Double Shift

by David Skuy

  “I’ve gotta wait for my mom. You go. Tell Hilton I’ll be there soon. My mom must’ve gotten held up for some reason.”

  Pudge looked like he did not understand him. “It’s the Snow Birds. You can’t miss the game. I mean … maybe I’ll watch Danielle. Without you covering J.C. Savard we’ll get killed.”

  A more loyal teammate and friend never existed. Pudge was willing to miss the game so he could play. But Charlie could not live with that. This was his problem, not Pudge’s. “No, it’s okay. She’ll be back soon and she can drive me. You get there and tell Hilton what happened — and tell him I’m sorry. It must be serious if she’s late.”

  Pudge stared at Charlie and then looked away. The horn blasted twice. “Okay. I’ll call you when I get to the rink. And if your mom can’t drive for some reason, call my cell and my Dad will come back and get you.”

  “It’ll be fine. Get going. I’ll see you soon,” Charlie said.

  Pudge hesitated briefly, then held out his fist for Charlie to give it a punch and ran down the stairs to the van. Charlie watched it back up and pull away. He went to the kitchen. It was 8:14 The game was at 9:20. Pudge would be lucky if he got there an hour ahead. Charlie slumped into a chair.

  Brutal. Brutal. Brutal.

  Danielle had finished her sandwich and was mixing a glass of chocolate milk. “Are you not going to play tonight?” she said.

  Charlie ignored the nausea rising to his throat. “I will. As soon as Mom gets back, I’ll go.”

  She slid her chocolate milk toward him. “Want some? It’s the best thing for energy.”

  “You drink chocolate milk after playing, not before.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t blame me when you get tired in the third period.”

  Charlie did not feel like talking. He quickly dialled his mom again. Same thing. He was going to miss this game. The new Rebels would just love that; even his buds would be ticked off — and all this after his big-shot speech during the Flames game!

  He was driving himself nuts. He needed something to take his mind off the situation. He spotted his knapsack. May as well get some homework done while he waited. He pulled out his science textbook and his notes. The words on the page were a blur. Now his eyesight was going! He looked over at the clock again: 8:18. Back to his work. He managed to focus a bit better and work through a problem.

  “I’m gonna watch TV until bed,” Danielle said.

  Charlie’s heart set to pounding again. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” He checked the time: 8:30. He had a weird sensation of having to both go to the washroom and throw up. He moved on to the next problem.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Charlie’s heart nearly blasted through his chest. He almost wished time would just jump ahead and the game be over. He was going to have a heart attack! He reached for the phone.

  “Charlie. Any news?”

  Pudge.

  “Not yet.”

  “I can’t believe this. We need you. Have you called her again?”

  “I did. Left a bunch of messages. How’s Hilton?”

  “Not happy. Talk to ya.”

  He hung up. The next science problem made no sense to him. The numbers seemed all mixed up. He gave his head a shake and went at it again. Maybe he should skip this one. But the next problem wasn’t clear either. He couldn’t even think.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  At least this time he didn’t freak out. Pudge was only trying to help, but he was not in the mood to talk to him. It made him feel worse.

  “Still nothing, Pudge.”

  “Charlie, it’s Mom.”

  Charlie’s stomach tightened back into a tight ball. “Hi, Mom … is everything … okay?”

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I lost track of time. There was a disaster today. One of Bruno’s cooks turned the oven up and a huge order was ruined. He didn’t know I had stuff in there, or I didn’t make it clear, at least that’s what he said … doesn’t matter … Anyway, I had to start over and on top of that get things prepped for tomorrow morning — and with all the stress I forgot about your game. Honey, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “So … that’s it then. You can’t come … I could call Pudge’s dad to get me … but I feel bad about it … I should, though …”

  “Don’t bother. I’m done, and I’m five minutes away. I’ll be there.”

