Ice Time (9 page)

“Am I that dull?” Megan joked.

“No. Sorry. Just tired for some reason,” Rocket said.

“So … how are things going? André told me about this coach of yours, Barker? He sounds like a real jerk. What if he keeps giving you a hard time?”

“I can deal with him. No worries.” He yawned again.

“You’ve yawned about ten times since we left the rink,” Megan said. “I think that guy messed you up a bit.”

“I’m fine. Honest. I was just up early today.” It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

Megan ran her hand through her hair. “Have you registered for those online courses yet?”

Rocket looked out the window. “Not yet. I will. It’s been busy.”

“This is serious, Bryan. What if you get hurt and can’t play? You’ll have nothing to fall back on.”

“I could point out that no one on my team is taking courses. We’re professional hockey players.”

“I’m not saying full-time, obviously — but a course a semester?”

He couldn’t stop another yawn.

Megan leaned forward. “You know, you really might have a concussion. You’re exhausted, and you looked a bit unsteady back at the rink.”

“Okay, Doctor Megan. Calm down. It was just a hit. I’m good. Watch.” He touched his nose quickly with his index fingers.

He stopped. He’d begun to feel dizzy. “I don’t have a concussion, and even if I do, it’s not a bad one.”

“They’re all bad,” Megan said.

“Listen, Megan. C.C., the team captain, is hurt. I might get to play on the first line or at least move up to the second if they replace him with Beauclair. They’ll never move Terrence Day up. This is my chance to prove myself to Coach Mack and Floyd. This is huge. I can’t risk it by sitting out a bunch of games because I yawned a few times.”

“It’s not worth your health.”

He felt himself get mad. “I have no choice. Hockey players play hurt.”

“You always have a choice.”

“We need the money. I have to do this.”

“You think your mom and Maddy want you to risk your brain for hockey?”

“Stop exaggerating — and please, don’t tell them. I’m fine. I don’t want them to worry about me.”

Megan took a deep breath. “Can you at least get checked out?”

“I will. We have an off day tomorrow.”

“Go inside,” Megan said. “You’re tired and … you should get to sleep.”

He sighed. “Sorry. You came all the way here.”

“It’s late, and it’s a long drive. I should go, too,” she said.

He really was exhausted. “Are you sure?”

“Go to bed. That’s an order.”

Rocket got out.

“Please don’t tell my mom or Maddy,” he said.

“As long as you go to the doctor,” she said.

He nodded wearily and closed the door. She drove away.

The ground seemed to rush toward him. He held his arms out to steady himself and took a few deep breaths until the feeling went away. Then he walked inside, no problem.

He didn’t have a concussion.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Rocket walked along the sidewalk. He was exhausted, despite passing out the second his head hit the pillow the night before. He’d even overslept. But he was still too tired to hurry, even though he was running late to meet Rory.

He remembered he’d told Megan he’d go to the doctor. It was nice that she worried about him; he honestly appreciated it. She just didn’t know what it took to make it to the NHL, not really. She didn’t get the sacrifice, the pain.

Rocket went into the arena. The workout room was in the basement. He headed across the lobby to the staircase.

“The floor just got washed!” the arena manager yelled at him. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Bryan … Rockwood. I’m with the Racers.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Use the side entrance from now on, please. I’ve told Blywood a thousand times. You guys keep messing the floors up.”

“Sorry,” Rocket said. “I didn’t know.”

“Clean up his footprints,” the man yelled at a woman holding a mop and wearing a yellow uniform with a baseball cap.

Mariana.

Rocket was instantly furious at the manager, but Mariana shook her head at him as she wrung the mop out in the pail. She didn’t want Rocket to say anything.

“Hurry up. You still have to sweep the upper level,” the man said to her. “The concert starts at seven, so we need to cover the ice, put the chairs out and set up the stage.”

“Yes, sir,” Mariana said.

“And clean Mr. Floyd’s office again when you’re done,” he said.

“We did it yesterday, sir,” she said.

“He wants it done again,” he snapped. “What a day. I’m doing everything myself, as usual.” He stomped off.

“Sorry about the footprints, Mariana,” Rocket said. “Let me mop. It’s my fault.”

“It’s fine. Don’t mind him,” she said. “He yells all the time about everything. I have learned not to listen. I just say ‘yes, sir’ and do my job. I think he’s scared of Mr. Floyd.”

