Last Shot Read online

  “You’re done, Hoffer,” the girl said to one of the guys on the bike.

  The guy took his mask off. “Chenny, am I an awesome physical specimen, or what?”

  “You’re a specimen. I’m just not sure it’s human,” Chen said.

  The other boy and Cashman laughed.

  “I know Gruny’s a gorilla,” Hoffer said, pointing to the other boy.

  Gruny couldn’t really talk with his mask on. He rolled his eyes and kept pedalling.

  Hockey nicknames were usually obvious. Hoffer? Had to be Kevin Hoffman. Gruny? David Grunfeld. They seemed to be the most likely linemates for Cashman. Both were third years and this was their draft year.

  “Next,” the doctor said.

  “Go for it, bro,” Kyle said to Rocket, who stepped forward.

  The doctor raised an eyebrow.

  “I guess players come in all shapes and sizes,” he said.

  Rocket grunted and sat on the stool. The doctor began to take his blood pressure.

  “Take the shirt off,” Chen said to Cashman. She held two sensors.

  “Gee, Chenny, I hardly know you.” Cashman grinned.

  She slapped the sensors on his chest. “Hockey players are so funny. You should show some respect for your trainer.”

  “Chenny’s in love with me,” Hoffer said. “Don’t waste your time, Cash.”

  “She hasn’t met me yet,” Cash said. “So what did these two losers get?”

  “It’s not a contest,” Chen said. She poked some keys on the keyboard. “We’re measuring how your body reacts to stress, as a benchmark. We can track improvement over the year.”

  “My coach used to say, ‘If you ain’t dying, you ain’t trying,’” Cash said.

  “Gruny’s coach used to say, ‘Gruny, get off the ice, you useless waste of space,’” Hoffer said.

  Cash laughed.

  The doctor listened to Rocket’s heart, looked in his mouth and felt the glands around his neck.

  “Give me ten squats, please.”

  Rocket counted them out and then stood behind Cash at the bikes. The doctor nodded at Kyle.

  Chen sighed, clicking the mouse. “It’s not working again. You can stop,” she said to Gruny. “I have to reboot the computer.”

  Cash got up on a bike. Rocket figured he should strike up a conversation. Strohler would be happy.

  “Did you play this summer?” Rocket said.

  Cash shrugged. “I played four-on-four with some guys from my midget team, and I also had power-skating practices and strength training in the gym.” He patted his stomach and grinned at Chen. “Got to get the six-pack ready for the ladies.”

  Cash was pretty well-built for sixteen. He’d obviously done a ton of training for this — professional training Rocket could never afford. Could running with André and training on his own really compare? The other guys were in serious shape, too. Had they all done power skating and strength training this summer?

  “Worst part of the summer was the agents buzzing around telling me why they’re so awesome. Before that, it was the coaches and scouts. I couldn’t get a bag of chips without some reporter snapping a pic,” Cash said.

  “It’ll get worse,” Gruny said. “Reporters ask the most brain-dead questions: how’d it feel to get the win; what did you think after you scored; what did your coach say when you gave up the first goal? Trust me, you’ll want to ram them through the boards to shut them up.”

  “Last year, after this game against the Steelheads, a reporter asks Gruny how it felt to get a hat trick,” Hoffer said. “Gruny lets the dude hang for a good ten seconds, and then he says, ‘It felt like scoring three goals in one game.’”

  “And Hoffer says, ‘It felt like watching him score three goals,’” Gruny adds.

  The guys laughed. Rocket didn’t think it was that funny — more like rude — but he laughed so he wouldn’t stick out. Cash laughed the loudest, and he high-fived Hoffer and Gruny.

  Kyle joined Rocket.

  “This is so frustrating. It’s not working,” Chen said. “There’s a bug in the software. I can’t record anything. Let me measure you boys, and we can do this later.” She looked at her iPad. “Hoffer, you first.”

  “Good call. Check out the goods, boys,” Hoffer said.

  Chen measured his body fat with a skin caliper.

  “Tell the fat pig to lose some weight,” Cash said.

  “Yeah, right,” Hoffer said. He stepped on the scale and flexed his arms like a body builder. “This is 195 pounds of steel, baby.”

