Ice Time Page 8

  “Management likes its veterans,” Rocket said.

  “We got to run, bro,” Crawford said. “Good luck tomorrow!”

  Rocket gave them a thumbs-up as Rino drove away. They were the craziest fans he’d ever met. He was surprised Rino and Griff weren’t wearing their tinfoil Stanley Cup hats. He bet they slept in their Racers gear.

  The bus came and Rocket got on. He dozed the whole time.

  As it pulled up near his apartment building, all he could think about was getting inside, having a quick snack and then taking a nap. He had to get rid of this fatigue.

  He walked into the lobby.

  “Get out! I do not want to see you back here,” Ritchie shouted. “You are a bad person.”

  Rocket stopped in his tracks. Then he saw a second man leaning against the wall by the elevators.

  “I go where I want,” the man said, “and you’d better watch your mouth, or I’ll call immigration, and you can go back to whatever jungle you came from. Minus a few teeth.”

  “I have the right to be here,” Ritchie said. “Call the government persons, Carl. I do not care — and I am not scared of you.”

  Carl burst out laughing. He had short-cropped blond hair, shaved closely on the sides and back, and a nose ring and two earrings.

  “‘Government persons?’ Learn English already,” Carl said.

  Rocket had heard enough. “The man asked you to leave, so here’s the door.” He pointed to it.

  Carl laughed again. “Who’s the punk?”

  “You are the punk,” Ritchie said. “I see you here again, I call the police. You do not like that, do you?”

  The smile disappeared from Carl’s face. “Best not get involved in my stuff.”

  “Last warning,” Rocket said. “Use the door before I don’t give you a choice.”

  Rocket recognized Carl’s type from his old neighbourhood: a tough talker, but not a tough guy. That was one advantage of growing up where he had. He was pretty good at figuring out who you needed to stay away from — and who was full of it.

  Rocket zeroed in on Carl, balled his fists and stepped forward.

  Sure enough, Carl flashed a cocky grin, shrugged and pushed off from the wall.

  “I’m done my business,” he said. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his army jacket. “You guys sure you don’t want to party? I can hook you up with some good stuff, the best. I have the best prices in town. Let me know.” He flicked his chin and strolled out the door.

  Ritchie scowled and his eyes darkened. “Thank you, Bryan. That is a very bad man. I warned him before to stay away, but he does not listen. I will not let drugs be sold here.”

  “Are you sure he’s a dealer?”

  “One reason to leave El Salvador was to get away from people like that,” Ritchie said. “Many people die in my country because of drug war and gangs, fighting over money. I hate it, and I will not let Carl push me around so he can do his business.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be a problem,” Rocket said.

  Ritchie looked out to the street. “Mariana tells me to leave it alone. But I get mad.”

  Rocket patted Ritchie on the back. His landlord was a real stand-up guy. “Carl’s a poser, a big talker, if you ask me. He won’t be back now that he knows he has to deal with both of us.”

  Ritchie laughed, his usual smile back in place. “You are right, Bryan. He is a little fish. In Spanish, we say he is an agrandado, which means he thinks he is a big person and all important, but he is nothing and no one cares about him. Come on. Let me make you lunch. Then I must go to work.”

  But as the rush of adrenalin from his run-in with Carl faded, all Rocket really wanted to do was sleep. Concussion or not, something was taking a lot out of him. “You know what, I think I’ll just hit the hay. I’m tired from my workout,” he said.

  Ritchie gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean — hit the hay?”

  “It means go to sleep.”

  Ritchie shook his head. “That is a strange one. In Spanish, we sometimes say meterse en el sobre, which means to get into the envelope. Funny to translate from one language to another. Hit the hay! I like it. Anyway, I will fix a sandwich for you and put it in the fridge.”

  “Thanks, Ritchie.”

  Rocket went to his bedroom and pulled the curtains.

  His phone buzzed. A text from his bud, Ty: Saw u popped in a pair last night. Awesome work. Bring it.

  He texted back: One more home game, then 4 game road trip. Gotta bring it. No. 1 centre hurt. Might get chance for regular shift. U good?

