I've had one boyfriend in my entire life. I forgot how much fun it can be. You need to understand something, Brad has something of a profile on both sides of the border. He's been in Nike-Bauer hockey ads, he's been in Gatorade ads, he's been in Abercrombie and Fitch ads and he's been in USA Hockey ads. All in all this netted him about just about 5 million dollars in the last eighteen months. This is one of the things that my Grandmother loves about him, it's one of the things that my dad distrusts about him, something about a teenage boy with a lot of money not being a good combination. When we've had a little time since we got here, I've gone shopping, we've toured historical sites, gone on the thousand islands tour and sometimes, just sat and watched hockey games together at the rink.
I've also tried to do a good job at fitting in with the team. They explained that in order for me to really fit in, they've got to haze me a bit. This is why one morning I woke up with shaving cream on my face and then the next morning I woke up to see some of my clothes run up a flag pole. And after getting stern with Brad for a few minutes he explained that I was now an honorary part of the team and that it wouldn't happen ever again. His friends are pretty good guys. Carey and Doc are the clowns; nice and well meaning guys but a little reckless. Spencer is the quiet, intellectual in the group, he's also the shortest one and I'm not sure if those two thing correlate. Josh Stafford is the pup, he's got a mop top of jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, he moderately resembles Paul McCartney back when the Beatles first came to America. He's the kind of guy that most girls my age would want their fifteen year-old sister to have a crush on. Finally, there's Nolan. The group's tower of strength, a guy with no time for ego; his or anyone else's. He always knows when to speak and what to say.
"It's in!" Carey shouts waving a magazine high in the air. The group gathers around the breakfast table in the lobby of the hotel. He slaps the issue of The Hockey News down in the middle of the table. On the cover are the words "Ranger Round-Up: How the OHL's Best Team Gets It Right". "It's their Memorial Cup Preview" Carey explains.
"We got it." Nolan jokes. On the cover of the magazine are Brad, Nolan and Josh. Brad is wearing the Ranger blues, standing in profile facing the left but looking over his left shoulder at the camera; Nolan is wearing the Ranger Reds, the third jersey, standing back to back with Brad and looking over his right shoulder at the camera; Josh is standing in the foreground, facing forward wearing the Ranger Whites, looking straight into the camera. In a flurry of pages, the magazine opens to the article.
"This post-season has been one of remarkable achievement for the Kitchener Rangers." Spencer begins to read aloud. He skips a few lines. "The team stalwarts have emerged to take leading roles. Defenseman Nolan White regularly averages thirty-two minutes of ice time per game, he had nineteen points including five goals and a plus/minus rating of plus twelve in twenty OHL playoff games. Fellow team Captain Brad Ross cemented his Top Prospect status for the June Entry Draft by notching forty-one points including seventeen goals in twenty OHL playoff games. But the team surprise has been goaltender Josh Stafford who posted six shutouts in the Rangers' strong playoff run."
Cheers erupt from the group; Doc and Carey hoist Josh up on their shoulders and carry him out of the room in a mock parade. The rest of us chuckle. "So, what are we doing before the game?" I look around the table.
"Well, the three of us," Nolan indicates himself, Spencer and Brad, "just got back from a two hour skate and one hour workout that started at 6:30 this morning. I imagine we were thinking of a few hours of video games."
"Wow, you guys are dull, you know that?" I laugh.
"We're well aware." Spencer nods. "But we work pretty hard, you know?"
"I know, which is why you should have some fun. I'm taking the three of you suit shopping." I chirp happily.
"See, that's one of those things that really sounds like more fun for you than us, babe." Brad answers while taking a sip from his Orange Juice.
"Nolan, you're a first round draft pick on an entry level deal, correct?" I question.
"Yeah." He nods.
"Spencer, you're on an entry level deal for a third round pick, right?" I question again.
"Yeah." Spencer nods.
"And you." I turn to face Brad. "You've got endorsement money out the yin-yang, right?"
"What are you getting at?" Brad retorts.
