Breakaway Page 23

  Liam is working the grey colt, the one named Sherman, on pivots. The horse starts when the two dogs barrel over, but he doesn’t shy. He faces them and puts his head down low, blowing out his breath in soft clouds.

  Liam steps off the colt’s back. He makes an abrupt gesture, and the dogs sit immediately, wriggling, while Sherman smells their heads.

  “I know where to bring Rufus for obedience training.” My voice sounds loud and hollow, like I’m speaking with a tin pail over my head. By now I’m a few metres away.

  Liam turns his back and checks the cinch. He’s wearing a fleece lined jean jacket, a toque, and soft yellow gloves.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  “I just came to remind you to go to the police station. I also wanted to say thanks.”

  He pushes on Sherman’s shoulder, forcing the colt to shift his weight, then bends over and takes the hoof between his knees, examining the sole.

  I stand there like a fool. Little Ann comes over and rubs her nose against my thigh. Liam turns his head and lifting his upper lip, makes a sharp, sucking noise with his teeth. Little Ann folds back her ears in apology and lies down beside Old Dan, placing her head on her paws.

  “What – they’re not supposed to talk to me either?”

  Liam releases the hoof, then goes around to the other side and picks up Sherman’s right.

  I follow him, determined not to give up.

  “What do you want from me?” Liam asks.

  I sigh loudly. “I told you. I want to thank you for what you did for Courtney and for Rufus. You’re a good friend.”

  Liam lets go and stands up, facing me for the first time. Even though the lighting is poor, I can see he’s haggard.

  “Am I?” he asks quietly.

  I start to feel nervous. Like the next thing he’s going to examine more closely is me.

  “Yes.”

  “You only called me because I work for a vet. That’s it.”

  “Why are you so angry at me?” I ask him.

  “I don’t like being used.”

  “I wasn’t using you.” I shove my hands in my pockets because they’re starting to shake. “I’m not that kind of person.”

  “You’re not?” He takes a step towards me. “Just where were you last night anyway?”

  “I told you. I was in Regina at a wedding.”

  “Was that guy there? The one you still like?” he demands.

  “Yes.”

  His face hardens. “Look. I’ve made no secret of the fact I like you, but it’s not working. It hurts too much to get pushed away all the time.”

  “I’d really like to be friends,” I tell him. “Maybe even more than friends. I’m ready this time. Honest.”

  “You don’t sound ready,” he says.

  I think about the drinks I watched Mark put away, the way I let him unburden himself, and the shame washes over me. If Liam knew the whole story, what else would he say?

  “I asked you once what you were saving yourself for.” Liam slaps the reins lightly against the palm of his glove. “It wasn’t what. It was who. I hope he was worth it.”

  “Liam, nothing happened!”

  He starts leading Sherman towards the double doors at the back of the arena. “You do whatever you like. I’ve given up on you.” He stops and delivers his last comment, back turned. “Don’t call me the next time you have a crisis.”

  He leaves without saying goodbye.

  The two dogs come up from behind and push their noses into my palms, begging for a caress. I kneel down and let Little Ann lick the salt away from the corners of my eyes.

  “Damn him, anyway,” I say to her.

  You know he’s right, says my little voice. That’s why it hurts so much.

  – Chapter Forty-six –

  Rufus comes home from the clinic after a few days. He’s pretty much his old self, although he sleeps even more than usual for the first week. Dad posts the vet bill on the fridge where Courtney can see it every time she goes for a snack.

  “You’re going to work that off,” Dad tells her at supper one night. “You can start by cleaning the garage.”

  “Okay,” Courtney says.

  “Your dad and I are taking you out of hockey,” Mom says.

  Courtney immediately shifts gears. “Why?”

  “You haven’t done a good job of picking your friends,” Dad says. “We think you should go back to figure skating.”

  “I don’t want to figure skate,” Courtney says.

  “You used to love it,” Mom says. “I talked to the club president, and she said...”

  “I’m not going back,” Courtney says. “I’ll hang out with whoever you want me to hang out with on the hockey team, but I’m not quitting!”

  Mom and Dad exchange glances.

  You devils, I want to say out loud. That’s what you were waiting for.

  “All right.” Mom turns to me. “Who do you think Courtney should hang out with?”

  “I’m not around the team that much,” I say evasively. “I’m not a great judge of character.”

  “Take your time,” Dad says. “Think about it, and get back to us.”

  All three of them are looking at me expectantly.

  Super duper.

  –

  I slide back into the practice/dryland routine. I feel rejuvenated after the two-week break from hockey. Besides, throwing myself heart and soul into my sport keeps me from thinking about other stuff.

  When I go back to school in January, I see Liam nearly everyday at school, but he treats me like a stranger. Worse than a stranger.

  I should be used to it. First Mark. Then Evan. Now Liam.

  Mark calls me the night before we host Weyburn. My pulse doesn’t even jump at the sound of his voice.

