Ice Time (2 page)

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.

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.

“Hey, I finished high school with the highest marks on my team,” Rocket protested, “and I have two university credits.”

“At that rate, you’ll graduate when you’re eighty,” Maddy said.

A waiter stopped at their table. “Have you decided?” she said.

“Could you give us another minute, please?” Risa said.

The waiter looked around the restaurant. “It’s kind of busy …”

“Sorry, but we just sat down,” Risa said.

“We fill up quickly around lunchtime …”

“A coffee,” Risa snapped.

“How do you want it?” the waiter said.

“In a cup.”

The waiter went to another table.

Risa shook her head. “These snobby places are all the same. The waiters treat you like garbage if they don’t think you’re rich.”

Maddy shook her head. Then she looked at Rocket. “So,
what’s up
?”

That was Maddy for you — right to the point.

“Well, I got in late last night,” Rocket said, “and I didn’t want to wake you guys up. I went for a workout this morning, a bit early—”

“And you left a message to meet you here,” Maddy interrupted. “So, what’s up?”

“Yeah, okay. Get on with it, right?” He paused. “I got sent down to the AHL, to a team called the Pinewood Racers.”

His mother’s face fell. “Oh, Bryan, I’m so sorry. I know you were hoping for better news.”

“I should be saying sorry to you,” he said. “The money isn’t bad. I’ve been offered a contract for around sixty grand a year. But … minimum contract in the NHL is over a half-million.”

“Sixty thousand’s still pretty good,” Maddy said.

“But it’s not NHL money,” Rocket said.

“Where will you live?” his mother asked.

“I have to find a place. I’ll have to pay for that, and for my own food.”

“You’ll be making a lot more money than you did in junior,” Maddy jumped in. “You should be fine.”

“But what about you guys? You’ll be stuck in that crappy apartment. And how are you going to pay for med school, Maddy? I can help out, way more than I have been, but making the team would’ve solved everything.” He slapped the table and shook his head. “I was so close. I could’ve paid your tuition and bought us a house.”

His shoulders sagged, and he sat back in his seat, feeling overwhelmed. They all worked so hard, but there was never enough money. He’d really hoped to change that.

“The coaches are on me about my defensive-zone coverage,” he said. “In the last scrimmage, I made a bad decision and went to the half-boards instead of …” He stopped, realizing it didn’t matter. “Well, anyway, I’ll be on a two-way contract in the AHL, so I still have a chance at making it. But that probably won’t happen this year. If ever. I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Honey, we’ll be okay,” she said, patting his hand.

“And you’re not paying for my university,” Maddy said. “I am.”

“How are you going to do that?” Rocket said.

“My scholarship, plus grants and loans. I managed to save a fair bit from my job this summer, too.”

“It’s not enough,” Rocket said. “We’re a family, Maddy, and we help each other out. I know you’re not technically my sister, but … you are, so get over it.”

The waiter appeared. “Here’s your coffee.” She plunked it on the table. A bit spilled onto the saucer.

“Charming,” said Risa.

“And here’s your bill. There are people waiting for a table,” she said before walking away.

Maddy glared after her, then turned back to Rocket. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about me. The NHL is your
dream
, Bryan. You’ve worked your whole life for this, and you’re going to make it. And not because we need the money but because you deserve to. You’ll figure out the defensive-whatever, and you’ll show them you’re the real deal.”

“That’s right,” said Risa. “You focus on what you need to do. We’ve always gotten by, and we always will.”

“I’m still going to send you as much as I can,” he said.

The waiter returned. “Are you going to pay for your coffee at some point?”

Risa reached into her purse, ripped open her wallet and slammed a five-dollar bill on the table. “I’ll have my change, please.”

The waiter rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the tip,” she said as she walked to the cash register.

Rocket couldn’t take it. He jumped up and marched over.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The waiter arched her eyebrows.

“I want you to treat my mother with respect next time,” he thundered.

“Why? Is she coming back to order another coffee, take up space and then leave a ten-cent tip?”

“Do your job.”

“You’re just three nobodies who came in to stargaze,” she huffed. “Your type bugs me. You want to be treated like you’re famous, but you can’t even afford to order something. A coffee? What a joke.”

“I’ll take the change,” he growled.

She gave him the money. “Are you leaving?”

“We’ll leave when we want.” He stormed back. “Let’s go.”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk to you,” his mom said.

“That waiter is unbelievable. I hate it here. Everyone thinks they’re so amazing because they have money. We’ll come back when I’m in the NHL, and she’ll be kissing my butt. You’ll see. And I’ll ask for the manager and get her fired.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Risa said gently. “She’s a rude person. No big deal. Let’s go, then.”

They had to walk by the waiter to get out. She smirked at Rocket, but he was too miserable to respond.

He’d let his mom and Maddy down.

His mom had made so many sacrifices for his hockey, spent so much money. She’d told him that as long as he wanted to play, she would make it happen — and she had.

Now it was time for him to make something happen.

Somehow he’d walked right past the place. He was still fuming about that snooty waiter, and he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going. He doubled back and pushed on the door. It flew open and the handle hit the wall with a bang.

A waiter’s head whirled toward the door. “You can just come in,” he laughed.

“Sorry, just looking for some friends.” Rocket scanned the restaurant.

“Yo, Rocket,” André called out, waving his hand over his head. They’d found a table in the back corner.

Rocket went over. “Hey, guys, long time no see. How’s school going?”

“It’s barely started, and I’m already dreading my mechatronics class,” Bird said.

“Mechatronics is an engineering course that combines several types of technology—” Megan began to explain to Rocket.

“Thanks, Ms. Education,” he interrupted. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but Rocket felt dumb when he was with his non-hockey friends. Especially now that they were all in university.

Megan flushed deeply.

Rocket felt bad right away. He decided to change the topic.

“What else are you up to?” he asked Bird and Nigel.

Bird laughed and threw his hands in the air. “It’s total mayhem. Nigel and I rented a place for this year, but it never occurred to us that it had no furniture. Are floors hard to sleep on?”

“I told you to start looking for stuff two months ago,” Megan said.

“We kind of didn’t take your good advice,” Nigel said.

“Why do I bother?” she said.

“That’s a solid question,” Bird said with a grin.

Rocket had met Bird, Nigel and Megan when he was grade seven. Bird had always been chill and goofy. Nigel was usually very serious. And Megan was … Megan — in charge, smart and organized. He hadn’t seen her much lately because of hockey. She was more like a woman than a girl now. She still wasn’t into clothes or makeup, but she looked, well, more mature.

He’d met André in grade seven, too, when they’d played together for the Bowmont Blues. André had filled out even more over the years. He was probably two hundred pounds and well over six feet tall. Rocket felt a twinge of envy. That was NHL size. Of course, André had stopped playing hockey years ago.

“Forget about our boring lives,” André said. “What’s up with the Rocket? Your text said you’re off to play for Pinewood.”

Rocket told them what happened. “Now I have to become a different player — and fast,” he finished.

“No problem,” Bird said. “There’s got to be a lifehack on that.”

“I bet they tell rookies that all the time,” André said. “Don’t worry. They pay big bucks for guys who put the puck in the net.”

“I thought I was so close, though,” Rocket moaned. “I could literally taste that first contract.”

“That’s the problem,” Megan said. “Guys get blinded by the money, and they forget their chances of making the NHL are tiny. I’m not being negative, Bryan, but this is why you should be taking those online courses. You can earn more university credits, and—”

“I can’t,” Rocket cut in. “The AHL is a pro league, with road trips and training. I have to focus on hockey.”

“As opposed to before when you barely paid attention to it?” Megan said. “Hockey’s all you ever do.”