Center Ice (14 page)

“It’s kind of cold out…”

“So the water will feel warm.” I didn’t push, though.

Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He pushed his door open and climbed out, then looked back inside to see why I wasn’t moving yet. With the light from the ceiling shining down on me, I reached out and pulled the glove box open, then tried to look confident and in control as I felt inside and pulled out a condom. He was watching me like I was a kitten performing a surprising trick, but when I held the foil packet up for his inspection, he grinned at me. “More than just swimming?”

“Maybe,” I said, still trying to sound sophisticated about it all. “Good to be prepared.”

“Absolutely,” he said, and I could see a little heat flaring behind the amusement in his eyes.

So we followed our trail down to the beach and we swam, the water as warm as I’d predicted against the cool evening air. When we were out deep, nothing around us but the dark lake and the star-sprinkled sky, I cupped my hands and scooped up some water, then let it dribble gently over Tyler’s head. He sputtered a little when it hit his face, but he didn’t move away, and I did it a few more times. “What are you up to?” he finally asked.

“I’m washing them away. You’re clean, now. Just you and me.” For good measure, I sent a handful down over my own face as well, and said, “See? We’re good. Both of us.”

“That easy?” He sounded like he was willing to be convinced.

I nodded. “Yeah. That easy.”

And right then, right there, it really was.

Chapter Twenty-One

- Tyler -

The game went well. It was only an exhibition so it really didn’t count for anything, but we gave our rookies a lot of ice time and most of them rose to the challenge. Those that didn’t…well, the coaches still had some cuts to make, so it was good for them see how the guys did under pressure.

I didn’t get a lot of playing time, just enough to make sure I had my feet under me and a little more when the coach thought the rookies needed some on-ice leadership. Coach had Christiansen, the rookie center who might be my replacement, playing left wing with me, and I set him up for a pretty sweet goal. When I saw his name on the scoreboard, it felt like I’d cut my own throat by making my competition look good, but there wasn’t any way around it. Hockey was a team sport, and Christiansen was on my team.

Karen and I went out afterward, down to the lake for a bit and then into town for dinner with some of the guys. It was weird to be with her in a group. I kept wanting to stop the conversation to make sure everybody had noticed what a cool thing she’d just said or done. It wasn’t because I was insecure or worried that they wouldn’t like her. I just wanted to have someone to share it all with, like that burst of excitement you get when you meet someone who likes the same obscure band or has the same favorite movie. I guess I was a Karen fan, and I wanted to start a fan club.

I managed to keep myself under control, though. And Monday was as stupid as I’d known it would be, all of the guys from the team acting like we were big shots, signing autographs and getting our pictures taken with people and talking like we actually knew a damn thing about anything. The people who came to see us were grown men acting like little kids, grown women acting like…well, acting like that name I wasn’t supposed to be calling people anymore. I called Karen a few times, whenever I got the chance, and she laughed at me and teased me back into being a good sport about it all.

That lasted until we hit our last stop. It was a community barbecue, with grilled chicken, ribs, corn, and homemade pies, so we were all looking forward to it. Winslow always got off on these events, even without the food, and he was practically dancing as he jumped off the bus in front of me. Then he stopped, turned, and quietly said, “Sorry, man.”

I had no idea what he was talking about until I looked in the direction he’d been facing before he turned, and I saw my dad standing there with his arm around the shoulders of a guy holding an expensive-looking camera. Shit. He’d said he was going home for a couple days after the team-family dinner, but I guess he’d changed his mind, or at least come back early. He smiled in my direction, waved happily, and then there was a blur of movement near me and I was being tackled around the middle by Trina, my little sister. She was almost fifteen but usually acted a lot younger, which was just fine by me. My brother Travis was standing a few feet away, his adolescent dignity keeping him from a similar display but his smile wide and genuine.

“Hey, guys!” I said, returning Trina’s hug and grinning in Travis’s direction. I’d been up for a weekend visit at the start of the summer, but that had been it since Christmas. I was surprised by how good it was to see them.

“Hey, bigshot,” Travis said, punching my arm. I moved fast, grabbing him around the shoulders while still holding on to Trina with my other arm, and I pulled Travis in for a half-second of pure kid-bonding-time. He backed away fast, but he was still smiling, and he kept close by as our mom walked toward us.

“Baby,” she said, brushing my cheek with her fingers like she always did when she first saw me. “You grew.”

“Not enough,” I said shortly, trying not to look in my dad’s direction. “But I’ve been eating my vegetables.”

