Power Play (13 page)

I
sat with my head in my hands, wondering what was going to happen next, talking to nobody, looking at nobody, as kids streamed in and out of the school office. This wasn’t my first trip to the principal’s office, but so far I’d done nothing bad enough to get me suspended. At least until now.

It had all happened so fast. One second I’m sitting in class, half asleep, half hungover, completely lost, not paying any attention to what the teacher’s saying. The next he’s calling on me, and then calling me
out
in front of everybody about some stupid assignment I’d forgotten I even had, and one thing led to another until I told him to screw off. And that, of course, had brought me to my spot
on the bench in the office, waiting for Mr. Paisley to see me. And waiting … and waiting.

I guess I really shouldn’t have been complaining about the time. More time gave me more opportunity to cool down. By then, having sat there for the better part of two periods, I was pretty calm. If he’d taken me in right away, I probably would have told Mr. Paisley to screw off as well.

“Cody.”

I looked up. One of the secretaries was standing at the counter looking at me. “Mr. Paisley will see you now.”

I got to my feet. I knew that I had to apologize, fast and sincerely. I’d heard about students being suspended for swearing at teachers, and I did not want to be suspended. I’d got close a couple of times this year—missed assignments, sleeping in, skipping some classes, and a couple of times they’d suspected that I’d been drinking.
Of course
, I
had
been drinking, because I’d been drinking more and more as the year went on. I just said the smell was my aftershave or my mouthwash. It wasn’t like they could give me a Breathalyzer. Unfortunately, I’d had a couple of beers that morning. I knew it wasn’t going to have any effect on me, but sometimes it stayed on my breath even after I’d brushed my teeth.

The door to his office was open and I walked in and—”Terry!” I exclaimed.

There was a second door to the principal’s office and he must have come in that way, where I couldn’t see him
enter. He got up from the couch and came over and shook my hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I guess I’ll find out how bad it is,” I mumbled.

“I tried to get in touch with Coach Connors,” Mr. Paisley said, “but he wasn’t available.”

“He’s out on a scouting trip,” Terry explained. “They passed the call on to me.”

“Thanks for being here,” I said. “I really appreciate it.” I did appreciate it. He was a big deal in town. He had an even better chance than Coach did of rescuing me.

“No problem, son. Let’s just try to sort things out,” Terry said.

“I’ve explained to Terry why you were sent to my office this morning,” Mr. Paisley said.

“And I really want to apologize,” I said. “To you and to Mr. Griffin. I had no right to say any of that.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Mr. Paisley said. “And you’ll certainly have an opportunity to offer your apology to Mr. Griffin personally. I’m just concerned about this whole pattern of behaviour.”

“As am I,” Terry said. “I had no idea there were ongoing issues.”

“We’ve been keeping Coach Connors informed with each incident,” Mr. Paisley said.

“I’m sure you have. I don’t doubt any of what you’ve told me. I just wish I’d been informed myself.” He paused. “I’m particularly worried about the reports that you’ve
come to school under the influence of alcohol on a number of occasions.”

“They have no proof of that,” I protested.

“Proof?” Terry asked.

“I mean … I wasn’t drinking.”

He looked at me—he looked right
through
me. I just didn’t feel like lying anymore. I knew he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“And today?” Terry asked. “I know
somebody
in this room has been drinking, and it isn’t Mr. Paisley, and it hasn’t been me for years. Well?”

I shrugged. “I had a couple of beers this morning to calm my nerves.”

“Thank you for being honest,” Terry said. “I know that wasn’t easy.” He turned to Mr. Paisley. “Do you think I could have a few minutes alone with Cody?”

“Of course!” Mr. Paisley said, getting to his feet. “You can use my office. I’ll be right outside.” He closed the door behind him.

“Cody, I want to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me,” Terry said. “Can you do that?”

I nodded. “I can try.”

“Trying isn’t enough. Can you be honest, yes or no?”

“I can be honest, sir.”

“I’m counting on it. How often are you drinking?”

“Not that much,” I said. “Really.”

“I didn’t ask how much. I asked how often. Is it every day?”

“Not every day.”

“But most?” he asked.

Once again I nodded.

“Do you think you have a problem with alcohol?”

“It’s just that I need it sometimes so that I can—” I stopped myself in time before I said too much.

“So that you can what?” he asked.

My mind raced, looking for an answer, a lie, something to stop him from finding out the truth. But all I could come up with
was
the truth.

“I drink to forget.”

“But it doesn’t work, does it?” he asked.

“No, sir. It doesn’t make it go away or stop me from thinking about it.”

“Whatever the problem is, alcohol only pushes it away for a few minutes or a few hours, and then it all comes back, stronger and worse than ever,” Terry said. “I know what you’re going through.”

He thought he knew, but he didn’t. I wasn’t just drinking because my dad was a drinker.

“We all have our reasons, our excuses. All alcoholics do. Do you know what your reason is?” he asked.

I shrugged again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t.”

How could he ever understand what had happened to me? He was a former NHL player, a tough guy, and I’d been … been … I felt myself start to shake. I fought hard to keep the tears that were just inside from getting out.

