Breakaway Read online

  Whoa.

  “Let’s go!” Kathy smokes me with her hockey bag. “It’s cold out here!”

  “Now you’re in a hurry?” I reply.

  Down in the dressing room, the tunes are on, and most of the girls are assembled. The mood is remarkably relaxed, considering we’re about to play a team on a thirty-five-game winning streak.

  “Think the coaches will let us go to the pool tonight?” one of the Rookies asks. “I brought my water gun and some other stuff.”

  Maybe too relaxed.

  “Depends on how well we play.” I deposit my sticks by the door and squeeze into a spot between Carla and Jennifer. “Let’s focus on the game.”

  “I brought mini-sticks,” another one says. “We can play in the hallway if we can’t go swimming.”

  “Anybody seen Shauna?” Kathy asks.

  “I talked to her for a few minutes,” Carla informs us. “Did you know she’s playing at U of M next year? She wants to get into architecture.”

  This news makes me uncomfortable. How come these other girls know what they want to take, and I’m undecided?

  “She also said we have the best coaches and goaltending in the league, and we’re playing over our heads,” Carla adds.

  “Did you know Regina only scored one goal against Notre Dame last year?” Crystal asks. “And they beat some team 14–0 during playoffs.”

  Miranda looks stricken.

  “Way to pump up our goaltender,” Kathy says.

  –

  Before warm-up, Bud reminds us again about the “big ice” at Notre Dame.

  “You need to make your passes,” he says. “Move the puck, keep skating, and avoid mistakes.”

  “I don’t always know when I’m making a mistake,” says one of the Rookies.

  “Don’t worry,” Kathy says. “I’ll tell you.”

  When we head out to the ice, I try not to watch the Hounds too much. Talk about moving the puck. They have skills we can only dream about.

  Dayna lines up behind me at the blue line for a defensive drill. “Are you as nervous as I am?”

  I paste a smile on my face. “They all put their hockey pants on one leg at a time,” I quip, trying to evoke a confidence I don’t feel. “Let’s stick to our game plan.”

  –

  The game plan doesn’t help us against Notre Dame. Sure, Randi does manage to score two minutes in, a greasy, garbage goal that only seems to wake up the Hounds and make them angry. Retaliation occurs on the scoreboard as they put three quick ones past Miranda, and in the corners where they take the lumber to us.

  But we’re the only ones who take penalties, two of them late in the period. Kathy gets one for two-handing a Hound in the shin, and just as her penance is done, Jennifer meets her on the way out of the box.

  While we sit in the dressing room, listening to Bud break down the Hounds’ forecheck, I try not to think about my throbbing wrists. I have to endure forty more minutes of this punishment?

  We’ll start the second shorthanded, so Bud reviews PK. Not that it helps. When we head back out, Notre Dame scores with thirteen seconds run off the clock.

  Correction. I score.

  The puck goes in off the back of my leg although Shauna gets the credit for her shot from the point. I turn to Miranda, my mouth open to apologize.

  “Go away,” she says.

  Notre Dame’s Number 23 punches one of our Rookies in the head and takes a roughing minor.

  Our first power play.

  The Hounds’ coach sends out her top four players, who tie us up in our own end for most of the one-man advantage and score shorthanded.

  “Maybe we could play straight time,” Dayna says as a number five appears under Home.

  “Don’t give up yet,” I say. I make her retell me the game plan.

  By the end of the second, it’s 7–1. Worse yet, we only have three shots. The Notre Dame student body is merciless in their heckling as we lug our asses off the ice.

  Bud dissects the Hounds’ special teams for us, but I barely listen. I am too tired and too sore and too beaten.

  “Suck it up,” Sue hisses in my ear as I leave the dressing room. “You’re supposed to lead this team, not drag it down.”

  I’d like to say I’m the one who lights a fire under everyone’s ass in the third.

  But I’d be lying.

  Two minutes into the period, Dayna lifts Number 22’s stick just as the Notre Dame centreman is receiving a pass. Somehow she manages not to draw an interference call and, poking the puck ahead to Whitney, generates an odd man rush.

