjunction with the Philadelphia Flyers tonight to celebrate New Years. Brad'll love that; I won't be able to pry him away from big Flyers like Richards or Downie all night. I heard up to my room and jump in the shower again. This is a suit and tie kind of even for the guys, which means I'm going to have to wear a dress and actually look good. I know it may sound presumptuous but Brad drags me to these things all the time and spends most of the night just telling me how good I look so he won't be in trouble when he inevitably wanders off to speak with high profile athletes or top USA Hockey people.
I step out of the shower and dry off. It takes a long time for me to get ready, I'll admit it, but getting my hair dried and styled is a priority and I'll let it set and watch some TV in my bathrobe before putting on my dress. There's a knock at my door and I go to open it. "Hey." It's Brad with a big smile on his face and his suit on. It's almost two hours until this gala thing downstairs in the ballroom. "I heard you headed home early. I hope it wasn't on my account."
"Nah, just feeling a little tired after not getting a whole lot of sleep last night." I yawn a little. He's staring at my cleavage because the neck of this bathrobe dips down a little low. "Yes Brad, those are my breasts but my eyes are up here." I lift his chin. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, there's some kind of gala thing downstairs tonight, I wanted to know if you wanted to go along with me?" He chances, still not meeting my eyes but at least now he's looking down at the floor.
"I think I can squeeze you into my schedule." I giggle a little and I'm sure I'll kick my own butt for doing that in a few minutes.
"Well, good, I'll be by in about an hour or so to come get you, huh?" He smiles very small.
"Okay." I nod and he backs slowly away from the door. Typical metaphor for the whole situation, Brad backing slowly away. I close the door and collapse on the bed. This mess is just screwed up. Why can't I be like most other girls my age and just give up on the oblivious guy and move on to the ones I know want me? Maybe it's like when you're young and playing in the sandbox and you always want the toy that you can't play with. I'm watching television and trying to either work out a mental game plan for tonight or just block Brad out all together, I'm not sure yet. There's another knock on my door. "I'm still getting dressed Brad!" I shout.
"It's mom!" My mom replies through the door. My eyes go wide for a second and I hop out of bed and head for the door. I open it wide.
"Hi, mom." I clear my throat. "Sorry, you know, about the whole mistaking you for Brad thing."
"Yeah, I have to say that doesn't happen a lot." Mom laughs as she steps into the hotel room. "Though I had to talk your father down off the wall after Brad chased you upstairs with you wearing only a towel."
"Yeah, about that…" I try to explain but she hushes me.
"I know. I know that you've got feelings for Brad. I talked your father into this Christmas vacation because a part of me figured that you two would have time to get things right. But he's playing hockey all the time, and me and your dad are taking your brothers to all the historical sites so I feel like I haven't been there to help you through this like I should." She puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Mom, it's not your problem, I've got to work this out on my own." I answer, trying not to sound frustrated with myself.
"You're been trying. I mean, it should be evident to most blind mammals that you're head over the heels for the boy. But you keep running into the fact that you're not his number one priority right now, especially since you, me, your father and just about everyone in the known universe including most of his family thinks you should be up there." Mom sighs. "But that's an emotional response. As your father explained to me when we had this conversation last night. When a guy is focused on something, like your father was on flying or Brad is with hockey, other things get pushed off to the side."
"So, he's not doing it on purpose, he's just doing it because he's a guy and guys are…" I'm starting to comprehend.
"Dumber than doornails, yeah." Mom nods. "Your hair looks nice, are you going to the thing downstairs tonight?"
"Yeah, I got invited by the Captain of Team USA." I giggle and my mom rolls her eyes.
