Last Shot Page 4

  She snorted. “No wonder your brain is three-quarters mush.”

  “Three-quarters? I’m getting smarter,” he said.

  The line moved quickly. The driver threw Rocket’s stuff into the storage hold.

  “You’ll do great. Just remember to bring it,” Maddy said.

  “Always. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  She gave him a hug.

  “I’ll ask my billet about you coming up. The exhibition season starts right after training camp. You may as well see a game.” He winced. He had to stop jinxing himself.

  “Sounds good.”

  “And tell me if there’s a problem with Connor and Raja and the Brigade. Seriously. Tell me,” he said.

  She pointed to the door. “Get on the bus, Bryan.”

  “Passengers to Axton. Last call to Axton,” the driver called out.

  “Bye,” Rocket said to her.

  She was already heading back into the terminal.

  He took a deep breath. Bring it. Ty, Adam and he had begun saying that when they were little kids.

  Tomorrow he had to do exactly that.

  He had to.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rocket shifted uneasily and leaned forward. His back was wet from sitting in the plastic chair. The bus ride hadn’t been too bad, about three hours, but he’d been waiting for his billet for another hour. He hit send and waited for Maddy to text him back. His right hand hurt too much to text with, so he had to poke away with his left index finger.

  Still waiting for Mr. Fabulous, he texted to Megan.

  A man in a dark grey suit walked into the bus terminal, a Bluetooth receiver glowing in his ear.

  “Got to go,” the man said. “Let’s keep talking. You know how high I am on Aaron. He’s the complete package, and I think with the right representation and direction he can take it to the next level. You won’t find a more dedicated agent than me. I travel all the time, so don’t think I’m some hick from Axton. This is just where I want to raise my family.” The man said goodbye and hung up.

  His face grew grim as he tapped his earpiece. Then he pushed his glasses into place and squinted at the arrivals screen.

  Rocket put his phone in his pocket and sat up straight. He had a bad feeling. The man’s eyes settled on him.

  “Bryan Rockwood?” the man said. His deep voice seemed loud in the small station.

  Rocket stood. “Hi. I guess you’re my billet?”

  “You guess right. I’m Strohler. Carl Strohler.” He looked Rocket up and down. “You’re trying out for the Axmen? In the OHL? As in full contact and fighting against nineteen- and twenty-year-olds?”

  Rocket took an instant dislike to him.

  Strohler scratched the side of his face. “Fifteenth round, eh? Well, you never know.” He nodded to the side doors. “I’m parked outside. C’mon.” He tapped his earpiece. “Strohler. Talk to me.” He walked off.

  “Thanks for helping with the bags,” Rocket muttered under his breath.

  He slung his duffle bag across his back and reached for the handle of his hockey bag with his left hand. He looked at his sticks like they were a set of weights. His right hand was killing him. Suck it up, buttercup, he told himself. Trying hard not to show how much it hurt, Rocket picked up his sticks. He needed to find some ice, fast.

  Strohler was already sitting in the driver’s seat of a white SUV as Rocket got outside. The trunk was open. Rocket tossed his stuff in.

  “I’m going to take a run to Chelsea tomorrow morning,” Rocket heard Strohler say. He was still on his phone. “There’s a kid there I like the looks of. He’s playing Junior A this year, but he’s a big kid, a winger — Nicolas Kingstone.”

  Rocket almost did a double-take. He’d gone to school with Kingstone for two years. When Kingstone had switched to another high school, Rocket had lost track of him. They hadn’t gotten along very well. Kingstone liked to throw his weight around — probably because he had a lot of it. He’d been a big guy in grade seven.

  Rocket opened the door to the back seat. A boy who looked about Rocket’s age was sitting on the front bench. Beats headphones on, the music blasting, the boy kept his eyes glued to the phone in his hands. He was a big kid, kind of chubby, with curly brown hair. A woman turned around from the front seat and smiled. She looked tired, but her face was friendly and her eyes were sympathetic.

  “I’m Kimberly Strohler,” she said. “Sorry for being so late. We had … another appointment. We’re really sorry. You must be tired after that trip.” She looked at the boy. “Devin, honey. Can you scrunch over and let Bryan sit?”

