Break Away

by Van Barrett

  The room cracked up and let out a sarcastic cheer.

  He wasn't serious, by the way. Yeah, I like scoring goals. But every guy in this room knows my true love in hockey is making that picture-perfect pass that sets a teammate up for an easy goal.

  “I didn't say I was gonna pass to you, Elliott,” I joked right back at him. “You handle the puck like it's a damn hand grenade.”

  … and I wasn't serious with that comment, either. Elliott's a fine puck mover, one of the best on our blue line. He can't shoot worth a shit, though!

  Yeah, us hockey players: it's safe to say that we're ball-busters by nature.

  I guess I should also point out that the ribbing we give each other serves a purpose. It's not just because we're big, mean assholes who like hurting each others' feelings. Actually, the jokes, the jabs, the insults – it all helps to keep us loose, to keep us laughing. And the laughing keeps us tight as a group. A room that can laugh at itself is a room that everyone wants to play for.

  It's when the jokes aren't there that things are bad.

  Some rooms you can't laugh in – because of whatever mix of personalities they've got. (In which case, the captain should immediately go up to the management and plead for them to acquire a good room guy, pronto.) When you can't laugh, it feels like you're playing hockey at a funeral. It ain't fun. Guys get quiet, sour, moody, pissy … it's awful. Even when you win, there's just no excitement, because no one's having a good time.

  That said, I love this room, this group of guys. We're so close. These guys are my brothers. And when you get that close to a group of guys, you get to know everything about them. You can tell when they're happy, sad, frustrated, tired, hung-over, whatever. Whatever emotion they're feeling. All it takes is one look from across the room, and you immediately know what's in their head.

  Which is exactly how some of the boys know that something's up with Jono lately. This whole week, he's not been himself. Jono's normally your stereotypical class clown. Always cracking jokes, mouth always running, crazy energy level that has him constantly bouncing off the walls.

  But lately, ever since – well, ever since the bar last Friday – he's been acting funny. He's quiet. Really quiet. Like something is on his mind, but he doesn't know how to talk about it.

  And to us, well, it's pretty obvious. This behavior of his started, oh, one week ago. You know, right around the time when Jono hooked up with that girl Devon, Lane's friend.

  “Hey Jono!” Ocho yelled across the room. “Is that a fucking hickey on your neck?”

  “Is it? Heh?” Jono chuckled, his hand instinctively touching his neck.

  Some of the boys groaned. It can be tough to see the shift when one of your own starts falling in love.

  There was chatter around the room. “Yup, that's a hickey alright.” “Dude. A hickey.” “What are you guys? In 6th grade?”

  JT Cooper threw his two cents in. “That girl must have the magic pussy. Never thought I'd see the day when Jono wanted to settle down.”

  And the inevitable follow-up banter. “Who said anything about pussy? She probably lets him brown his meat.”

  “Sick!” Robby Cooke stuck his tongue out.

  (And um, you'll have to forgive us: hockey players can be vulgar. It's not open we let outsiders have a peek into our deranged world …)

  “Guys.” Jono laughed. “No one said anything about settling down. I'm still me. Crazy, fun-loving, promiscuous Jono. Whatever, eh?”

  “Oh yeah?” Elliott grinned. “What're you up to after the game?”

  Jono bit his lip. Looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh.”

  “C'mon! Spit it out!”

  “Well, me and Devon--”

  The boys immediately erupted in groans.

  Jono kept talking over the chorus of boos. “--are meeting up for dinner, and maybe a movie after.”

  “Knew it!” Ocho pumped his fist.

  I piped up. “Hey Jono. I've got a source who says that girl's a reeeal heart-breaker.”

  “No shit?” Elliott grinned from ear to ear. He elbowed Jono over and over. “Sounds like you might wanna slow it down there, eh turbo?”

  “Oh yeah?” Jono huffed, turning his attention to me. “Who? Who's your fuckin' source, Riv?”

  I still wanted to keep my cards close to my chest. “An unnamed source.”

