by David Skuy
Rocket didn’t want to look like a wuss. He picked up a hot wing and took a bite — and reached desperately for his drink. “That’s insane,” he gasped, his eyes watering.
The others were laughing.
“Did you make him have a suicide?” Caroline asked.
Rocket choked and then sneezed violently a few times. Caroline patted him on the back.
“It was only a hot,” Kyle said. “He’s the sensitive type.”
“Don’t listen to these guys. Even the hot wings are deadly unless you’re used to them. Are you okay?” Caroline asked.
Rocket took a few deep breaths. “I think so,” he rasped.
“I’ll bring you a plate of mild — or would you like honey-garlic?” she asked.
“Mild is fine, thanks.”
“Could you bring some wuss-sauce as well?” Kyle said.
That sent Nathan and Devin into hysterics. Rocket joined in. He really was pathetic when it came to spicy food.
“Shush you.” Caroline slapped the top of Kyle’s head, and he laughed even harder.
Devin took another wing. “So what happens now that training camp is over?”
“We have a game tomorrow afternoon, against London,” Kyle said.
Rocket gasped. “Are you serious? I didn’t know we’re playing them. The London Knights? Are you sure?”
“Um … yeah,” Kyle said.
“My friend Ty plays for them,” Rocket said. “I grew up playing with him. Awesome player. Right wing or centre. Think of Cash, but not an idiot. He went in the first round, too.”
“It’s crazy you have a game already,” Devin said.
“True that,” Kyle said. “It’s a brutal bus ride, too, like seven hours. Game’s at two o’clock. We won’t be home until after midnight. Then they come here for a game.”
Caroline put a small plate of wings next to Rocket. “Here you go, dear. These will be better.”
She patted Rocket on the back.
“Has anyone ever ordered mild wings before, Caroline?” Kyle asked.
“Oh, you’re such a funny guy, aren’t you?” Caroline chided.
Rocket took a bite of his wings. “They’re good. Thanks.”
She nodded and left.
Nathan raised his Coke in the air. “Go Axmen Go!” he chanted.
They clinked glasses.
Rocket took another bite. This was fun, but he knew it was too early to celebrate.
Things would get serious, real serious, when the puck dropped against the Knights.
Nathan may have been cut, but at least he had his dad’s restaurant.
Rocket didn’t have anything. This was his shot. All or nothing.
And he wanted it all.
CHAPTER 17
Rocket ran his finger down the page until he spotted his friend’s name: Tyler Hopkins, No. 9: 5ˊ10˝, 172 lbs; right wing/centre; shoots right; fast; good playmaker; physical player. It was hard to believe he was reading about Ty in a scouting report.
“In your binders, you’ll also see some basic breakouts and forechecking schemes we want to focus on in this game,” Gold said. “We’re going to start a new tradition this season. On road trips, before a game, you’re going to sit with your lines or your defence partners and review the game sheets, especially the scouting report. Guys who aren’t playing today can come up to the front.”
“Perfect,” Kyle laughed. “I don’t have to move.”
The veterans had taken over the seats in the back of the bus. The rookies took the front. No one had told them to: it was understood. Rocket didn’t mind. A guy had to pay his dues.
Except for Cash. He was hanging back there with Hoffer and Gruny.
“You’ll play at home against the Knights,” Rocket said to Kyle.
“If they suck enough, for sure,” Kyle said.
“I didn’t mean that … It’s probably a numbers thing. We have extra guys and …”
“I’m messing with ya.” Kyle grinned. “Take a hike, and say hi to my buds Bossy and Fryer — and Cash.”
“If I don’t make it back alive, you can have my sticks,” Rocket said.
“Too small for me, bro.”
“You really are messing with me.”
“Got to keep you humble.”
“Hurry up, boys,” Gold said. “This isn’t so hard. Find your linemates, sit with them and review the package. You’ve had these binders since the start of training camp. I bet most of you haven’t so much as cracked them open. There’ll be a test soon and you better have them memorized. I’m serious.”
