Double Shift

by David Skuy

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

  “You’re a wonderful person,” Scott said.

  “Didn’t you finish supper fifteen minutes ago?” Nick said.

  Scott gasped. “Has it been that long? No wonder I’m dizzy.”

  “You boys head down. I’ll see what I can do about Scott’s dizziness.”

  “To the dungeon,” Nick said, in a deep voice.

  They trundled to the basement. Danielle’s head popped up over the couch.

  “Nuh-uh,” she said. “Hannah’s coming over in five minutes and we’re watching a movie.”

  “You can watch the TV in my bedroom,” Charlie said.

  She lay back down on the couch. “Nah. It’s too small. You can watch there if you want.”

  “There are six of us,” Charlie said.

  “Not my problem.”

  “Danielle,” he said sternly. “Don’t make me toss you out — in front of everyone — and embarrass you.”

  “I’m the Dan-stroyer, don’t forget. No one tosses me.” She flicked the channel.

  Charlie felt his temper rise. She could be such a pain!

  “Charlie!” his mom called down. “I’m such a scatterbrain. I lost track of time. I’ve got to go. There are muffins and fruit in the fridge. Help yourselves. See you, boys.”

  “Bye Donna,” the boys chorused.

  Charlie took a deep breath. He had promised to take care of his sister and Hannah, even to play with them, and his mom would not be happy to hear he had a big fight with Danielle over the television.

  “Guys, I think it would be more fun to watch in my bedroom,” he said.

  “Six guys huddled on a bed?” Scott said.

  “Far away from the air hockey table?” Nick said.

  “And comfortable seating?” Zachary said.

  “If you can convince Danielle to change her mind, go ahead,” Charlie said, and he headed upstairs.

  “Run away, cowards!” Danielle jeered, as his friends followed him.

  9

  ONE STEP FORWARD

  The Flames left winger dumped the puck deep into the Rebels’ zone and then headed off to change. Charlie put his head down and powered his way back. They would have lots of time because all the Flames forwards were heading off. Pudge was wide left and Dylan was on the right, near the hash marks. Spencer was first to the puck. He hesitated slightly, rounded the net and cut up the ice sharply to Andrew’s right. The new breakout! Charlie cut to the boards almost instinctively. Maybe Hilton was right. Maybe they were getting the hang of things. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Philip head to the bench to change up.

  He leaned hard on the inside edge of his left skate and curled toward the wall at the top of the circle. Maybe he should have gone a bit deeper into their zone, but he did not have the time. Charlie looked back at Spencer and readied himself for a pass.

  It didn’t come. Spencer continued up ice, with a forechecker bearing down on him.

  “Spencer,” Charlie yelled, tapping his stick.

  Close to the blue line Spencer tried to feather a pass up the middle, but he had waited too long and Pudge and Dylan were bunched up together in the neutral zone. Dylan came to almost a complete stop to collect the pass.

  Thud!

  Spencer was flat on his back, courtesy of a good hit from the Flames forward. A defenceman poked the puck off Dylan’s stick, and another forward who had jumped onto the ice from the bench swooped in to gobble up the puck. Charlie pivoted on his left skate and turned to face the rush, holding his stick in front of him, with his right hand and his left glove out wide. It was a three-on-two. He assumed Spencer would move over, so he kept to the right side of the ice. To his surprise the puck carrier ignored Charlie completely and headed straight at Spencer, which Charlie found bizarre since he was the forward, and he always went after a forward who was forced to play defence against an odd-man rush.

  Thud!

  Charlie fell to his knees. It was as if he had backed into a tree. The crowd was screaming, and Charlie looked behind him. Spencer was sprawled on the ice. Three Flames stormed in alone on Andrew. The player with the puck faked a shot and passed across to his teammate camped out at the top of the crease. Andrew dropped into a butterfly. The puck slid back across, and a Flames forward slammed it into the net. Andrew slapped his stick on the ice and looked over at Charlie and Spencer.

