by David Skuy
“I’m not thrilled they’re ripping Bryan off by not paying him,” Megan said. “It’s so unfair. Don’t you have a players’ union you can complain to?”
“Not sure that’s a great idea,” Rocket said. “I just need to tough this out and get playing again.”
“They have to pay you,” Megan said.
“Apparently not,” Rocket said.
“I bet there’s an agreement between the players and the owners that says—”
“Megan, I can’t be messing with them right now,” Rocket said. “You get a reputation for causing trouble in hockey and you’re done. No one will want you. And I’m hardly in a position to argue. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs.”
“They’re taking advantage of you,” she said.
Rocket sighed. “I don’t think it’s that serious. Come on, guys. Give me a little time. I could be better by next week. And Maddy, please don’t tell my mom yet. I don’t want to worry her for nothing.”
“One week,” Maddy said, holding up a finger. “Then I tell her.”
“In one week, I’ll be back on the ice setting the league on fire.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Bring it.”
“Please,” Megan said. “Dumbest expression ever.”
“I think the dumbest expression ever is ‘we’re going’ — because you two said that about twenty minutes ago and we’re still here,” André said.
Maddy gave Rocket a final hug — then Megan hopped out.
“Yeah, I didn’t feel like going yet, either,” André said.
Megan gently put her arms around Rocket’s neck. “Please, take care of yourself,” she whispered. “Don’t tell us not to worry. This is so serious, it’s scary.”
She was always worrying about him. Sometimes it bothered him. This time it made him feel better.
“So, do some research and figure out how to fix a concussion,” Rocket said. “Shouldn’t take you more than a day or two.”
“I’ll take the week,” she said. “I want to get it right.”
“Don’t worry about me,” André called. “I’ll be fine driving back to school at two in the morning.”
“Taxi!” Megan said, waving her hand over her head.
“Where to, ma’am?” André said.
She got in the car. “Just drive.”
André started the car, and Maddy waved at Rocket.
Megan looked back out at him and said, “At the very least, get some less goofy sunglasses.”
“I think they make me look like a rock star,” he said.
“You might want to watch some videos for tips on what a rock star looks like,” Maddy said.
“Be chill, bro,” André called as the car drove off.
Rocket waved and then let his arm fall to his side. Nice to have friends who cared.
His phone buzzed. Megan had probably already invented a new treatment for concussions. He swiped the screen.
It was Rory. Hey, if ur not doing anything, come by and watch some video with me.
Rocket figured he wasn’t ready to go back to bed yet, so he texted, Ok. Be there in 20.
It ended up taking closer to an hour. He had to take two buses, and then it was a bit of a walk from the stop. He was tired, but his head wasn’t aching so much, more like a soft pulse. The nap had definitely taken the edge off.
Rocket knocked on the door and stood back a bit to look at the place. It was a narrow two-storey row house. The door opened slowly.
“You must be Bryan,” a woman said. She held a baby on her hip.
“Um, sorry … Is Rory around?” He checked the number. “This is 32, right?”
She laughed. “I’m Melissa, Rory’s wife, and this is Angela.”
Rocket squeezed Angela’s little foot. “You’re very cute, Angela. Do you play hockey?”
“No doubt Rory will have her in skates soon enough,” Melissa said, laughing again. “We came to spend some time with him while the team is on the road. The house is empty, so I thought, why not? Nice to get the family time.”
She patted Rocket’s arm as he came in. “Rory told me what happened,” she said. “Thanks for stepping up for him. He says the guy didn’t mean it, but Rory always thinks the best of people.”
“Hard to tell,” Rocket said. “He apologized after. I kind of lost it. I might’ve cost the team the game.”
He followed Melissa into the living room. The house smelled a bit like wet towels, and the carpet was dingy and grey. It wasn’t hard to believe a bunch of young hockey players lived here.
“Welcome to the palace,” Rory said. He tossed his ice pack aside and got up from the couch to shake hands. He gave Rocket a searching look. “You’re moving a bit slow. You get dinged in that fight?”
“Not really. Just tired. How are you feeling?”
“Good news! Nothing more than a hyperextension. The doctor was surprised it wasn’t worse, actually. The ligaments have healed well and the muscles around the knee are strong. I should be back skating in a few days.”
Rory sat back down and motioned Rocket to a chair. “But what about you? What’s the deal with the suspension? I asked C.C., and he told me you missed a team meeting. I don’t remember you missing a team meeting.”
“I was—” Rocket began laughing. Melissa and the baby had sat down beside Rory, and Angela was blowing air through her lips, making a raspberry sound.
Rory laughed, too. Then he looked back at Rocket. “Whatever it is, the guys aren’t buying it. What really went down? And what’s with the crazy shades?”
Megan was right: Rocket really did need to get new glasses. These ones were like a giant billboard that said, I just had a concussion.
“Can you keep this to yourself? Seriously, Floyd and Barker will kill me if they find out I told you.”
“We’re teammates,” Rory said. “I’m not running to tell those two jerks anything.”
He told Rory and Melissa the story. Rory’s expression grew grim.
“They can’t do that,” Rory said angrily. “They have to pay you. And why the suspension?”
