“Let me ask you something,” I said. “What was it like being the son of an NHL player?”
“You’re actually asking me that?”
“Yeah, don’t act all surprised. I know how booboo-faced you get when no one asks you about your pop.”
Only that comment could’ve put a dent in the guy’s perma-smile. Braxton told anyone who would listen about how his dad had been drafted by the Montreal Canadiens before he’d been born but never actually played for the team because of a trade. His dad owned a Stanley Cup ring from playing as a backup for the Dallas Stars. Braxton had grown up in Texas and had plenty to say about the life of a hockey player’s family—usually just the good parts, of course. I just hated the way he always flaunted it like no one else on the planet’s dad had played in the NHL.
“You’ve got to be willing to pick up and move at a moment’s notice,” he said. “And my mom knew that before I did.”
“Right, right, he was drafted by Montreal before you were born.”
“Yeah, I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“You’re telling me.”
He half-smiled, saying, “I thought you wanted to hear this story.”
“I do.”
“Then shut up and let me finish, huh?”
Braxton didn’t sound irritated—mostly joking, actually—but it was enough to shut me up.
“Dad was never home,” he said. “It didn’t matter if the team was in town or on the road. The few years he played with Columbus was the worst. We were back in Texas, so I saw more of him on TV than I ever did at home.”
“So, what did your mom do?”
“She divorced him.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Not right away. I was just little when she first started getting fed up. She just stuck it out for the longest time because she didn’t want me to get caught up in a divorce.”
“You didn’t tell me any of this stuff.”
“It didn’t come up.”
I rolled my eyes and nearly pounded a fist on the table. Because I didn’t need others noticing, I cooled my jets. Before we go on, I want to point out that if Braxton could’ve mentioned every other possible thing about his dad’s career, he could’ve mentioned that stuff, too.
“It was actually toward the end of his career, too,” he said. “Like, she’d gotten over the hump, and weathered the hardest parts, but she couldn’t stay in that kind of life forever. She needed someone who could stay home, have a regular job, and be a dad.”
“So, she dropped your dad completely because of his hockey schedule?”
“The schedule was a huge strain on our family, yeah, but the lifestyle sure as shit didn’t help.”
I didn’t want to know what “the lifestyle” meant. Sure, it might’ve just meant that he was always either on the road or his commitment to the team kept him constantly occupiedeven when at home. Family time would’ve taken too much of a backseat.
On the other hand, it could also have signaled that his dad had succumbed to temptation. It must’ve been harder than hell to be around beautiful women all the time, especially as a hockey player, and not jump on any of the opportunities before him.
But I didn’t want women. I didn’t want any other guys either. I just wanted Erik De Ruiter. I wanted things to be the way they’d always been for us—only while basking in the glory of being the greatest NHL player that’s ever lived. But I couldn’t tell Braxton that because he would never get it.
“So, what the hell does a guy do?” I asked.
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said. “Not yet anyway. You’re single.”
That comment struck me like a gut punch. Maybe I should’ve felt relieved that he’d mentioned that. It pointed to him not knowing about us. On the other hand, his vagueness bothered me.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