  Charlie put his books away. Now he was ten times more nervous. Best-case scenario was to get there by about ten after nine. He could get dressed in five minutes no problem. Hopefully, he would be ready for the warm-up. He collected Danielle’s dishes and put them into the dishwasher. She could help out more. He felt like he was picking up after her all day. And she had left crumbs all over the counter. His mom hated a dirty counter. Charlie wet a cloth and wiped it down.

  “Hey, Danielle,” he called out downstairs. “You wanna come for a drive with me and mom for a minute to the rink? She’s gonna give me a lift.”

  The television turned off, and he heard her feet shuffling up the stairs. That was a relief. He thought she would want to stay home, and put up a fight.

  “Thanks, D,” he said.

  “You owe me, dude,” she said.

  Despite it all he had to laugh. “I’ll try to make it up to you,” he said.

  12

  SQUARE ONE

  J. C. Savard, the Snow Birds’ star centre, wheeled with the puck in the neutral zone. Charlie came at him from the side boards, angry at himself for losing track of Savard and allowing a simple pass from a defenceman to fool him. He stretched his stick out. Savard evaded the weak effort easily and, flanked by his wingers, bore down on the twins. Edging toward Robert, he slid the puck to his left winger, then swerved in that direction in support. Robert had to backpedal under the pressure, and the puck carrier gained the blue line. Charlie urged his tired legs to work harder. A burning in his thighs acted like a giant weight on his back. He felt as if he were skating through mud, as he had the entire game.

  The right winger drove wide and then took it inside about two metres from the high slot. Robert pushed off his right edge, his left shoulder lowered. It was a foolish decision, coming across the middle against those two defencemen. Robert took a step forward, readying for the hit. Charlie slowed, confident Robert would erase the threat. The winger had other ideas. The puck on his forehand, he dipped his left shoulder and sent a no-look backhander to Savard sneaking in on the right side. The twins had collapsed to cut the winger off, and Savard had a clear path on goal. The winger sidestepped Robert’s intended hit and cut hard on his inside edges to continue on to the net, Christopher struggling to hold him up.

  The slick centre dangled the puck in front of Andrew, took two steps across the top of the crease, and then brought it back to his forehand. Andrew dropped and threw out his left pad. Savard hesitated ever so slightly, and with a flick of the wrists roofed it over his outstretched glove and into the top corner. That made it 6–1 for the Snow Birds, with ten minutes left to play in the third. It was Savard’s second goal to add to an assist.

  Charlie continued back with his stick across his shin pads and stopped beside his goaltender.

  “I’m officially depressed,” Martin said. “Does that guy ever get tired of making me look useless?”

  “That was my bad,” Charlie said. “Stupid play at their blue line, and I let Savard get away from me.”

  “We gotta get some pressure on them,” Martin said. “We’ve had like ten shots all game. This is embarrassing.”

  Charlie tapped Martin’s pads. “Hang tough. We’ll get through this.”

  Martin thrust his blocker and glove on top of his pads and bounced a few times. Charlie did not push it. No goalie likes to get blitzed, especially when he feels his team has let him down, and there was no doubt the Rebels had left Martin to face the mighty Snow Birds virtually on his own.

  Charlie made his way to the bench. He could feel Hilton’s icy stare. Savard had scorched him today. Charlie had been on the
ice for all but one of the Snow Birds’ goals. Dylan had counted the only marker for the Rebels back in the first period, off a sweet setup by Spencer and Brandon. Charlie sneaked a glance at his teammates. All had long faces, slumped shoulders, hanging heads — a defeated team.

  Charlie had arrived at the arena five minutes before the game started, missing the warm-up and his first shift. He felt like a house-leaguer waiting at the door for a stoppage in play so he could sneak to the bench. His teammates did not seem to care too much and they were obviously glad he made it; even Spencer cracked a joke about it. Hilton was a different story, but after Charlie explained he seemed to accept it.

  Given the mood on the bench, the score and his lateness, Charlie decided another rousing speech from the captain was definitely a bad idea. This was a game to get over with, and maybe they could try to score another goal to at least end it on a less depressing note. But it wasn’t a leadership moment, as far as he saw it.

