Ice Time

by David Skuy

  Rocket tried to summon the energy. He felt completely drained, like he’d played five hockey games in a row. Ritchie and Mariana reached under his armpits and pulled him to his feet.

  “Mariana, you need to go to work,” said Ritchie. “We will take him to the hospital. Children, please get your shoes — and bring something to read. We may have to wait for some time. Hospitals are slow.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow — on a road trip,” Rocket said to Ritchie.

  Ritchie grunted. “You will be taking a hockey vacation. Concussions are very hard to judge. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks — or even months. You never know.”

  Again, Rocket struggled to understand. A few months? That was impossible.

  They went outside. The sun was blazing, and Rocket had to shut his eyes. He would have fallen to the pavement if Ritchie hadn’t held him tight.

  The kids came running out.

  “We’ll play ball hockey tomorrow,” Rafa said. “You rest up.”

  Ritchie waved his hand over his head. A taxi slowed and made a U-turn.

  Rocket squeezed his eyes together and then opened them.

  He could see he was in front of the building. How had he gotten here? It was all a fog.

  “Where am I?” he said.

  “My goodness, this is not good,” Ritchie said. “You have been hit in the head, Bryan. Carl hit you. You have a concussion.”

  Rocket took a few moments to process that.

  “Who’s Carl?” Rocket said.

  CHAPTER 22

  Rocket took off his sunglasses and began to climb. After two stairs, he had to reach for the handrail and stop.

  He’d barely managed to drag himself out of bed this morning. They’d spent half the night at the hospital to find out Ritchie was right — a concussion.

  The team was meeting in a couple of hours to catch their bus for the road trip. Rocket figured it would be smarter to tell Blywood about it in person.

  His headache was raging.

  “Up you go, whiner,” he told himself.

  He made it, but it seemed to take forever. At the top of the stairs, he had to stop to regain his breath. He heard voices from Blywood’s office. The door was open.

  “I’ll turn this team around so fast their heads will spin.” Barker was in there.

  Last guy he wanted to talk to. Rocket was tempted to text Blywood instead.

  “C.C. down. Colbert down. Strauss flamed out. Two guys retire on me. What a season, and it’s only a few games in,” Floyd said. “My dad’s on my case, big time. We gotta start winning.”

  Just get this over with, Rocket told himself, but he didn’t move.

  “Who do you want on the first line?’ Blywood said.

  “That Rockwood kid didn’t look bad to me,” Kaufman said.

  “He’s a joke,” Barker said. “Allergic to his own end.”

  “He’s got an offensive upside. We can teach him,” Kaufman said.

  “We have a championship team. We don’t need a five-foot-tall rookie who’s still learning to play the game,” Barker said. “For some stupid reason Landry thinks Rockwood can learn to play defence. He can’t. If it was up to me, I’d cut him now so he could go serve coffee somewhere. That’s all he’s good for.”

  “I’d cut that Turner Rogers, too,” Floyd chimed in. “That kid has no character.”

  “He put up some big numbers in junior. Landry’s pretty high on him,” Kaufman said.

  “With C.C. hurt, we could use some more offence,” Blywood said. “Terrence Day’s never been a scorer, and Beauclair can’t do it all on his own. Rockwood looks like he can put the puck in the net.”

  “Rockwood’s not the answer. Make a trade and get someone,” Barker snapped.

  “High-scoring centres don’t just magically appear,” Kaufman said.

  Rocket almost smiled at this. Barker could throw all the shade he wanted, but the Racers needed centres, and without Rocket and C.C., they were seriously undermanned up the middle.

  “We can’t win with a midget centre,” Barker said.

  The room went quiet.

  Rocket gathered himself and walked to the door. He knocked on the frame.

  “Yeah?” Blywood said.

  Rocket popped his head in. “Hi.”

  Barker smirked, obviously not upset that he might have been overheard. Floyd looked annoyed. Kaufman sat back in his chair, expressionless.

  “Bryan texted me earlier and said he needed to talk to me,” Blywood said uneasily.

