Ice Time

by David Skuy

  A neatly dressed older woman sat next to him. She had grey hair and kind brown eyes.

  “Where are you off to this morning, dear?” she said.

  “I’m going to Tennison.”

  “Visiting family?”

  He didn’t feel like having a long conversation. “I have friends there.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “I like Tennison, it’s a pretty town. Where are you staying?”

  Rocket’s jaw tightened. He’d forgotten to book a hotel. He really was a forgetter head. “I, um, have a room … with my friends.”

  He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He just needed a half-hour nap. Then he’d search for a hotel and start scoping out places to live.

  The lady next to him shook his arm gently. “Did you say you were going to Tennison?”

  Rocket opened his eyes. “Yes. Sorry, I zonked out there for a bit.”

  “I’d say. You slept the entire trip.”

  Rocket sat bolt upright, his heart pounding. He looked around wildly. “We’re here?”

  “I believe so.”

  He looked out the window. They were at a bus station.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the lady.

  She stepped out to give him room.

  “Have fun with your friends,” she said.

  “What friends?”

  She looked puzzled. “The friends you’re visiting.”

  He remembered. “Oh, yeah — sorry. Still waking up. I will. Thanks.”

  He grabbed his backpack and went to the front.

  “Is the compartment open?” Rocket asked the driver.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding? We’re leaving.”

  “I have to get off,” Rocket said. “This is Tennison, right?”

  “I called three times,” the driver said.

  “I think I was sleeping.”

  The driver groaned, pushed a button to open the door and then stomped off.

  Rocket followed sheepishly. He pulled his stuff out of the compartment. Then the driver shut the door and lumbered back. Moments later, the bus pulled away.

  He took out his phone and texted his mom and Ritchie: Pulled into Tennison. All good. Off to the hotel. I’ll call later.

  Then he googled budget hotels in Tennison.

  “Excuse me,” a young woman said. She was tall, athletic looking, with long brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail. She looked serious, but friendly.

  Rocket moved aside.

  “Actually,” she began. “I was just wondering—”

  “Sorry, I don’t live here,” Rocket said, figuring she was looking for directions. “I don’t even know where I’m staying tonight.”

  “Well, if you’re Bryan Rockwood, then I think I can help with that.”

  Rocket stared at her in surprise.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Kati Rodriguez, the Giants’ GM.”

  “Really?” he said.

  “It’s true,” she said, wryly. “Women can be professional general managers, too.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Rocket shook her hand. “I just didn’t expect anyone to meet me.”

  “I sent Kirk Blywood about ten texts, but he never responded. So I spoke to your teammate, Turner Rogers, and he told me you were coming on the bus. There aren’t many from Pinewood, so I figured this had to be it. Anyway, let’s go.”

  “I can take a taxi.”

  “I have a van. Don’t be silly.”

  “You don’t have to. Besides, I haven’t found a hotel yet. I fell asleep on the bus and didn’t book anything.”

  She was trying not to laugh, which unnerved him. What was so funny?

  “I’m hoping to find shared accommodations,” he went on. “I stayed with this great family in Pinewood, and that worked out pretty good. It’s less money, too. I’ll get on that tomorrow.”

  Rodriguez smiled. “We’ve taken care of all that. I’ll go over the rent and things when you’re settled in a bit. I’m sure you’re eager to unpack. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room. It’s a house with four guys, plus you, of course. Turner is there already. Strauss has a place with his wife and daughter.”

  She grabbed his hockey bag and sticks.

  “I can take that,” he said.

  “Not the first hockey bag I’ve had to carry. I played eight years in the CWHL — the Canadian Women’s Hockey League — and on three Olympic teams.” She gestured toward a parking lot. “Come on. I’m over there.”

  He grabbed his suitcase and followed her across the street.

  “I understand you had a bit of a problem — a missed meeting?” She opened the back of a van.

  He froze for a moment. “Yeah. It was … complicated. And I got suspended.”