  One of the Hound’s D-men loses an edge and goes down.

  Three on one.

  Whitney drives to the net while Randi’s wide open on the left wing. As the remaining D positions herself to remove the pass, Whitney flips the puck to Larissa, who shoots, low blocker. The goalie makes the save, but the rebound comes right out to Dayna, who is cheating in from the point. Roofs it.

  This kid’s a beauty.

  Shrieking and flailing her arms, Dayna skates straight for the Notre Dame bench. Her enthusiasm is so contagious the Hounds start laughing.

  Meanwhile I retrieve the puck from the linesman. “It’s her first AAA goal. She’ll want this.”

  The linesman nods.

  The momentum of Dayna’s goal carries us for five minutes, and we experience the thrill of outworking Notre Dame’s top lines until I take a hooking penalty. They score on the power play, and the snowball starts to roll overtop of us, pinning us down.

  In the end, it’s 9–2 Notre Dame.

  “Gritty game,” Shauna tells me as she shakes my hand.

  “Thanks.”

  In spite of all the positive things Bud tells us afterward, morale in the dressing room is low.

  “Hey, we scored two goals,” I point out. “That’s more than lots of teams have done against the Hounds. We’re not going home with our tails between our legs.

  “Damn right,” Randi says. “We’re going to a hotel.”

  We have two more games tomorrow, but it’s already clear we can’t advance to the semi-final round. Only one team from our pool will do that, and there’s no chance it will be us.

  I track down Shauna in the lobby. She has her hair cut very short and dyed jet black.

  “Look at you,” she says. “You’ve turned into quite the D-man.”

  “Thanks. You set the bar high,” I reply.

  She nods in acknowledgment. “Too bad Fox wasn’t in net. She hurt?”

  “Groin.”

  “Oh well, next time.” She stares at the pointed toe of her boot. “Not long before we make the trip down to Spectra Place. What’s it like playing there?”

  “It totally feels like the big time.”

  “Looking forward to it.” Shauna heaves a sigh. “I miss you girls.”

  “Believe me, we miss you too.”

  “You’ve filled in the gaps Tara and Kim and Jodi and I left. You didn’t make it easy for us today.”

  “Excuse me?” I shake my head. “Did you see the scoreboard?”

  “You didn’t lie down and play dead,” says Shauna. “And that little D-partner of yours is something else.”

  “I hear you’re playing at U of M next year,” I say.

  Before Shauna can respond, someone taps me on the shoulder.

  The U of S coach.

  “Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed watching you today. Nice puck movement and decision-making. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

  “Appreciate it,” I say. “Maybe I should thank the Hounds for letting me keep it.”

  He laughs. “You coming to the Huskies’ camp in April?”

  “Planning to.”

  “Excellent news. Good luck in your games tomorrow.” He walks away.

  Shauna grins at me. “Looks like somebody else is playing university hockey next year.”

  – Chapter Thirty-nine –

  After going 0 and 4 in the Notre Dame Showcase, we ar
e happy to host Prince Albert for a double-header the following weekend.

  “Maybe we have a chance at beating dem Bears,” Kathy says as I drive her home after dryland on Wednesday. “They’ll be over-confident after kicking our asses last time.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I put my foot on the gas and wheel quickly into her driveway to avoid getting trapped in the freshly fallen snow.

  “Whoa, Days of Thunder!” she says as we slide to a stop.

  “I’m tired of getting stuck,” I say. “Dad says he’s putting snow tires on Sunny, but she doesn’t have enough clearance. It bites.”

  “I’ll tell you what bites,” Kathy says. “I don’t have a sniff of getting to Regina before Christmas to buy my grad dress. Can you imagine how bad the selection is going to be when I do go?”

  “You were in Saskatoon twice,” I remind her. “But you were too damn fussy.”

  “Good thing the escort department is looked after. What about you?”

  “I’ll look for a grad dress after Christmas. No time right now.”

  “I was referring to your grad escort.” Kathy’s tone reeks of agenda. “Do you have one?”