  “About playing some defence?” Barker shot out.

  Rocket forced a chuckle. “Not that, although I know I have to get better. In my own end — in all the ends. I mean, in all the zones.” He was sounding like an idiot. “Anyway, it’s kind of bad news. I sort of got hurt yesterday. It may be a concussion.”

  All four men sat up.

  “Did that happen in the fight the other night?” Barker said.

  “Um, no. It was after yesterday’s practice. At home, where I’m staying. There’s this guy, Carl, and he hangs out at my apartment building sometimes. Bit of a bad dude. My landlord, Ritchie, thinks he’s a drug dealer.”

  “Rockwood, we don’t need a two-hour history of your life. How’d this happen?” Barker said.

  Rocket flushed. He should have just texted.

  “It’s a bit weird — the story, I mean,” Rocket said.

  Barker sighed, and he leaned back, arms crossed.

  “This Carl guy, he was in a fight with Ritchie,” Rocket began.

  “Who’s Ritchie again?” Barker said.

  “The landlord,” Kaufman replied.

  “This is like a freakin’ soap opera — and about as interesting,” Barker said.

  Floyd laughed.

  “So, why’s Ritchie fighting Carl?” Barker asked Kaufman.

  Kaufman pointed at Rocket. “Ask him.”

  Rocket’s urge to bodycheck Barker into the wall was so strong it hurt — almost as much as his head. The lights were killing his eyes, but he didn’t dare put his sunglasses on. He’d look too goofy.

  “Carl is the drug dealer,” Rocket continued, “and Ritchie told him to leave the building, and he wouldn’t. So they were fighting, and then—”

  “Drugs?” Barker said. “You’re mixed up with a dealer?”

  “No,” Rocket said. “Carl is the dealer. I don’t know him.”

  Barker looked at Floyd and shook his head dramatically.

  “I pulled Carl off Ritchie and told him to leave,” Rocket said. “When I had my back to him — Carl, I mean — he surprised me with a punch to my head. I guess I went down pretty hard. That’s what Ritchie told me. I was at the hospital last night, and the doctor said I have a concussion. They did a CT, and fortunately I didn’t crack my skull or anything. The doctor said I could’ve.”

  Barker threw his hands up. “This is awesome. Now we’re down three forwards, all because this one is messing around with drug dealers. Beautiful. The papers will have fun with that.”

  “I know a few boys down at the Guardian and the cop shop,” Blywood said. “I can keep this quiet.”

  Floyd stomped his feet as he stood up. His chair went flying backwards. “Why do I have to deal with this garbage? I’m not paying this kid to sit on his butt. I’m paying him to play.”

  Blywood picked up the chair. “If he’s hurt …”

  “How bad is it?” Kaufman said to Rocket.

  “The doctor said two or three weeks. Maybe more,” Rocket said. “Problem is, this could be my second concussion. I took that cross-check to the neck in the Marlies game, and … and I was kind of groggy after that.”

  Barker slapped his thighs and looked around the room. “Do I hear three concussions? How about four?”

  Floyd kicked the chair. It went skidding against the wall.

  “We can put him on the injured reserve list and bring someone else in,” Blywood said.

  “I’m not paying,” Floyd fumed. “I’m not made of money.” />
  “You shouldn’t have to, either,” Barker said. “There’s no way we can replace him for the trip, so what if we suspend him for a week without pay? We can decide what to do with him when we get back. We’ll keep him on the roster and put him on the injured reserve list — just not as a concussion. That will raise too many questions. We’ll say lower-body injury and leave it at that. We can talk to Landry about it when the trip’s over. He’s the guy who wanted Rockwood on the team.”

  Rocket’s heart pounded. He couldn’t afford to lose a day’s pay, let alone a week’s. He was almost out of money. And what if they cut him?

  “I like the sound of that,” Floyd said. “We’ll call it a suspension for missing a team meeting.” He thrust his face close to Rocket’s and jabbed two fingers into his chest. “You keep your mouth shut. You do not want to mess with me.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll stay out of trouble, Rockwood,” Barker said. “Professional hockey players don’t get in fights with drug dealers.”