  “An unnamed source. Yeah. I bet.” Jono puffed up his chest. “You're just jealous, Riv. You saw me take a home a girl you could only dream about, and now you're just butt-hurt that I get to hit it, and not you. Meanwhile, you'll be spending another lonely, sad wittle night with your ol' reliable date – your right hand!”

  “Oooooo!” the boys all recoiled from that 'sick burn.'

  I cracked up. “Sure. You got me there, Jono.”

  Ocho turned to me. “Hey Riv. What are you doing tonight? We're going to Joe Black's again – you wanna come out?”

  “Ahh,” I grumbled. “I can't tonight.”

  “Why not?” Ocho asked.

  Jono couldn't resist. “I already told ya! He's got a date!” He gestured like he was jacking his dick ferociously.

  But Ocho still wanted a serious answer.

  “I gotta work on that interview, actually,” I said.

  “Ohh, I see,” Ocho grinned. “Check out Mr. Big Time over here. How long 'til we get to see you on Coach's Corner?”

  I shook my head bashfully. “Yeah yeahhh.”

  Coach J came in at last.

  “Alright boys. Let's talk game plan.”

  ***

  After Coach's pep talk, we took the ice to the applause of the hometown crowd. Across the ice from us was the Canisius College Golden Griffins. A decent team, but one we've had a lot of success against recently. We felt pretty good about our odds heading into this one.

  During warm-ups, I saw Jono staring off into space. I slid to a stop next to him and bumped my hip into his.

  “Hey Jono.”

  “Sup Riv.”

  “Hope I didn't piss you off back there?”

  “Nah, man. We're just playin'.”

  “Good.” I lightly punched his gut. I knew what Jono was looking for out there in the crowd. “You looking for her?”

  He laughed self-consciously. “Yeah.”

  “You find her?” I asked. I knew Lane would probably be sitting next to her.

  “Not yet.”

  “You nervous?” I asked him.

  He grinned. “I'd love to get one for her, Riv.”

  “Well hey, I meant what I said earlier. Keep your stick on the ice and I'll get you a couple.”

  I sprinted off to warm up with the others.

  ***

  I wouldn't say I was nervous before this game. But I did have a funny fluttering in my stomach – one that I imagined Jono had, too.

  Butterflies? I laughed under my breath.

  Seriously though – butterflies? I hadn't felt them in a long, long time. Sure, I'll get nervous before a big game every now and then. But those pre-game jitters feel more like an overdose of adrenaline.

  That's not what this is. This is something else. It's the feeling that someone's out there watching you play. Someone you wanna impress.

  And I hadn't had that particular worry since my high school days of hockey. Back then, few things could be both so inspiring and yet so fucking dreadful as those words –

  “Hey, we've got scouts in the building.”

  Your heart starts pounding. Your stomach feels like it's just banging around in your gut.

  Sixty minutes of regulation. That's exactly how long you've got to be noticed. Hell, you don't know if the scouts will ever be back – this might be your only chance to leave your mark.

  The game itself could be meaningless, but suddenly, because of those magic fucking words, that game just became your once in a lifetime opportunity. Your golden ticket. You had to impress those scouts. You had to be noticed. (But for the love of God, noticed in a good way. Because if you
stood out in a bad way? … forget it.)

  When scouts show up to watch your game? There's another little game that happens within the hockey game. All your teammates know that the scouts are watching, and they wanna be noticed every bit as you. Their futures are on the line just as much as yours.

  We always played our worse when scouts were in the building. We played like a team of individuals, rather than playing as one.

  That's a common mistake a lot of guys make, though. They think they need to take over the game themselves. Be the hero. Do everything on their own. Scouts don't wanna see that. Sure, they wanna see your skill – but they want to see other things. How your role fits into the bigger picture. If you make your teammates better. So on and so forth.