“He’s not the only one,” Rocket said.

“Do you have a practice?” Mariana said.

“No. I’m working out.”

“Thank you again for the tickets. It was such a nice treat. Ricardo told me the kids had a wonderful time — and they love their pucks.”

“Anytime they want to go, just let me know.”

The arena manager came back. “Are you going to clean the floor?” he cried.

“Sorry, sir.” Mariana began to mop furiously.

“Can I
help
you?” the man said to Rocket.

“No. I’m going to the workout room,” he replied, but he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. Even though Mariana didn’t want him to interfere, it was hard to be nice to a guy who treated his employees like that. He wished Mariana didn’t have to work for him.

Rocket hurried down the stairs and along the hall. He heard the clinking of weights. Rory had beaten him — naturally. As he walked in, he could see Nadav was there, too.

“You slacking off because of two lousy goals?” Rory asked Rocket. He did a squat.

“I slept in. Sorry.”

“No excuses,” Rory grunted. He did another squat. “You’ll do an extra circuit to make up for it.”

“What are you doing today?” Rocket asked.

“Squats, push-ups, bench jumps, burpees,” Rory said. “Why don’t you warm up, and you can follow me.”

Rory did a final squat and Nadav took the barbell from his shoulders.

Rocket peeled off his sweatshirt and track pants. “Are you here to work out, too, Nadav?”

“No, I came in to check on you, remember? How are you feeling?”

Rocket had forgotten. “Fine … I was tired last night. Not used to the ice time, I guess. I’m good now, though.”

Rory began to do push-ups.

“Were you dizzy at any time?” Nadav said. He came closer and looked into Rocket’s eyes.

“Nah. I’m fine. Seriously.”

“Stand on one foot and hold your arms out, shoulder height.”

“I told you—”

“Do it.”

Rocket felt silly. Nadav led him through a series of balancing drills and eye-hand coordination exercises.

“Now touch your nose, alternating each hand.”

Rocket did it.

“Turn around three times and stand on your left leg.”

Rocket managed that.

“Okay, you’re done,” Nadav said.

“How’d I do?” Rocket said.

Nadav pressed his lips together and looked into Rocket’s eyes again. “Concussions are tricky things to diagnose. Have you ever had one before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Sometimes you can get dizzy and suffer concussion-like symptoms from a blow to the neck or back,” Nadav said. “Any sensitivity to light?”

Rocket looked up at the ceiling lights. “A bit after the game, but not now.”

“My bet is you have a minor concussion,” Nadav said. “You should have it seen by a doctor to confirm it.”

Rocket thought of his promise to Megan. She’d wanted him to get checked out by a doctor, but Nadav seemed to know what he was doing. And Rocket was feeling better, except for being tired.

Rory finished a set of burpees. “Your call, Rocket, but if you see a doctor, they’ll probably make you sit out a few games to be on the safe side. You know what doctors are like. This might not be the best time to shut things down, not with C.C. on the shelf.”

“We’re talking about the brain here,” Nadav said.

“I know, and I’m not saying head injuries aren’t serious,” Rory said. “And like I said before, you got to take care of your body. But it’s hard to shake a reputation for concussions. It’s different if you’re already an NHLer. Like I said, it’s up to you, Bryan, but if you feel okay, then I’d chance it. If you feel gross and dizzy, then for sure get it checked out.”

Rocket began to roll his shoulders back. “I appreciate this, Nadav. I’m good. If the symptoms come back, I’ll go to the doctor. I will. I have a chance to play — and I can’t afford to miss any games.”

Nadav shrugged. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you’re having any problems, then I need to report them.”

A phone rang.

“Shoot,” Rory said. He did a squat. “I bet that’s Melissa. I forgot to tell her we’d be working out now. Excuse me, boys,” He put the barbell down and dug his phone out of his bag. “Hi, honey, how are you?” He stepped into the hall.

Rocket began to stretch his legs.

“He’s a dedicated player,” Nadav said.

“Sure is. Hope the knee holds up.”

“This game takes a physical toll on you,” Nadav said. “Got to wonder if it’s worth it.”

Hockey required sacrifice. But how much was too much? Rocket did a few sit-ups.

“I’ll take some weights off for the squats,” Nadav said.

“It’s fine. I’ll use his,” Rocket said. He stood up.