  “Stand against the wall,” she ordered him.

  He backed up. Rocket looked at the tape measure. Hoffer was a little over five ten.

  Chen wiggled her finger at Gruny. He stepped forward and saluted.

  “Grunfeld reporting for duty and ready to make Hoffer look like a little boy,” Gruny said.

  He had a solid frame. Rocket didn’t look forward to battling him for the puck in the corners.

  Coach Sonia had spent the last couple years teaching Rocket how to play against bigger players. He could only hope the lessons paid off.

  Gruny stepped off the scale. “That’s two hundred fifteen pounds, munchkins,” he said. “Go get your ballet slippers.”

  “Lose ten pounds and you’ll skate faster,” Hoffer said.

  “Why are you always behind me, then?” Gruny said.

  Cash stepped up on the scale. “I’m pathetic,” he moaned. “Only a hundred seventy pounds. Get me a milkshake. I got to bulk up.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chen said. “You’re six feet already. I bet you’ll hit six three easy and add at least thirty pounds by the time you’re twenty.”

  Rocket stepped to the side. He didn’t need an audience when they measured him.

  “Go ahead,” he said to Kyle.

  Kyle laughed. “You’re next, bro. No worries.”

  “Come on,” the trainer said to Rocket.

  Rocket found it hard to swallow. She measured his body fat.

  “You certainly don’t have to lose weight,” she joked.

  Rocket watched the lights flicker on the scale. The number flashed — 148. Hoffer and Gruny were snickering. Cash laughed outright.

  “I like this guy. Makes me feel like a heavyweight,” Cash said.

  “I’m bigger than I look,” Rocket said to make a joke of it.

  Not his best comeback ever. Unfortunately, he had a feeling the worst was yet to come. He leaned against the wall, ever so slightly lifted his heels off the floor and stretched his neck as high as he could.

  “We’ll call it …” she pressed a ruler down on his head.

  “I think it’s six foot four,” Cash said.

  “More like … five foot six.” She entered it on her iPad.

  “I know who to call if anyone gives me a hard time on the ice,” Cash said.

  Rocket was done with the joke. He didn’t respond.

  “Let’s get to the dressing room, boys,” Hoffer said. “I got to show you the sweet skates the Nike rep gave me.”

  “Gold sent me two new pairs to break in over the summer,” Cash said. “It’s like you’re not wearing anything, they’re so light.”

  “You should check out my new stick,” Gruny said. “Easton sent me, like, a dozen new ones to try out.”

  “I signed a deal with Reebok,” Cash said. “I got to use their sticks.”

  The three of them left. Rocket waited for Kyle and Nathan to be measured, and together they walked out.

  Kyle grinned at Rocket. “Who’d you sign your stick deal with?”

  “I’m still comparing offers,” Rocket laughed.

  “Same with me,” Kyle said. “And if one more person tries to give me free skates, I’m going to scream.”

  “It’s not that funny,” Nathan said. “Gold is sending Cash free skates, and he doesn’t even know my name. How many free agents make it in this league, anyway?”

  Kyle put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Not that many, but it’s not
zero. Come on, this is training camp. The OHL — the Axmen. We’re here. Let’s enjoy it.”

  “I’d enjoy it if it were a fair tryout,” Nathan fumed. “Cash is on the team automatically.”

  “He was a first-round pick,” Rocket said.

  Nathan made a sour face. “Why didn’t you tell me to be a first-rounder?” he said to Kyle.

  Rocket liked these two. Things were tough for them, but they hadn’t lost their sense of humour.

  “You guys know who the enforcer is on this team?” Rocket said, keeping the mood light. “I got to establish myself. Figure I’ll drop the gloves early.”

  Kyle slapped Rocket on the back. “You got the right attitude, bro. And we don’t need free skates and sticks. We have our own.”

  Nathan laughed. “And if we break our sticks we can borrow some from Gruny or Cash.”

  “What room are you in?” Kyle asked Rocket.

  “Number two.”

  “We’re in one,” Kyle said. He held out a hand.

  Rocket needed to stop shaking hands. He gave Kyle’s hand a light slap, as if he were being cool.

  “Good luck, guys. Bring it,” Rocket said.