He got off his chair and knelt down in front of me, so that even though I was looking down at the floor, I couldn’t help but look at him as well.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it. I just feel bad that Coach Connors isn’t here and you have to rely on me to take care of things.”

I shuddered. How could I tell him what was wrong when he thought Coach was the
answer
and not the problem? “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” I whispered.

“Son, there was a time fifteen years ago when somebody didn’t just believe
me
, they believed
in
me and helped me. I’m here to return that favour.” He paused. “I know you’re putting everything on the line. So, whatever it is, whatever you say, I’ll believe you. You have my word.”

I started crying, tears exploding, my chest throbbing, deep, uncontrollable sobs, so loud that I knew the staff and students waiting outside in the office couldn’t help but hear me. I didn’t care and, more than that, I couldn’t have controlled myself even if I did.

“It’s all right, son, it’s going to be all right,” Terry said. “I know this isn’t easy, but it all starts right now. One step at a time, and the first one is the hardest. Do you know what you want to say?”

“I know,” I sobbed. “I just … just … don’t know if I can.”

“It takes strength to break free. I know you have the strength.”

If he really meant it, if I told him and he believed me, it would all be over. Not just what Coach was doing to me, but my whole future would be gone. It would be over. No more dreams. Nothing. I’d be nothing. Even if he did believe me, I’d have thrown away everything. But, like he said, maybe, just maybe, I could be free.

T
he dressing room got quieter as each player finished packing up his gear, said his goodbyes, and left. The end of the season always had a sadness about it as everybody headed off in their separate directions. The next year would be the same but different, because some of the people wouldn’t be back and new people would take their places. It was amazing how a group of individuals could come together as a team, and then, when it was over, it was over. All that was left would be some memories and a team picture. This year I didn’t want to keep either.

I sat at my stall. I was packed but in no rush to leave. Here in the dressing room was where I felt most comfortable. During those first half-dozen games after the news
came out, even the ice wasn’t a refuge. Though there was a publicity ban on my name, everybody knew.

Terry sat down beside me. “You almost ready to go?”

“Sure … I was just thinking.”

“Lots to think about … for all of us.”

Josh walked over. “Thanks for everything,” he said as he and Terry shook hands.

“Thank you for a great season. I’m just sorry you had such a lousy coach to finish up the year,” Terry told him.

“You’re a good coach!” Josh protested.

“No need to suck up to the coach anymore. My time is over. We’ve got you a
real
coach for next year.”

Terry had been our coach for the last third of the season and through a second-round exit in the playoffs.

“So we’re going to get together this summer, right?” Josh said to me.

“Count on it.”

“You sure you don’t need a drive home?” Josh asked. “My parents are waiting for me and there’s definitely room for you and your stuff in the car. Think of it as one more road trip together.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay. Terry is going to drive me home.”

“Oh … I understand.”

Understand … I didn’t know if anybody really did. Some of them tried. Others didn’t. But who could blame them? It had happened to
me
and I still didn’t understand it all myself.

“I was heading down to the city on business anyway, so it will be nice to have company on a long drive,” Terry explained.

Josh reached out and we shook hands. “I just want you to know that … you know … if there’s anything I can do …
ever
… you know that … right?”

“I know.”

“You and me,” he said, pointing back and forth. “Brothers.”

“As long as you realize I’m the tough big brother.”

“No argument there. Okay, my parents are waiting. We’ll talk.”

He left us alone, the dressing room now empty except for me and Terry.

Terry sighed. “I like dressing rooms. I’m going to miss this next year.”

“You’re the owner. You can still coach if you want,” I said.

“I’m the owner and that’s why I’m
not
going to coach. I have to protect my investment.” He smiled. “Besides, you boys deserve more than I can give you. Don’t worry, I got you somebody you can trust.”

There was no need to say anything more.

“So, you’re going to see Josh over the summer,” he said. “He’s a great guy. The whole team has been good, haven’t they?”

“Pretty good.”

“It must have been hard out there, though,” he said.

I knew he meant the rink. “The first game back was the hardest.”

I’d missed three games after it all came out. And it was incredibly hard getting back on the ice knowing that everybody in the arena was looking, thousands of pairs of eyes all on me, questioning, wondering, gawking, thinking.

At least I couldn’t hear what they might be saying to each other. On the ice, I couldn’t avoid the comments from some of our opponents—taunting me, trying to get under my skin. They were just doing to me what I probably would have done to them if the tables had been turned. When somebody saw a weakness, they had to try to exploit it to help their team win. If they’d found out I had a sore hand, they would have slashed me there. It was the same thing. It still hurt, but I couldn’t let them see it. I just had to play harder, dig deeper. And I did. And I did and I did, until finally the ice became my sanctuary again, the place where I felt safe. Coach couldn’t get to me and what he’d done couldn’t get to me. It could only make me stronger.

“I want to thank you for everything,” I said to Terry.

“It was the least I could do. After all, it was my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I’m the one who hired him. I’m the one who didn’t see what was happening.”

“Nobody saw.”