  Okay. Now I'm not saying that Lane was freaking me out anywhere nearly as bad as the scouts did back in high school. But yeah, I did want to make a better impression on him. Because his first impression of me didn't sound so hot. What'd he say – that I was a jackass? A show-boating jackass. Hm.

  … That's not exactly the message I want going out in my big PR piece, so yeah. I meant what I said earlier about passing the puck. Coach J is always begging me to shoot more. But not today – today is all about showing I'm a team player.

  Bonus points if I make Jono look good, too. I know he'd appreciate it. He wants to look good in front of his girl.

  Hope you're watching out there, Lane, I thought to myself as I took my spot on the left wing for the opening faceoff.

  Jono, the center on our line, crouched down to take the draw.

  12

  Hat Trick

  – Lane –

  Devon had to drag me to my first hockey game, but we had a little role reversal the second time around.

  I showed up an hour before the game to pick her up from her apartment. She answered the door with a frown and a bath towel wrapped around her torso.

  “Uh oh,” I muttered, instantly knowing what was up. I was expecting her to be dressed and ready to go, after all.

  Instead of saying something like, oh, I dunno, 'hi Lane' or 'hey what's up,' she greeted me with a stressed-out yelp – “Nothing looks good on me.”

  And then she whipped around and made a bee-line back to her bedroom.

  A classic clothing emergency. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes you just feel like nothing fits, nothing is 'you.'

  So I sat in her bedroom, checking my watch over and over, as she modeled every last item in her closet for me.

  “How's this one?”

  “Fine. You look fine in everything, Dev. Let's g--”

  “No, no! … this is awful! …” She unbuttoned her blouse and retreated back into her closet. “It's so hard because it's an afternoon game, but we're supposed to meet up later, and I dunno if we're going -out- out later, or if we're just meeting up for a short date or what …”

  I buried my face in my hands and waited for her to emerge in the next outfit. Meanwhile, I checked my watch anxiously.

  When she emerged wearing a tank-top and skinny jeans that would surely have Jono drooling over her assets, I knew I had to sell her on this outfit being the one. Lest we be late.

  “Hey that's great! Simple, but sexy and versatile. Good for the game, and dinner after, and who knows? Maybe a movie or the club if things go well.” I cleared my throat. “And besides that, if you change again, we'll be late. And I don't wanna miss a moment, Dev. So either you're comin' with me in that, or you'll have to catch up with me later.”

  She sighed, but I quickly whisked her outta there and into my car before she could change her mind again. And it wasn't but a minute later that the freak-out was over and she returned to normal. Sometimes you just gotta throw on any old outfit and, don't walk, run away from that closet full of clothes that wants to pull you right back in.

  “Look at you, caring so much about not missing a minute of hockey,” Devon said as I hurried her through the arena and to our seats.

  We'd made it in the nick of time: the teams were just lining up at 'center ice' to take the very first 'faceoff' of the game. Hey, look at me, learning my hockey lingo …

  “Whew!” I gasped as we sat. “Here we go …”

  ***

  My first game, I was pretty hopeless. But this game? Well, still hopeless, probably – but I'm definitely a little better at knowing what was going on out there. And now that I could easily spot River, I was a lot more engaged.

  And man, does River ever stand out from the rest. For one, he's a lot bigger than the other guys. Two, he's a lot faster than the other guys. Three, there's something about the way he skates and moves his body. He's so smooth. It's almost if he doesn't make any wasted movements.

  And I know that now, because I can see wasted movement in the other guys out on the ice – when they skate fast, their arms and legs kinda flop around. Not a lot, but definitely enough for me to notice. It's enough to remind you that you're watching college athletes and not professionals; these aren't guys who have stream-lined their every, last, movement.

  But River?

  No. Forget it. While his opponents and teammates have labored skating styles, he moves with the precision and purpose of a finely-tuned machine. But at the same time, he's not lifeless or robotic like a machine; you can see his personality, you can see him shine through. He's expressive. He's soulful. He's having fun and it's obvious.