"The three of you have more money than 99 percent of guys your age and you're acting like Ebenezer Scrooge at the Salvation Army. Let's go have some fun." I explain and the three of them laugh and nod.
"Let me guess, I'm paying for you." Brad jests amid chuckles.
"Of course." I beam a smile at him.
"Alright, well I could use more suit than the one that I have, what about you guys?" Brad turns to his buddies.
"Yeah what the hell, I'm in." Nolan nods enthusiastically.
"Sure, I need more suits than my black suit and my pin stripe black suit." Spencer nods too. The three of us get up from the table and head for the door. There's a great downtown here and these guys are seriously fashion challenged. They're walking around downtown Kingston in track suits that read "Kitchener Rangers" across the back. There's a great tailor and suit shop right across the street from the hotel, I take the guys across the street and get them in the front door. I can't believe that Brad has gone to the last 86 Ranger games wearing the exact same suit. That is one worn out, ugly suit.
"Good evening, mademoiselle, gentlemen, can I help you?" A man walks over who speaks with a French Canadian accent.
"Yeah, each of these three gentlemen need new suits." I step in. "I'm thinking something in blue for this one. I stand next to the salesman and look at Brad. I don't know why, something about the tones of his hair or the lightness of his eyes."
"Ah, oui." The salesman nods.
"For this one," I indicate Nolan, "I don't know, the straw coloured hair makes me think we should try something a little lighter." The salesman nods. I was going to say that I was thinking maybe a light charcoal or wheat tone, but I'll leave it up to them. "Finally for the short one."
"Hey." Spencer retorts monosyllabically.
"I don't know an olive shade might work well with the eyes, he's already got black suits, so let's avoid the darker colours." I advise.
"As you wish, mademoiselle." The salesman nods at me and leads the guys away.
"Does she always do that?" I hear Nolan whisper to Brad.
"Since we were about twelve." Brad nods and laughs. The salesman goes with Nolan while one of his female co-workers goes with Spencer. I take Brad over to his colours. It's kind of weird to treat Brad like a Ken doll, but once in a while it's fun. We're crowded into the big and tall section because my guy is a centimetre or so over six foot three and Nolan is in the neighbourhood of six foot five. Eventually, I've found a few colours I think would work well and I point Brad in the direction of the changing rooms.
I sent him into the room with two brands, one Ralph Lauren and two that the boutique brought in special from Saville Row. Some men are born to wear certain kinds of things, my mom says my dad was born to wear his Navy uniform and a flight-suit, he looks out of place in anything else. My guy, well he was born to wear his jersey over his hockey equipment. I just want to see if he carries a suit as well. I found the perfect colour, it's a very calm Dallas Cowboy kind of blue. He's not a real fashion person, typically the guys just wear black suits to the games and let that be it.
After a few minutes he comes striding out of the dressing room. The English cut doesn't work. It takes away from the breadth of his shoulders and thus, it makes his neck look big…well, bigger. "Don't even bother with the other English cut. Show me the Ralph Lauren."
He goes back into the room and I turn to look through the ties. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Nolan interject and I nod, craning my neck to make sure he can look me in the eye. "Listen, I know that you two are dealing with some issues and that's fine but you've got to stay out of his head on game days. We've got a game tonight against Gatineau, it's big because it guarantees us an elimination round birth. It's big for him because for the next few days, scouts from every team in the NHL is going to be here. Everything about his life is going to be dissected by scouts in the next month. They want to know how much he eats, how much he sleeps, how much he works out, what kind of team-mate he is, what kind of leader he is and on top of all that, how talented he is. If he appears distracted for a game, or like he's coasting they're gonna know and they're gonna dock him for it."
I'm struck by the direness of his tone. "What makes you care so much?"
"I met him last year when we both played for the American World Junior team, I knew he was talented and I could tell he was a good kid. I convinced him to come to Kitchener since we drafted him and so he came. Coach asked me to mentor him and keep his ego tethered to the ground, so I did that. Over the last eighteen months or so, he's become like my little brother and I want to see him do really well." Nolan explains. "I like you and him. You're great for him, probably better than any other person on the planet but for these next few days, if you're in his head, you are the most dangerous person on the planet as far as his future is concerned."
