Ice Time (14 page)

“Won’t they have a future, even if you don’t play hockey?” Rocket said. The words surprised even him. Why had he asked that?

“I guess,” Rory said uneasily, “but you know what I mean.” He pointed at the TV. “Have a seat. I want to show you something.”

Rocket sat on the couch. A spring poked him in the back, and he moved over.

Rory started the video. It was the first period of the Rams game.

“Puck’s in the right corner,” Rory began. “You’re in the high slot. That’s not right. You got to be closer to the faceoff dot to cut off the passing lane, and you want to have your stick on your forehand to keep the puck from getting in close to the net. That also gets you closer to the corner so you can help the D if they have trouble getting control of the puck. And you’ll still be in position as an outlet for a breakout.”

“I figured the defenceman had him, and I would be ready for a pass up high,” Rocket said.

“Watch what happens next,” Rory said.

He let the play run. The winger threw the puck behind the net. The Racers’ right defenceman reached for it, but it hopped over his stick and continued to the other winger at the hash marks. The Rams’ centre skated down low and took a pass in the slot, cut left and sent a backhander, short-side. The goalie knocked it away with his blocker.

“I remember that play,” Rocket said. “Bad luck. It hopped over our D-man’s stick. And no chance he scores on a backhand from there.”

“You have to be in position to handle the worst-case scenario, not the best,” Rory said. “The centre got a pass in your zone. You have to be there, regardless of what you think will happen. Anticipation is fine, but you have to at least be in the area. If he’d been a right-handed shot, it would’ve been a serious scoring chance. Are you up for more?”

Rocket’s head was spinning a bit, but he said, “I think so.”

Rory fast-forwarded to another play. “Puck’s dumped into our end. You’re not on your man.”

He ran the play. The Rams’ centre roared in and plastered the Racers’ defenceman against the boards. The Rams’ winger got the loose puck and began a cycle down low.

“You got to get a piece of your guy in the neutral zone, or at least get in his way — not obstruction because that’s an easy penalty call — but something to slow him up. You let him go, and they got possession.”

They watched another play. Rory pointed out Rocket’s bad positioning and wrong stick placement.

“I guess Barker’s right,” Rocket said. He was thoroughly depressed.

“Don’t say that,” Rory said. “You’re a great player, and I think if you work on this, you’ll move up. Barker’s going to be a huge problem for all of us, but especially you. Maybe he’s still holding a grudge, but I also think he’s the type that likes picking on people. He obviously has it in for you. Might be worth getting your release and trying to play for someone else.”

“Like who? I’ll be out of the league.”

“East Coast, Europe, Russia? Then you come back when you’ve put up some solid stats.”

“I don’t want to sound bitter, but that would totally suck,” Rocket said.

They turned back to the TV as the next play started. Rocket felt sick to his stomach. It was obvious that he defended as an afterthought and was constantly looking to attack, even if the puck was deep in the Racers’ end.

Barker and Landry were right, and the thought left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

Rocket tiptoed as quietly as he could to the living room. He’d slept practically the entire day. Now it was midnight, and he couldn’t sleep.

His life had become a blur — he slept all the time. The Racers had come back from their road trip a week ago, and he could still barely stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. Hockey seemed a distant memory.

Other than a dinner invitation and a few texts from Rory, and one text from C.C., Rocket hadn’t heard from the other Racers. The guys had obviously forgotten him.

He plunked himself on the couch and opened his laptop. He could tolerate the screen for half an hour, a few times a day.

Rocket spent the time reviewing hockey videos of himself and others, including NHL players. He’d also begun taking detailed notes. He was learning more and more, like how a slight change in stick position can shut down a power play or take away a pass to the slot.

The hardest part of it was that he didn’t make one major mistake over and over. The mistakes were subtler: errors in judgment, getting to the boards a step late, leaving the zone too soon, failing to block a passing lane. Rory told him not to sweat it; Rocket needed to go through the learning process like everyone else.

Rory had taught him something else. Pros study the game — constantly.

Rocket began reviewing a video of the Racers’ last game. They’d won 4–2. Rory had told Rocket to watch C.C.

“Nice,” Rocket said as C.C. beat the opposing centre to the top of the circle in the Racers’ end.

As the video went on, Rocket jotted down notes and kept up a running commentary.

“Get in the passing lane.”