  “I haven’t been p-paid yet,” Rocket stammered. They ignored him.

  “I should run him out of hockey — just to prove a point,” Floyd said.

  “This team is so messed,” Barker said. “We need a centre — any warm body will do.”

  “I could give Strauss a call,” Blywood suggested.

  “Great! We’ll never win another faceoff,” Barker said.

  “To be fair, he’s not a centre,” Blywood said.

  “He is a solid right winger,” Kaufman put in.

  “Better than nothing,” Floyd muttered. “Fine. Call him.”

  Rocket caught Barker looking at him, his mouth twisted in a cruel smile.

  Floyd was poking at his phone. Blywood shuffled papers on his desk.

  Kaufman alone seemed sympathetic, but his body language made it clear there was nothing he could do.

  “What should I do during the road trip?” Rocket asked.

  “I don’t care,” Barker said. “Go hang out with Ritchie, or Carl, or whoever. We’ll decide what to do with you when we get back.”

  “And keep your big mouth shut,” Floyd said. “Your only comment is ‘No comment.’”

  “Yes, sir,” Rocket said weakly.

  Barker waved his hand toward the door. Rocket stood there, trying to come up with some sort of protest.

  “That was the signal for you to go,” Barker said.

  Rocket backed out of the room.

  Barker got up and slammed the door shut.

  Rocket just stood there, staring at the door. He could hear laughing inside.

  Suspended without pay? He’d just told his mom he would be sending her some money.

  They’d said Landry wanted him here, so hopefully Landry would stick up for him. And as long as C.C. was out, the Racers still needed a solid centre.

  He’d have to make sure he was ready to play when the team got back from the road trip. No choice. He’d tough this out and prove he belonged.

  He had to be ready to play.

  CHAPTER 23

  Rocket moved further under the giant overhang to get away from the sun. His eyes were still really sensitive, even with sunglasses. He should have taken another painkiller. His head was throbbing.

  He checked the time. Maddy’s bus should be there soon.

  After being suspended, he’d called his mom to tell her — leaving out a few details, like the fight and the concussion. He told her he’d missed a team meeting. It was hard to lie to her, but he didn’t want her to worry.

  Then, out of the blue, Maddy had called and said she was coming to visit Saturday. He couldn’t talk her out of it. Hopefully, he could fake being well, and she wouldn’t suspect anything. The biggest challenge would be covering up his fatigue. He could fall asleep right now.

  He leaned against the bus station wall and closed his eyes.

  That felt good.

  “Mr. Rockwood, have you been a bad boy?”

  He pushed himself off the wall. “Megan?”

  She was leaning out of the passenger window of a car. “I was the last time I checked,” she said with a laugh.

  André leaned over from the driver’s side and waved. The back window opened. Maddy stuck her head out.

  “Hey, guys. Great to see you,” Rocket said.

  “So, just one question,” Maddy said. “How exactly did you miss a team meeting? And how can they suspend you for a week, without pay, for that?”

  “That’s two questions,” Rocket said, coming over to the car. “And it’s a long story. Basically, Coach Barker has it in for me. And the owner overreacted. It’ll be okay.”

  “What’s with the mega-shades?” André said. “You don’t want to be recognized on the streets?”

  “Yeah, it’s a pain. I can’t go anywhere without getting mobbed,” Rocket said. He took them off and tried not to wince.

  “Get in, Superstar,” Maddy said, pushing the back door open.

  Rocket slid in next to her. “I thought you were taking the bus?”

  She shrugged. “We thought we’d all surprise you with a visit.”

  “Where’d you get the sweet wheels?” Rocket asked André.

  “My dad got a new car. So this one was just sitting in the driveway, and he let me take it to school. Welcome to the A-Mobile.” André paused. “Okay … I may need to work on the name.”

  “So, what’s this long story?” Maddy said.

  “Before you start — where to?” André said.