  “Not yet.”

  Still hoping for Mark, my little voice says.

  “What about Liam?” Kathy asks.

  I shake my head.

  “In that case, Brett has this friend.”

  “Is he a referee?”

  “He’s really nice.”

  “No way.”

  “He’ll wear anything you want.”

  “Kathy.”

  “It’ll be like a double date.”

  “Get out of my car. Right now.” I point a finger at her.

  “But why?” she pleads.

  “A blind date with a referee? I’ll never live it down!”

  “Okay.” Kathy opens her door. “But if you change your mind...”

  “Out.”

  When I get home, Mom and Courtney are decorating the Christmas tree. It’s a quaint domestic scene. The gas fireplace is on, the house smells like lasagna, and Rufus is munching on tinsel.

  “Supper’s on the counter,” Mom says. “You’ll have to nuke it.”

  I pick up Rufus and try to retrieve the slippery strings from his mouth. “I don’t think we should leave this stuff lying around.”

  “Oh dear!” Mom looks up from the strands of lights she’s untangling. “I lost track of him. Sorry!”

  Rufus coughs, hacks, and burps as I extract the last slimy bits. I set him down and move quickly to pick up the card of tinsel before he can get to it. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Downstairs,” Mom says.

  I go into the kitchen, wash my hands, fill a plate with lasagna and salad, and take it back to the living room. Courtney’s attaching lights to the bottom branches while Mom sorts through boxes of ornaments. Rufus is chewing on our treetop angel.

  “What are you going to do with him while you’re in Vegas?” I set down my plate and pry Rufus’ mouth open to dig out the angel’s head. “Is he going to Pam’s too?”

  “Apparently Pam’s mother is allergic to dogs,” says Mom.

  “I thought Cotons were hypoallergenic.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with hair,” Courtney says. “Small dogs freak her out.”

  “There’s a good kennel at...”

  “He’s not going to a kennel,” Courtney insists. “Gia’s dog went to a kennel once, and he got really sick. He nearly died.”

  “It’s only for two nights. Maybe he can stay home,” Mom says. “Courtney can stop by and see him a few times a day. Would you do that, Court?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everything set for Brittni’s wedding?” Mom asks.

  “I’ll head up there after lunch on the 30th. Everything’s at the Seven Oaks. Brittni booked a block of rooms, and there’s one under my name.”

  Mom says, “I guess that works.”

  “Are you coming on the bench for my game tomorrow night?” Courtney asks.

  “Are you coming to watch me play PA on Saturday?” I counter.

  She nods, and I nod back.

  Life is good.

  I eat my lasagna and watch them work on the tree while Rufus makes a general nuisance of himself. I call him, and he tries to hop up beside me, but the distance is too great with the chair tipped back. I lean forward and give him a lift. He watches me raise a forkful of lasagna to my mouth and licks his chops.

  “Not a chance,” I say.

  “Apart from the wedding, Christmas holidays will be quiet for you, Jessie,” Mom says.

  “That’s okay by me,” I reply.

  Since I’m not going to the Mac’s, I’ll be off for two weeks. I’m looking forward to sleeping in, watching DVD’s with Courtney, snuggling with Rufus, and getting ready for final exams.

  As much as I love the Oilers, I’m seeing way too much of them lately.

  And not enough of Mark, my little voice says.

  Never mind.

  – Chapter Forty –

  I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my hotel room and stare at myself. I just spent an hour and a half in the salon where Brittni works. “Who knew side ponytails would make a comeback?” I say to my reflection.

  The three of us bridesmaids with long hair were shampooed, rolled and tucked under hair dryers. Brittni’s team of stylists pulled our loose curls off to the side and inserted black feathers.

  I have a French manicure and pedicure, my first ones ever. My legs and pits are freshly shaved, and Brittni’s necklace and earrings perfectly accessorize the little, low-backed black dress. Unfortunately the sky-high silver heels, which felt so comfortable in the store, are already killing me.