  Spencer got up without a word and went to the bench. Charlie got to his feet slowly, the wind knocked out of him. Against the boards the Flames players were congratulating the goal scorer — most of them laughing. Charlie glided to Andrew on one foot.

  “Can you tell me what happened there?”

  “You backed into Spencer, dude.”

  “Why was he behind me?”

  “He got hit. He just got up.”

  “In all that time he only just got up?”

  “He took a big hit.”

  Charlie was furious. It was not that big a hit. That was laziness. They had managed to break the first four Golden Rules on one play, and not just any play, giving up a goal with three and a half minutes left in the third to let the Flames go up 2–1. An old idea came to him, something his dad had once said. The only thing you can control in hockey is effort. He knew what he had to do. It might not work, but nothing is guaranteed in life. He was going all-in on Rule Five. If it failed, then the Rebels’ season was done.

  Brandon’s line had come over the boards for the draw. Andrew backed up into his net, crouched over with his glove and blocker resting on the top of his pads. Charlie put his arm over the crossbar.

  “You aren’t giving up another goal, even if it’s a five-on-nothing. Okay? It’s focus time. Stop the puck with your teeth if you have to. We are tying this game up. Okay?”

  Andrew was wide-eyed and did not seem to know what to say. He nodded. Charlie slapped his pads as hard as he could. “We’re counting on you. We’re Rebels, not a bunch of wusses that fall apart. You’re the man. We cannot give up another goal and win. Cool?”

  Andrew straightened up and looked Charlie in the eye. “They won’t score,” he said.

  Charlie gave his pads another whack. A referee skated over.

  “Change up, number eight, or you’ll get a delay of game penalty,” he said.

  Charlie headed to the bench. Zachary opened the forwards’ door. He hopped over the boards at the defencemans’ end. He wanted Spencer to hear this. The whistle blew and the referee dropped the puck, but he didn’t care.

  “I want every guy here to forget about this game so far,” he said loudly enough for his teammates to hear. “That’s done. Nothing to be proud of either. For the past few weeks it’s been all whining and complaining. All excuses and reasons why we weren’t winning. Here’s a newsflash! We aren’t winning because we don’t deserve it. We suck right now. We suck because we aren’t trying. Too busy feeling sorry for ourselves — and that includes me — and every guy on this bench.”

  “Hey, dude,” Spencer said. “You ain’t the coach, and …”

  Charlie cut him off. He needed to get this out — for the Rebels. “I know I’m not the coach. Our coach has been trying to get us to be a team all year, and we’re too busy worrying about ourselves. I’ve been the worst, going on about the guys that are hurt and how it’ll be okay when they get back. Maybe it will. How do I know? And maybe some of you new Rebels are too worried about getting blamed because we’re losing instead of worrying about Rule Two. Cause we haven’t outworked another team in ages.”

  He snuck a glance at the scoreboard. “We’ve got three minutes and eighteen seconds to tie this up. We do it as a team, or we mail the two points in and let’s fold the Rebels and stop playing!”

  Charlie was so worked up he could hardly breathe. All the guys were looking at him. Hilton was also looking at him, his arms folded firmly across his chest, his face stern and inscrutable.

  “Forget the first four rules. We only have one rule to worry about — the last. What do you
think, Spencer?”

  Charlie took off his glove and held out his fist. Spencer stared out at the ice for a good ten seconds. He stood up, took off his glove, and they bumped fists.

  “This game is freakin’ ours, Rebels,” Spencer roared.

  Hilton walked off to the other end of the bench. Charlie followed him to the forwards, giving each player a slap on the back and some words of encouragement. Pudge tapped his shin pads with his stick and nodded when he sat down. But he did not say a word.

  The Rebels won the draw and Will got the puck into the Flames’ end, but not deep enough. A defenceman was able to knock it off the wall and out. For the next thirty seconds the two teams traded possession, neither able to mount any real pressure. Christopher came to the bench and Spencer flew over the boards. Finally, a Flames forward got the puck at centre and fired it at Andrew. Brandon raced over to change.