  “I noticed you haven’t played for a while. I guess you’re coming off an injury?”

  “I was … But, unfortunately, I just got dinged up in a practice. It might be a concussion.”

  She put his hockey bag down and rested her hands on the butt ends of his sticks. “You have a concussion? When did that happen?”

  “A few days ago. I didn’t tell anyone. Sorry. I thought it would go away. Didn’t seem like a big deal at the time — and then I started feeling a bit … sick.”

  She gave him a close look. “Can you work out?”

  “Um, a little bit.”

  Rodriguez shook her head slowly. “This is so typical of Pinewood. They’re such weasels. Floyd thinks he can make a fool of me because I’m a woman? Guess again. I’m going to the league commissioner on this. I should’ve been told.”

  “He didn’t know,” Rocket lied.

  “Nothing personal, but I didn’t agree to trade our best player for a guy with a concussion. I asked for full disclosure. They said you’d been hurt, but you were fine now.”

  Rocket shrugged helplessly.

  She threw his stuff in the van. “May as well go to the house. I’ll have to sort this out. Not sure where that leaves you. Probably back in Pinewood.”

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “I don’t actually know if it’s a concussion,” Rocket said quickly. “I just feel a bit … off. If I could have another week or two to rest up and work out, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Rest up for two weeks? We need you to play, though frankly, we weren’t exactly trading for you. We wanted Turner Rogers. We knew Floyd had it in for him — something about Rogers dating his daughter. We kept going over different combinations, and you ended up getting tossed into the deal.”

  Rocket took a moment to absorb the news.

  “Nothing personal,” she said. “Rogers is a big kid; he’s over 215 pounds and is six foot three. And he’s mobile, with good hands.”

  “He was on the fourth line with me,” Rocket said.

  “All I can say is, leave it with me. Come to the office tomorrow, at the arena, around eleven o’clock, and we’ll talk. It’ll give me time to consider my options.”

  “Ms. Rodriguez?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please, don’t send me back. Once I heal, I’ll be one of your top players.”

  He knew he sounded pathetic. But if they sent him back, he would quit. This was it. He didn’t have it in him to put up with Barker and Floyd. Especially after this deal fell through.

  Rodriguez pointed to the van. “Let’s just go to the house.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of a two-storey house with a large gable in front. The porch was a bit crooked, and the windows looked old. The house was painted white, but flecks had fallen off, revealing blue paint underneath.

  They hadn’t spoken once during the entire trip.

  “Do you know what the rent is?” Rocket said, as she opened her door. “I know I might not stay, but—”

  “We’ll go over that later,” she said.

  “Because I won’t be paying rent?” he said.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said simply. “Let’s get you settled. They’re nice guys, and you know Turner alr
eady, of course.”

  Rocket made sure he got to the trunk first and pulled out his hockey bag and suitcase. He wanted to show Rodriguez he wasn’t that messed up.

  “Let me take something,” she said.

  “I got it.” Rocket wheeled the bags to the porch steps, slung the hockey-bag strap over one shoulder and hauled it and the suitcase up.

  He waited for his head to begin aching.

  He was tired, but his head felt clear.

  A good sign?

  He’d given up being positive. The best he could do was hold on and wait for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 30

  The car pulled over in front of the arena.

  “Thanks for the lift, Straussy,” Rocket said. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

  “No worries. Good luck in there,” Strauss said.

  “Be cool, bro,” Rogers called out from the back seat. “Stick to the story.”

  Rocket waved as they drove off. Strauss had come over last night, and with Turner they’d talked late into the night about what Rocket should do.

  They had a lot riding on this, too. If the trade was cancelled, it might be back to Pinewood for all three of them, and nobody wanted that. The Giants probably represented Rocket’s last shot at the NHL, and Strauss and Turner felt this was a second chance to restart their careers. Strauss told them that Floyd had also threatened his career if he said anything about his hamstring.

  The lies were piling up.