Rocket shrugged. “They said I was hanging around drug dealers and that would hurt the team’s reputation. Floyd made me promise to keep it quiet, and Barker said I won’t get paid until after the road trip.”
“Man, we both got to get healthy,” Rory said.
He reached out and took Angela. She patted her dad’s cheeks and blew some more raspberries. He blew a few back. “You able to watch some video?”
“I can watch a little,” Rocket said. “Doctor said not too much screen time.”
“We’ll have a quick session,” Rory said.
“Hooray,” Melissa said. She didn’t sound happy. “Give me Angela. I have to give her a bath. Someone I know didn’t give her one, even though he promised. Nice to meet you, Bryan. Sorry about what happened. How long did the doctors say you’d be out?”
“They weren’t sure. Concussions are like that. But I’m hoping to be back by the time the team returns. That’s the plan, anyway.”
Rory didn’t look convinced.
“I hope so,” Melissa said.
She went to the stairs. Rory waited until she was up on the second floor.
“She doesn’t get it,” Rory said. “I don’t want to watch game video for hours or live in a dump like this. I want my family to have a beautiful place — and I’d much rather play with Angela and eat a bag of chips. But that won’t get me back to the big leagues. I got to do it for them, to give them a future.”
“Won’t they have a future, even if you don’t play hockey?” Rocket said. The words surprised even him. Why had he asked that?
“I guess,” Rory said uneasily, “but you know what I mean.” He pointed at the TV. “Have a seat. I want to show you something.”
Rocket sat on the couch. A spring poked him in the back, and he moved over.
Rory started the video. It was the first period of the Rams game.
“Puck’s in the right corner,�
�� Rory began. “You’re in the high slot. That’s not right. You got to be closer to the faceoff dot to cut off the passing lane, and you want to have your stick on your forehand to keep the puck from getting in close to the net. That also gets you closer to the corner so you can help the D if they have trouble getting control of the puck. And you’ll still be in position as an outlet for a breakout.”
“I figured the defenceman had him, and I would be ready for a pass up high,” Rocket said.
“Watch what happens next,” Rory said.
He let the play run. The winger threw the puck behind the net. The Racers’ right defenceman reached for it, but it hopped over his stick and continued to the other winger at the hash marks. The Rams’ centre skated down low and took a pass in the slot, cut left and sent a backhander, short-side. The goalie knocked it away with his blocker.
“I remember that play,” Rocket said. “Bad luck. It hopped over our D-man’s stick. And no chance he scores on a backhand from there.”
“You have to be in position to handle the worst-case scenario, not the best,” Rory said. “The centre got a pass in your zone. You have to be there, regardless of what you think will happen. Anticipation is fine, but you have to at least be in the area. If he’d been a right-handed shot, it would’ve been a serious scoring chance. Are you up for more?”
Rocket’s head was spinning a bit, but he said, “I think so.”
Rory fast-forwarded to another play. “Puck’s dumped into our end. You’re not on your man.”
He ran the play. The Rams’ centre roared in and plastered the Racers’ defenceman against the boards. The Rams’ winger got the loose puck and began a cycle down low.
“You got to get a piece of your guy in the neutral zone, or at least get in his way — not obstruction because that’s an easy penalty call — but something to slow him up. You let him go, and they got possession.”
They watched another play. Rory pointed out Rocket’s bad positioning and wrong stick placement.
“I guess Barker’s right,” Rocket said. He was thoroughly depressed.
“Don’t say that,” Rory said. “You’re a great player, and I think if you work on this, you’ll move up. Barker’s going to be a huge problem for all of us, but especially you. Maybe he’s still holding a grudge, but I also think he’s the type that likes picking on people. He obviously has it in for you. Might be worth getting your release and trying to play for someone else.”
“Like who? I’ll be out of the league.”
“East Coast, Europe, Russia? Then you come back when you’ve put up some solid stats.”
“I don’t want to sound bitter, but that would totally suck,” Rocket said.
They turned back to the TV as the next play started. Rocket felt sick to his stomach. It was obvious that he defended as an afterthought and was constantly looking to attack, even if the puck was deep in the Racers’ end.
Barker and Landry were right, and the thought left a very bitter taste in his mouth.
CHAPTER 25
Rocket tiptoed as quietly as he could to the living room. He’d slept practically the entire day. Now it was midnight, and he couldn’t sleep.
His life had become a blur — he slept all the time. The Racers had come back from their road trip a week ago, and he could still barely stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. Hockey seemed a distant memory.
Other than a dinner invitation and a few texts from Rory, and one text from C.C., Rocket hadn’t heard from the other Racers. The guys had obviously forgotten him.
He plunked himself on the couch and opened his laptop. He could tolerate the screen for half an hour, a few times a day.
Rocket spent the time reviewing hockey videos of himself and others, including NHL players. He’d also begun taking detailed notes. He was learning more and more, like how a slight change in stick position can shut down a power play or take away a pass to the slot.
The hardest part of it was that he didn’t make one major mistake over and over. The mistakes were subtler: errors in judgment, getting to the boards a step late, leaving the zone too soon, failing to block a passing lane. Rory told him not to sweat it; Rocket needed to go through the learning process like everyone else.