“Watch the slot.”

“Lift his stick.”

He rewound the video to see C.C.’s spacing. The Racers’ captain knew what he was doing. Rocket stared at the screen. How could a player that good not be in the NHL?

He flipped to another video and found one of his own shifts. Rogers passed to him in the neutral zone, then —

A bedroom door creaked open. Rocket looked up.

Rafa beamed a smile and stepped out.

“You should be in bed,” Rocket said.

“Can’t sleep. Why are you up?”

“Same, I guess.”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching myself play hockey.”

“Why?”

“To learn how to play better.”

“You already know how to play.”

“You can always improve, Rafa.”

Rafa slid onto the couch.

Rocket laughed and ruffled his hair. “You want to watch a little?”

“Sure.”

“They have the puck in our corner,” Rocket said. “I’m supposed to cover the centre in the high slot, and if we get the puck, I have to—”

“This is boring,” Rafa said. “Can we play a game?”

“Well, maybe you should try to sleep.”

“Come on. One game.”

“What do you want to play?”

“I don’t know.”

Rocket closed the laptop. “A quick game of crazy eights?”

Rafa nodded vigorously.

“Can you get the cards?” Rocket said.

Rafa dashed to a desk tucked into a nook and opened a drawer. He dug around until he found the cards.

Rocket shuffled and dealt them.

“I want to play,” Leona said. She scampered onto the couch.

“Do you guys ever sleep?” Rocket said. These two didn’t have an off switch.

“I don’t need to sleep,” Leona said.

“Liar. You sleep all the time,” Rafa said.

“You do, too,” Leona said.

“Let’s move to the floor. There’s more room,” Rocket said. He dealt Leona a hand. “Remember the rule,” he said dramatically. “No tears when I win.”

That was his go-to joke whenever they played a game. It always got a reaction.

“You haven’t won yet,” Leona said.

“I don’t cry,” Rafa said.

“You cry all the time,” Leona said. “You cried yesterday.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Okay, guys,” Rocket said. “Not important. I was joking. Nobody is going to cry. Now, who goes first?”

“Me!” they cried together.

“I’ll go,” Rocket said. “You’d both be good hockey players. You’re competitive.”

“What does that mean?” Leona said.

“You like to win,” Rocket said.

“No tears.” Leona grinned as she put a ten of hearts on top of his ten of diamonds.

Mariana came out of her bedroom. “Children, you need to let Bryan sleep — and it’s late for both of you.”

“I can’t sleep, Mamá,” Rafa said.

“Me, neither,” Leona said.

She sounded so sad, Rocket and Mariana cracked up.

“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.

“No reason, Leona,” Mariana said.

“We have to finish,” Rafa said. “Rocket says it’s bad luck to start a game and not finish.”

Mariana gave Rocket a sideways glance.

Rocket smiled. “I kind of did. Besides, I slept so much today that I’m wide awake.”

“How are you feeling?” Mariana said. The entire family had been incredibly kind to him while he dealt with his concussion.

“I feel pretty good right now. It’s weird. It comes and goes. Some moments I think I’m ready to hit the ice, and a minute later, I have to lie down.”

Mariana sat next to Rafa. “We can play one game,” she said. “But deal me in.”

The front door opened. Ritchie, his hair a bit messy and his eyes bleary, offered them a tired smile.

“Papá!” Rafa and Leona cried. They jumped up and ran over for a hug.

“You are so late tonight, Ricardo,” Mariana said.

Ritchie kissed and hugged his kids. “The boss must like me. He wants me to stay and work for a long time. Too bad he does not like to pay me for it.” He laughed.

“He has to pay you for your work,” Rocket said. Ironic for him to say that: the Racers had only now started to pay him again.

“He pays me my wage,” Ritchie said, “but he has a problem with paying me overtime.”

Mariana rose to give her husband a hug. “He is breaking the law. You work too many hours and do not get paid what you should.”

Ritchie embraced his wife, then said, “I will definitely tell my boss. I am sure he will change his mind. But for now, I am happy to have the work and to earn the money I do. Now, why are
los pequeños
still awake? Explain yourselves.”

“We can’t sleep. We’re playing a game of crazy eights. Come here, Papá,” Rafa said, patting the floor. “You can sit next to me.”

Rocket dealt out another hand.

“No tears when
I
win, Papá,” Rafa said.

