Blazer Drive (6 page)

Dad gave a rodeo yell into the telephone.

I wanted to do the same back. But there were too many kids in the hallway.

“I'm proud of you, Josh. When?”

“Saturday. They're going to fly me from Vancouver to Los Angeles Saturday morning for the game against the Kings.”

“This Saturday?” he asked.

“This Saturday,” I said. “The day after tomorrow. It's part of their road trip to the West Coast. Sunday is a day off. On Monday I'll play with them against the San Jose Sharks in a televised game.”

Another rodeo yell. “That's great news,” he said. “Wait till I tell the boys out here.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “Do you want to tell Mom? Or should I?”

“You tell her. Call tonight. I'll do my best to keep it a secret so you can surprise her. And by then maybe I'll know more about Ernest.”

He chuckled. “I love it. Saturday night you'll be playing in the NHL. Think you can take good care of yourself until then?”

“I sure do,” I said. Of course, at that moment, I didn't know what Stephanie Becker had learned.

Afternoon practice did not seem like a regular afternoon practice. Besides my dad, I'd only told Gordie Penn about my chance to play in the NHL. From him, though, the news had spread like fire through dry grass.

As I walked into the dressing room, guys high-fived me. Others slapped my back. It nearly brought me to tears, seeing how happy they were for me.

Luke Zannetti, though, made a point of keeping his head down as he got into his
hockey gear. It made me sad, in a way. I hoped I would have been glad to see him get a chance to play with the Montreal Canadiens. We were both on the same team. We had both been drafted into the NHL. I didn't think we had a reason to be jealous of each other.

I sat at my bench and pulled off my cowboy boots. I leaned back and listened to the chatter of the dressing room. Then I got nervous thinking about my first NHL game.

Here, at least, I knew I fit in. These guys were my friends. With the Buffalo Sabres, I'd just be a kid among strangers. Just as my dreams were coming true, I was afraid of them. In my mind, I gave myself a kick and told myself to stop worrying.

Five minutes later, I was on the ice, skating in circles to warm up.

Five minutes after that, we were in the middle of a three-on-two passing drill, where three forwards rushed down the ice and tried to score on two defensemen. One winger cut to the net. The other winger dropped back to split the defense. And the center decided to pass or shoot.

Coach Price had kept Luke and me on the same line. In five rushes, Luke had passed four times to the other winger and had taken one shot. His moves, of course, were his decisions. But three times I'd been so wide open for a pass that I could have taken a nap after getting the puck and still had enough time to score.

It didn't surprise me on the next rush when Luke lifted his stick to take a slap shot instead of passing to me. I was wide open—again—but I'd figured out Luke was doing his best to ignore me. I wasn't going to let him think I cared. I kept skating hard, telling myself all I could do was my best. If I started worrying about Luke, I would be giving him power over me.

Luke snapped his stick downward. As he was taking the monster slap shot, he turned his hips and shoulders and aimed at me instead of the net.

He rifled the puck at my head.
Bang
! It dinged my helmet just above my ear. I fell sideways and slammed to the ice. For a second, all I saw was black. I blinked a few
times, and all I saw was white. I realized I was staring at the ice right beneath my nose.

I groaned and pushed myself back to my feet. I staggered over toward Luke. Some of the guys moved away, expecting a fight. Coach Price, at the other end of the rink, started skating toward us.

“That's twice,” I said to Luke. It's one thing to be a team player. It's another to let someone push you around. “If there's a third time, I'm coming after you. I won't even stop to warn you. I'm just going to take you down.”

Luke's reply?

He switched grips on his hockey stick. Holding it like a bat, he swung downward with full force against my leg. His stick broke across the side of my thigh.

I jumped him.

He fell backward.

I brought my fist back to hammer him.

Someone grabbed my arm.

“Enough!” It was Coach Price. He was roaring with anger. “Enough!”

I allowed him to pull me away from Luke.

Luke got to his feet and stared angrily at me. Neither of us said anything.