"I'm not sure I like what you just said." I reply weakly.
"I hate what I just said. I like seeing my little bro happy, I hope when all this is over the two of you ride off into the sunset together and do God knows whatever it is you would do. But the next five weeks before the draft are going to be stress hell for this kid. The next few days are going to be the most intense of all. Just try and stay out of his head, okay?"
"Yeah." I nod quickly. I turn back toward the dressing room and Brad comes walking out in the Ralph Lauren. He looks great from head to toe. I don't know why the blue looks so good on him. His hair's a very light chestnut brown, his eyes are a crisp hazel and he's not pale. And yet the blue. "Very nice." I whistle at him and the blush creeps into his cheeks. He works very hard to keep his ego in check; he fails more often than he'll admit but he at least tries.
"Thank you." He smiles at me. "By the way, Kate called while I was in the dressing room. She's coming up here after the Gatineau game and staying for the rest of the tournament. Why my agent's coming, I don't know but my agent is coming." He muses.
"Okay, well we'll see her when she gets here I imagine. Now, go take the suit off and pay for it." I tell him in a very schoolmarm-ish kind of way. He laughs and turns back toward the changing rooms.
I've got to head down to the arena soon. The guys have already gone. They head down there about two and a half hours early to warm up for the game. Some of the guys will kick the soccer ball around; Brad likes to play ping-pong with the goalies to warm up their reflexes. I've already got my ticket, Brad made sure I was sitting with the Kitchener Rangers Booster Club so that when I cheered Ranger goals, I wasn't summarily lynched by surrounding Gatineau and Kingston fans. I'm making sure that my hair looks right. I'm still struggling with hockey etiquette. I want my hair to look nice but like Brad says, if it looks too nice, everyone around me will know I don't belong. I open the drawer to the nightstand and I see a white, folded Rangers jersey with my name on a yellow post-it note attached to the front.
"Wear it, you'll fit in." He's written on the back. A few months ago he left me a very nice letter on the morning when he had to leave Philadelphia after the World Junior Championships. He wrote about how he loved looking into my eyes, or the feel of my skin or how he liked that we were able to be so honest with each other. I should stress that Shakespeare he ain't but it doesn't matter as long as he means what he says. He left the decision about whether or not we'll be a couple, in my hands and I don't know what to do.
On the one hand, he's right. Medical school is a huge commitment, it's pretty much a life of celibacy for the duration. Now, that's an exaggeration, I know a lot of people manage relationships, work and even kids while going through school but I will admit that I'm not that accomplished a multi-tasker. I've always been of the opinion that when the juggler has too many balls in the air, one's going to land hard on his head. He's also right that he's about to undergo the hardest leap of his hockey career. The day after the draft, no one's going to care that last year's OHL rookie of the year, this year's OHL Scoring Champion with 162 points in 61 games, the Captain of this year's gold medal winning Team USA World Junior Squad was a top five draft pick because none of it matters going forward. It'll be all about how he does at the Development Camp in late August, how he does at Training Camp in September and then how he does if he makes the team or gets sent down to their farm team.
There's an argument to be made and the logical side of my brain makes it all the time that this is the absolute worst time for the two of us to get involved with anyone, much less each other. My logical side argues that there are two circumstances in an ideal world. The first is that we postpone any hopes of a relationship until he's for sure got a roster spot in the NHL and I'm through the majority of my medical training. The second would be that we simply go our separate ways, I meet some nice future doctor in med school and maybe over time, my thoughts of the chestnut haired superstar fade. While he gets drafted, maybe by Philadelphia or by Dallas or the Rangers or Colorado and spends a few years as the city's darling athlete wherever he ends up. Maybe he meets a young nurse or a lawyer or teacher or whatever. And somewhere between the dream vacations and the cozy dates and the covers of tabloids, they fall madly in love and he forgets his feelings for me.