  Charlie watched on as, for one of the rare times this game, the Rebels had the Snow Birds hemmed in their own end. Brandon and Will were cycling the puck effectively on the right side. Nazem joined in the effort, and he sent a crisp pass to Spencer at the point. The Snow Birds were a poised team, however. The left winger had not strayed too far down, and he was able to force Spencer to hammer the puck back down the wall. Brandon pressed his left leg against the boards to stop it before it went behind the net. They began to cycle again, with the Snow Birds defenders giving them the outside, and steadfastly preventing them from penetrating inside.

  “That’s how you play defence,” Hilton said. “No panic. Stay in your position. Play hard and wait for a giveaway. Take note.”

  Charlie took a sip of water. “We need to do more of that. Wear their defence down. Let’s get the puck and cycle next shift,” he said to Pudge.

  “I’m sitting one out,” Pudge said.

  He should have known that.

  “Charlie’s up next with Jonathon and Dylan,” Hilton barked. “Be ready. They’ll be tired. It’s been a long shift.”

  Charlie took another sip of water and spit it onto the ice. He would never say it out loud, but he envied Pudge missing a shift. His legs still had that dead feeling. His energy level had been close to zero the entire game, which was bizarre for him. Usually, he was too hyped to sit still and he was always jumping up to yell one thing or another. Charlie had been waiting for his energy to come since the first period. He looked at the clock. Eight minutes to go.

  Brandon had the puck on the half boards, and he found Spencer at the top of the circle. The left winger had not lost focus and he deflected the shot as it came off Spencer’s stick. The puck flew over the net and into the netting. The referee blew the play down and pointed to the faceoff dot to the goaltender’s left. Charlie stepped onto the ice.

  “Great work, Rebels,” he said to his teammates as they came off to change. He slapped Brandon’s pads.

  Nobody responded.

  He couldn’t blame them — it was hard to get stoked because of one good shift when you were getting smoked. Charlie adopted a reverse grip and hunched over for the draw, happy that Savard was not on for this shift. But just as he was getting comfortable, a tall, broad-shouldered defenceman slipped in front of the Snow Birds right winger. It was nice to have Savard off, but this defenceman was Burnett, and he was the Snow Birds’ other superstar. He was almost as dangerous as Savard. Charlie would have to watch him. The referee blew his whistle, held the puck over the dot and dropped it. Charlie slid his right foot forward and swept at the puck, carrying through with his right shoulder into the other centre.

  He groaned. Another lost draw. He had barely won any all game. The left defenceman banked the puck behind the net and off the wall to Burnett, who took it on his forehand and started up ice. The centre thrust his stick into Charlie’s ribs and pushed off to his right, leaving him gasping for air. The quickness of the play forced Robert to back off, and once again the Snow Birds were off and running — with Charlie caught watching.

  Burnett headmanned the puck to the right winger. Their left winger swung into the middle of the neutral zone and accepted a soft pass, with his centre sliding into his spot on the boards. He was rewarded for his efforts with a backhand pass. Jonathon had decided to stay with the left winger and Dylan cut over to cover the right side. Charlie put his head down and kept pushing to come back. Not again, he prayed.

  The good news was the centre did not score. The bad news was he crossed the Rebels’ blue line, froze Christopher by selling an outside move, and hit Burnett trailing into the high slot. Burnett took two more steps, raised his stick high over his shoulder and let a blazing slapshot go. A huge cheer sounded from the stands. Burnett held his arms over his head. Charlie put his stick across his shin pads and dropped his head. Another goal.

  Brandon’s line came on. Charlie dropped next to Pudge on the bench and reached for a water bottle. He felt a presence behind him.

  “Losing the draw I can live with. But letting the centre push you aside like a little boy, and giving him ten metres because you decided to watch the play is not acceptable,” Hilton said. “Rule Three — Keep your feet moving. That starts the second the puck is dropped, not when we give up an odd-man rush.”

