Ice Time Read online

  To Mr. Hockey — as they say, he wasn’t in a class all by himself, but it didn’t take long to take attendance.

  —D.S.

  Special thanks to Baron Bedesky, Coordinator of Player Research and Relations, Professional Hockey Players’ Association.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Other Books by David Skuy

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  The reporter shuffled over and held up her mic. “Check, check. Testing. Check, check. Is that good?”

  The camera operator nodded. He held up three fingers and counted down. The red light on his camera turned on.

  “Hi, Rita Martin for SportsInfo. I’m here with Bryan ‘The Rocket’ Rockwood, who’s been turning some heads with his play at training camp. Bryan, what do you think of your chances of making the team?”

  Rocket had done his share of interviews when he played junior hockey, but this was his first for the NHL. He cleared his throat nervously.

  “The coaches are telling us rookies to approach it one day at a time. They said not to worry too much about the outcome. It’s been awesome to play in a couple of exhibition games — great experience. Hopefully, I’m ready and I can help the team.”

  “So, Bryan — or do you prefer Rocket?” Martin said.

  He smiled self-consciously. “Up to you, I guess. Most of the guys go with Rocket.”

  She laughed. “That’s a better hockey name, I think. Tell me, Rocket, what’s the biggest adjustment you’ve had to make?”

  “The game’s a lot faster, for sure, and the guys are bigger. Your decisions have to be that much quicker, and you can never stop moving your feet. The intensity is very high: every shift, every drill.”

  “I know you’ve been asked about your size. Some people criticized management for spending a fifth-round pick on you because they said you’re too small. You got cut from your minor bantam team because of that, right?”

  This interview wasn’t going the way he’d thought it would.

  “I did, yeah — kind of an unpleasant memory. But the game’s changing. It’s all about speed and skill, so …”

  “You spent two years in junior after getting drafted. Did that help?”

  “I was disappointed to go back to junior, for sure. But we had an awesome season. The Axmen made the Memorial Cup, and Coach Alvo’s the best. I learned a lot. I got invited to the junior national tryout, which was another great learning experience. Always tough to get cut, but the coaching staff wanted a … certain mix of players.”

  Cut because of his size — again. It was a huge blow that still stung.

  But he forced a smile. “That’s what hockey’s about for me right now: keep learning, keep getting better.”

  “Thanks, Rocket,” Martin said, “and good luck with the rest of camp.” She faced the camera. “This is Rita Martin for SportsInfo, your source for sports. Back to you, Kevin.”

  The red light turned off.

  “That was great,” she said to Rocket. Then her head whirled to the right. “Oh, Jonathon, can I do a quick interview?”

  She ran off, the camera operator trailing behind. Rocket had to laugh. Jonathon Daniels was the team’s leading scorer last season, an all-star. Rocket was just a rookie trying to break in.

  How long had he been dreaming of the NHL?

  Forever.

  How long had he been dealing with questions about his size?

  Just as long.

  The game had changed, though. Smaller guys were doing big things. He gave his head a shake and went back to the dressing room for his helmet and stick. Most of the guys were heading out for practice — big boys, mostly. This was a tough team that liked to play a physical style. Rocket had the bruises to prove it.

  “Ready to roll, Rocket?”

  Rocket looked up. “Hope so, Bossy.”

  “How was the interview?”

  “Fine, until she asked why they’d drafted a shrimp like me.” He laughed like it didn’t really bother him.

  Bossy snorted. “Ignore her. You know you belong.”

  That was easy for him to say. Bossy seemed even bigger than he had when they’d played together for the Axmen. Rocket was only five foot nine.

  “I’ve been talking to a couple of the coaches,” Bossy said, waving him closer. “They like what you’re doing out there.”

  “All four centres are back from last year,” Rocket said. “I can’t help obsessing on that. Those guys have one-way contracts. Why pay one of them a few million to play in the AHL when they can pay me the league minimum? It makes sense to send me down.”

  “It’s a tough spot to be in.”

  “Whatever.” Rocket gave Bossy’s shin pads a whack with his stick. “Let’s play hockey and let the coaches make the call. Bring it!”

  Bossy grinned. “Always.”

  They punched gloves.

  “See ya out there,” Bossy said, heading for the ice.

  Rocket pulled his helmet from his bag and put it on. A hand patted him on the back and he turned. “Coach Vic, how’s it going?”

  “All good. I wanted to let you know that we’re holding a scrimmage to give the younger guys a chance. We want to see what you can do in a game environment.” Vic was an assistant coach. He’d been good about helping the rookies transition to the pro game.

  “Sounds great,” Rocket said.

  “We really want you to focus on both ends of the ice,” Vic said. “We know your offensive game is good. That won’t cut it, though. We need you solid in the defensive zone, too. When to go behind the net, when to support a defenceman — those decisions are critical. Don’t try to do so much on offence that you leave us vulnerable to a counterattack.”

  He looked Rocket squarely in the eyes.

  “I get it, Coach,” Rocket said. “Forecheck, backcheck, paycheque.”