  The puck had been dumped into the right corner, and Spencer was battling a Flames forward for control. Charlie’s primary responsibility in his own end was to make sure the slot was secure. Robert had not shifted yet, and he was already there. Charlie knew he could count on the dependable defender, so he figured he should help Spencer. Good thing too, because the Flames left winger had moved in. Spencer had the puck in his skates. The second forechecker snuck in behind him and poked at it, trying to snake it out of the scrum. Charlie had to do something or eventually he would get it.

  “Spence. Kick it down low,” Charlie shouted.

  Spencer did not hesitate. Charlie stretched out with his right hand and stopped the puck. The Flames centre was right there and laid the body on him.

  Crash.

  Charlie’s face pressed up against the glass. His knees almost buckled. Rule Two, he reminded himself. He reached out desperately with his right skate to trap the puck with his blade. The Flames centre pushed against him again, and Charlie pushed back, shoving his butt into him to give himself some room. Leaning hard on his stick, he was able to dig the puck out from the boards. Unfortunately this player must have heard of Rule Two also, and he had no intention of making things easy. He rammed his knee behind Charlie’s leg to knock him off balance, and slipped to his right to cut off the side wall. For a moment the game seemed to stand still, two players straining every muscle and nerve to get clear of the other.

  Charlie’s legs trembled, his arms were heavy and his chest was tight. The Rebels needed to get the puck out. There was probably less than two minutes to play. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Philip sneak to the far side of the net. Charlie bent his knees and slid his left hand down the shaft of his stick. He spun his hip into the Flames centre again, and with the puck on his backhand reached around the stubborn forechecker and flicked the puck off the boards behind the net. In one motion Philip fired it around to Pudge, camped out at the hash marks. The left winger stopped the careening pass with his right skate.

  Last season Pudge would have banged it off the boards to try to get it out. Not now. He did what Hilton had been preaching for weeks, curling into the middle of the zone near the hash marks, and when the right winger pressured, he calmly passed it to Philip curling back to the wall on the left. With no forechecker to worry about, the Flames right defenceman had to give up the blue line and Philip skated it out. Charlie headed up ice. A quick glance back showed the Flames centre was still in the Rebels’ end, as was his right winger. All his teammates had joined the attack, Pudge charging up the middle, Dylan to his right, and Spencer trailing.

  Philip headmanned the puck to Pudge, who flung it wide to Dylan. He took a stride and chipped it off the wall to the hard-charging Spencer. Philip slowed at the left point, and Dylan hung back to cover the right, which left Charlie free to keep going — but could he make it in time? Pudge swerved sharply to the right at the top of the circle. Spencer faked a pass and drove deeper along the wall, holding his left arm out to ward off the Flames defenceman. He could not get around him, however. The defender played him tough. Unable to get the angle, Spencer opted to continue around the net. Pudge cut off to the right corner, and Spencer backhanded a pass behind the net to Pudge.

  A winger came over from the far side to mark him. Charlie faked left and made a beeline to the right post, hoping for a quick pass from Pudge, and also that the winger would be passive in defence. That did not happen. A defenceman dropped to one knee to cut off Pudge’s passing lane, and the winger hustled back to keep Charlie to the outside. Pudge shook his head to Charlie and passed it back to Spencer, who had remained behind the net.

  Charlie spun, his back to the net. The winger cross-checked him on the arm and again in his ribs. He was going to get a chance, whatever it took. The defenceman who had been guarding Pudge kept with him, while his partner pressured Spencer. Charlie guessed the other Flames forwards were covering the point. If he could not find an opening, they would have to try and cycle for an opportunity, and time was running out.

  The winger turned sideways and wrapped his stick around Charlie’s stomach. Charlie did a spinning 360-degree leap to his left to get away.

  “Pass!” Spencer screamed.

  Charlie landed about two metres from the goal line — in perfect time to find the puck. Spencer had anticipated his move and lofted it over the defenceman’s stick. A one-timer was his only option; but the goalie would know that and he would drop to a butterfly and take away the bottom of the net. Charlie decided to take a chance. He dug his blades in, bending deeply at the knees, and rolled his wrists with all his might. The puck rocketed practically straight up.