“You hear that, Travis?” she said, frowning playfully in his direction. “Athletes need to care about nutrition.”

I felt like I should say something. I mean, a mom nagging her kid to eat right wasn’t exactly new, but it was kind of sad to see them using hockey as their big parenting goal post for the second time around. But I didn’t want to ruin the big family reunion with a heavy discussion, so I said, “How ’bout you, Trina? You eating your vegetables? Going to grow up big and strong?”

“Thin and graceful,” my mom corrected. “Vegetables are important for that, too. But Trina isn’t the one who wants to eat pizza for three meals a day.”

“Pizza does have vegetables on it,” Travis said, and then Dad arrived with the photographer.

“We got some great shots,” he said happily. “It’s important to sell hockey as a game for the whole family; teams want players who understand that.”

“Did he hire you or kidnap you?” I asked the photographer.

“I’m here to cover the event for the Corrigan Falls Examiner,” he replied and extended his hand. “Dave Conway. I’m new.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I recognized you. You do community stuff, or are you the guy covering the team now?” I could see that my dad was pleased with my interest, but I wasn’t asking for myself. Getting good press coverage was good for the team, and it was part of my job to make sure the reporters liked us.

“Just the community side of things. Amanda Shears is still covering the sports beat.”

I’d slept with Amanda Shears after the third and fourth games of our first playoff series the year before. Didn’t seem wise to mention that right then.

I saw the team’s public relations manager looking impatiently in my direction and said, “I have to go do some stuff, but we’re supposed to be eating here. Can I come find you guys in a bit?”

They agreed, and I went off to try to seem modest yet confident, mature yet enthusiastic while talking to an endless stream of hockey fans. My dad was trailing along behind the photographer, making sure he got shots of me in as many poses as possible. I felt bad for the guy, but at least it was keeping my dad off my back.

When we finally sat down to eat, I got sandwiched in between Travis and Trina for a few more pictures, but the photographer finally escaped my dad’s clutches and we all just ate like a more or less normal family. It was after dinner that things got bad.

My dad sent Trina and Travis off to bring him some paperwork from the car, and then he and my mom drew me down to a far end of the barbecue. “You’re turning eighteen in a couple weeks,” my dad said. It wasn’t exactly news, so I waited for him to get to the point. “Legally an adult. Able to enter into binding contracts. Pretty exciting time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’ve been really, really looking forward to entering into some binding contracts.”

My mom frowned at me in disapproval. As always, she seemed vaguely embarrassed by my dad but didn’t want anyone else to be disrespectful.

My dad just forced a smile, and that was when I knew he was building up to something big. If he wasn’t yelling at me, he must really want something. But of course he couldn’t just come out and ask for it. “This family has sacrificed a lot for your career, Tyler.” He held up his hand as if to silence me, but I hadn’t been planning on arguing. “Of course we did it out of love. We don’t expect to be repaid. But the fact is, it’s been expensive. I had to take time off work in order to help out, I have to pay for somewhere to stay when I’m down here, there’s meals, gas for traveling back and forth…” He shrugged. “Expenses. Lots of them.”

“We could probably cut down on some of that,” I tried, but that wasn’t what he was looking for from the conversation.

“We knew it was important, so we made it work,” he said. “But it’s taken its toll.”

I looked at my mom, but she wasn’t giving me the punch line. “What toll?” I asked.

“We’re in some pretty serious financial trouble,” my dad said carefully. “We’ve built up a lot of debt. We thought we could get by until next year, but it’s not looking too good right now.”

Next year. By then, in his deluded mind, I’d be in the NHL for sure, making the big bucks, and I could pay them back for everything they’d sacrificed. The plan was clear and not exactly surprising; I’d known he expected to get a serious payout if I hit the big time. But I wasn’t sure about the new twist. “What do you mean by ‘not looking too good’? How bad is it?”

“We don’t want to bother you with details,” my dad said. “You should be focusing on hockey. And we have a solution, anyway. I’ve been talking to Brett Gaviston, and he’s got it all worked out.” Dad stopped to shake his head admiringly. “He’s a hell of a businessman, son. A hell of an agent. He understands about the player needing support in all areas of his life, not just on the ice. He’s ready to help us out with this.”

“How?”

“He’s going to give us a loan. Well, give it to you, technically. That’s why we have to wait until you turn eighteen. It’ll seem like a lot of money, maybe, but that’s just because you’re used to this nickel-and-dime league. By big league standards, it’ll be chump change.”

I swallowed hard. “Who repays the loan?” I asked as quietly as I could.