  I’m embarrassed to even talk to him.

  “Look, Jessie,” he says, “I feel terrible about what happened at Brittni’s wedding. Being drunk is no excuse for mauling you like that.” He clears his throat. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.

  “I would never do anything to hurt Holly,” he says. “She’s the one, Jessie.”

  Much as I hate it, that stings.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I assure him. “Water under the bridge.”

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “How’s your dad?” I ask.

  He talks for a few minutes more, but the cancer terminology, second nature to him by now, is foreign to me. Before he hangs up, he says something about keeping in touch, valuing my friendship, blah, blah, blah.

  But I know it’s not true.

  He’ll always be on his guard with me. It’ll be awkward. We’re not the same people we were when we dated. Maybe it’s better we don’t see each other.

  –

  We win at home against Weyburn in OT, and then take a shit kicking two days later at Crescent Point Place.

  “Sure wish I knew which team is going to show up,” Bud tells us in the dressing room after the Saturday afternoon game. “You girls are an enigma.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Randi says.

  “It’s not a compliment,” Kathy says. “He means he can’t figure us out, and he should be able to, right Coach?”

  “That’s right,” Bud says. “Consistency is the key to a successful season, Ladies. If you ride the yoyo for the next two months, you don’t stand a chance in the playoffs.”

  On the drive back to Estevan, Dad says, “You girls play much differently when Miranda’s in net.”

  “It is that obvious?” I ask.

  “You play not to give up a goal because you don’t trust her to stop the soft ones. But when Amy’s in net, you play with confidence because you know she’ll take care of business.”

  I don’t agree or disagree with him. It’s Bud’s decision to split the games between the goalies as long as we can stay in a
playoff spot. Some of the older girls think Miranda should sit, and Amy should start every game. Part of me wishes this were so, and part of me wonders how fair is that to Miranda?

  It’s a huge commitment to go to practice and dryland and games nearly every night of the week. Should we put the best team possible on the ice?

  Sometimes, I’m glad I’m not the coach.

  –

  We roll through the rest of January and February, managing to win a few more games and stay ahead of the Battlefords, Swift Current and Prince Albert in the standings. Meanwhile our old pals from Weyburn are hanging out in third place.

  It’s looking more and more like we’ll be meeting them in the first round of playoffs at the beginning of March.

  Sweet.

  –

  I’m glad you talked Mom and Dad out of making me quit hockey,” Courtney says. “I’d hate to miss playoffs.”

  We’re in the garage, working on her shooting. She’s brutal at raising the puck. Good thing ninety percent of goals slide in on the ice.

  “You’ve improved since October. And you’re having fun, right?”

  She nods and strips off her hoodie, revealing her sweat-soaked tank. Even though our garage is heated, I can see her breath.

  “You better not catch a cold,” I warn. “Why don’t you take a break while I fix the net?”

  She reaches for the water bottle on the step while I wrestle the framework together where it’s pulled apart again.

  “Have you seen the duct tape?” I ask.

  She points to Dad’s tool stand, and I start rifling through the drawers.

  “I hate that Dad took my cellphone away.” She takes another pull on her water bottle. “I feel like I’m living in the olden days.”

  I rip off a piece of duct tape and wrap it around the frame before answering. “I didn’t have one when I was eleven.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “So, how’s Gia doing? Did she get grounded?”

  Courtney fills me in. Gia has moved out of her mom’s house into her dad’s. I’m not sure if he’s having any more luck controlling her, but at least Courtney’s not spending time with her, apart from school and hockey.

  “I have to shower,” Courtney says at last. “Pam’s mom is coming in half an hour.”

  “You don’t want to keep her waiting,” I say.

  We don’t have to say anything more. We know she’s lucky Pam’s mom still lets them hang out.

  I place our sticks with the rest of the ones stacked in the corner.

  Courtney pauses at the door. “Thanks for helping me. You’re a decent big sister, when you’re not trying to be my mom.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself when you’re not acting like a spoiled little kid,” I reply.

  She opens the door, and a white ball of fur streaks out.

  “Jail break!” Courtney cries.

  Rufus leads us on a merry chase through the garage, panting and growling, one ear flipped over so the pink shows. We finally trap him inside the hockey net.

  “I’ll distract him! You grab him,” I say, waving at her.

  She lunges, Rufus bolts, and the net collapses on top of us. We lie there on the cold cement and howl while Rufus yaps at us, a sharp, staccato sound.

  When Dad comes outside to check on the commotion, his startled face is all we need to put us further over the edge.

  “Look who’s in jail now!” Courtney laughs.

  – Chapter Forty-seven –

  She covered the puck with her glove in the crease. Why isn’t that a penalty shot?” I ask the referee. I try to sound objective, like I’m cupping my hands beneath her fountain of knowledge. But when it’s the last three minutes of Game Five of your first playoff series, and the score is 2–2, and your team is killing a five on three, it’s brutally hard.