  Rocket lay down and closed his eyes. His phone buzzed, but he was too tired to check it.

  Rory was right. He couldn’t afford to get hurt now. Maybe that hit took something out of him, and maybe it was a concussion. But he had to fight through it. Megan was right about one thing. He didn’t have a plan B. It was hockey or nothing.

  He felt himself drift off.

  CHAPTER 18

  Bent at the waist, with his stick across his knees, Rocket did a wide turn.

  “Let’s make some N–O–I–S–E!” the announcer bellowed.

  The fans rose to their feet and cheered. Rocket straightened up.

  “Wake up, Rockwood,” he said to himself for the tenth time.

  C.C. was still hurt, and it seemed likely he’d be put on the injury list. That meant Bryan “The Rocket” Rockwood would be the Racers’ number-one centre tonight and on the road trip ahead. The sour look on Barker’s face when Kaufman had called Rocket’s name to start was an extra bonus.

  Rocket set up for the opening faceoff. The puck dropped, and the Rams’ centre pulled it back to his left defenceman. Rocket gave chase, scowling at himself. He hadn’t even set up properly.

  Get in the game, he told himself.

  The Rams’ defenceman banked the puck off the wall to his left winger, who chipped it into the Racers’ zone before Rory rode him into the wall. The goalie trapped it behind his net. The Racers’ right defenceman went back for it. Rocket curled in front of him, figuring Rory’s check had held the winger up so he’d have the space. The defenceman snapped a pass. Rocket took it on his forehand and flew up the side. Goldsy hovered up near the Rams’ blue line. A pass to him would be too high risk, so instead, Rocket cut into the seam between the centre and the left winger. Both converged on him, which freed Rory up.

  Rocket sent a hard saucer pass to his right to Rory, then hopped to the left to avoid a crushing check from the centre.

  Rory carried it over the red line, and then rang the puck up on the glass. The Rams’ goalie tried to trap it, but the puck squeaked by him. Goldsy got to it at the hash marks and knocked it into the corner. Rocket fired in from the blue line on the forecheck. The right defenceman reached out to corral the puck with his forehand, his back to the play. Rocket would get a penalty if he hit him from behind, so he veered right and curled into him.

  The crowd let out a roar. Rocket had knocked the guy to the ice.

  Pulling the puck out from under the defenceman, Rocket backed up along the wall. Goldsy headed to the net. Rory was camped out to the right side.

  Rocket almost sent it to Rory behind the net, but the Rams’ right winger was cheating down low. Instead, he snapped a pass along the wall to his defenceman on the left point. Goldsy established a strong net presence in front. Rory shifted to the top of the circle. Rocket decided to go behind the net and give the point man an outlet.

  The Rams’ right winger charged the point. The point man opted to send the puck along the wall to Rocket, who kicked the puck to his stick and faced the play. With the sound of the crowd ringing in his ears and the Rams’ defencemen unsure of what he’d do next, Rocket relished the moment. It was a chance to get creative and make a play.

  He took it two steps left. The centre came at Rocket from the goalie’s glove-hand side, while the left defenceman protected the post and the right defenceman battled with Goldsy in front. The wingers stayed high to take away the point sh
ot.

  That left Rory wide open.

  Rocket took another half-step left. The centre reached his stick out. Rocket saucered the puck between the guy’s feet to the top of the circle, then hopped back right to avoid the hit. The centre caught a piece of his shoulder, but not enough to knock him off stride.

  Rory took the pass on his forehand. The Rams’ left defenceman turned to face the shot. Rocket jumped to the goalie’s glove side, standing behind the left defenceman, hoping for a rebound. Rory hesitated and then, with a flick of his wrists, ripped a shot along the ice to the short-side. The left defenceman dropped to the ice to block the shot, as did the goalie. The puck went into the left defenceman’s shin pads. Rocket looked down.

  There it was. The puck had squeaked through.

  Rocket shot without looking, lowering his left hand to get the puck as high as he could.

  Then he pushed off with his left skate, bent his right knee and swung his left arm overhead. He turned to face his teammates, drifting backwards to the boards.

  Magical — a first-shift goal.

