The Tao of Hockey (Vancouver Vice #1)

by Melanie Ting

  He turned and searched his computer again. “Your blood work turned up THC. That’s got to stop. They’re doing random drug testing in the NHL, so marijuana is out, even in moderation.”

  I nodded.

  “I know Nelson is pretty 4:20 friendly, so that goes double for when you’re home.”

  I finally smiled. The fact that Tony was giving me long-term advice meant he was going to work with me.

  “What about sex? Are you still having ‘multiple sexual episodes?’”

  Nothing was off-limits here. “No, I’m not.” I had hook-ups, but the normal kind.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  I shook my head.

  “Too bad. I prefer when my players have a stable personal life. But moderation is fine.” He pushed back on his ergonomic chair and spun away from the desk.

  “Eric, according to your physical evaluation, there is nothing holding you back from everything you want to achieve. You’ve got size, skills, and you’re in excellent shape. So, clearly, the mental side is what we have to work on. Your mental game is going to determine whether you make it back to the AHL—and succeed. I’ve had to exercise people’s mental sides before, but not to this extent. I’m looking forward to the challenge. Welcome aboard.”

  He reached out and shook my hand. This whole deal made more sense now. I was such a public screw-up. If Tony managed to turn me around, I’d be a shining example of how good he was.

  Then he went over to the cupboard, got a stack of books and papers, and handed them to me. “Here’s your schedule, a top-line of your results, and some reading I’ve selected for you. There will be discussion and questions, so pay attention.” I leafed through the books. Most of them seemed to be about sports psychology, something I’d already done a lot of reading on.

  Tony smiled. “If you do all these readings, you won’t have time to get in trouble.”

  2

  A Whole New World

  Tony’s business was part of a larger private ice sports facility. Kids and parents surrounded me as I exited the building. My white truck was parked beside a brand new crossover with the hatch and doors open. A young mom was struggling with a toddler, a baby, and a bunch of kid stuff.

  “Hey, can I give you a hand?” I offered, grabbing the handle of her double stroller.

  She scowled at me. “Please don’t touch that. It’s all under control.” The baby began wailing louder, like he was afraid of me too.

  I let go of the stroller and backed away. I had forgotten that I was in Vancouver, where everyone had big-city suspicions and paranoia. My hometown was small and friendly—everyone knew each other in some way. And I’d come back from a village in Switzerland that was so tiny that everyone knew exactly who I was from the moment I’d arrived. But here I needed to mind my own business.

  I got into my truck and tried to shake off the feeling of loneliness. Big cities could be great—once I’d made some new friends. The best part of hockey was the instant bonding with your teammates, but that reward was far in the future.

  My cellphone rang, and I grabbed it, eager to hear a friendly voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Eric. How did your first day of training go?”

  My voice dropped. “Oh hey, Dad.”

  “Is this Tony Sano worth the ridiculous amount of money he’s charging?”

  “It’s my money,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but who’s going to have to bail you out once you don’t have a job or savings?”

  I sighed. There was no winning this argument. “Actually, I spent the whole day getting tested.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. He understands what a big deal this is for you, doesn’t he? Time is critical. It’s your first step on the ladder back to the NHL. Damn it, Eric. You’re 23 years old. For a winger, that should be your prime. If you don’t make it this time—you’ll never make it.”

  Like there wasn’t enough pressure, he had to keep reminding me of the big prize. Thanks, Dad. “It’s under control. He tests me now and tests me again in a month so he can fine-tune the program. You should see this place—the equipment, the other players. A thousand times better than anything I could do at home.”

  My dad mumbled something else about the expense. “As long as you’re ready to work. No distractions.”

  I sighed. I didn’t even have to ask what that meant.

  “I mean it, son. There’s a lot of temptation in Vancouver. Your partying days are over, right? I’m not usually on board with all the woo-woo stuff your mother’s into, but that desert place really seemed to straighten you out.”