  The rink wasn’t nearly as fancy as the Pinewood Barns. It was a bit shabby, actually. Rocket liked old-school rinks, though. He could feel the thousands of games that had been played here. The dusty smell was comforting — it reminded him of where he’d played house league. That rink had a wood ceiling and a concrete floor in the lobby, with the classic concession stand off to the side. He used to bug his mom for french fries after every game, and every once in a while she’d buy them.

  The fries had actually been gross — bland and soggy — but at the time he’d thought they were the most delicious things in the world. They were such a rare treat, and somehow they’d helped ease the sting of his father never coming to see him play.

  Hockey might be a business to Blywood and Floyd and Rodriguez, but it had been the joy of his life back then. Like Goldsy said, they were hockey players first and foremost. The money was important, but not more important than the game and not more important than his honour.

  He stopped in front of a door marked Tennison Giants, Office, and he paused.

  He thought about Ritchie.

  Ritchie cared about his family and worked hard. He was honest and kind. And he’d stood up to Carl because that was the right thing to do. That was who Rocket wanted to be: someone people respected. And someone who could respect himself.

  He knocked on the office door.

  “Come in,” a woman said in a loud, gruff voice.

  He opened the door and went in.

  The woman had her feet up on a desk, and her hands behind her head. She wore a Giants sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans. Her hair was cut short, and she had large, round black-rimmed glasses.

  “I’m Meredith Kasich,” she said. Her tone made it clear she assumed he knew her name.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You’ve met our general manager, Kati Rodriguez,” Kasich said. “This is our coach, Violet Jackson. They both played together on the Olympic team. Now, you may think it’s a bit odd to have women running a men’s hockey team. People thought it was odd when I started an online travel website fifteen years ago, too, and odder still when I had an all-women board of directors.” She shrugged. “No one freaks out if everyone in management is a man, do they?” Rocket could tell she had given this speech before.

  “Um, no, Ms. Kasich,” he said.

  “And when I sold that company for three billion dollars and bought this team, everyone freaked out again. A woman can’t own a hockey team — impossible!” She threw her hands over her head and laughed. “Just wait to see what they say when I buy an NHL team.”

  She put her feet down. “I was born in Tennison,” she continued. “I live mostly in New York and Los Angeles now, but I still consider this my true home — always will. I used to come to this rink with my dad when I was a kid, even before I could walk.

  “I love hockey, and I want to turn this franchise around,” she said. “We’re going to do it the right way and build it from the ground up. That means solid drafting, good coaching and a focus on player development.” She nodded at Coach Jackson.

  “Rodriguez told us that you have a concussion. Is that right?” the coach said.

  “That’s right. I …” He gathered himself. He wasn’t going to start the rest of his life as a liar. He felt bad for Strauss and Rogers, and he hoped this didn’t wreck their trade. But he also knew he didn’t want to be a snake like Raymond Floyd. It was time to set things right. “I need to apologize to you, Ms. Rodriguez. I didn’t exactly tell the truth. I got the concussion over a month ago.”

  “Did the Racers know?” Jackson said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did Floyd know?” Rodriguez said.

  “He did.”

  Kasich sat back in her chair, while Jackson shook her head slowly.

  Rodriguez slapped her hand on the table. “Floyd is such a slimeball. I’m calling the commissioner. I’m getting this trade reversed, and I’m getting Floyd fined.”

  Rocket felt a chill run down his spine. “I understand why you’re mad. I’d be mad, too, if I were you. But I also know Straussy and Turner are totally psyched to be here, so I’m hoping you can keep them.”

  “Why did you lie to us?” Kasich said.

  “I was thinking about that last night. It’s a little complicated. It goes back to why I got traded. Straussy had hurt his hamstring, and—”

  “I was told he just tweaked his hamstring,” Rodriguez groaned. “This is getting better and better.”

  “Hold on, Rodriguez. Give him a chance to explain,” Kasich said. “Go on, Bryan.”