  Rory’s arms were apart as he skated over. He wrapped them around Rocket’s shoulders.

  “That’s what I call top shelf,” he said.

  Rocket’s forehander had grazed the goalie’s left shoulder and zipped into the top corner, short-side.

  “Way to get the puck to the net,” Rocket said.

  His defencemen congratulated them. “Awesome puck movement, boys,” one of them said. “Goalie didn’t even see it.”

  Goldsy gave Rocket’s shin pads a tap. “Good start. Let’s get another.” That meant a lot to Rocket. C.C. and Goldsy were pals, and Rocket had taken C.C.’s spot.

  McGill called for a complete change. Five players filed onto the ice. Rocket punched gloves as he came onto the bench. Rogers moved over to give Rocket a spot.

  “Nice snipe, bro,” Rogers said.

  Downey leaned over and punched Rocket’s knee. “You and R.C. Cola have it going,” he said.

  Rocket’s opinion of his old linemates went way up. They were still sitting, but they were team players and happy about the go-ahead goal.

  “We got the jump on them, boys,” Rocket said loudly. “Let’s get the next one.”

  A wave of fatigue washed over him, and for a moment, he saw spots. Fortunately, everyone had turned to watch the game, and no one noticed him fumbling for some water. He took off his helmet and poured some of it on his head and down his neck. The cold shocked him, but it felt good and the spots went away.

  He was tempted to tell Nadav. He rolled his neck a few times.

  “You feeling okay?” Rogers asked him.

  “Got cross-checked last game. I’m a bit stiff.”

  McGill slapped Rocket lightly on the shoulder. “You’re playing well. Don’t let up,” he said.

  Rocket put his helmet back on. He had a game to play.

  The two teams settled into a grinding style of play for the rest of the first and the second periods. Rocket had a good chance in close on a set-up from Rory, but the goalie had stood tall and made a tremendous glove save.

  Fatigue continued to be an issue, but Rocket was able to cover it up with quick shifts. Barker was the bigger problem. He wouldn’t let up about Rocket’s defence: “You left the zone too fast.” “Support the D in our end.” “Backcheck for once in your life.” The chirping never stopped.

  Rory told him to ignore it and play his game.

  Not so easy when your every move is micro-analyzed.

  Barker was never going to let up.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Rockwood, change it up,” Kaufman barked.

  Rocket hopped the boards alongside Rory and Goldsy. With 9:25 left on the clock, the Racers were up by one. Lots of time for the Rams to come back.

  The faceoff was in the Racers’ end. The centre was already lined up. He tended to finesse the draw, so Rocket decided to go in hard and overpower him. The linesman held the puck out. Rocket lowered his stick. At the drop, Rocket swung his right hip into the centre and swept his stick backwards.

  Their helmets banged into each other. Rocket winced. The centre had fooled him and opted for a power move also. The puck lay in their feet. Rocket pushed hard and kicked at the puck. It dribbled to the side wall, and the Racers’ defenceman brought it to the corner. The centre took a step back and drilled Rocket with his shoulder. Rocket tumbled to the ice.

  “Interference!” Rocket yelled at the referee. He got to his knees.

  His defenceman ringed the puck around the wall to Goldsy.

  Two gloves pounded into Rocket’s back.

  “Shut up, little boy, and play the game,” the centre said.

  Rocket struggled to his feet. His legs felt like clay, and his skates seemed to weigh a hundred pounds each. He wanted to take a run at the guy so badly. But the Racers needed to protect that one-goal lead, and Rocket knew the golden rule of hockey: the guy who retaliates always gets the penalty.

  The right defenceman pinched, and Goldsy had to retreat into the corner, protecting the puck with his big frame.

  Rocket groaned and skated over to support. He figured he could dig it out and whip it around to Rory. Goldsy saw him coming and nudged the puck along the wall with his stick. Rocket slammed on the brakes, pulled the puck toward him with the tip of his blade and set off around the net.