Rocket had spent hours poring over his binder, so he wasn’t worried. He was worried about going to the back of the bus. He looked over the top of the seats. Bossy and Fryer were in the second-last row. He swallowed hard.
Cash noticed him first. He was in the back row with Hoffer and Gruny. He clapped his hands. “I got it, Bossy. The perfect name for your line — Two-and-a-Half Men.”
The guys roared.
“C’mon, Little Guy,” Fryer said. He reached across the aisle and patted the seat. “We got to talk strategy. Gold’s orders.”
Rocket gritted his teeth and sat down.
Hoffer waved his binder in the air. “Remember that number 14 from last season? Didn’t you have a tussle with him, Boss-Man?” he said.
“He was like, ‘Coach is making me fight. Don’t kill me, please,’” Bossy said in a high-pitched voice.
“Was he the guy who called you sir?” Gruny said.
“He called for his mommy, I remember that,” Bossy said.
“Is this hockey talk?” Gold stood in the aisle.
“They were telling me about the players to watch for — guys from last season,” Cash said.
Hoffer giggled and slunk behind a chair.
Gold looked around, uncertain. “Good idea. Experience is key. You younger guys need to listen up.” He eyed Rocket.
Rocket prayed he wouldn’t say something to him.
“Washington told me you used to play with that Tyler Hopkins kid,” Gold said. “He’s from your hometown, no?”
Rocket nodded.
“He’s a hotshot — huge rep,” Gold said. “We talked about drafting him.”
“Cash, I thought you were a hotshot,” Hoffer said.
“I’ll smoke him,” Cash said. “I played him in a tournament. He’s totally soft. Needs a map to find the corners.”
Rocket couldn’t keep it in. “Ty’s an awesome player. He doesn’t back down from anyone. You got to keep your head up when he’s on the ice.”
Rocket could feel Cash’s icy stare boring into him.
“Let’s not be so impressed with the opposing players, Rockwood. We’ve got enough talent in this bus to beat anyone. We’ll see how tough this Tyler Hopkins is after we rattle him against the boards a few times.” Gold slapped his binder with his hand. “We arrive in less than an hour. Get focused.” He whirled and went back to the front.
Rocket stared at the back of the seat and waited for it.
“You telling me how to play, Little Guy?” Cash said.
“I think he is,” Hoffer said. “I heard him say he should be the number one centre.”
Rocket didn’t take the bait.
Cash came over to his seat. “What do you think, boys? Would Little Guy look better without any hair?” He patted Rocket’s head. Rocket slapped his hand away.
“Little Guy is sensitive,” Cash sneered. “No touchies.”
“I was thinking of a tape job, but you might have something there,” Hoffer said.
“The shave it is,” Gruny declared, a gleeful tone in his voice.
Cash patted Rocket’s arm. “We’ll see you after the game,” he said. “Consider it a date.”
Bossy and Fryer were talking to each other, paying no attention. Cash sat back down.
Rocket’s eyes blurred, his head flooded with fear — and anger. He couldn’t fight them all off, but he also couldn’t back down. The bullying would never stop if they thou
ght he was scared. He gripped the armrests and turned to face the back.
“My prediction is that Ty smokes you,” Rocket said in a loud voice. “You have no clue, and you’re not half as good as you think you are. You think he’s soft? I dare — no, make that double-dare — you to drop your gloves with Ty. I’d pay to see it. You’ll flop on the ice like you did with Nathan. So bite me.”
He tucked his binder under his arm. “We finished talking strategy?” he said to Bossy and Fryer.
Bossy glanced over, his lips in a slight smile. Fryer didn’t take his eyes off his binder.
Rocket went back to his seat. His chest was tight and he found it hard to breath. Akim was standing in the aisle talking to Kyle.
“You guys are good,” Kyle said to Rocket. “You memorized everything in three minutes? You must be ready for the advanced plays.”
“I guess.”
The smile left Kyle’s face. “You know Akim?” he said.