  “He doesn’t think it’s serious,” Rocket said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Anyway, like I said, Strauss tweaked his hamstring in a warm-up, and Floyd and Coach Barker ordered me to play in his place. I said no, because I still have a concussion. Floyd freaked out and told me I was suspended again. He traded me that night to you guys. After he told me about the trade, he said I had to lie about the concussion or he’d make sure my hockey career was over.”

  Rocket took a deep breath. He was determined to tell the truth — all of it. “I know I’m not the biggest guy in the world. Everyone’s been telling me I’m too small to play hockey since … maybe since I started playing hockey. But I outwork everyone, and I never quit. I love the game too much. And I’ve been lucky, I guess, to get this far. I’ve sacrificed a lot and so has my mom.

  “I’ve been dreaming about playing pro hockey for so long it’s a part of me. I almost can’t imagine doing anything else. It was the hardest thing in the world for me to refuse to play. I had the feeling my hockey career was on the line if I said no. But if I’d taken another hit, I could have been permanently injured. I didn’t want my family to have to take care of me for the rest of my life, just so I could prove I’m tough.

  “I’m not going back to the Racers — I won’t play for Floyd or Barker. If that means I’m out of hockey, then I guess it’s time for me to find a job and help my family that way. You’ll do what you have to. I totally get that. But I’m finished lying, and I’m done with the Racers thinking they control me.”

  Rodriguez’s arms were crossed. She looked over at Jackson. The coach remained perfectly still, pokerfaced.

  Kasich had a big smile on her face. “What do you think, ladies?”

  “He’s scrappy, I’ll give him that,” Jackson said. “I also checked out his stats from junior. The kid can score — and you guys keep telling me we have trouble putting the puck in the net.”

  “He’s also a kid with a serious concuss
ion. He hasn’t played in over a month. And then there’s Strauss’s hamstring,” Rodriguez said. She rolled her neck. “Floyd is laughing at us.”

  “There’s something else,” Rocket said. “This is actually my second concussion, though Barker doesn’t believe me. I got cross-checked in one of our first games of the season, and then I got hit in the head a few days later. That’s why I was suspended. They didn’t want to have to pay me for a week.”

  “Bryan, I appreciate your honesty,” Jackson said. “I can see you’re a thoughtful young man. But you have to understand the situation we’re in. We need to get good, young talent and to start winning games. We’re not only in last place, we also have the lowest attendance in the league. We have to get better — fast. How do we know you’ll ever play again?”

  “You don’t,” Rocket said.

  “Let’s give Ray-Ray a call,” Kasich said. “Bryan, can you wait a moment?”

  Rodriguez called out the number, and Kasich dialed it on the desk phone.

  “Hello?” Floyd answered.

  “Hello, Raymond. It’s Meredith. How are you? Behaving yourself?”

  “As always, Meredith. I assume you’re not.”

  “Never have. Never will.” She laughed deeply. “I wanted to thank you for Bryan Rockwood.”

  “Oh. Well, I think it was a good trade for both teams.”

  “Definitely. Definitely. A delightful young lad. First class.” Kasich leaned closer to the phone. “The only problem is it seems he’s injured, and quite seriously. A concussion. Did you know anything about that?”

  The line went quiet.

  “Am I on speakerphone?” Floyd said.

  “I’m with Rodriguez and Jackson,” Kasich said.

  “Hello, ladies,” Floyd said. “I’m here with our coach and general manager, also.”

  “Hi,” Barker and Blywood chimed in.

  “Right. So, about the concussion?” Rodriguez said.

  “A concussion? Are you sure?” Blywood said.

  “I think so. Bryan told us himself. Said he got hurt a while ago,” Rodriguez said.

  “That’s impossible. We certainly didn’t know,” Floyd said.

  “I’m not saying you did,” Kasich said. “It’s just that we know he didn’t play for over a month, and he says he got a concussion over month ago, his second, I believe. Isn’t that odd?”