Power Play (8 page)

I
’d like to propose a toast,” Coach said. “To the three newest members of the Watertown Warriors. You will form the core of the team that will ultimately lead us to the championship!”

We all cheered and clinked our bottles together, and then I tipped mine back and drained it. I put the empty on the table beside the others. Among the four of us we’d almost killed the entire 2–4. I grabbed another beer.

“Do you really think we can win it all?” Josh asked.

“Don’t you?” Coach said.

“Yeah, sure … of course,” he mumbled.

“Not very convincing. How about you, Cody, what do you think?”

“I don’t
think
. I
know
. We’re going to win it all!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Coach yelled. “A toast to Cody!”

We tapped bottles together again and chugged.

“Cody’s got a lot of confidence for a fourth-round pick,” Jake said.

He’d already made a few comments about how he was second round and I was only fourth. He’d never seen me play and I’d never seen him play. I imagined he was probably pretty good, but he just assumed that he was two rounds better than me.

I was starting to fantasize about him being on another team so I could beat a little sense into him. Then again, during training camp it was pretty much okay to mix it up with somebody on your team. Nobody would object to one rookie hammering away on another. It would not only feel good, it would establish me as a guy nobody should mess with.

Josh started laughing for no apparent reason. He was a giggly drunk—which was better than Jake, who was more the loud and obnoxious type. If I’d wanted to be around a loud and obnoxious drunk, I would have stayed home. Funny thing, the guy had only put away three beers. The jerk couldn’t handle his alcohol at all.

Coach sat in the corner, smiling, laughing, and telling us stories, making us all laugh. I kept thinking that he was part of a tribe of hockey men that stretched all the way back to Gordie Howe, and the Rocket, and even
before that. And we were being auditioned to be part of that tribe. This was the beginning, the opening, the way in. This was like the best day of my life.

“We’d better call it a night,” Coach said. “We have to leave early tomorrow.”

Josh and Jake got up. Jake stumbled and practically fell over before he regained his balance.

“Do you think you two can find your way back to your room without an escort?” Coach asked.

“We’re okay,” Josh said.

After they’d left, Josh propping Jake up as he wobbled out the door, Coach told me, “I’ve got to keep my eye on Jake. Kid is young and can’t handle his alcohol. You really want to pop him one, don’t you?”

Once again he was reading my mind—or the look on my face. “I’ve thought about it. If he keeps shooting off his mouth, he may find my fist in it.”

“You’ve got to learn to control your temper,” Coach said.

“I guess we could both do with learning that,” I said, the words rushing out before I realized what I was saying. Was he going to hate me?

He just sighed. “That was not my finest moment, back there outside the restaurant.”

I was relieved. And I figured it wasn’t too late to recover. “No, he deserved it, and you were right.”

“I just don’t like it when people cross me,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m not so crazy about that myself.”

“Let’s work on that together. Of course, on the ice it’s important that you don’t lose that nasty edge. Just pick your spots, right?”

“I’ll try.”

“Maybe I understand you so well because I understand how hard that can be sometimes. When people tick you off, you can show them on the ice. Don’t worry, it won’t be long before training camp starts.” He walked over and put his hands on my shoulders. “You know that
I
believe in you … that I think you’re special.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just sort of shrugged.

“It’s time for bed, but first things first.” He pulled out the last two bottles from the case. “No beer left behind. We have to finish these.”

“I’m still working on this one,” I said, holding up my bottle.

“I have a solution. Bottoms up.”

He tipped up his bottle and I did the same, draining it. I’d hardly put the bottle down when he handed me the new one.

“I’m impressed that you can handle your drink,” Coach said. “Lots of kids come to Junior A and they get into trouble with alcohol. There’s always going to be a few beers around after a game.”

I’d had a lot more than a few beers.

“You boys walk into a bar or restaurant and there will be people wanting to buy you a drink. You don’t want to offend them by refusing, so you can’t avoid it. The important
thing is to know how to handle it. I know
you
can handle it.”

He clinked his bottle against mine.

“And just as important, I know I can trust you,” he continued.

He tipped back his bottle and I did the same, chugging it. When I got up I felt a little rush. Maybe I wasn’t handling this as well as either of us thought I was. Either way, it would only help me sleep better tonight—maybe I wouldn’t notice him snoring.

My eyes popped open, but I couldn’t see anything in the pitch-black. There was a weight on my chest and—

“Stop struggling … take it easy.”