  Ping!

  The puck caught the bottom half of the crossbar and ricocheted at an angle back in front. Spencer slid in from the side and whacked at it. Pudge came in from the other side and tried to bull his way across, but a defender held him off. Charlie felt himself cross-checked from behind in the small of the back. No way he was going down, despite the force of the blow and the pain that travelled up his spine. He leaned on his stick and bent his knees even deeper. The goalie was down and reaching forward with his glove. That meant only one thing. The puck was in front.

  Without knowing where the puck actually was Charlie thrust his stick under the goalie’s hovering glove. He felt something! He pulled back. Then another cross-check into his back caused him to gasp and stagger forward a half-step — but not before dragging his right skate to keep control of the black disk that had appeared almost by magic on his stick. He took one quick step to his left to free himself from the mass of bodies in front. The top half of the net was open. Charlie snapped his wrists. The goalie threw out his blocker.

  “Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby. There’s some Rule Five for ya!” Spencer screamed. He had his arms around Charlie’s neck and he was jumping up and down. Seconds later Pudge was pounding him on the back, and Philip and Dylan joined him. Sure, it was only a regular season game, and they had only tied it up. But it felt like a huge victory to Charlie — and obviously to his teammates too.

  “You were like a wild animal charging for the net,” Spencer said. “I knew you were gonna get to the front.”

  “It was a sweet pass,” Charlie said. He slapped his shin pads. “Of course I had to pop it off the iron — to make it interesting.”

  “I enjoyed watching,” Dylan said.

  “I enjoyed getting two gloves in my face,” Pudge said. “The refs weren’t gonna call anything.”

  “They can call it a goal,” Spencer said.

  The boys at the bench held their gloves out and Charlie went down the line slapping them. There were thirty-four seconds left. Charlie felt so fired up he could easily have stayed out, and Hilton had not called for a change. Charlie sensed this was another Rule Five moment, however.

  “Let’s change ’em,” he called out, banging on the door for Zachary to open. “Take care of business, Brandon.” He plonked himself down on the bench.

  Zachary shut the forwards’ door and slapped the top of Charlie’s helmet. “Awesome possum, dude. Way to gut it out,” he said.
/>   Charlie took a sip of water. “Not sure I’ve ever been happier to see a puck go in.”

  Hilton put a hand on his shoulder. “I loved the second effort. That’s what I mean about the killer instinct. They let up, and you made them pay.” He gave Charlie’s shoulder a tap and turned his attention to the game.

  Charlie held out a glove to Pudge and they punched. “I believe that’s what they call a breakout, at least around here,” he said.

  “I figured even you couldn’t miss that open net,” Pudge said.

  Charlie drummed on the top of the boards. “I can miss open nets. Trust me.”

  Scott and Nick were leading the crowd in the countdown.

  “Ten … Nine … Eight … Seven …”

  Pudge leaned closer to him. “So it’s just Rule Five we have to remember?” he said.

  “Refer to Rule One on that — keep it simple.”

  “… Three … Two … One.”

  “Awesome work, Rebels,” Charlie yelled, springing to his feet. He exchanged high-fives all around.

  “That was as much your goal as mine,” he said to Spencer and they both hopped the boards to go congratulate Andrew. “You took it end to end.”

  Spencer tapped Charlie’s shin pads with his stick. “I’m happy with the assist,” he said.

  Was this the Rebels’ ray of light at the end of the tunnel? Everyone was excited by the last-minute goal. But how would they react to his outburst? Was it enough?

  He got to the goalie and they butted heads.

  “Let’s keep that bargain going,” Andrew said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I won’t let the puck in, and you keep scoring.”

  “Deal,” he said, and gave the goalie a rub at the back of his head and a whack on his pads.

  The Rebels’ supporters gave them a nice cheer as they came off. Charlie felt relief more than anything. It was a positive step in a season with more than its share of misfortune. Matt was coming back, Zachary and Nick were in rehab and Scott should be playing in a few weeks, too.

  Then he remembered the café, and had to force it from his thoughts.