But my emotions say that won't happen. That somewhere along the line, even if we end up dating different people we'll meet up somewhere. Maybe at one of his brothers' weddings or one of mine. We'll get to talking, we'll get to laughing, we'll get to kissing it'll turn into screwing and that means cheating. And we'll both feel bad afterward but it doesn't mean we'll stop. If all this sounds like a Tennessee Williams play I understand but there's something about him and me. It foregoes explanation and division. I'm supposed to understand and make a decision about what kind of future we could have together and I don't know that I can do that.
I pull the white Rangers jersey over my head. Damn him, he does know hockey colours. The white jersey looks really good on me. Something about the red collar works well with my skin, I never thought I looked good in red or white, maybe I'm wrong. I can't stop thinking about him, about how natural it was the night we got here. I'll admit that I've never been a part of that kind of passion before. My lips, his tongue, his hands, my skin the memories of every sensation from that night has melded into one. It's tough to explain how I feel when he lays next to me.
I head out of the hotel room with the jersey on and a pair of jean shorts cut off at my knees. The whole city is abuzz. A flood of people converge on the doors to the arena. I show my ticket to the usher and she directs me to the section where my seat is located. I'm sitting in a sea of blue and white Kitchener Ranger jerseys, there must be two or three hundred around me. The arena goes dark and the blue spotlights appear over the tunnels that the teams are supposed to use to skate on to the ice. The Gatineau Olympiques skate on to the ice first, wearing these pretty ugly black, orange and purple jerseys with a big Olympic torch crest on the front.
The intro to Eye of the Tiger plays as the Rangers take to the ice opposite the Olympiques. The Rangers are wearing their whites, which means that Brad has a blue 'A' on his left shoulder instead of the red 'C' he wears when they wear the blues. "Ladies and Gentlemen would you please rise as the Queen's University 'Singing Gaels' barbershop quartet performs the national anthem."
The entire arena is on its feet. For these people, there's nothing odd about this. For American players it has to be a little weird. They don't mean to disrespect the country that has graciously hosted them, certainly. Maybe in their own way they're adopting some small form of Canadian-ness but it still must be weird to not hear The Star Spangled Banner. When the carpet is rolled up and put away, the referee blows his whistle and it brings the starting lines of the two teams to centre ice for the opening face-off. Doc goes in against the Gatineau player and Gatineau wins the face-off.
From what I've learned in the last few years, there are two kinds of face-offs: the ones that you want to win, which comprises 99 percent of face-offs; and the ones you want to lose so that you can set a physical tempo for the game. This face-off definitely fell in the latter category. The Gatineau forwards are small and fast, which usually works against big guys but Kitchener's big guys are fast, so they're just taking the body to Gatineau right off the bat. The young Quebec league players are hitting the ice like falling bricks. For the forty-five seconds or so that Brad's line is on the ice, it doesn't even look like they're trying to score, they're just trying to be as physically punishing as humanly possible.
For the entire first period, it never appears as if Kitchener's trying to score, in fact they only muster five shots all period as opposed to ten for Gatineau but none of the shots that Gatineau musters has a chance of getting passed Josh Stafford who looks cool and composed. Normally, in the games I've seen, Brad and Carey play a lot of run and gun offence but right now they're just playing big body hockey, trying to intimidate the Gatineau Olympiques.
By the first intermission, the game is a little more even, the shots 11-9 in favour of Gatineau but the Rangers are firmly in control of the game. I don't know all that much about hockey but I imagine that when they come out in the next period, they'll come out and play a more offensive game. I go for a walk around the arena. I've always heard the guys rant and rave about arena hot dogs and popcorn. I ask for a hot dog and a Coke and I hand over a Canadian ten dollar bill in exchange for the food. For once it's going to be nice to eat a hot dog without Brad making a bunch of double entendres.
"Excuse me, are you Sasha Rabb?" I hear a voice behind me ask.
"According to my driver's license." I reply. "Who are you?"
"Bob Sherman, head of player development for the Dallas Stars." He hands me his card. "Can I ask you a few questions about Brad Ross?"
"I suppose so." I reply suspiciously.
"Now don't' worry about trying to couch your responses to appear non-biased, you have a bias and that's fine. I'm paid to be cynical." He laughs. "How much time does he spend in the gym?"