It was Coach’s voice.

He was on top of me. His weight was pinning me down and his hands were holding my arms in place!

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

“You know what I’m doing … you’re the one who invited me into the bed … remember?” he whispered. “Just lie still … don’t say a word … and just enjoy.”

My mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. He let go of my arms, and I felt his hands moving all over me in places they should never have been. I wanted to push him off, scream out for him to stop, tell him I wasn’t like that, to do something, do anything. But I
couldn’t. It wasn’t like it was real—it
couldn’t
be real. Was I dreaming … hallucinating … was this from all the alcohol? No, this was real.

I felt like my mind and body were paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak, even if I could have found words to say. Nothing made sense. My head was spinning and I closed my eyes so tight that I couldn’t even see his outline above me. I tried to remove myself, make my mind go somewhere else … get away from it all. I wanted to cry, or at least cry out, but I couldn’t. Instead I felt my mind drift away from my body, floating up and away. Even hovering above I kept my eyes closed tightly so I couldn’t look down from the ceiling and see what was going on. I needed to forget it even while it was still happening.

L
ittle bits of light leaked in from around the curtains. It was morning. Somehow I’d managed to get to sleep, or had I finally just passed out again from the alcohol? I startled at the sound of water running in the bathroom, and then the door opened up and light flooded into the room.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead!” Coach called out cheerfully.

I sat up in bed. My head was hurting, but more than hurting, it was filled with thoughts—confusing, awful, terrible thoughts.

“You need to get up and take a shower. I’m going to grab breakfast for everybody for the drive … you okay with an Egg McMuffin meal?”

“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled.

“Great!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be back in fifteen. You have to be washed, dressed, packed, and waiting outside by the front office. You return the key, okay?”

“The key?”

“To the room. It’s on the dresser. I already have my bag with me.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

How could I be okay? “Yeah.”

“Great. See you at the car. And remember, fifteen minutes. We’ll be waiting.”

The door closed behind him—locking as it closed—with the key on the dresser. I was alone and he couldn’t get back in. Slowly I climbed out of bed. My legs felt shaky and my stomach was upset. I saw the phone on the night-stand. I should call somebody and tell them … but who? Who should I call? My mind raced around and came up with no answer. I certainly couldn’t call my father, and it wasn’t like my mother would or could do anything without him. Besides, what would I even say to her? What would I say to anybody?

I staggered into the bathroom and closed the door behind me—locking it. I climbed out of the clothes I’d slept in and turned on the shower. Once the hot water was running over my head and down my body, I grabbed the little bar of soap and ripped the wrapper open with my teeth. I lathered it up and started scrubbing away. I just felt so awful … so dirty … so sick to my stomach. My stomach violently convulsed and I threw up. Clear,
yellowish, alcohol-smelling vomit bounced off the bottom of the shower stall and up onto my legs, instantly washed away by the water flowing down.

I leaned against the wall, my stomach still heaving, my legs still shaking, and just stood there and let the water continue to wash over me. I just wanted the water to wash everything away.

It all spun around in my head again. It was like a terrible memory—no, not a memory, because it wasn’t like it had actually happened to
me
. It was more like I had seen it on TV, or in a movie … no, wrong again … more like I’d heard it all on the radio, because my eyes had been so tightly closed and the room so dark that I couldn’t see anything. But I could still feel it. Feel the weight on my chest, feel hands on my—my stomach convulsed and I threw up again.

The only thing churning faster than my stomach was my head, trying to make sense of it … it did happen … right? It wasn’t a dream … no, not a dream, a nightmare. A nightmare that was real.

I circled around the side of the motel. Coach’s Escalade was parked there and the three of them were leaning against it, waiting. It had been a lot longer than fifteen minutes. They were all talking loudly and there was lots of laughter. I couldn’t help but think—did what happened
to me happen to Jake that first night? No, it couldn’t have. At least, Jake didn’t act like anything had happened … but wasn’t that how I was trying to act?

“You’re late,” Coach said.

“What were you doing, fixing your makeup?” Josh asked.

“What did you say?” I snapped.

“Um … nothing … just joking around, man.”