  “I’m good. You don’t have to worry. Look, I better go. I’m on the road, and I don’t want to get nailed for distracted driving. Bye.”

  I disconnected and leaned back against the seat. The young mom was just pulling out; our eyes met and she gave me a little smile. I smiled back.

  Time to go. I blew hard into the interlock remote and waited. It never took long, but it seemed like an eternity. Too much time to wait and remember why I was in the DUI program. Really, I should have graduated from supervision by now, but playing hockey all over the place meant I couldn’t check in every month and prove I was a sober driver. Fuck. Maybe I was lazy or maybe I liked the insurance of not having to take responsibility.

  My reading came up “pass.” I started up the truck and drove out. Sometimes it felt like all my dad did was think about my hockey career and how I had screwed it up. Too bad he had never remarried and started a new family to take some of the pressure off me.

  My move to Vancouver had come together quickly. My mom’s boyfriend, Dino, had arranged for me to live in his brother’s basement suite. It was free, so the price was right. Tony’s expensive training program was going to eat up almost all my savings.

  I parked in front of Joe Rossi’s East Van house. I’d arrived late last night, so I hadn’t had a chance to really look at the place. It was a two-storey house with pale blue wood panelling and white trim. I went through a white gate and around to the back door that was my entrance.

  My basement suite was a little dark, with only half-windows on the sides and back, but it was tidy and functional. The living room had a small couch, a chair, and a television. There was a separate bedroom with a double bed and a dresser. The kitchenette had a cooktop, a bar fridge, and a sink. I unpacked the groceries I’d picked up on the way home. The whole place smelled like antiseptic cleaner.

  There was a knock on the connecting door. I opened it, and Joe stood there in jeans and a t-shirt. In fact, his outfit was exactly the same as last night, except he had swapped his Led Zeppelin logo for an AC/DC one.

  “Hey, Eric. We hardly got a chance to get acquainted last night. You want to join me for dinner?”

  “That’d be great.” Not only for the food, but the company.

  He led the way up the stairs. We went straight to the kitchen where he had laid out two table settings on the small table. His kitchen looked clean and organized. There was a meat sauce simmering on the stove.

  “Smells great in here,” I told him.

  “It’s our mama’s special recipe. Did Dino never cook this for you?”

  I shook my head. “Dino’s vegan now.”

  Joe made a snorting noise that showed his opinion of that dietary choice. “That’s why the guy never has any energy. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s good. Still at the bookstore.” Dino worked at a metaphysical bookstore on the main street of Nelson. He was pretty quiet, and we didn’t talk much. Sure, he had his subjects, stuff like reincarnation and Victorian history. Mostly, he let my mom do the talking for both of them. I liked him though, especially since he really cared about Mom and treated her well.

  “Help yourself to a beer,” Joe motioned. He had one going already.

  I went to the fridge and took out a bottle of Molson Canadian. I twisted off the cap and inhaled that hoppy smell. Then I tilted the bottle. That first cold rush of beer down my throat felt so good. It
tasted like the promise of oblivion.

  “So, did Dino tell you that you can have the suite until the permits come in? I’m not sure when that’ll be though. I’m going to reno the whole thing. My girlfriend thinks I can make more money with this Airbnb thing, but first I have to move up from student grade.”

  “Whatever. It’s all good. I’m training now, but my camp starts in mid-September, and I’ll know by the end whether I need a place for the season. But if you need it sooner, I’ll work something out.” If I made the team, I’d rent a place for the season, or more likely share with a teammate. “Dino told me there was no charge, but are you sure I can’t pay you for this?”

  “For a couple of months, no way. Plus you’re a friend of Dino’s.” He hesitated over the word “friend,” but it wasn’t like Dino was my stepdad. I had moved out before he moved in.

  “Well, thanks. I owe you one, for sure.”