  They went into their dressing room. Rocket stood in front of his door. He’d been totally stressed this morning. Now the stress was in overdrive. The coaches were probably looking to make cuts quickly if they were having a scrimmage in the first practice. It was going to be hard to play with his hand the way it was. The physical exam hadn’t helped him relax, either.

  You can’t measure the size of a player’s heart. He’d heard that stupid cliché more than once. The problem was that you could measure height and weight, and for the people making the cuts, size counted for a lot.

  CHAPTER 7

  The hockey bags told the story. Rocket counted seven returning players from last year. He figured they’d split the veterans evenly, so there were probably another seven in the other room. OHL teams were allowed to carry twenty-five players on their active roster, which included two goalies. They could also carry twenty-five reserve players, who could be brought up for a maximum of ten games. But the taxi squad wasn’t Rocket’s goal.

  He knew the Axmen’s goalie, Robert Glass, was back, so they probably needed ten new skaters and one goalie this year.

  “Totally loving the scrimmage idea,” Cash said to Hoffer. “I figured we’d be doing figure eights and suicides for three days.”

  “Gold did this last year, too,” Hoffer said. “It’s like a war out there. Guys are super-hyped.”

  “Ya, like that walk-on guy who tried to take my head off to get Gold’s attention,” Gruny said.

  “Day one is full of meatheads,” Hoffer said to Cash. “Be careful. Guys will be looking to take a piece out of you.”

  Cash seemed unimpressed. “Let ’em try. I can take care of myself.”

  The door opened. Gold, Alvo and Washington walked in. Rocket had spoken to Washington a few times during the summer, but hadn’t seen Alvo since the draft.

  Washington had called Alvo legendary, and Rocket knew Alvo had coached in the OHL for about twenty years. He had a rep for being tough — and having high-scoring teams. He’d also won three Memorial Cups, the last one four years ago.

  “Listen up, boys. Coach Alvo wants a word,” Gold said.

  Alvo’s cold, unsmiling eyes surveyed the room. Everyone quieted.

  “I want to welcome you all to the Axmen training camp,” Alvo began. His voice was low and gravelly. “I won’t sugar-coat this. Every position is open. Every spot is up for grabs. I don’t care who you are. You’re here because we believe in you. Who stays depends on who wants it the most. We need to see who thrives under pressure, in real game situations, and that’s why we’re having three scrimmages over the next three days. We want you to have the chance to show us what you’ve got. So good luck to all of you. Coach Washington will be coaching the Red side. Mr. Gold will read out the lineups.”

  Alvo left as abruptly as he’d entered.

  Gold tapped the screen of his iPad. Rocket leaned forward.

  “This scrimmage we’ve picked four lines and three sets of D for each team, with a few spares. Not everyone will get to play. We’ll do our best to rotate guys in tomorrow. You boys will be on Red. First line, we’ll go with Cash at centre, Hoffer on the left and Gruny on the right. You boys ready to take it into another gear?”

  Cash nodded and grinned.

  “Beauty. Second line we’ll have Bourquey in the middle …”

  Rocket’s heart was pounding through his chest. Would they put him on the wing or on defence — or on the bench?

  “Third line will be Rockwood at centre, Bossy on the left and Fryer on the right.”

  Rocket pretended to fuss with his laces so the guys wouldn’t see how relieved he was. Good sign that they’d put him at centre. Bourque played last year — this was his NHL draft year. Despite what Alvo said, Rocket figured Cash was a lock. That left two centre spots. Fryer had to be Hunter Fry. He was second year. Rocket didn’t know a ton about him, other than he had a fair number of penalty minutes — although not as much as Bossy. He wasn’t a scorer, in other words.

  It would be strange playing with the team’s tough guys. Rocket was used to being on the scoring line.

  After Gold had rhymed off the rest of the lines, he said, “Plenty of physical play, please. We want to see some banging. Play hard. Play mean. I’ll be watching.” He slapped Washington on the back. “Good luck out there,” he said and left.

  “Get yourselves ready to play,” Washington said. “I know you guys haven’t been on the ice together before, so I’m not going to load you up with plays. We want an up-tempo pace and lots of back pressure, and Coach Alvo wants guys willing to play in all three zones. Glassy, how about you lead us out?”

