Page 38 of Barn Burner
I read through the information I already knew, such as him being twenty-four years, six foot one, 190 pounds, and how he was born in London, England.
Further down, it lists his playing career. He played in the Ontario Hockey League from when he was seventeen years old, up until he was drafted fourth overall by New York when he was eighteen years old. He played for New York up until the beginning of last season, when he signed with the Calgary Bobcats. He’s been awarded the Art Ross Trophy three times for leading the league in points at the end of the regular season, along with the Rocket Richard Trophy for leading goal scorer. Then last year, he won the Hart Memorial Trophy for most valuable player during the regular season. He’s won medals representing Great Britain in the Worlds and even the Olympics.
My breath catches in my throat at the magnitude of pride blooming inside of me at Brayden’s achievements. I shouldn’t feel this fucking proud of him when I’ve only known him for twomonths, but I am. I want to text him and tell him how proud I am of him, regardless of the fact that I found out by accident.
But the warm feeling is soon replaced by anger when the headlines of articles from the final round of the playoffs that follow catch my eye and have my heart dropping into my stomach:
“Dear Brayden Nielson: It’s Time to Go Back to New York”
“Another day, another playoff lesson for Brayden Nielson”
“His own worst enemy: Should Keller cut his losses with Nielson before he ruins the Bobcats?”
“Brayden Nielson: Calgary Bobcats’ saviour or martyr?”
“Predictable disappoints: Nielson can’t clinch a title”
“Nielson and the absence of greatness for the Calgary Bobcats”
His words come rushing back to me from when we were at Peyto Lake, and then again in the barn later that night.
“Do you ever feel like you’re disappointing everyone? Like everyone has these expectations of you, and you fail to meet any of them?”
“My life was becoming suffocating, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
He was running from the media. The pressure that was being placed on him. The scrutiny. The sense that he couldn’t do anything right.
He was suffocating under the weight of it all.
I want to rip them to shreds with my bare hands. How fucking dare they do this to him? To feel like his very existence wasn’t valued?
Dropping my phone beside me, I glance up to see my parents and brothers watching me cautiously.
“Is everything okay, son?” Dad asks, eyeing me over the bridge of his glasses.
“Yeah,” I manage to croak out. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my beer and take a swig to moisten my throat, and then I pick up my hot dog again just in time to see Brayden hop over the boards for his next shift. “I meant what I said. Don’t say a word unless they find out on their own. This place is safe for him, and I won’t let anything, or anyone, jeopardize that.”
And I’ll fight anyone who tries to threaten his worth again.
16
Brayden
We secure the win in Edmonton, and then we’re heading straight to the airport to catch our flight to Vancouver ahead of our game tomorrow. The regular season is now underway, and I’m looking forward to putting last season behind me. I only played one of the preseason games, using the time to focus on my strength and conditioning. Plus, the preseason is the perfect time to allow a few of the prospects from the farm team to try and earn their spot on the roster. There are still a few guys out on injury reserve following surgeries they had in the summer, too, but the games went well. I have a good feeling about this season.
The only downside is I haven’t had nearly enough time as I’d like to speak to Jesse. He’s had a busy few weeks with trail rides, and I’m back in my sleep routine, so it’s almost been like we’re ships passing in the night, sharing texts and occasionally jerking off together over video call, but I didn’t realize just how hard it would be to be away from him.
How can someone come to mean so much to you in such a short period of time?
How can everything change within the space of four weeks?
The urge to tell him the truth about me playing in the NHL is higher than ever, especially now as I’m riding the high of our win. I want to share this with him. I want that safe landing during both the highs and the lows. Because I have no doubt there will be some lows. The media are being kind to me right now, but for how long?
I need to find the courage to tell him when I next see him, which I’m hoping will be soon because I’m craving the taste of his kiss again. Desperate to feel his body against mine. Dying to feel the deep rumble from his chest reverberating through my veins.
Even more so since he sent me a photo of himself earlier when I arrived at the arena ahead of tonight’s game. His clothes were completely soaked through from the rain. I could see the shape of his muscular pecs and the hard bead of his nipples poking through his shirt. My mouth salivated as filthy thoughts filtered through my mind about all the ways I could strip him out of those wet clothes and warm him back up again.
I wanted to text back with a selfie, perhaps losing my own shirt, but I didn’t find the time or the privacy with my teammates milling around.