"Listen, you'd got to play a little harder to get okay." My mom advises. "Show him that he's got to work for you and that he can't just take your for granted. It's okay to be angry with him if he does something that angers you. In fact, I'd actively encourage it. Some people will tell you that you don't want to be in his head right now, that he's got a lot to think about this week. If your goal is to be on his mind, than what have you got to lose. Understand I'm not saying that you go looking for a fight, but you've got a set of interests you shouldn't compromise." My mom gets up off the bed. "But what the heck do I know, right? Your father and I practically had to be thrashed about the head to get our acts together." She heads for the door and shuts it behind her.
I head over to the closet looking for my dress. It's a nice dress. It was the one I wore to the winter dance a few weeks back. It's really the only one I've got that I like. I don't go out a lot. I put the dress on and take a quick look in the mirror. I think I look good but I guess I'll know soon enough. There's a risk to going anywhere with Brad for me and that is that photographers like to take his picture. Which means that it's quite possible that the next time I go to the supermarket, I could read that I'm pregnant, about to get married, about to get divorced or cheating on a guy who's not really my boyfriend. I hear another tap on the door and I go to answer it. It's just about time to head downstairs.
I open the door and there he stands in a dark and extremely well tailored Armani suit and a great blue shirt. I bite my lower lip as I look him up and down from head to toe. I don't feel guilty because I know he's doing the same thing with me. There's so much heat between us right now that I'm honestly a little worried the carpet catches fire. He extends his arm and I latch on to it. "You…look…" He just shakes his head and smiles.
"Back at you." I laugh lightly as we move to the elevator. He's trying really hard not to stare. So much so that I have to give him credit because he seems to be making an effort to look everywhere else but at what he really wants to look at. We step on to the elevator and the doors close.
"Listen, I know we haven't really spent…well, really any time together and that sucks because I only get to see you maybe once during the course of the OHL season…" I interrupt him.
"Not even once last year. You left for the World Juniors at the beginning of December; I didn't see you again until May." I point out.
"This is what I'm talking about." He grins and puts his hands on my shoulders. It sends a shiver down my spine. "I know that between hockey, scouts, the press, the fans and the gym that I haven't spent as much or really any time with you and I'm glad that we at least get tonight." He gives me a big hug and while the cynical part of the thinks it's just his way of getting his hands on me, my softer side all of a sudden likes the fact that he's so tall and strong. The elevator hits the bottom floor and we walk across the lobby into the ballroom and into the gathering. Right away, everyone moves to speak with him. NHL players and people from USA Hockey will gather around and talk with him.
The night passes slowly, which is good. We talk and dance and he'll whisper in my ear when he thinks the music is too loud. He's always got one arm on me, either interlocked with one of mine or wrapped around my waist. During I Only Have Eyes for You, our eyes lock and hold each other as everything seems to slow down around us. I lay my cheek against his chest and I can hear his heart just pound in his chest as though he's trying to keep pace with a hyper marching band. It's 11:51pm and I look him in the eye. "Let's go upstairs, I'm feeling a little tired." I whisper to him.
"But the ball's about to drop." He counters.
"Can we just go?" I press lightly and he nods and takes me back to the elevator. Within minutes we're back upstairs and watching the ball drop in his hotel room "I never got my New Year's kiss last year, you know?"
"I would have but I was in Calgary, would have been kind of tough." He replies with the characteristic wit. "Alright, come here." He pulls me into his lap on the edge of the bed. We count down the seconds together. "10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!" The whole time our lips are gravitating closer together until eventually they just brush against each other. We're both holding back. The fire's going to consume one of us in a few seconds. It's him. He puts a hand on my back and another at the crook of my neck and just goes for it. Most guys would seem to over-anxious and while it's like we've spontaneously combusted, he's still slow and methodical. Until the door opens and I leap back off of him.
"Whoa! Not interrupting I hope." It's Carey and Ashby following their curfew to the letter.
"No, we were just saying goodnight." Brad covers, dusting off the front of his suit. Carey and Ashby head further into the room and Brad walks me out into the hall. He touches my arm. "Happy new year."
"Happy new year." I reply with a fast smile and he disappears back into his hotel room.