“He’s a bit bigger than you.”

“Looks okay to me.”

Nadav helped him put the barbell across his shoulders. It was heavy.

“One … two … three …” Nadav counted.

Rocket’s legs were burning. “How many does Rory do?” he managed.

“He does ten, but why don’t you start with five?” Nadav said.

“Four … five.”

Nadav took the barbell. Rocket felt weak all over. That was a ton of weight. But if Rory did it, then he had to do it. He had to do even more.

Rocket waited for the bus. He was completely drained after the workout — and he’d barely managed two circuits. Rory had done five.

A car stopped beside him.

“Awesome game, Rocket,” Crawford said through the passenger window. He twisted in his seat. Across the back of his Racers sweater, in white lettering, was
ROCKWOOD.

“Nice styling,” Rocket said.

Rino leaned over from the driver’s seat and waved his Racers hat. Griff whirled his scarf. Chaz tapped the logo on his Racers sweater. These guys were superfans.

“How’re the boys doing today?” Rocket said.

“Totally psyched after last night’s game,” Crawford said. “Massive goals, bro. Massive. Huge win. You ready for tomorrow’s game?”

“Hope so.”

“Huge four-game road trip coming up,” Chaz said.

“Definitely,” Rocket said. “C.C. may be a little banged up, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“You staying on the first line?” Chaz asked.

“You and Rory Colbert are a good pair,” Crawford said.

Rocket loved these guys. It was hockey 24/7, just the way it should be.

“Not sure where I’m playing. C.C. is day-to-day. Hopefully, he can go on. Rory’s a great player, though. I love playing with him. Big body, smart with the puck and he has soft hands around the net.”

“Not sure about that Terrence Day,” Crawford said. “Dude’s a bit slow. I’m not getting that pickup.”

“Management likes its veterans,” Rocket said.

“We got to run, bro,” Crawford said. “Good luck tomorrow!”

Rocket gave them a thumbs-up as Rino drove away. They were the craziest fans he’d ever met. He was surprised Rino and Griff weren’t wearing their tinfoil Stanley Cup hats. He bet they slept in their Racers gear.

The bus came and Rocket got on. He dozed the whole time.

As it pulled up near his apartment building, all he could think about was getting inside, having a quick snack and then taking a nap. He had to get rid of this fatigue.

He walked into the lobby.

“Get out! I do not want to see you back here,” Ritchie shouted. “You are a bad person.”

Rocket stopped in his tracks. Then he saw a second man leaning against the wall by the elevators.

“I go where I want,” the man said, “and you’d better watch your mouth, or I’ll call immigration, and you can go back to whatever jungle you came from. Minus a few teeth.”

“I have the right to be here,” Ritchie said. “Call the government persons, Carl. I do not care — and I am not scared of you.”

Carl burst out laughing. He had short-cropped blond hair, shaved closely on the sides and back, and a nose ring and two earrings.

“‘Government persons?’ Learn English already,” Carl said.

Rocket had heard enough. “The man asked you to leave, so here’s the door.” He pointed to it.

Carl laughed again. “Who’s the punk?”

“You are the punk,” Ritchie said. “I see you here again, I call the police. You do not like that, do you?”

The smile disappeared from Carl’s face. “Best not get involved in my stuff.”

“Last warning,” Rocket said. “Use the door before I don’t give you a choice.”

Rocket recognized Carl’s type from his old neighbourhood: a tough talker, but not a tough guy. That was one advantage of growing up where he had. He was pretty good at figuring out who you needed to stay away from — and who was full of it.

Rocket zeroed in on Carl, balled his fists and stepped forward.

Sure enough, Carl flashed a cocky grin, shrugged and pushed off from the wall.

“I’m done my business,” he said. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his army jacket. “You guys sure you don’t want to party? I can hook you up with some good stuff, the best. I have the best prices in town. Let me know.” He flicked his chin and strolled out the door.

Ritchie scowled and his eyes darkened. “Thank you, Bryan. That is a very bad man. I warned him before to stay away, but he does not listen. I will not let drugs be sold here.”

“Are you sure he’s a dealer?”

“One reason to leave El Salvador was to get away from people like that,” Ritchie said. “Many people die in my country because of drug war and gangs, fighting over money. I hate it, and I will not let Carl push me around so he can do his
business
.”