"A few hours after practices." I reply. "They don't have a gym here so he and the boys have taken to running about four miles every morning before practice."
"Really? What time do they get up to do that?" The scout sounds in disbelief.
"Like five." I reply simply.
"They really want this tournament, huh?" The scout laughs and shakes his head.
"Don't all the guys here?" I answer.
"Good answer." He chuckles again. "Just one last question, and I'll let you get back to the game. Who do you think he wants to be drafted by?"
Oh God, there's a tough question. I know who I want him to be drafted by. I know that Brad is a Philadelphia Flyers fan and has been since he could speak but over the last few days, he's accepted that the Flyers will draft around 17th Overall and that's too late in the draft for them to pick him. "I don't know." I answer honestly. "I think he just wants to be a pro so bad that he'd wear Spartak Moscow's jersey if they drafted him."
The scout laughs again. "Enjoy the rest of the game." He smiles and heads off to join the rest of the scouts standing along the rail. I take a few steps down the stairs back toward my seat as the buzzer goes signalling the start of the second period. Brad's line starts the second period on the bench. I don't know why the Coach is keeping his top scorers on the bench but he's doing it. The big checking line for Kitchener continues to just hammer away at Gatineau in an attempt to back them off. About two minutes into the first period, Brad's line hops over the boards for the first time in the period. Doc wins the face-off and sends the puck back to Nolan who moves back into the defensive zone. Nolan fires a cross ice pass to his defensive partner, Kyle McWilliam. Kyle moves back in behind the Kitchener goal. Brad skates in hard to join Kyle behind the net and Kyle drops a pass for him. Brad takes the puck and begins to stickhandle his way up ice along the boards on the right hand side.
You can watch his eyes search the ice for targets to pass the puck to. He sees Carey Moore streaking in behind the Gatineau defence and Brad cascades a pass through the air, about eight inches of the ice in Carey's direction. The pass lands right on the tape of Carey's stick. Brad always says that Carey is one of the three fastest skaters in the league, when he gets the pass he takes off toward the Gatineau goal. Carey's thinking of a move on this one, you can tell that he's trying to open up a hole in the goalie's armour. He's getting close in on the goal now and no one in the rink knows what he's going to do but we're all holding our breath. Carey fires a hard, heavy wrist shot high to the goaltender's stick side. The goalie takes a stab at it to keep it out of the net but it tickles the twine behind him and the red light goes on behind the net. 1-0 Kitchener!
Carey skates back toward the bench and gets high fives from everyone on the bench before getting back in formation for the face-off. "Kitchener goal, his second of the tournament and fourteenth of the playoffs scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore. Assists to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number three, Kyle McWilliam." The public address announcer informs the arena.
The middle of the period consists mostly of Gatineau forwards trying to get the tying goal and being beaten either by the Kitchener defence at the blue-line or by Josh Stafford if they actually get the shot on goal. The Rangers are, to some extent, trading chances with the Olympiques in an attempt to pad their lead but at the other end of the ice, Andre Drapeau is standing tall in the Gatineau net. Brad seems to be making an attempt at showing off his playmaking side. In this period alone, he's sprung three different team-mates for breakaways. The last one developed into a two-on-one as Doc jumped into the rush along with Carey and was hauled down by a Gatineau defender as he tried to take a pass.
The Kitchener power-play took to the ice with Brad and Nolan manning the point. Doc wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Brad. Brad wires a hard shot on goal that hits Drapeau in the shoulder and bounces up over the net. Huddy is on the puck behind the net and he slides a pass over to Doc at the half-boards. Doc hesitates for a second before flitting a pass back to Nolan at the point. Nolan winds up a shot before thinking better of it and sliding a pass over to Brad. Brad pump fakes a wrist-shot before sliding a no-look pass over to Nolan. Nolan tees up a slap-shot and burns one on net. Carey deflects the puck in front of the net, fooling goaltender Drapeau and scoring another goal. 2-0 Kitchener.
