AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“One hundred percent. I told him I’d let him know soon so he could start looking elsewhere if he had to. He’s a good dude. There are some guys I wouldn’t even want you in the same room with. But Baylor? You have nothing to worry about with him.”
“Mmhmm,” she mumbled. “I need to think about it.”
“You’re still coming out here Thursday, right? I’m picking you up?”
“Yup, don’t have much of a choice. I sold my car. Closing on the house Thursday, and I’m officially 41, divorced, carless, homeless, jobless, and on my way to Connecticut.”
“Well, I can’t do anything about most of that, but you don’t have to be homeless if you don’t wanna be. Let me know as soon as you can, OK? I gotta go.”
“Nick?” she asked before he could hang up. “He’s legit? No drama, no bullshit?”
“Positive.”
“Fine. Tell him...” she sighed. “Tell him I’m in.”
And that was how she found herself living in Downtown Bridgeport, Connecticut with 23-year-old New York Islanders prospect Ryan Baylor.
Ryan Baylor (3)
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it,” he said, handing the Uber driver $100. After all, the poor guy had been sitting out there for 25 minutes while he made four trips up to his sixth-floor apartment and back to get all 12 of his bags. It was the least he could do, even though the ride over from Long Island already cost him over $300. What was another $100?
As he stepped onto the elevator and hit the ‘6’ button once more, he suddenly felt a pit in his stomach that damn near doubled him over. He put his bag down, slumped against the side of the elevator, and prayed that it didn’t stop until his floor.
Get your shit together, Baylor, he told himself, as he grabbed his final bag, got off, and walked to his apartment door.
He should’ve been excited for this next part of his journey, but, in true Ryan Baylor fashion, that was impossible. All he could do was ruminateover every single mistake he’d made in training camp, wondering which one was the deciding factor in him being sent down to the minors.
The minors.
The two-word combination made him shudder. He still couldn’t believe it. This was already year two of his almost two-million-dollar, entry-level NHL contract, and he’d yet to see a dime of it, minus a sizable signing bonus. Year one had been spent playing Division 1 NCAA at The University of Minnesota as a junior. After their devastating loss in the finals, he’d hoped for the opportunity to prove himself in some games in with the New York Islanders, but neither they nor Bridgeport had made the postseason, so back home he went until training camp started in September.
“Listen, sweetie. Things are about to change. Your life is about to shift drastically. You’ve gotta be willing and ready to change with it, and unfortunately, that means biding your time,” his mom had told him, helping him to focus on his breathing as he broke down into a full-blown, 2:30 a.m. panic attack at the kitchen table.
Ryan Baylor was skilled in many things, but patience or the ability to handle things that didn’t go precisely how he’d planned were not two of them. For most of his life, everything had always come somewhat easily to him, especially hockey. When it didn’t, his anxiety would spike, sometimes nearly to the point of incapacitating him. He hid it well from the rest of the world for the most part, but his mother knew him probably better than anyone, and there was no hiding it from her.
“Your days of being the big fish in the little pond are done, babe. You’re gonna have to fight for your spot now. You need to earn it. And you will, but it’s gonna be a hell of a battle.”
And she was right. Ryan was used to being the biggest fish in the small pond. Hell, he’d been captain of the Golden Gophers for his sophomore and junior years, his sophomore year being one of the best on record for the school in the past 10 years, and the best in school history for a defenseman. He’d put up 17 goals and 29 points in 35 games and had taken complete control of the penalty kill special team, earninghim the 41st pick overall in the second round of the NHL draft. That fact had taken at least some of the pressure off him for his junior year, his last year playing NCAA, where he could just focus on playing his best hockey without the added stress of worrying about what the immediate future held.
Fast forward a year, where this immediate future of playing minor league hockey was now staring him boldly in the face? He’d be lying if he said he was pleased with what he saw.
As he shut the door behind him, his phone buzzed.
N: I'm picking her up tomorrow around 1. We'll be over after.
N: She's really looking forward to meeting you.
R: Sounds good. Looking forward to meeting her, too.
He replied right away, but in reality, this was just one more thing contributing to the constant uneasiness that was slowly consuming him. Nick McDonough was the athletic trainer for Bridgeport and had been at camp. At 32, he was on the younger side, and he and Ryan spent a lot of downtime talking. He was grateful that at least he knew someone here, because he’d literally never met another soul on this team; he’d heard of a lot of the guys, knew them by name, but that’s it.
The Bridgeport Islanders were a well-established team: a mixture of older guys finishing out their careers, several guys on AHL-only contracts, a handful of guys called up from the Worcester Railers, the ECHL affiliate, and a few younger prospects who hadn’t been at camp, as it had been decided they’d start the season there due to coming off recent injuries. He was very lucky to be heading there though: out of the six prospects at camp, only two made the big club, and the other three were sent out to Worcester. He knew himself well enough to know that there was not a chance he’d have recovered from that.
After learning that he didn’t make the final cut and dealing with the whirlwind of emotions that came with that, he began to panic about finding an affordable living option, as it didn’t seem that the big money would be rolling in anytime soon. Nick had helped him locate an amazing, fully furnished apartment in a building Downtown where some of the other younger guys were living. On only his AHL salary, he wasn’t sure he could swing it without a roommate, so Nick hooked him up with one of those, too.
And so, there he sat, engulfed in silence, his entire 23 years of blood, sweat, and tears reduced to a roster spot in a development league and 12 bags. Alone with his own thoughts could be a dangerous place; he knew that. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be alone for too much longer. His new roommate, Nick’s cousin, would be here in less than 24 hours. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little apprehensive about the upcoming living situation: a 23-year-old single guy and a much older, recently divorced woman was an odd combination for sure. But he trusted Nick, and he was used to living just about anywhere, having played juniors and been through a few different billet families. He laughed to himself, thinking about the conversation he’d had with his 27-year-old brother that morning.
“Wait, she’s how old?”