  Hilton walked away. Charlie hit his helmet with the shaft of his stick. Moronic play. Too busy admiring Burnett to cover the centre. Hilton was right. He had been a step behind the entire game. He felt a glove tap his knee.

  “Not our night,” Pudge said.

  “I’ve been useless,” Charlie said.

  “No one’s had a great game.”

  “I think Savard’s using a magic spell to control me. It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

  “Next line is Dylan at centre, with Jonathon and Pudge,” Hilton announced.

  Charlie slumped his shoulders. He and Brandon were always the centres. Hilton was really upset with him. Given how he felt, maybe missing one shift was not the worst thing. He took a long sip of water. About thirty seconds later, after another nice shift spent mostly in the Snow Birds’ end, Brandon, Will and Nazem shifted.

  Brandon sat next to Charlie.

  “Are you hurt? How come you’re sitting?” Brandon said.

  Charlie was not going to lie. “I think Hilton’s sending me a message.”

  Brandon looked back on the ice. Spencer lifted the stick of an attacking forward, stole the puck and sent a cross-ice pass to Jonathon on the right side.

  “He’s had a good game,” Brandon said.

  Charlie agreed. Spencer had not given up for a second, and had been all over the ice. Probably the Rebels’ best player tonight.

  “Brandon’s line is up next,” Hilton said.

  Dylan and Pudge had done nicely on the left side with a bit of cycling, and a smart pass from Philip to Spencer and then to Jonathon down low had resulted in a great scoring chance. Only a quick glove-hand save prevented a goal. The Rebels changed on the fly and Charlie moved over.

  No point worrying about the past. He had one or maybe two shifts left. Enough time to prove what he was made of. This time he even wanted Savard to be out there. He was going to shut him down, and Burnett, and anyone else. He was going to outwork them all.

  “Great shift,” he said to his linemates as they came off. “Beautiful cycling, Pudge, Dylan — and nice shot, Jonathon. He robbed you. Total luck.”

  “I want the same line out next,” Hilton said. “That was a good effort.”

  “The cycling game is working,” Charlie continued, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Let’s get one back. Forget the score. Just get one.”

  No one responded.

  And this moment was anything but ordinary.

  He was not getting those last shifts.

  Charlie Joyce had been benched for the rest of the game.

  13

  DIG DEEP

  He awoke with a start.

  “Charlie. Charlie.”

  His mom shook him again. Charl
ie slowly raised his head from the pillow, rubbing his eyes. “What was … What time is it? … What …?”

  “I need you to wake up,” his mom said sternly. “It’s ten-thirty.”

  He gave his head a little shake and blinked a few more times to clear the cobwebs. “I’m up. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is I have a special order, a wedding cake, and I couldn’t do it at the restaurant, so I have to do it here. Only you didn’t pick up the flour, eggs and butter like I asked, and you didn’t help Danielle with her project, not to mention that you didn’t put your laundry away. I’ve been working since four in the morning, Charlie, and I needed those things done.”

  He couldn’t argue. She was dead right. Only he still felt tired, and would have loved to roll over and go back to sleep. The Snow Birds game had not ended until after ten-thirty, and by the time he had changed, showered, agonized, sulked and worried — and then agonized, sulked, and worried some more — it had been after midnight.

  “I’ll get going. No worries. I don’t have hockey today. What do I need to buy again?”

  “Forget about that. I took care of it. But I need you to run to the Rainbow and get my wedding cake book under the counter by the cash. I’m totally under the gun. I need to get that cake out by five o’clock. I also need my piping bags for the icing. They’re in a drawer next to the bread oven. I’m just praying they weren’t ruined by the fire.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “A wedding cake in seven hours. One mistake and I’m done for.”

  “You can do it, Mom. I’ve seen your cakes.”

  She smiled weakly. “I appreciate your confidence. You can take your time a bit — but I need it in an hour. I can get started on the batter, but I’ll need the other stuff after that.”