The PA announcer gives Carey credit for the goal and gives assists to Nolan and Brad. The remaining minute and twenty-four seconds are played out with a mulled intensity as the second period fades into memory and all the fans go for a stretch during the second intermission. I never know really what to do with myself during an intermission; it's eighteen minutes of complete blasé. I could sit here just twiddling my thumbs and thinking but that's perhaps more interminable than actually trying to do something. Naturally, my mind wanders to the schoolwork that I'm missing for the whole week while I'm here. I've got a bad case of senior-itis. I'm over 90 in every one of my subjects right now, I've got early acceptance to Harvard for next fall and I'm writing my valedictorian address for June in my spare time. But I still feel bad about missing a week of class. Not that bad really, just enough that it picks at my mind once in a while. I wring my hands a little and stare down at the ice. It's a little awkward to be alone in the stands. All the people I know are in a dressing room on the other side of the rink right now. Back when Brad played high school, all my friends would sit together with me at the games.
I don't like just sitting here but I can't think of anything else to do. But luckily my quiet introspection seems to have killed quite a bit of time. The ice is cleaned and the teams are heading back out for the third period. This time Brad and his line start the period for Kitchener. Gatineau comes hard at Kitchener early on in an attempt to get back into the game but the Rangers are doing a good job shutting them down. Gatineau just doesn't have the size to get passed the Ranger blue-line and looking across the rink at all the purple Gatineau jerseys in the stands, I think their booster club is starting to recognize that. By the halfway point of the third period, the shots are 32-23 in favour of Kitchener and even though he hasn't had to be fantastic in doing so, Josh Stafford has stopped every shot again.
With five minutes and change left in the period, the Rangers have the Olympiques hemmed down in their own defensive zone. Brad is manning an empty spot on the point while Nolan jumps in down low for the play. When the puck is down behind the Gatineau net, Brad skates to the bench for a change and Spencer hops over the boards on to the ice. The puck squirts loose from the scrum behind the net and it makes its way toward the top of the circle. Spencer is on it like a fat kid on a tortilla. He fires a hard wrist shot on the net. The puck makes its way through the crowd of bodies and ends up in the net behind Drapeau. 3-0 Kitchener. Gatineau will try to get closer in the remaining five minutes but fail to generate the kind of pressure they would have needed.
With the Memorial Cup, the guys take longer to get back to the hotel after games. Brad's usually one of the guys pulled aside by interviewers for post-game interviews and he usually signs a few autographs for some kids who hang around the arena exits with their hockey cards or jerseys or whatever they want him to sign. We're only a few blocks from the rink, so it's not a long walk for them to get back here. I've changed out of my jeans and into some pyjama shorts to get ready for bed.
I'm watching a movie I ordered off the pay-per-play system with the hotel. Suddenly I hear the sound of someone jiggering with the doorknob. The door pops open. Brad steps into the room, closes the door behind him, pulls off his jacket, tie, shirt, belt, shoes and pants and takes a flying leap on to the bed. He reaches over and pulls me on top of him. "Well hello to you, too." I giggle as I lay on top of him. He puts one hand at the back of my neck and our lips meet. I don't know how but somehow this kind of silent lust that's obviously been working through his body since he got off the ice.
"Hey, wait a second; I have seen you in the jersey yet." He smiles. "Wanna give me a little thrill?"
"I thought I was." I reply coyly and cast a slow but noticed glance downward at his groin. I climb of the bed and walk across the room to the chair I draped the jersey on when I got home. Keeping my back to him, I pull my t-shirt over my head. There's something about my naked back, I don't know what it is but it drives him wild. I pull the white jersey over my head and then just to get to him a little more. I reach up under the jersey, stick my thumbs under the waist of my panties and push them to the floor. I hear the creak of him getting off the bed. I think I may have pushed this little tease of mine beyond the limits of his self-restraint. I feel those big arms wrap around my waist and spin me around. "You like?"
"You have no idea." He kind of growls. The heat is just getting unbearable. It consumes us again and our lips meet. One thought enters my mind. I wonder if this qualifies as violating curfew for him?