“There will be many tears when I win,” Ritchie said, sitting down. He looked at his cards and put the queen of spades down. “A-ha! Pick up five.”

“No, Papá. You go after Mamá,” Leona cried.

“And you can’t put a spade on a heart,” Rafa said.

“Oh, I am so foolish.” Ritchie winked at Rocket and picked up the card.

Ritchie continued to clown around. Soon, he had everyone laughing. Rocket sometimes wondered how Ritchie kept his spirits up and was so positive about life. Here was a doctor who had to clean buildings all day, who was ripped off by his boss and who was trying to adjust to life in a foreign country. He seemed to have so little, but he still gave so much.

Rocket suddenly felt terribly sad. He’d never had a family like this. His parents had divorced when he was little. He hadn’t seen his dad much since then. His mom had to work a lot to make ends meet, and Rocket had spent a lot of time alone. It got better when Maddy moved in, but Rocket hadn’t really lived at home since he was drafted as a junior. Maybe that’s why he loved playing hockey so much. He never felt lonely on the ice.

“Your turn, Rocket Man,” Rafa said.

Rocket threw an eight on the pile. “Make it diamonds.”

“You shouldn’t waste your eights so early,” Leona scolded.

She was an interesting kid, feisty and demanding, but also the first to cheer her family on and always ready with a hug. Rafa acted like a tough kid, but deep down, he was sensitive and kind. Their parents obviously adored them both.

Rocket thought of Rory, then. His friend was so obsessed with getting back to the NHL, he was missing out on time with Melissa and Angela.

Was it possible to have both — a family and a hockey career? Rocket wondered about his future. Could he have it all? And if not, what was more important?

“Rocket,” Leona said. “It’s your turn again. You’re being such an empty head.”

“Sorry. I was trying to decide which awesome card to play.”

Leona played next and then Mariana.

“Pick up two,” Mariana said to Ritchie.

“I will not forget this betrayal,” Ritchie said.

Rafa and Leona giggled.

Rocket shifted to get more comfortable.

“I think Bryan is getting tired,” Mariana said.

“Okay,” Leona said instantly.

“No, no. I’m good. Let’s finish. Besides, I want to see Rafa cry.”

“Oh, yeah, look at this.” Rafa put down three sixes. He knocked on the floor twice. “One card left,” he said proudly.

“Are your friends coming back to see you soon, Bryan?” Ritchie asked.

Rocket picked a card from the pile. “I’m not sure. They go to different schools, so they have to figure out a time that works for all of them.”

“They are nice kids,” Mariana said. “They worry about you.”

“They do,” Rocket said. “I just need to get healthy and start playing again — and get into the NHL. Then I can worry about them.”

“When will you be healthy?” Leona said.

“Soon,” Rocket said.

Mariana cast a worried glance his way. “Do not rush back. Make sure you feel one hundred percent healthy.”

“Pick up two,” Ritchie said gleefully.

“Ugh,” Rafa groaned. He reached for the cards.

Rocket looked over at his computer. Tomorrow he’d pick those online courses and sign up for the winter term. Megan was right. His family needed him to have a plan B. It was selfish not to. Despite all of his hard work, hockey might not be in his future. And if that happened, he’d never be able to help his mom and Maddy.

“I win!” Leona squealed, her arms over her head. “Everyone has to start crying.”

“One more game?” Rafa pleaded. “I almost won.”

“It’s late, and Bryan needs his sleep to heal,” Mariana said.

Actually, this was the best Rocket had felt in weeks. Time spent like this would help him heal faster than sleeping or watching hockey videos. He collected the cards.

“One more — if that’s okay with you, Mariana?” Rocket said. “But I’m actually trying this time. And absolutely no tears when I am the champion.”

The two kids howled in protest as Rocket dealt the cards.

Rocket forced himself to jump down the last two stairs. He had to see if it hurt.

It did, a bit, but he didn’t want to think about it. He needed to start working out.

He was so bored. After four weeks of watching Racers games from the press box, he wanted some action. He’d also watched countless hours of hockey videos, taken endless notes and asked Rory and Kaufman a million questions — all the while suffering a nonstop barrage of insults from Barker. He’d even started calling Rocket “Head Case.” The guys on the team hadn’t picked up on it, but Rocket worried that it was a matter of time before they made the connection to his injury.