  “Um, I told the family I’m staying with that Maddy and I would be over for lunch, but I didn’t know about all of you …”

  “Can we at least see inside your place?” Megan said. “We can go out to eat somewhere.”

  “I guess,” Rocket said. He didn’t really want to spend the money, and he knew Maddy didn’t, either.

  He’d asked Ritchie and Mariana not to mention his concussion. He was nervous about the kids spilling the beans, though, so maybe it would be good not to hang around there.

  “Where’s good to eat?” André said.

  “I haven’t been here that long, so I’m not sure. What do you feel like?”

  André and Megan began discussing what they wanted for lunch.

  Rocket grew dizzy — the sun was too bright, and his friends were speaking so fast he couldn’t keep up. He needed to sleep, not eat.

  Honk!

  A bus had pulled up behind them and blasted its horn. The sound hit Rocket’s head like a dagger.

  “Gotta fly, Rocket. Directions?” André said.

  “Straight ahead,” he managed.

  Maddy was checking him out. He needed to make a joke, show her he was okay.

  “So, how long you hanging around for? I’m an important guy. Got stuff to do,” he said.

  “Hey, did you hear me?” André said. “Do I turn here?”

  Rocket’s ears were ringing. The motion of the car was making him sick. He bent over, holding his head.

  “Pull over,” Megan said. “Bryan? What’s wrong?”

  Rocket put his sunglasses on. “I just need a second. Hold on.”

  “I can pull over at the gas station,” André said.

  Rocket closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He began to feel a bit better once the car had stopped. He groaned and sat up slowly.

  “We should go to emergency,” Megan said. “Get you checked out.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Rocket said.

  “You look pale as a ghost,” she argued.

  “You’re not yourself, bro,” André said. “Might be a good idea.”

  Rocket sighed. “I’ve already been to the hospital.”

  “What did they say?” Maddy said.

  “You guys don’t have any water, do you?” Rocket said. His mouth had gone dry.

  “I have an extra bottle,” Megan said.

  He drank it greedily. “Sorry, guys. You came all the way to see me, and I have a … a headache.”

  “What’s going on?” Maddy said. “I kne
w from your voice on the phone there was something. You didn’t miss a team meeting. Tell me.”

  “You got to promise not to tell Mom,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “She’ll freak out.”

  Maddy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m about to freak out.”

  “I have a concussion,” Rocket said.

  “You take a head shot in a game?” André said.

  “I did for the first one.”

  “The first one?” Megan said. “You’ve had two concussions?”

  “Yeah. You were right. That cheap-shot cross-check in the neck probably gave me one. Then some guy sucker-punched me in the lobby of my building.”

  “Okay, I need the long story,” Maddy said.

  “How about we head to your place?” Megan said. “I think you need to lie down.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he said wearily. He forced his eyes open. “Head to the next light and make a left. Sorry, but the sunshine is killing me, and I have a wicked headache. I just need to sleep for a bit, a half hour, and then I’ll tell you everything.”

  “The A-Machine is on the move,” André said.

  Rocket’s stomach lurched as the car moved forward. This was getting worse. So much for faking it.

  Plus, Floyd had told him to keep his mouth shut, and here he was telling them all about it.

  If the truth got out, he was done for.

  CHAPTER 24

  Rocket put his hands on the car and leaned his head through the passenger-side window to say goodbye. He’d slept for almost five hours. At least his headache was better.

  “Sorry about today, guys,” he said. “You didn’t come here to babysit Rafa and Leona in the park all afternoon while I slept.”

  “No big deal, bro,” André said. “You heal up.”

  “Don’t let them pressure you into playing,” Megan said from the back seat. “Concussions are serious. I’ll do some reading, and we can talk about it.”

  For Megan, “some reading” meant she’d be a world expert in a day or two. There would be a flood of emails on the subject soon.

  “I guess I should learn a little about the subject myself,” Rocket said.

  Maddy hugged him through the window. “I’ll call you later. And we need to tell your mom. I mean, this is too serious to keep from her, and I’m not thrilled about lying.”