  Devin looked out the window, bobbing his head to the music.

  “It’s fine,” Rocket said. “I’ll take the back.”

  Her smile seemed forced. “Sorry about Devin. He can’t hear anything with those things on.”

  Rocket sidestepped his way to the back seat. Strohler drove off.

  “We’ll be home in a few minutes. Axton isn’t a big place compared to where you live,” Kimberly said. “You can settle in, and then we’ll eat. I’ve got you downstairs, so you’ll have your own washroom.”

  “Awesome.” Rocket said.

  “We don’t live too far from the rink, either,” Kimberly said. “We can give you a lift most of the time. Otherwise, it’s not more than a ten-minute walk.”

  “I can walk, no problem,” Rocket said.

  “I think Carl would live at the rink if he could,” she said. She looked wistfully at her husband. “He wants to become a player agent — for hockey players.”

  Strohler tapped his earpiece. “I am a player agent,” he said sharply.

  “I thought you worked for Grandpa in his roofing company,” Devin said.

  Rocket wondered how Devin could suddenly hear.

  “I’m focused on sports management now,” Strohler said. “Pay attention and look up from that screen of yours once in a while. Or play a sport and stop being a geek.”

  Devin slumped in his seat.

  “I’ve got a half-dozen awesome prospects,” Strohler said. “I’ll sign a few, and when one of them makes the NHL, I’ll take five percent of everything. Couple of guys, and I’m making hundreds of thousands. Do the math. Roofing is for losers.”

  “Carl! My father has been very generous to us, and you’ve done well in the business,” Kimberly said.

  “You just watch. In five years, we’ll be living large, and not in Axton — maybe in New York or Chicago or Toronto. I should’ve been playing pro in those cities,” he said.

  “I like it here,” Kimberly murmured.

  “That reminds me,” Strohler said loudly. “It’s Bryan, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’ll be a kid at camp named Aaron Cashman,” Strohler said. “The kid’s the real deal, and I’m totally close to signing him. I need you to be my eyes and ears on the inside. Get to know him, find out what he thinks about the coach, other agents, anything. Can you do that for me?”

  “I guess,” Rocket said.

  “Everyone calls him Cash,” Strohler went on, “which is kind of funny since he’s going to make a ton of it. Kid’s a stud — almost six feet already and a hundred seventy pounds, and he’s only sixteen. Skates like mad and plays with an edge. You’re a late-rounder. You’ll never make his line, but you’re both rookies, maybe use that to get close to him. You do this for me, and I can put in a good word for you with the coaches. They listen to me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Strohler tapped his earpiece. “Hey, how’s it going? I have to dump my billet off at the house and we can meet. Yeah, at Victoria and Strachan. See you in ten.”

  The car turned a corner, continued on another hundred metres and then pulled into a driveway. It took all of Rocket’s self-control not to burst out laughing. He could deal with Strohler if it meant living here. The house was huge! Bigger than Ty’s and Adam’s put together. It even had three garages. Roofing must pay very well.

  Devin pulled his headphones off. “Ar
e we eating right away?”

  “Bryan just has to put his things away, then we can have lunch, honey,” Kimberly said. “Can you wait?”

  “Ya, I’m not hungry. I’ll take a pass on it — maybe later,” Devin said.

  “You have to eat something,” she said.

  “Hey guys, I wasn’t kidding,” Strohler said. “I got to meet someone. Move it.”

  “We’re going to eat soon,” Kimberly said.

  “I won’t be long. Go ahead,” he said.

  “Can you just show Bryan around?” she asked.

  He groaned and pointed to the house. “You see that? That’s the house, Bryan. You’ll be staying inside. Look around and you’ll figure things out.” He turned to her. “How’s that for a tour? Now, c’mon. I got to meet Derek.”

  “All right,” she said slowly. She opened her door and got out.

  “Devin, don’t forget to run those stats for me. I sent you an email,” Strohler said.

  Rocket could feel the chill in the air. This was totally uncomfortable.