Rory had taught him something else. Pros study the game — constantly.
Rocket began reviewing a video of the Racers’ last game. They’d won 4–2. Rory had told Rocket to watch C.C.
“Nice,” Rocket said as C.C. beat the opposing centre to the top of the circle in the Racers’ end.
As the video went on, Rocket jotted down notes and kept up a running commentary.
“Get in the passing lane.”
“Watch the slot.”
“Lift his stick.”
He rewound the video to see C.C.’s spacing. The Racers’ captain knew what he was doing. Rocket stared at the screen. How could a player that good not be in the NHL?
He flipped to another video and found one of his own shifts. Rogers passed to him in the neutral zone, then —
A bedroom door creaked open. Rocket looked up.
Rafa beamed a smile and stepped out.
“You should be in bed,” Rocket said.
“Can’t sleep. Why are you up?”
“Same, I guess.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching myself play hockey.”
“Why?”
“To learn how to play better.”
“You already know how to play.”
“You can always improve, Rafa.”
Rafa slid onto the couch.
Rocket laughed and ruffled his hair. “You want to watch a little?”
“Sure.”
“They have the puck in our corner,” Rocket said. “I’m supposed to cover the centre in the high slot, and if we get the puck, I have to—”
“This is boring,” Rafa said. “Can we play a game?”
“Well, maybe you should try to sleep.”
“Come on. One game.”
“What do you want to play?”
“I don’t know.”
Rocket closed the laptop. “A quick game of crazy eights?”
Rafa nodded vigorously.
“Can you get the cards?” Rocket said.
Rafa dashed to a desk tucked into a nook and opened a drawer. He dug around until he found the cards.
Rocket shuffled and dealt them.
“I want to play,” Leona said. She scampered onto the couch.
“Do you guys ever sleep?” Rocket said. These two didn’t have an off switch.
“I don’t need to sleep,” Leona said.
“Liar. You sleep all the time,” Rafa said.
“You do, too,” Leona said.
“Let’s move to the floor. There’s more room,” Rocket said. He dealt Leona a hand. “Remember the rule,” he said dramatically. “No tears when I win.”
That was his go-to joke whenever they played a game. It always got a reaction.
“You haven’t won yet,” Leona said.
“I don’t cry,” Rafa said.
“You cry all the time,” Leona said. “You cried yesterday.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
“Okay, guys,” Rocket said. “Not important. I was joking. Nobody is going to cry. Now, who goes first?”
“Me!” they cried together.
“I’ll go,” Rocket said. “You’d both be good hockey players. You’re competitive.”
“What does that mean?” Leona said.
“You like to win,” Rocket said.
“No tears.” Leona grinned as she put a ten of hearts on top of his ten of diamonds.
Mariana came out of her bedroom. “Children, you need to let Bryan sleep — and it’s late for both of you.”
“I can’t sleep, Mamá,” Rafa said.
“Me, neither,” Leona said.
She sounded so sad, Rocket and Mariana cracked up.
“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.
/> “No reason, Leona,” Mariana said.
“We have to finish,” Rafa said. “Rocket says it’s bad luck to start a game and not finish.”
Mariana gave Rocket a sideways glance.
Rocket smiled. “I kind of did. Besides, I slept so much today that I’m wide awake.”
“How are you feeling?” Mariana said. The entire family had been incredibly kind to him while he dealt with his concussion.
“I feel pretty good right now. It’s weird. It comes and goes. Some moments I think I’m ready to hit the ice, and a minute later, I have to lie down.”
Mariana sat next to Rafa. “We can play one game,” she said. “But deal me in.”
The front door opened. Ritchie, his hair a bit messy and his eyes bleary, offered them a tired smile.
“Papá!” Rafa and Leona cried. They jumped up and ran over for a hug.
“You are so late tonight, Ricardo,” Mariana said.
Ritchie kissed and hugged his kids. “The boss must like me. He wants me to stay and work for a long time. Too bad he does not like to pay me for it.” He laughed.
“He has to pay you for your work,” Rocket said. Ironic for him to say that: the Racers had only now started to pay him again.
“He pays me my wage,” Ritchie said, “but he has a problem with paying me overtime.”
Mariana rose to give her husband a hug. “He is breaking the law. You work too many hours and do not get paid what you should.”
Ritchie embraced his wife, then said, “I will definitely tell my boss. I am sure he will change his mind. But for now, I am happy to have the work and to earn the money I do. Now, why are los pequeños still awake? Explain yourselves.”
“We can’t sleep. We’re playing a game of crazy eights. Come here, Papá,” Rafa said, patting the floor. “You can sit next to me.”
Rocket dealt out another hand.
“No tears when I win, Papá,” Rafa said.
“There will be many tears when I win,” Ritchie said, sitting down. He looked at his cards and put the queen of spades down. “A-ha! Pick up five.”
“No, Papá. You go after Mamá,” Leona cried.
“And you can’t put a spade on a heart,” Rafa said.
“Oh, I am so foolish.” Ritchie winked at Rocket and picked up the card.