“But I should have. I just hope you’ll forgive me for not seeing it. At least he’s going to get what’s coming to
him,” Terry said. “And I’ll be there right beside you at the sentencing.”

That was still three weeks away, and I’d been trying to block it out of my mind until after the season was over. Now that it
was
over, I knew it would dominate my thoughts.

Originally we’d been told there was going to be a trial—months and months, maybe even a year away—it didn’t seem real. And then suddenly Coach had just pleaded guilty and admitted it all. No trial. No testimony. I had been preparing for a battle, him using the phony file on me, dragging me through the mud, but he just caved in. He was nothing more than a bully in a fancy suit with fancy words, and most bullies don’t have the guts for a fight. I should have been grateful, but it was almost like I’d been cheated out of a chance to say how I felt, to finally face him and win. In the end he’d cheated me out of that.

Some people thought he did it to be “kind,” so nobody would have to go through a trial. I knew that kindness had nothing to do with it. After the news broke—after the initial shock and disbelief had worn off—three more of his former players had come forward. Their stories were almost identical to mine. The police said there might even be a whole lot of others who’d had the same thing happen to them but didn’t have the guts to come forward. Was that what it was, guts? Or was it just desperation?

“You’re not going to be alone. It’s not just me, but the
other boys—the men—he’s assaulted. Because of you they came forward. Because of you he’s never going to be able to hurt anybody else.”

I was so relieved when the first person did come forward—when it wasn’t just my word against his. Still, I had to admit that at first I was angry. If that guy had said something a long time ago, I wouldn’t have had to go through any of this. I tried to understand. Nobody knew better than me how hard it was to talk, but he should have, all of them should have. Then again, if somebody else had broken the news first, would I have come forward to testify? Maybe, maybe not. I really didn’t know. I was working hard to put the anger away, but it wasn’t easy.

The team had arranged for me to see a therapist. That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do—tell someone else, another stranger, all about it, live through it again—but they basically forced me to do it. I was glad they did. It helped—it helped with the anger.

Funny, the anger had been with me so long that I was almost afraid to lose it. If I wasn’t angry, what would I have? I wondered if I’d be able to play with the same intensity if I wasn’t fuelled by rage. But I discovered that I could. It wasn’t the anger that was driving me now, it was the desire.

“We’d better get going,” Terry said.

I got up and slung my hockey bag on my shoulder. My suitcase was already packed and in Terry’s car. We walked
out of the dressing room. He closed and then locked the door behind us. I felt a sudden rush of relief. The season was over. It was over.

We walked out to his car.

“It sounds like your parents are helping you through all of this,” Terry said.

“My mother is great, and my father … well … at first I don’t think he even wanted to believe it, but really, he’s a lot better than I expected … when he isn’t talking about killing him.”

“I understand that. Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind more than once. I hope your parents understand about you not being at home too much this summer.”

“I’ll be there long enough,” I said. “Besides, I’m looking forward to camp.”

“I’m looking forward to having you. You’ll be a positive addition to the staff.”

We climbed into the car and he went to start the engine, but I stopped him.

“I know I’ve said it already, but I need to say it again. Thanks for what you did for me. Everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” I said.

“Don’t ever sell yourself short,” Terry said. “You helped
me
get through it. You taught me a thing or two about being tough.”

“I taught you?”

“Every day. I knew you were tough out there on the
ice. I just didn’t know how tough you
really
are. It took strength to do what you did. At the beginning of the season, when we made you an assistant captain, I didn’t know if you could handle the pressure. Over the past months, you’ve handled more pressure than anybody would ever have expected. I’m so proud of you, son.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt close to tears.

“Now there’s just one more thing I need to ask you. You don’t have to give me an answer right away. You can have as long as you want to think it over.”

“What do you want me to think over?” I was suddenly feeling anxious.

“I’ve had calls from other general managers asking about trades, and your name has come up a number of times.”

“You want to trade me?” I gasped.

“No, not me. Other teams want to trade
for
you, want you to be part of their teams. I just want to know if you want to be traded.”

“Why would I want that?”

“I thought that you might like to have a fresh start, a new place, without all the memories of what happened here. If that’s what you want, then I’ll arrange for one of those trades.
Is
that what you want, Cody?”

“What do
you
want?” I asked.

“That isn’t important.”

“Yes, it is,” I insisted. “Do you want to trade me to another team? Would it be better for everybody if I left?
Would it make it easier to forget this happened?”

“Son, no matter what, I will
never
forget what happened.
Never
. You have my word.” He paused. “If I have my way, I’ll have you sitting right here next year. The only difference will be the “C” you’ll be wearing on the front of your sweater.”

“You want me to be captain?”

“You’ve earned that right. You’re a leader, a player, and most important, somebody we have all learned to respect. So … do
you
want to stay?”

I wanted to say that this was my place. Where I belonged. And I wasn’t going to be chased away, not by that man and not by his memories. I wasn’t running from this fight.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” I said.

He smiled. “That’s what I hoped. We’d better get going.”

I knew where I was going—and not just today. I was going to make it. And nobody was going to stop me. Not even me.