  Devin’s headphones were back on. Kimberly’s face was tightly drawn. She went to the trunk and took hold of Rocket’s duffel bag.

  “I can do it,” Rocket said.

  Kimberly slung it over her shoulder. “You can take your hockey bag. I have this.”

  Rocket slipped the sticks into the crook of his right arm and dragged his hockey bag with his left. He didn’t want Strohler to find out about his hand. He probably knew Gold, and the last thing Rocket wanted was an excuse to be cut. Strohler reversed out of the driveway.

  Devin stood at the door, hunched over, leaning against the wall.

  “Are you not feeling well?” his mom asked.

  Devin looked at her with half-opened eyes. She pulled keys from her purse and opened the door. Devin went in quickly, kicked off his shoes and disappeared up the staircase and down a hallway.

  Kimberly’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll show you how to work the garage door opener in a second. You can keep your equipment in there. Let me show you your room.”

  He followed her down a wide, sweeping circular staircase into a large room. At the far end, by the windows that overlooked the backyard, there was a beautiful pool table, a green light fixture hanging over it. To the right there was a Ping-Pong table, and at the other side there was a massive television and a wraparound couch.

  Rocket used to think Ty had the most awesome basement. His wasn’t even close.

  Then it got better.

  “There’s a workout room,” Kimberly said, pointing left. “It has a bike and weights. The sauna is in there, too, and a steam room. The dials are on the outside. Takes about ten minutes to warm up.”

  “Wow, thanks,” he said.

  “I want you to enjoy yourself,” she said. “It must be hard to leave home at sixteen. How are you feeling, Bryan?”

  Apart from his hand, he was feeling pretty good: workout room, sauna, steam room — it was like a hotel! “I’m not sure. This is what I’ve always wanted — to play in the OHL. I guess I just want to get going. Maybe I’m a bit nervous. I wasn’t a high pick, so …”

  “So you have to give 110 percent?” she said.

  Rocket laughed.

  “I don’t know much about hockey,” Kimberly said, laughing, too. “Devin only played one year. He doesn’t like sports that much. I’m learning, though.” She paused for a moment. “Anyway, feel free to use the pool, too. You can go out to it through the door in the workout room, and there’s a hot tub connected to it. Devin will show you how it works.”

  This place was unreal.

  “That’s the movie room,” she said, pointing to two doors. “Devin plays his video games there. He can show you that, too. Over here we have the guest bedrooms, and this is the bathroom.” She directed him down a long hallway. “You can choose whichever bedroom you like. If you need anything, let me know. I’m going to get lunch ready.”

  “This is amazing, thanks,” Rocket said. “It’s a beautiful house.”

  “I had fun building it,” she said, with obvious pride. “I’ll call you up when I’m ready. Just give me a few minutes.”

  She set off up the stairs.

  “Excuse me, Kimberly,” he said, following her. “But is there any chance I could get some ice? I just have a bruise I need to deal with — life of a hockey player.”

  “Of course. Are you sure it’s not more than that?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

  “I’ll get you an icepack.” She continued up the stairs and then stopped. “Oh, and the password for the Wi-Fi is ‘money,’ with three dollar signs after it. We have unlimited service, so don’t feel bad about using it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  There were three guest bedrooms, which made him shake his head. When they had a guest at his apartment, he had to sleep on the floor. Rocket dragged his duffel bag into the room closest to the bathroom.

  Got here. No problems, he texted his mom, Maddy and Megan.

  He lay on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and all of a sudden his stomach felt full, almost bad enough to be sick. He sat up. His back hurt and his neck muscles were tight. What was wrong with him — other than the fact that if he messed up tomorrow he’d be gone, his life would be over and he’d have let down his mom, Maddy and all his friends?

  Rocket decided to do some research on Axton’s new superstar, Aaron Cashman. It would be better than losing his mind worrying about the tryouts. He opened up his laptop, did a search and came up with a ton of hits.

  “You’ve got your own YouTube channel, Mr. Cashman,” Rocket said aloud.

  He clicked on the first video.