My dad smiled as if I was being silly. “Like I said, Tyler: Once you’re in the show, it’ll be chump change.”

“How much?”

“We don’t have the exact numbers worked out,” he said way too casually. “We’ll have that all sorted out by the time you’re ready to sign.”

“
Roughly
how much?” I was working hard to stay cool, but it wasn’t easy.

“Less than two hundred,” he said soothingly.

I stared at him. Two hundred dollars made no sense—I could pay that off now. But the only other option was insane. “Two hundred
grand
? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Watch your language,” he said, looking pointedly at my mother.

I turned to look at her. “Mom, are you fucking kidding me? Two hundred
thousand
dollars?”

“At the most,” she said quickly. She reached for my face as if to do her fingertip trick again, but I stepped away. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “They’re going to foreclose on the house, baby. And the other loans… We might need to look at bankruptcy. We don’t know. There’s just…there’s just not enough money.”

“What if I don’t make it to the show?” I asked through gritted teeth. “What if I get drafted but never play? What if I get injured next week and can’t come back? You guys want me to be two hundred grand in debt to some asshole—”

“He’s
not
an asshole,” my dad said angrily. “He’s your agent! He looks out for your interests!”

“More like he’s
your
agent,” I said. “Seems like you’re the one he’s looking out for.”

“Like I said,” he said through tight lips, “
he
understands the importance of family.”

“The team’s loading up,” I said. Thankfully, it was true. “I have to go.” I saw Trina and Travis coming across the parking lot and started toward them. I’d say good-bye, then escape.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” my dad called after me.

I was sure we would. After I’d dragged Travis into another quick hug and given Trina a better one, I climbed onto the bus and slumped down in my usual seat.

Winslow slammed down into the seat next to me and punched my shoulder. “You better get used to this shit, Mr. Grumpy.”

“What?” I asked. He expected me to get used to my parents trying to use me as their meal ticket?

“Publicity is part of the job. They love us. You need to get used to it.”

Oh. He thought I was just annoyed by the day of community events. I
wished
that was all I had to be pissed off about. “This is the worst one, isn’t it?” I tried to remember the other promotional events we had scheduled through the year. Most of the rest of them were with kids, so we’d usually get to actually play a little floor hockey or something, and that made them easier to handle.

“I’m not talking about this bush league shit,” Winslow scoffed. “You need to get used to it for when you get drafted. The show is going to make all this look like kiddy time.”

Jesus Christ, I could not handle one more person making that assumption, especially not Winslow. He knew better. “Go bug someone else,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Is it a superstition?” Christiansen was staring at us from across the aisle. “Not talking about getting drafted. Is it bad luck?”

“
It’s a game, and they don’t tell us the rules
,” Winslow said. He’d made his voice high and squeaky, nothing like mine, but he was clearly mimicking me all the same. “
Nobody knows what they’re looking for. It’s impossible to predict. You can’t control it so you shouldn’t think about it
.”

“So which part of that is wrong?” I asked, staring him down.

“Uh, how about the part where every hockey analyst on the continent is predicting that you go first round?”

“We’re
pre-season
, Winslow. They don’t know what they’re talking about, not yet. Those lists don’t mean shit.” I looked across at Christiansen. He was so young he probably still believed in Santa Claus, but that didn’t mean he should buy Winslow’s crap. “You can’t plan for it,” I said. “You can’t…” Jesus, you couldn’t take out hundreds of thousands of dollars in loans hoping to pay them back when you made it. But you also couldn’t let your family down. You couldn’t sit by while your baby brother and sister were kicked out of the only home they’d ever known, couldn’t just watch while your parents declared bankruptcy. Not if there was anything you could do to stop it. “Fuck,” I groaned. I turned and looked out the window, and after a moment’s silence Winslow punched me again, gentler this time.

“Fine. We won’t talk about it. Let’s talk about Christiansen instead. Did you see him trip over the blue line yesterday in the third period?” He turned to grin at the younger player. “What’d it do, jump out at you?”

“Shut up,” the kid said, but he was clearly happy to be included in the conversation.

I kept staring out the window, half-listening to Winslow as he teased every rookie on the bus. I wished I could just freeze things like they were right then. No draft, no NHL, no agents, and no loans. I wanted to just be a kid, playing hockey and hanging out with his friends. Well, I wanted to be a teenager, old enough to have a hot, smart girlfriend who seemed to like sex just about as much as I did. Yeah, that was important. Hockey, friends, and Karen. That was all I wanted. But I knew I was going to be getting quite a bit more.