  And the thought that I know him. That I have this working relationship with him. Well, it makes me feel kind of important too. I feel all proud. I wanna elbow the guy next to me and say, 'hey, you see him? Our captain, River Brame? I'm hangin' out with him after the game.'

  (Sorta, anyway.)

  A thought occurred to me, though, while I watched River glide around the ice like the wind: What if I'm imagining all of this? What if I'm just projecting all these positive qualities onto this guy? Why?, because he's big and beefy, and in all my weakness for hot guys, I can't help but think he's cute.

  Do I have a case of Stockholm Syndrome already? And was there any other possibility but this happening? I mean, me, getting forced to interview this guy – who is tall and handsome and strong and successful and oh, a future famous millionaire athlete. Did I ever stand a chance?

  And is River actually that different from any other jock I've known? And that's just it, that's the thing – the truth is I don't know him. I've talked to him all of, what, thirty minutes in my life? Sixty at best. And in that time, he's proven to be cheesy and kinda full of himself.

  And here I am, a total hockey 'noob,' acting like I can tell the difference between how he skates and how his teammates skates and he's just so much more beautiful and exceptional than all the others.

  Like River said – 'so now you're an expert'?

  Holy shit. I think I'm actually losing my mind!

  “YEEAAAH!” Devon screamed, jumping up to her feet.

  Her boy Jono just scored a goal and the Fighting Hawks took a 1-0 lead. River made a great pass to set the goal up – so great, I didn't even see it until I caught it on the jumbotron replay.

  Well hey, look at that, I thought to myself. River could've easily scored the goal himself, but he made an even harder play to make the assist. Maybe he's not totally full of himself.

  ***

  The game wasn't even close.

  By the time River set Jono up for his third goal of the game, the score was 6-1 and there was only a few seconds left in the game.

  Jono was real excited. He jumped up and down and River skated up alongside him and the two hugged. Jono kept jumping, even when River had his arm around him. Then the rest of their teammates on the ice skated up and joined the hug.

  Hockey hugs. Those were quickly becoming one of my favorite moments in hockey. It was so cute how they all celebrated and supported each other and even patted each other on the butts.

  And then another funny thing happened after that third goal: hats started flying through the air and landing on the ice.

  “Umm?” I looked at Dev.
“What the heck is happening? Why are people throwing their hats on the ice?”

  Devon was so excited. “Because Jono just scored a hat trick!”

  I looked at her quizzically. “And uh, wuzzat?”

  “Three goals in one game! That's a hat trick! Throw your hat on the ice, Lane!”

  I pulled off my acrylic beanie and examined it. It cost me a buck at the dollar store. (Because let's be real: I'm starting to like hockey, but not enough that I'd part with any quality head-wear.)

  “… Why do we do this, exactly?

  “I dunno! It's a hockey tradition! Just do it, Lane!”

  With a shrug, I flung my beanie through the air and towards the ice.

  I grinned. It was a bit of a thrill, being able to throw my hat and see it land on the ice while all the players stood around. Our team gathered by the bench and leaned back. They leisurely watched the ice surface fill up, one hat at a time. I could tell they loved it – they all had these boyish smiles as the hats kept raining down.

  The other team didn't seem so happy. Then again, they didn't seem too bothered by it, either. River and the boys had already broken their spirits long ago. They looked ready to go home.

  When the hats stopped coming, the ice crew ran out, scooped all the hats into a trash can and hurried off. The players gathered at center ice for another faceoff so they could play out the remaining half-minute of the game.

  The final horn sounded shortly after. With three goals, Jono was named the #1 star of the game. And Devon cheered so loud when Jono's name was announced. With no goals but five assists, River was the #2 star.

  The Fighting Hawks saluted us fans, and then they left the ice. The fans left their seats and trickled out of the arena. Me and Dev stayed behind until the crowd cleared. We were happy to soak up all the good vibes and watch as the fans left.

  “Well!” Devon said with a happy sigh. She had her legs against her chest and hugged her knees. “That was awesome, huh?”