  The goalie waddled to the stick rack, pulled out his paddle and headed to the door. Rocket grabbed some tape from his bag. His dumb superstition of being the last guy out of the change room could be awkward. Technically, this wasn’t a game, but he wasn’t about to tempt fate now. He pulled a couple more strips around his shin pads as the rest of the guys filed out.

  “Hey, Bossy, Fryer, come meet your new centre,” Washington said as the two boys were about to leave.

  Rocket tossed his tape in his bag and jumped to his skates. Bossy and Fryer looked over.

  “Coach Alvo wanted you three together,” Washington said. “I think you’ll make a good unit. Rocket’s playmaking will give you guys a chance to show off your offensive game a bit more this year. His nickname tells the story; he’s all over the ice.”

  Bossy looked down at Rocket and half-smiled. “Yeah, cool,” he said.

  “Sounds good,” Fryer said flatly.

  “Have a good game, boys,” Washington said. He held the door open. Bossy and Fryer walked out.

  “You’ll do fine,” Washington said to Rocket. “Play your game and don’t be intimidated. The boys are going to be a bit standoffish. They’ll come around.”

  “Thanks, Coach. I feel good.”

  Washington tugged on Rocket’s sweater. “Those boys aren’t exactly afraid to drop their gloves. If you need help out there, just ask them.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  He slapped Rocket’s shoulder pads. “You’ll do great. Go for it.”

  Rocket had hoped to tape up his hand for support, but he didn’t want to do it front of the coach or the other guys. It would raise too many questions. He hustled out to the ice. Washington was obviously looking out for him. He was less happy that the coaches thought he needed special protection. That wasn’t good. He’d have to prove to everyone that he wasn’t afraid of contact.

  Most players were circling the ice in twos and threes. Two players were warming up the goalies. Rocket fell in behind a pack of guys and began to stretch out his legs. An elbow jabbed into his back, and when Rocket turned around, Kyle and Nathan were grinning back. They were in blue. Rocket slapped their shin pads with his stick.

&nb
sp; “Didn’t you hear? Red sucks,” Kyle said.

  “I kind of think it goes with my eyes,” Rocket said.

  Nathan looked at him. “I kind of think it does.”

  They all laughed.

  “So who’d they put you with?” Kyle said.

  “I’m centring a line with Bossy and Fryer,” Rocket said. “What about you guys?”

  Kyle shrugged, and Nathan lowered his head and tapped the ice with his stick. They swerved around the net.

  “Alvo said he’d try and work us in when he could,” Kyle said. “We’re free agents, so …” He tapped Rocket’s shin pads. “Good luck out there. I’m going to go for a bit of a skate. Might be my last chance.”

  He set off, Nathan right behind. Rocket was impressed. Kyle could really motor. Nathan was a bit more awkward, with a jerky, loping stride.

  Rocket spotted a puck against the boards and snagged it with his forehand. Stickhandling wasn’t too bad. His bottom hand did most of the work. It hurt, but he could tough it out.

  On a whim, he lowered his hands and tipped the puck onto this blade. As he passed the net, he stuffed the puck under the crossbar. He winced. That hurt — but this was the time to get some attention. Hopefully, Gold and Alvo noticed.

  Rocket spotted another puck against the boards near centre. He reached out. A red sweater brushed past him and took the puck away, two other Red players close behind. It was Cash, and the chasers were Hoffer and Gruny. Cash pulled ahead and headed in on goal.

  “Clear the way,” Cash shouted.

  The player warming up the goalie stepped aside. The goalie came out to challenge. Cash dipped his shoulder near the slot, and the goalie lowered into his crouch. Cash cut to his backhand, brought it back forehand and drove for the post. The goalie dropped into a butterfly and jammed his skate against the post, dropping his paddle on the ice to protect the five-hole. Cash whipped the puck across his body, let go of his bottom hand and, with one hand on the stick, tucked the puck into the corner of the net.

  Cash raised his arms in the air. Hoffer pretended to bodycheck him into the boards. Rocket put his stick across his knees and glided across the blue line. He had a feeling Gold and Alvo saw that.