“Of course,” Rocket said.
“You must be stoked for the game,” Akim said.
“Absolutely — if we ever get there.” The game wasn’t exactly on his mind right now.
Kyle flipped to a page in his binder. “What’s your opinion of the D-to-D Drop Pass Breakout?”
Rocket turned to that play. One defenceman took it out from behind the net, while his partner trailed behind him. At the same time, the centre curled in the slot and the wingers broke for open ice.
“I like this play,” Akim said. “The puck carrier has choices: keep skating, drop it to his defence partner, pass to the left winger or centre or swing it cross ice.”
“The centre’s got to anticipate the drop pass and veer off the right way,” Kyle said.
“The first defenceman doesn’t have to drop pass,” Rocket said. “Tons of variations off this.”
“Check this one out,” Kyle said, pointing to the diagram at the bottom of his page — The Breakaway. “I need to get me some of that action.”
Rocket turned to it. It was a play off a draw in their own end. The centre drew it back to a defenceman. The centre then peeled off and set up beside the net. The defenceman gave it back to the centre. The centre then looked to his winger, who was cutting off the wall into the middle of the ice, and sent him a breakaway pass.
Rocket figured he may as well focus on the game. For an instant he thought about telling Kyle about what had happened. He looked back. Better not. If the coaches got word of it, everyone would think Rocket had squealed, and he’d become the team punching bag. He could tough it out. They were bluffing, anyway. The league had made a big deal about stopping hazing, and there was even a section in their binders about it. Cash and his friends would get in huge trouble.
“You can run that with either winger,” Rocket said, “depending where their defence is positioned.”
Rocket pointed to the left winger in the diagram. His finger shook slightly as he showed them what he meant.
CHAPTER 18
“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for your London Knights!”
The arena erupted in cheers, the fans on their feet, as the Knights tore onto the ice. Spotlights danced around the giant emblem at centre.
Rocket pushed off on his inside edge to carve a wide circle behind the net. His nerves were jumping at an all-time high. The arena was almost full — nine thousand people.
He circled at the top of the neutral zone and sliced the dot in half with his blade. Last out of the room, elbow pads before shoulder pads — he couldn’t do anything more to get the hockey gods on his side.
“Rocket, how wild is this?”
Ty was against the boards, stick held across his waist, wearing a grin that seemed too big for his face.
Rocket skidded to a stop on one skate and slapped Ty’s shin pads.
“A little different from Mooreville Park Arena,” Rocket said. They’d played there when they were younger.
“Just a little. How was camp?” Ty said.
“Totally intense. I think I’m still on the bubble ’cause of my size.”
“You’ll make it. They only have to see you play.”
They’d always been each other’s biggest fans.
“How was your camp?” Rocket said.
Ty laughed. “What can I say? It was hockey, hockey, hockey. Fun, though. Good group of guys. Ad-man’s doing good, too. I think he plays his first game tomorrow.”
“He texted me.”
Ty slapped Rocket’s shin pads. “Have a good one, bud.”
“Bring it,” Rocket said, before skating off along the wall.
Hard not to be jealous. It sounded like Ty had a great time at camp — no way he had to worry about getting his head shaved.
The music blared. Rocket let it fire him up and he took off behind the net. He was done worrying. He had a game to play.
“Rockwood!” Gold yelled.
Rocket stopped and went to the bench. “Yes, sir?”
Gold’s eyes narrowed and the veins in his neck bulged. “What colour is your jersey?”
Rocket felt sick.
“What colour is your jersey?” Gold repeated.
“Black, red and white.”
“Are you wearing London Knights colours?”
“No, sir.”
“Have I made my point?”
“Yes, sir.”
Alvo came over. “Continue warming up, please,” he said.
Gold stepped away. Rocket skated hard around the ice. Gold didn’t understand. He’d try harder than anyone to beat Ty. They were like that, always pushing each other to be the best.
Somehow Rocket always managed to say or do the wrong thing around Gold. Alvo obviously saw what happened, too.