  Joe squinted at me. “Actually, now that I see how big you are, maybe I’ll get you to help me out with a few things. I’m putting in new kitchen cupboards in here, but it’s a two-man job. We could do it on the weekend, if you’re free.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  He put the pasta in to cook and started talking about housing prices in Vancouver. That seemed to be a favourite topic for people here. From looking at rental units, I already knew it was crazy town.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I seemed to have polished off the beer without even realizing it.

  “Down the hall, on your right.”

  Before I could shut the door, there was flash of white and this fluffy white cat sat on the bathroom rug and looked at me expectantly.

  I held open the door. “Out, kitty.” She completely ignored my hint and began licking herself. I shut the door, lifted the seat, and took a piss. As soon as I flushed the toilet, she was right here, front paws on the rim, watching the water swirl down. I washed up, and we left the bathroom together.

  “I see you met Misty.” Joe laughed as we both walked into the kitchen.

  “She’s got a toilet fetish.”

  “Yeah. I hardly notice anymore, but guests are always a little shocked.” Misty rubbed against Joe’s legs, and he slipped her a piece of sausage. She crunched it and then disappeared again—probably to stake out the bathroom.

  We sat down at the table. Joe served up the spaghetti in a big platter with a salad alongside. We both dug in, and at first we were too busy eating to say much.

  “This is delicious,” I told him. While I ate clean, home-cooking was always a welcome treat. I’d be burning a ton of calories at Tony’s facility, so I could eat a lot.

  “Thank you. You live on your own long enough, you have to learn a few dishes.” Now I realized why I felt at home in Joe’s place. It was like my dad’s house: neat and tidy, but kind of Spartan. None of the little feminine touches that my mom added to our house.

  “Dino said you’re an athlete, right?”

  “Yeah, I play hockey.”

  “So, are you trying out for the Canucks?”

  I shook my head. An NHL tryout was the dream. “No, the Vice.”

  Joe’s eyebrows went sky-high. “Jeez. You know about them—the bar brawl last year?”

  “Yeah.” Unfortunately this was the reaction of most people when I mentioned the team.

  “I work in the film industry as a carpenter. I was between gigs, so I went to help out a friend who got the call to fix up the place they trashed. It looked like they ran a fucking tractor through there. And the bar owner told me that some of the team were in there regularly hassling every woman in the joint. Are you sure that’s the kind of team you want to be a part of?”

  I shook my head. “To be honest—not really. But it’s my only chance.”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, I had to work on a lot of schlock when I first got into the film business. But once you make it, you can choose to work with people you respect. You’ll get there too.”

  Since Joe hardly knew me, his prediction didn’t hold much weight. Yet it sounded like a good omen.

  * * *

  The training day started at 7:00, so I made sure I was at the facility fifteen minutes early. To my surprise, everyone else was already there. Obviously, Tony wasn’t the only one whose intensity level was dialled up.

  My first day was a blur. Donna took me through a weight program that she assured me Tony had designed. I’d already been working out hard in preparation for a new season in Switzerland, but this was more detailed and muscle-specific than anything I’d done before. I was playing catch-up since everyone else had been working out for months.

  The guys were all friendly, but there wasn’t much time to chat. Even during our lunch hour, there was a nutritionist giving a talk on optimum mealtime scheduling.

  We wrapped up the day with a long scrimmage, then hit the dressing room—our day finally done. I was exhausted.

  The guy beside me had been one of the best players out there. He was a d-man, but he could rush the puck up ice and score at will.

  “Hey, I’m Jack Baumgartner. Bomber.” He offered a huge, sweaty paw, and I shook it.

  “I’m Eric Fairburn,” I said. “You play in the NHL, right?”

  “Yeah, for Columbus. But I grew up in Vancouver. Where’d you play last season?”

  “Swiss A League,” I told him. My team was in a tiny village that nobody had ever heard of, so I didn’t bother explaining further.

  “Shit. The Swiss League must be better than I thought,” he said. “Where’re you playing this year?”