  Vic laughed and slapped the side of Rocket’s helmet. “Kids today — too much confidence. Now go out and do it.”

  Rocket got his stick and headed down the hall to the ice. Guys were skating around, stickhandling, taking shots, talking.

  It was still hard to believe he was actually at an NHL training camp!

  He was so close to making it. But clearly Vic had been giving him a message. He needed a strong scrimmage to answer questions about his defence. He’d been a high-scoring centre all his life. That reputation was hurting him. He took a few strides on the ice.

  Forecheck, backcheck, and then maybe that paycheque would be his.

  He turned on the jets, circling the net and powering up the side. He needed to burn off some nervous energy. He felt like he could skate through a brick wall.

  So close.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jonathon Daniels chopped the back of Rocket’s right leg with his stick. Rocket threw his elbow into Jonathon’s chest an
d pushed off. He’d learned one thing at camp already — never back down.

  Rocket’s right winger was barrelling in on the forecheck, the puck in the corner. Rocket figured the opposing defenceman would probably try to shovel it up the wall to his winger. Decision time: Stay with Jonathon or trust his gut and head to the boards?

  This was no time to play it safe. He had an NHL team to make. Rocket swerved and made a beeline to the boards. The defenceman reached out for the puck. Rocket grinned. He’d been right. The right winger lowered his shoulder. The puck was on the defenceman’s stick for a fraction of a second — and then it went the opposite way behind the net to his partner camped out at the far post. The defencemen pressed up against the boards. Rocket’s right winger hit him, but he absorbed the check easily.

  Rocket felt sick. He’d left the middle of the ice wide open. He doubled back, but the defenceman snapped a pass to Daniels in the high slot, and just like that, it was a three-on-two the other way. Rocket could only lower his head and skate back hard. Daniels passed to his left winger, who bore down on Rocket’s right defenceman. The opposing right winger on the far side drove for the net, which forced the left defenceman to go with him. That left Daniels open as the trailer. The pass came, tape-to-tape.

  Rocket crossed the blue line, gathered himself and dove headlong, stick extended. His chest hit the ice hard. Daniels swung his stick, but all he hit was air. Rocket’s desperation move had worked, and he’d knocked the puck to his right defenceman, who one-timed a pass to his right winger. Rocket hopped to his feet and charged back the other way.

  The quick turnover caught the attacking side by surprise. Just like that, Rocket’s line had the three-on-two.

  Rocket took a pass in the neutral zone and distributed it quickly to his left winger, who cut into the middle of the ice. Rocket crossed behind him to take his spot on the left. The puck carrier gave it to the right winger, who carried it over the blue line, cut in and dropped it. The left winger picked the puck up, faked an inside move, and then went hard outside to the right.

  Now it was Rocket’s turn to be the trailer. He pushed on his inside edges and cruised into the high slot. The left winger sent a backhand pass his way. Rocket one-timed a snap shot, glove side, earmarked for the top corner …

  Tweet!

  The goalie flipped the puck to the referee. Awesome save and he’d made it look routine. That would have been a sure goal in junior.

  But this wasn’t junior. It was tough to beat an NHL goalie without traffic in front. If they could see it, they could stop it.

  “That’s good for today, boys,” Vic yelled from the bench. “Shower up, grab something to eat and we have a video session in room two.”

  Rocket curled across the ice to his bench to grab some pucks. He’d made a promise to himself to take two hundred shots a day.

  “Hey, Bryan,” Vic called. “Coach wants to talk to you.”

  Vic sounded serious. Rocket’s heart began to beat a bit faster. He’d had a good scrimmage, and he’d almost got a goal on that last rush. Plus, he’d totally stopped Daniels on his three-on-two. He needed to play this cool, agree to anything: penalty killing, fourth line, even wing.

  This was happening — for real.

  He’d been working toward this moment since he put on his first pair of skates. It was his dream. And it wasn’t about the money, though that would change everything, too. His mom was still struggling to make ends meet. Maddy was in her third year at university, and tuition and books were crazy expensive. They’d supported him for years; now it was his turn.

  “Over here, Bryan,” Vic said.

  Coach Landry was waiting for him. Rocket took a deep breath and glided to the bench on one foot. He’d never really spoken to Coach Landry, other than a quick hi or goodbye.

  “Good practice, Bryan,” Landry said. “Have a seat on the bench.”

  Rocket wanted to remember every word of this conversation — the NHL!

  “How’d you feel out there?” Landry said.

  “Awesome, Coach.”

  Rocket wanted to kick himself. He sounded like a kid.

  “Great, great,” Landry said. “We wanted to have a quick word with you. I hope you’ve learned a lot at camp — and managed to have some fun. I know this is a business, but it’s a game, too.”

  “For sure, Coach. The guys have been cool, lots of fun joking around in the room and stuff.”

  Of course, no one really talked to him except Bossy. This was a veteran team. They’d reached the conference finals last season. They weren’t going to deal with a fifth-round-pick rookie.