  The rehearsal went well last night, in spite of the fact one bridesmaid and two groomsmen were MIA. The missing bridesmaid was attending a different wedding, one groomsman was playing hockey in Brandon, and Mark’s flight from Calgary was delayed by bad weather.

  I heard Brittni say today he’s here now. Somewhere in this hotel. Getting ready with Jamie and the rest of the guys.

  You always knew you’d have one last crack at him, my little voice says. This is it, isn’t it?

  It isn’t. It’s Brittni’s Big Day.

  I check my phone. Think about deleting those angry texts from Kathy.

  What kind of captain r u? Deserting yr team. I no Mark’s there. Tara told me. R u crazy?

  I shut off my phone and tuck it in my clutch, along with my hotel key and a pack of gum. I drape my bare shoulders with a filmy silver shawl. As I step into the hallway chlorine fills my nose.

  I’ve heard your sense of smell is the one tied closest to memory.

  We stayed here during the Regina tournament in my first year of hockey. Kathy and Jennifer and Larissa got in trouble with Steve for some pranks down at the pool, and we all got bag skated at the next practice. But it didn’t matter because we got bag skated together.

  Good times.

  As I take the elevator down to the lobby, I think about the fun I’ve had playing with the Oilers. And before that, the Rage. The Xtreme. There’s been some bad stuff too, but all in all, it’s been a great ride.

  The elevator doors open.

  I see a collection of guests in the lobby, including some of the bridesmaids. One’s a hair stylist, another’s a tattoo artist, and the matron of honour is a massage therapist. None of them have ever hefted a hockey stick, and only one of them has even been to Brittni’s hometown. I must be proof Brittni had friends in Estevan.

  It’s been fun answering the “back in the day” questions about Brittni. I can’t out and out tell them we were ecstatic when she stormed out of the dressing room for the last time. I just tell them the good stuff she did. Like the time she calmed Jennifer down after one of Mr. Scott’s rants and took charge after Jodi had her accident.

  I make my way towards the banquet hall Brittni and Jamie are using for the ceremony, supper and dance. Quite a few guests are assembled in the hallway.


  I’m on high alert for Mark.

  The matron of honour – I think her name’s Loni – waves me over.

  “You look great!” she says. “That’s a terrific dress. Where did you get it?”

  After I tell her about my outfit, she tells me about hers then introduces me to some of Brittni’s other friends.

  But I’m on reconnaissance the whole time. He’s here somewhere.

  “Jessie’s hockey team is playing at a tournament in Calgary,” Loni’s telling everyone. “She missed the tournament to be here. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “How’s your team doing?” somebody asks.

  “They went 1 and 3 in the round robin, so they didn’t make it out of their pool,” I explain. From the blank looks I’m getting, it’s clear the terminology is zooming right over their heads. “That means they’ll get to go shopping,” I add.

  They all nod and smile.

  “Jessie wants to play university hockey next year,” Loni says proudly. “If she makes the team, she’ll get to travel to Vancouver and Edmonton and Calgary for games.”

  “No shit,” one says, the one who’s been chewing her gum like a cow. “Too many books for me, even with the perks.”

  “Bet you’ll party like a rock star,” another one says.

  “I have to make the team first, and after that there’re probably a lot of rules about conduct,” I assure her.

  Everybody looks disappointed.

  “But the men’s football team will come to the games, all painted up, to cheer for us,” I add.

  “Cool.” Gum Chewer blows a bubble and pops it.

  The conversation drifts to the topic of the gift opening tomorrow. I wish I could be as excited as they are about electric grills, food processors, crystal tumblers and dinnerware.

  That’s when I see him.

  He’s leaning on a cane. The rented black tuxedo doesn’t fit him quite right, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still the best-looking guy ever. His blond hair’s longer than I’ve ever seen it, but it’s neatly combed and tucked behind his ears. He’s talking to the groomsman who plays for the Brandon Wheat Kings.

  Probably speculating on the outcome of the Team Canada–Russia game tonight. Wishing they were parked in a sports bar somewhere with a pitcher of beer and a widescreen plasma TV. Or on the ice with Team Canada.