Coach Price got between us.

“Guys,” he said to the rest of the team, “five-minute break. Go for a light skate.”

The other players slowly skated away.

“What is wrong with you two?” Coach Price asked. “This isn't kindergarten. You're nearly grown men.”

I opened my mouth to tell him that Luke had started it. Then I realized I would sound like a five-year-old. So I snapped my mouth shut. If Coach Price hadn't figured out what had happened, he wasn't going to listen to me anyway.

Luke didn't say anything either. He just stared at me, breathing heavy.

“This is a Memorial Cup team,” Coach Price said, “not a Mickey Mouse outfit with no discipline. You're my two best players. I need you. But nobody needs you bad enough to let you get away with this and wreck the rest of the team.”

Coach Price waited for one of us to speak. He got more silence.

“Here's the deal,” he finally said. “Tonight, you two are going to meet somewhere. I don't care where. I don't care when. But you're going to sit down and talk through whatever is eating at you both.”

“Coach, I—” Luke began.

“Cork it, Luke. Listen or leave the ice right now. If you leave, don't come back.”

By Luke's face, I could tell he wanted to speak. But he held back.

“Like I said, talk it through,” Coach said. “Without me. I'm not a babysitter. Understand?”

Coach Price barked at me. “Ellroy. When? Where?”

“McDonald's,” I said after a few seconds. This wasn't fair. It wasn't my fault. But Coach was right. If we didn't solve it, it would hurt the team. “The one down by the river. Six o'clock.”

“You heard him, Zannetti? You'll be there?”

Luke nodded.

“Good,” Coach Price said. “If you don't get this stupidity straightened out, you're both
off the team. And remember, if you're not part of the Blazers, you're going to have a real tough time getting into the NHL.”

Coach Price gave me one last look.

“Which means, Ellroy,” he said, “if you two don't solve this, no trip to California this weekend to play for the Sabres.”

I sure didn't need more pressure as I walked through the McDonald's parking lot to meet Luke at six o'clock. But there was a note in my back pocket. It had been under my windshield wiper when I left the Riverside Coliseum at the end of practice.

Josh, I made some more calls today. There is another rancher who might be able to help us. I've got some other
things to do, so I can't wait for you right now. I know you don't have a game tonight, so I hope you can meet me at 6:30. Take the Logan Lake exit off the Coke until it hits 97C south. I'll be waiting at that intersection. We'll talk to the rancher together. It's important. x o x o x o—Steph

On the bottom of the page, she had drawn a map for me. The Coke was short for the Coquihalla Highway, which went south from Kamloops to Vancouver. The Logan Lake exit was about a twenty-minute drive from Kamloops. From there I was to go west for about another fifteen minutes to reach Highway 97C where it turned south to Merritt.

The part I liked best about the note was the x's and o's where she signed her name. I was pretty sure that meant “hugs and kisses.”

The part I didn't like was the timing. It was more than a half-hour drive from McDonald's to the intersection to meet Stephanie. There
was no way to reach her and let her know about my meeting with Luke. But if I didn't meet with him, I was off the team. And if I was off the team, I wouldn't be able to play in the NHL this weekend.

I could think of only one solution.

I pushed through the door into the usual noise of kids and lines at McDonald's. I looked for Luke.

No Luke. Plenty of other people and a big poster of Ronald McDonald. But no Luke.

I looked at my watch. Six o'clock.

At ten minutes after six, still no Luke. Even if I left now, I'd be ten or fifteen minutes late to meet Stephanie. I wondered what she had talked about with the rancher. I wondered if she would wait for me.

I ordered and drank a chocolate milk-shake.

Twenty minutes after six, still no Luke.

I ordered and drank another chocolate milkshake. Just as I was throwing the cup into the garbage, Luke walked in, wearing his Kamloops Blazers team jacket.

I didn't look at my watch. I didn't have to. I knew it was 6:30 because I'd been looking at my watch every thirty seconds.