  “We’ve noticed you’re a hard worker and a good listener,” Landry continued. “That’s very important, critical, in a young player’s career. We all think you have potential.”

  Landry seemed to consider his next words carefully. “You’re the classic case of a kid who’s used to playing on the number-one line in minor hockey and in junior, but who maybe doesn’t have the right size, tools or skill set to realistically be on the number-one line in the NHL — at least not for a while.”

  Rocket hadn’t expected to knock Jonathon Daniels off the number-one line. No problem with that.

  “That last play was an example,” Vic cut in. “You gambled on the forecheck and gave Jonathon an easy breakout and a three-on-two.”

  “I knocked the puck away,” Rocket said.

  “We can’t afford to give away high-quality chances like that,” Vic said. “In a real game, with Daniels going a hundred percent, that could’ve been in the net.”

  “We project you as a number-three centre for the next few years: good on faceoffs, pop in the occasional goal and shut down opposing centres with your speed,” Landry said. “That will take time because you’re used to being a goal scorer first and a defensive centre second.”

  “We need to even that out,” Vic added.

  “This is all to say, we think it best that you go down to Pinewood and work on your two-way game, and then … and then we’ll see,” Landry said.

  Rocket sat motionless. “I know I shouldn’t have gone to the boards on the forecheck,” he said finally, “and I definitely didn’t get the shot off I wanted.”

  Landry grunted. “Go to the AHL, work hard, which I know you’ll do, and become a first-rate, solid forward. And you can spend some more time in the weight room bulking up. Anderson McGill’s a good coach. He’ll teach you what it takes to make it in the NHL.”

  Landry stood up to leave. “Good luck and have a great season, Bryan. Vic will fill you in on what happens next. I have to prepare for the video session.”

  “Don’t get too down,” Vic said when Landry was gone. “It was close, but management wants to stick with the vets this year. They feel we can make a run for the cup. Besides, not many guys make the jump in their first camp.”

  “I know,” Rocket managed. “I thought … I thought I was playing okay.”

  “This is a playoff team. Okay won’t cut it,” Vic said.

  “Bossy made it as a rookie.”

  “He’s six foot four and weighs two-hundred-and-fifty pounds,” Vic said.

  The response hit Rocket like a punch in the gut. The size issue never went away.

  “The average size of an NHLer is six foot one and over two hundred pounds,” Vic continued.

  Like Rocket wasn’t all too aware of that.

  Vic seemed to realize it. “Listen, Bryan, things have a way of working themselves out. You’ll see.”

  Rocket wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk. “I’m good, Coach. Put my name down for the Frank J. Selke Trophy.”

  “Best defensive forward?” Vic laughed. “Good to set your goals high, I suppose.”

  Rocket stood up. “Thanks, Coach. For all your help.”

  Vic shook his hand. “Good luck, Bryan.”

  Rocket headed to the dressing room, mentally adding Vic and Landry to the list of people he would prove wrong.

  Bossy met him at his stall. “So, it’s Pinewood
?” he asked quietly.

  “Word gets around fast.”

  Bossy chuckled. “Hockey players are the worst gossips. Besides, we saw Landry talking to you on the bench. That’s his signature move. Anyway, the AHL is good. You get paid, and you’re an injury away from getting called up.”

  “They’re saying my defence sucks,” Rocket said.

  “Landry’s a defence-first kind of guy,” Bossy said. “Stick with it. I’ll see you back here soon enough, and then we’ll get our line back together.”

  They bumped fists.

  “Anyway. Let’s get showered up, and I’ll buy you lunch,” Bossy said.

  “Sounds good.” But Rocket didn’t think he could eat. He’d heard “too small” and “bulk up” before. But change his game? Guys spent years in the minors because they couldn’t shake their reps for being bad defensive players.

  Rocket bent down to untie his skates, then kicked them off angrily. He wasn’t going to be one of those guys. He’d work so hard on his defence they’d have to take him back.

  Frank J. Selke — the Rocket is coming for you. The thought almost made him grin.

  CHAPTER 3

  A gust of wind rushed into the café as Rocket opened the door. A few customers gave him irritated looks.

  He’d found this place on a list: Top Five Trendy Downtown Cafés. It was in the heart of the theatre district. Supposedly, a lot of rich and famous people came here. If he had to tell his mom and Maddy he’d been sent down to the AHL, then he wanted to do it somewhere nice. They never went to places like this. He could only hope it wasn’t too pricey.

  He spotted an empty table and took a seat. A passing waiter looked him up and down and then moved on without a word.

  The door opened. Again, those near the door scowled. Rocket waved. His mom and Maddy weaved through the tables. He gave them each a hug.

  “Sorry we’re late,” his mom said. “The subway has become ridiculous. Delays every day.”

  “Risa and I waited at least fifteen minutes for a train,” Maddy chimed in. She stuffed her backpack under the table and sat.

  “Looks like you only have twenty kilos of books in there,” Rocket said to her. “Slacking off?”

  “You slacked off at school enough for the both of us,” Maddy said.