  Rory was at the half-boards. Rocket was about to pass it, but the left defenceman pinched and the pass wasn’t there. The centre was standing still in front. Dead legs or not, Rocket knew it was up to him to carry it out of their zone. He ignored the pain, rounded the net on the goalie’s stick side and headed up. The quick move caught the centre off guard. All he could do was reach his stick out. Rocket swung the puck to his backhand to avoid the poke check. Rory cut inside for a pass. The Rams’ right defenceman moved forward to cover Rory. Rocket decided to keep it.

  Suddenly, Rory went down.

  “What’s that?” Rocket screamed.

  The defenceman had hip-checked Rory at the knees, and Rory had fallen to the ice like a rag doll.

  Rocket’s tiredness disappeared. He dropped his gloves and stick and charged. He threw a right hook at the defenceman’s chin and followed up with two left hooks at his ear. The defenceman staggered back. The Rams’ left defenceman pulled Rocket away by the shoulders. Rocket turned and hit him with a hook to the body.

  “Easy, kid,” the defenceman said calmly. “This is over.” He kept hold.

  He was a really big guy, with a thick, heavy frame, and Rocket could feel his strength — not a guy to mess with.

  “What’s with the cheap shot?” Rocket fumed.

  “I get ya,” the defenceman said. “But it’s done.”

  Rocket looked up. The defenceman’s beard was speckled with grey, and his forehead and the area around his eyes had a few wrinkles. He also had a dark scar running down one cheek, and his front teeth were missing. Rocket tried to pull away. No point. The guy was too strong.

  “We good?” the defenceman said.

  “Yeah, I’m done,” Rocket said, and the guy let go.

  Rocket wanted to take another run at the right defenceman. Rory was still down. Hockey had a code, though. A fight was over once you agreed to stop.

  Goldsy was leading Nadav to Rory. Rocket went to him.

  “Sorry, bro,” the right defenceman was saying to Rory. “I thought you had the puck. Honest.”

  “Stand back,” a linesman said to him.

  Rocket looked down at Rory’s face and saw something he never thought he’d see there — fear. It chilled Rocket to his core.

  A hand tugged on Rocket’s sweater.

  “You’re in the box for fighting, number 36,” a linesman said.

  “The guy submarined him at the knees!” Rocket said.

  The linesman began to push him toward the penalty box. For one insane moment, Rocket felt like pushing back. The defenceman who’d hit Rory was being directed to the Rams’ bench.

  “W
hat about that guy? He went after his knee — on purpose,” Rocket said.

  The linesman didn’t react. He kept pushing Rocket to the penalty box.

  “Total garbage call!” Rocket was shouting. “He ends a guy’s career, and you give me a penalty? Stupidest call ever.”

  The door opened.

  “What about the third man in?” Rocket screamed. “Their left defenceman practically mugged me.”

  He turned his back on the linesman and stormed into the box and slammed the door shut. The glass around the box shook. The referee came over and opened the door.

  “You got a fighting major and an instigation penalty, and that little temper tantrum earned you a misconduct,” the referee said. “You’re done for the night.”

  Rocket leapt to his feet. “He went after Rory’s knee, on purpose. May as well give the Rams a couple of goals and get it over with. You obviously want them to win!”

  “Watch your mouth, rookie,” the referee snarled. He stepped closer. “I’m giving you a break because you’re a kid. You question my integrity again — ever — and every ref in this league will be on you. That’s a promise. So I advise you to shut it and get off the ice before I give your team a delay-of-game penalty.” He skated away.

  Rocket stepped back on the ice, in shock. Goldsy handed him his gloves and stick.

  “Did you get a game?” Goldsy said.

  “They said I was the instigator of the fight,” Rocket said. “I’m gone. Did you see the hit?”

  “We all did. I think R.C. Cola’s really messed. I can’t believe the guy hit his bad knee,” Goldsy said.

  Nadav was helping Rory off.

  The penalties had just been posted on the scoreboard, and the Racers’ fans were making their feelings felt. A chorus of boos cascaded down, and the referee was being called every name in the book. Rocket went to the bench.

  “Most ridiculous call ever,” Rocket heard Crawford yell.

  The boys had managed to sneak down again.

  “Open your eyes, ref. Takes two guys to fight,” Chaz said.

  Griff shook his scarf at the ref.