“Left, left, left!” I yelled at our second line centre. “Docker’s open.” He listened to me and flipped a saucer pass over to the boards, where Docker grabbed it and flew up the ice. At the other end of the rink, he deked around a defenseman, bluffed the goalie, and tucked the biscuit in around the post. Goal!
Sadly, we were just practicing, and it was our backup goalie who’d misread the play.
Brosky had been in net the first game of our back-to-back in Pasadena and given up four goals. Which, given our anemic production, meant we’d lost five to two, the last an empty-netter. I wasn’t worried about my starting position these days.
Coach blew his whistle and called us all to centre ice. “Good hustle, everyone,” he said. Then he proceeded to take apart our play, step by step. “Reviewing tape tomorrow, people,” he finished. “Don’t be late. We need to start scoring goals. Fitzpatrick can’t carry the whole team on his back.”
I winced at that, because although he wasn’t wrong— we were second in our division despite being fourth in goals scored— I didn’t want to seem like the teacher’s pet. Luckily, he undid the good words by glaring at me. “If only you were as good atkeeping penalties down as you are keeping the puck out. What the fuck was that in Pasadena?”
“Henderson has a filthy mouth.” I wouldn’t repeat what he’d said, but he’d totally deserved the stick between the skates. “They didn’t score on the power play.”
“Because you got lucky, Fitzpatrick!” Coach glared at me.
I ducked my head and pretended to be sorry. But equal opportunity yelling meant my teammates treated me normally when we got off the ice, instead of avoiding me. Not the worst result for getting called out about a fuckup.
We stripped off sweaty gear and underlayers in the locker room, more than ready for lunch. An afternoon with no travel and no game would be welcome, and the pushing and chirping had a light tone to it. Besides, the trade deadline had passed, and other than Lefty, who’d gone to the Tridents, and Danner, off to fuckin’ Newark, New Jersey, we’d all survived the shuffle.
Tiki, sitting at his locker stripped down to his jock, looked up from his phone. “Well, shit. Hey, guys, I have three tickets to that new superhero advance showing today, and my kid’s sick. Anyone want to buy them off me?”
“When’s the show?” someone called.
“Matinee. Four o’clock.”
“Nah. Too early.”
“I’ll take them,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about seeing that movie.” Well, mostly because Jos had mentioned it, like, five times in the last couple of weeks. This timing worked well, with me back from our roadie, and Zeke on his last day off before starting day shifts.
“All three?” Tiki blinked at me.
“Yeah. I got a buddy with a kid who’s into superheroes. Um. Assuming you’re not going to gouge me, that is.”
“They cost me twenty-five bucks apiece, but I’ll sell them for twenty, just to get them off my hands.”
“Let me make sure my friend can make it.” Sixty bucks was a lot, but I was trying to butter Jos up any way I could. Half the time, the kid was okay with me, and half the time, he looked at me like something he’d scrape off his sneaker. I wanted to change those percentages.
I texted Zeke.~Hey. If I got tix to Spinning the World superhero movie, can you n Jos make it? This afternoon. 4.
~I thought it was sold out.
~A friend has extras.
~Sure. Sounds great. Jos is still in school, but I can’t imagine he’ll say no.
“We’re a go,” I told Tiki. “Not sure I have sixty in my wallet, though.”
“The tickets are at home anyhow. You can stop by an ATM on the way.”
“Deal.” We got changed out and I followed him to his place, with a stop at a cash machine. I was pretty sure I had enough in my account, but I was surprised when I checked my balance to find it two grand higher than I expected. For a minute, I just boggled at the number. Yeah, I’d been eating at Zeke’s a lot, but I’d bought groceries at least once a week.
Then the answer occurred to me. I’d given Grandpa a rent cheque— he’d asked for paper— and I bet he hadn’t cashed it. The old man was so stubborn. Part of the whole reason I gave up my apartment and moved back was so I could put my rent money in his hands instead of some landlord’s.
Maybe Grandpa thought I should be paying Zeke instead. That thought gave me a moment of hesitation, because Zeke and I never talked about money. The babysitting I’d done didn’t match up to room and board.We need to discuss that.ButafterI got Grandpa to cash the damned cheque.
Once I had the tickets in hand, I headed back to Zeke’s. The team put out a spread of food after practices, but I didn’t stop toeat, although I’d be in dire need of some lunch when I got home. In dire need of some Zeke as well, which was why I couldn’t wait.
An equipment problem had delayed our flight home last night, and by the time I got in, Zeke was asleep on the couch. I could’ve woken him, but he’d had a bruised-up face shading from purple to green, a crease between his brows, and circles under his eyes. Whatever had happened— presumably on the job— he looked like a guy with a headache, and I was none too fresh after hours sitting on the tarmac in an airplane.
I’d covered him with a blanket, taken the fact that he didn’t wake as a sign to let him rest, and gone to bed. When I’d left for practice, he’d been gone from the living room, either out running or asleep upstairs.