The siren sounded and the fans started to roar. The game was about to begin. The players on both sides filed into their respective benches.
Rocket was on the fourth line and would be out last. Cash’s line had drawn the starting assignment — against Ty.
The national anthem played, the players swaying back and forth, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the song to end. After what felt like forever, the whistle blew and the game began. The first few minutes were ragged, each team feeling the other out. Rocket began to prepare himself as the third line hopped the boards.
“Cash, get ready. Your line is next,” Washington barked.
Bossy kicked the boards with his skate. Fryer slid back down the bench. Rocket followed in a daze. Did they not trust him because he spoke to Ty?
“Tight game, boys,” Washington said. “We need to keep our feet moving — and more energy, please.”
Rocket felt his energy disappear. He watched shift after shift. The teams continued to show their jitters, with missed passes and wide shots.
“Just like last year,” Bossy said to Fryer. “Sit on our butts all game until they want a fight. Coach said it would be different.”
He sounded more like a disappointed kid than a dangerous fighter. Rocket sneaked a look. Bossy’s face was blank and his eyes were dull.
Eight minutes were left in the first period. The Knights were up by one, a power-play marker.
A referee stopped by their bench. He reached over and helped himself to a squirt of water.
“I thought I saw a hold, ref,” Alvo said.
The ref laughed. “Hey, Coach. How’s it going? Looks like a good squad this year.”
“Not if we play like this,” Alvo said.
“First exhibition game.” The referee shrugged and skated off.
Rocket hadn’t seen that side of Alvo before. He’d sounded almost human.
The third line went out to replace Bourque’s.
“Rockwood’s line next,” Washington said.
Rocket felt a surge of adrenalin race through him. His line moved to the door.
“Don’t be afraid to mix it up out there,” Gold said to Bossy and Fryer. “We need our energy line to make something happen.”
Bossy grunted and lowered his head.
<
br /> “You get me, Bossy?”
“Yeah,” Bossy said without looking up.
Gold slapped his shoulder pads. “Let’s start working, Axmen. Hit someone. Take the body. We’re playing like little boys. C’mon!”
Rocket hated having Gold behind the bench. All he did was scream at them to “take the body” — and he was constantly abusing the refs. He reminded Rocket of those out-of-control fathers in minor hockey.
Again, Rocket sneaked a glance at Bossy. His face was still expressionless. Impossible to know what he was really thinking. Rocket had a hunch he wanted Gold and Alvo to give him a chance to prove he was more than a brawler — to let him play the game.
Rocket thought about what Gold had said — the energy line should make something happen.
“What do you guys think of The Breakaway?” he said to Bossy and Fryer. The puck was in the Axmen’s end. If there was a whistle, their line could run it.
“I like it when I have one,” Bossy said.
“No — the breakout play called The Breakaway,” Rocket said.
“Seriously?” Fryer said.
“They won’t expect it. They’ll probably think you two are out to start a fight. So, whoever’s against the boards on a draw in our end, let’s say it’s Bossy, you mess around with their winger, as if you want to drop the gloves. If I win the draw, I’ll pass it to Rainer on D. Bossy, you head up the wall, and then when Rainer passes the puck back to me, you cut into the gap between the Knights’ defencemen, about two or three metres over the blue line. I’ll hit you with the pass. It’s going up the middle, so it’ll be hard. I’ll have to saucer it.”
On the ice, Glassy caught a weak shot from the point and held on for a faceoff.
“Okay?” Rocket said. “Do you get it?”
“Not that complicated, Little Guy,” Bossy said.
Rocket stood up. “Then do it,” he snapped.
Fourth-line guys shouldn’t be so arrogant, even if they were veterans.
“Change ’em,” Washington said.
Rocket hopped out the door and took a few quick strides to loosen his legs. He had no idea if his linemates would do the play. In any event, Bossy was the one against the boards. He’d get the breakaway, if it worked out.
Rocket had to win that draw, though. He flexed the fingers of his right hand.