  “Depends. I’m trying out for an AHL team, so we’ll see.”

  Bomber nodded. He wasn’t nosy. Guys who played at a high level understood that players who looked good in scrimmages and at camps might not be the best in games. No matter how skilled I looked now, it came down to real-life competition.

  “Which team?” Another guy called out to me. He was a good-sized winger like me.

  “The Vice.”

  The big winger snorted. “They’re a shit storm inside a blender full of shit.” Not poetry, but it matched everything I’d heard so far. The Vice were the worst team in the AHL and had been for the past couple of seasons.

  He continued, “The coach is a huge bastard, and their captain is a fucking asshole.”

  “Who’s that?” asked a redheaded guy. They all seemed to be friends, since they changed in the same corner.

  “Captain’s a guy called Daniel Ramsey. Coach is Robert Pankowski.”

  “Never heard of either of them.” The redheaded guy shrugged.

  “Count yourself lucky. Ramsey bullied some rookie right off the team last season.” The winger looked at me. “Don’t let him push you around.”

  I nodded. This was exactly the kind of information I was hoping to get before training camp.

  “I’m Dirk Smith. I play AHL too, but out on the East Coast.”

  The red-haired guy introduced himself too. “I’m Reeds. Frederick Reid. I play for Florida.” I would have guessed that too. Reeds was an NHL-quality centre. It was easy to tell who the best players were once we hit the ice. The NHL guys all had an economy of movement and an effortless speed. They could get away impossible shots. “So, I heard you talking to Tony about yoga?”

  I nodded warily. I was used to getting hassled about this stuff when I was in junior.

  “Maybe you could help me with a few things. I’m trying to improve my flexibility, so I’ve been going to a class with my wife. But I don’t think the instructor gets that the positions aren’t the same when your quads are this big.” Reeds motioned to his tree trunk thighs.

  “Yeah, sure. We can use towels and blocks for positions you’re having trouble with. My mom’s a yoga instructor, so I’ve been doing it all my life.”

  “So, Yogi,” Dirk called out. “You want to come out to dinner tonight? It’s Friday, so we can celebrate the end of Tony’s torture sessions.”

  “I’m in.” Sure beat a salad in a room with only a white cat for company
.

  Reeds nodded. “Yeah, my wife’s gone on a girls’ weekend. So I don’t want to go home and have to cook.”

  “I prefer to eat clean though,” I said.

  Dirk shook his head. “Oh man, you’re as bad as Tony. Is this all part of the yoga lifestyle?”

  Bomber interrupted. “Stop hassling the new guy. We can eat at one place, and then go out drinking after. But this means we should probably shower.”

  We started getting undressed. Dirk was still bitching though.

  “You do drink, right?” he asked me.

  “Actually, not if I’m driving.”

  “Well, sure, that makes sense. Not even one beer? You’re not going to fit in on the Vice, I’ll tell you that right now.”

  A flush ran up the back of my neck. “I’ve had a DUI. My truck is rigged so that it won’t start if I’ve had a drink.” Honesty was the best policy when it came to my past. All it took was a couple of Google searches to find the shitty things I’d done.

  Dirk whistled. “Guess you will fit in on the Vice.”

  3

  The X Factor

  After dinner, Reeds led us to a downtown pub that wasn’t too far from his place. It was busy and had a friendly neighbourhood vibe to it. We got a table with a clear view of the football game on the big-screen TV. The Lions were getting whumped by the Roughriders, which made Dirk happy because his parents were from Saskatchewan.

  “I’m gonna get a round. Sure you’re not drinking tonight?” Bomber asked me.

  I shook my head. Of course, I wished I could, but I had less than two months until I was free from supervision, and I wasn’t going to mess that up.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Dirk said. “Alcohol is a diet staple for me.”

  “Paying my dues.” I sipped on my mineral water. When the beers arrived, they looked tempting. The first sip was always so good. But the first sip was never the problem.