  CHAPTER 6

  Rocket paused at the arena door and waved to Kimberly in her car. Strohler had left early, so she’d been nice enough to drive Rocket over. She drove off and he went in.

  Gold was set up behind a table. Rocket rolled his hockey bag over. He felt his sticks slipping from his arm. His right hand still ached, and he had no idea how he was going to play. He just knew he had to.

  “Can I help you?” Gold said, staring at Rocket.

  “I’m Bryan Rockwood …”

  Gold smirked and flashed a finger gun at him. “I got ya. No prob. We’re cool. How are things with the …” he looked down at his iPad, “… with the Strohlers?”

  “Great, thanks. Carl says hi.”

  Gold gave him an odd look. “Okay … Well, here’s a binder with the schedule. Don’t lose it. This is your hockey bible. It’s got all the drills, plays, schedules — everything you’ll need. You lose that, you’re toast. Okay?”

  Rocket nodded.

  “First thing, go down that hall to the second door for your physical. Some guys are there already. After, head to room two and suit up for a scrimmage. Okay?”

  “I guess.”

  Gold looked up at him. “Let me give you your first hockey lesson — from a guy who played in the NHL. This is Axmen hockey, and we run an NHL-style camp. There’s no ‘I guess’ here. There’s ‘yes, sir’ and that’s it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rocket said.

  Gold sat back in his chair. “I remember you now. I’ve been told you can put the puck in the net. Is that right?”

  “I gue—” Rocket caught himself. “Yes, sir. I hope so.”

  “Hmm. Time will tell, I suppose. Toss your bag against that wall and get your butt to the exam room.” Gold looked over Rocket’s shoulder. “Bossy, what’s up, bro? Loving the hipster beard on ya.”

  A large, older boy was strolling toward them. Rocket noticed the size of his hands — the two sticks he carried looked like toothpicks. He was easily over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick legs.

  “Are you ready to rumble?” Gold said.

  Rocket headed to the exam room. Bossy … that had to be Michael Boss. He was an overage junior, which meant he was twenty. He was also the team’s tough guy — over two hundred penalty minutes last year.

>   Rocket went to the exam room. Two boys rode stationary bikes. They had masks over their mouths and tubes running from the masks to a machine. A young woman in an Axmen hoodie pressed keys on a computer. Her name tag read Stacy Chen. A man in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, was taking a blood pressure cuff off a guy seated on a metal stool.

  Rocket recognized him instantly — Aaron Cashman. He was taller than he looked on the ice and slim, with very fair skin and light hair. Rocket slipped in, self-conscious, even though no one paid him the slightest attention.

  “Will I live, Doc?” Cashman said.

  “At least for today,” the doctor said drily. “Can you give me ten deep squats?”

  “I’ll give ya the squats, but I can’t be responsible for any sounds that come out,” Cashman said.

  The boys on the bikes snickered. The doctor took a deep breath.

  The door behind Rocket opened and two guys walked in.

  “How’s it going?” the first guy said to Rocket.

  He was big but not as thickset as Bossy, and he looked younger.

  “This your first camp?” he asked.

  Rocket nodded.

  “I’m Kyle, and this is Nathan.”

  Nathan was shorter than Kyle, and stockier. He held out his hand. Rocket really didn’t want to take it — Nathan looked like he’d have a strong grip. But Rocket introduced himself, then clenched his teeth and shook Nathan’s hand.

  “Get much skating in this summer?” Kyle asked.

  He seemed like a friendly guy.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” Rocket said. “There’s a rink around the corner from me; sometimes the manager would let me get on the ice before the hockey camps started in the morning.”

  Kyle elbowed Nathan. “I like this cat,” he said. “Early morning skates show dedication. We put in a couple hours a day, plus gym time. We decided to go for it. We’ve been in Junior A for two years. If we’re going to make it to the O, it’s got to be this year.”

  “Were you drafted last year?” Rocket said.

  Nathan let out a snort. “We weren’t drafted any year.”

  Kyle answered the obvious question. “We’re free agents. We live here and Nathan’s dad knows Coach Alvo. He invited us.” He held his arms out. “So here we are.”