I had a choice. I could say something to him about making me wait. Or I could smile through my anger. Saying something to him would just make him defensive, and it wouldn't change the fact that he was late. So, instead, I smiled.

“Hey, Luke,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said. No smile.

I noticed he was wearing a baseball cap. If he thought it was cool to be bald like Michael Jordan, why was he covering his shaved head?

I didn't ask him that, though. I kept smiling. I needed a favor from him. The best I'd be able to do was meet Stephanie some time after seven o'clock. And only if Luke helped.

“I know Coach Price wants us to talk,” I said. “Any chance we can do it while I'm driving?”

“Where? Why?” he asked.

I explained as much as I could.

“Bloodlines and dead cows?” he said. “Forget it. And don't expect us to talk this through either. I just came down here to tell you I don't care whether we play for the team or not.”

Something inside me snapped. This was the guy who had punched me. This was the guy who might cost me a trip to the NHL. This was the guy who now smirked at me because he was happy to be able to say no and make life difficult for me.

I grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands. I yanked him toward me. I lifted him onto his tiptoes, surprised that he was lighter than I had expected.

We were in our own private world among all the people around us.

“Look,” I whispered between gritted teeth. “I'm about to stomp you good. We both know this is your fault. So if I'm going to go down anyway, I might as well make you pay.”

Then I realized what I was doing. I was threatening to beat someone up. When I was fourteen, I'd gotten into a fight at school. I'd expected Dad to punish me for it. Talking
to me later, though, Dad had not gotten angry at me; he'd been sad. He'd said that God had seen fit to put my soul into a body built stronger and faster than most others. It was not something to take pride in; it was simply the way I'd been born. He'd said it was a shame to take that gift and use it to hurt others. He'd also said that violence is something stupid people do because they can't think of better solutions. Then Dad had walked out of my room and left me to think.

I let go of Luke's jacket.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “That wasn't right. I just wish I knew what's going through your head.”

Luke stared at me for a few seconds. Shaved skull. Dark eyebrows. Dark eyes. He bit his lower lip.

“You should have hit me,” he finally said. “I really don't care about anything. And I wanted to be able to hate you.”

His eyes got shiny. He turned his head away from me and started walking to the door.

“Come on,” he said without looking back. “Let's get in that stupid truck of yours.”

I wasn't sure. But it sounded as if he had started to cry.

Luke didn't say anything as I pulled out of the parking lot. It was dark, but as we passed beneath a streetlight, I looked over. His face was turned away from me. He was leaning against the passenger door, the bill of his baseball cap pressed against the window.

I didn't know what to say. Coach Price had told us to talk it through. I had no idea what “it” was. Until a few minutes earlier, I hadn't even known that Luke wanted to hate

me. I couldn't figure out why. I'd never done anything to him.

We traveled through town in silence. The highway climbed up the mountain and the lights of the city glowed below us. With the radio off, there was only the hum of tires and the whistle of wind against the speeding truck.

I waited until we were on the Coquihalla Highway to speak.

“Is it because I got the MVP last year?” I asked. It was the only thing I could figure.

“Huh?” My voice had made him jump, like his mind was a million miles away.

“Is that why you want to hate me?” I asked. “Is it because you didn't win the MVP?”

He laughed. It was a bitter sound. “I didn't like it. But you deserved it. I might have been a better hockey player. But you helped the team more. Even I have to admit that.”

“Oh,” I said. He'd just said he might have been a better hockey player. Like he wasn't any more.

“Do you hate me because you're in a slump?” I'd said it. I'd put it out in the open.

Said what the guys were saying behind his back.

“I said I wanted to hate you. And yes, that's part of it.”

He sighed, loud enough to be heard above the wind. On both sides of the highway, the pine trees were dark outlines, like soldiers guarding the land.

“You're nice,” he said. “You go to church. You smile all the time. You don't get mad at things. Even if you couldn't play good hockey, people would like being around you. Me?”

There was some silence before he started again.