“Yeah, chill out,” Jake said. “I told them you were late because you were a late pick in the draft and—”

I dropped my bag and barrelled into Jake, smashing him against the car, and then we both fell into the dirt of the driveway, swinging and kicking as we hit the ground! I connected with a solid shot to the jaw and he screamed in pain. Before he could react, I hit him a second time and a third and—

“Stop it, now!” Coach yelled.

He reached down and grabbed me by the arm and with incredible power yanked me up and away as I still tried to get in a final lick at Jake. Jake staggered to his feet, his hands holding his nose but not the blood flowing out of it.

“You got anything more you want to say?” I screamed.

“You idiot!” he yelled back, his voice muffled by his hands.

“You calling me an idiot? You want some more?” I hollered, trying to break free of Coach, but he held me back, my arms pinned behind me.

“Both of you stop!” he yelled. “Listen to me now or else! Stop talking and stop struggling!”

I did what he said, easing off, and then he released his grip.

“That’s better. Now both of you, sit down … right there on the hood of the car.”

I sat. Jake did the same, just not right beside me.

“First things first,” Coach said. “Jake, you need to apologize to Cody.”

“Me apologize to him!” he exclaimed as he jumped off the car.

I jumped up as well, ready for him to take a swing at me. Instead he moved a few feet away. He was afraid. “He was the one who attacked me!” he yelled.

“And he’ll apologize for that, but you need to apologize first because you started it all by shooting off your mouth. If you hadn’t been yapping, he wouldn’t have been swinging.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. I figured there was no way he wanted to apologize, but he didn’t really have much choice.

“I didn’t mean anything,” he finally said. “I was just joking around.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“Now you,” Coach said to me.

“I shouldn’t have punched you … so many times … sorry about your nose.”

“That’s better,” Coach said. “Now shake hands and remember you’re teammates.”

Jake offered me his hand first. It was covered in blood—his blood, that I’d caused to flow. I hesitated. I think everybody was holding their breath, wondering if I was going to take his hand. I wondered myself. Finally, we shook. It didn’t mean anything.

“Cody, if somebody pounded Jake into the boards in a game, what would you do?” Coach asked.

“Celebrate” is what I wanted to say, but I knew the right answer. “I’d jump the guy and beat the hell out of him.”

“Why?” Coach asked.

“He’s my teammate, and that’s what teammates do,” I explained.

Coach nodded his head. “I knew you’d say that. This all ends here and now. Josh, take Jake inside the motel office and get some ice for his nose.”

They started off, leaving us alone.

“I know you’re upset … and confused,” he said. “About last night.”

Suddenly him saying it, now, out here in the light of day, made it seem more real and less real all at once. He was looking right at me. I looked away, ashamed.

“And maybe some of that confusion is what fuelled you lashing out at Jake … not that he didn’t deserve it. I want you to know that if you say the word, he’s gone.”

“What?”

“If you want him off the team, he’s off the team. I’ll trade him or just release him or sit him on the end of the bench until he quits.”

“You’d do that?”

“I can do
whatever
I want. Whatever
you
want. I’m the coach. If you don’t want him on our team, then he’s gone. As soon as we get back home, I’ll tell him I made a mistake drafting him.”

I shook my head. “No … it’s okay.”

“As long as you’re okay with him, he can stay.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. I tried to lean away but I couldn’t. He held me firmly in place.

“You know what I think of you as a player. What I think of you as a person. You have to know that you can trust me the same way I can trust you. And trust is one of the key things I need from my captain.”

“Captain … you’re going to make me the captain?”

“Not this year. There is a captain. He’s a fourth-year player … his final year. Next year he’s gone and I think you’ll make a great captain. You know the NHL scouts look at that, they draft leaders, they draft captains. That’s the goal, to get to the Show, and I can help you, the way I’ve helped others.”

Did he help the others the way he helped me? Was it like last night? I wanted his help—no, I
needed
his help—to get where I wanted to go, but did that mean it was going to happen again?

“You just have to do what I say.” He shook me slightly.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious, more forceful.

I looked up, but I had trouble meeting his gaze.

“You know you’re special to me.”

What could I say to that? He was my coach, my ticket to the Show, one of the few people in my life who had ever treated me right—he was special to me too, just not in
that
way. How could I tell him that without risking everything?

“Just remember, I have the power to decide whether Jake … or
anybody
else … has a chance to make it. It all comes down to me.”

What he was saying was true.

“So, Cody … Captain Cody … can I count on you?”

I took a deep breath and then nodded my head. What choice did I have?