  She gives me a benevolent smile. “She realized what she did, and she took her hand away. She didn’t do it intentionally.”

  “Okay. So if I check someone from behind, but I realize I did it, you won’t give me a penalty?”

  The smile slides like jello off her face. “Go line up,” she says.

  “An infraction is an infraction,” I tell her, “intentional or not.”

  “Go line up,” she repeats, her voice brittle.

  When I relay this information to Bud, he glares at the referee, but he doesn’t wave her over. I line up with Carla and Kathy in Weyburn’s end, where, a few moments ago, Kathy’s aggressive forecheck forced Number 14 to fall on the puck. Randi and Whitney are the two players in the sin bin. I hope Randi’s interference call and Whitney’s unsportsmanlike don’t cost us the game.

  Kathy leans in, head cocked and stick poised, as the linesman snaps the puck. She wins the draw back to my side, and I fire it in deep along the boards, ready to back pedal if Number 23 beats Kathy to it.

  Soon all three of us are transitioning to D as Weyburn’s top line breaks out and brings the puck up the ice. I motion for Carla to take away the pass, as I focus on Number 9, who has the puck. I poke check it away, but Kathy can’t get to it in time. My stomach sinks as Number 5 scoops it up, slides into the low slot, toe dragging around Carla, and pulls the trigger.

  There’s no possible way Amy can see the shot, not with the screen Number 18 is throwing. But her reflexes are flawless, as they have been the entire series. She snatches the puck out of the air and waits for the whistle.

  “Holy, do you have x-ray vision?” I ask her, smacking her pads with my stick.

  Amy tosses the puck to the linesman. “We are so knocking Weyburn out of the playoffs.”

  Kathy says, “Nothing sweeter than closing out a series in your opposition’s rink.”

  “I sure hope this kind of talk doesn’t piss off the hockey gods,” I say.

  Dayna, Jennifer and Larissa come out to relieve us, and I check the time on the clock as I skate to the bench. 1:15 left in Whitney’s penalty, and :32 left in Randi’s. The music in Crescent Point Place pounds in my ears as our fans bang on the glass. I crowd surf for Liam and Russell MacArthur, but I can’t find them. I haven’t seen them at a game since before Christmas.

  As soon as we step inside the box, the music stops and the play resumes.

  Number 3 wins the faceoff back to her right D, who rips a slapshot on net. There’s a scramble for the puck, and Jennifer goes down awkwardly and stays down. The ref’s whistle stops the play.

  “Not good,” Carla says. “I think she hurt her wrist.”

  We can’t afford another injury, not with Miranda and one of the Rookies nursing sprains. Crystal’s mom heads out onto the ice, hanging on Kathy’s elbow for support.

  It’s a long time before Jennifer gets up, and when she does, she’s cradling her right forearm.

  “Good chance it’s broken,” I say. “We’re down to three D.”

  Mrs. Jordan gestures at the St. John’s ambulance people sitting above our box, then takes Jennifer straight to the dressing room.

  “Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars,” Kathy says. “Now what?”

  Bud calls a timeout, and we gather around him and Sue.

  His eyes roll over each of us. “Kathy, I’m moving you to D,” he says at last.

  “Okay,” Kathy says. “Should I tell the Weyburn coach you’re spotting them a couple of goals. Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Sue says calmly. “I assume you’ve played D once or twice in your star-studded career?”

  “I was a blue liner in Novice,” Kathy replies. “My coach told me he’d never seen anybody with less defensive instincts.”

  “Your coach didn’t know what he was talking about.” Bud pulls out his whiteboard and uncaps the marker with his teeth.

  “He was my dad,” Kathy says. “Mr. Parker. I think you’ve met him.”

  Bud waves a hand in dismissal. “Today, you’re Carla’s new D-partner.”

  “Suit yourself,” Kathy says.

  Bud draws
up the play and quickly outlines it. I’ve learned to pay close attention to these drills because Bud rarely repeats himself.

  I skate to the faceoff dot with Dayna, who’s making little burping noises.

  “This is not the time to let nerves get the best of you,” I tell her.

  She swallows another burp. Her breath smells like vomit.

  “Hey, you can do it,” I say. “Deep inside, you know you can.”

  Despite her nerves, Dayna does execute – perfectly.

  And so does Kathy, despite what her dad told her in Novice.

  We kill the rest of the five on three, and are hanging in there for the five on four, when Number 18 takes a hooking penalty on Kathy. It’s Weyburn’s turn to question the call. Their assistant coach works over the referee while one of the fans threatens to trash her car.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you hanging on to her stick?” I ask Kathy as I take her spot at the next faceoff.

  Kathy grins and gives me a little poke before she skates away.

  I take a second to soak it all in, the crowd noise, the music, the score on the jumbotron, my teammates.

  Please don’t let this be my last Midget game.

  We need to get control of the puck in Weyburn’s end, so Amy can head to the bench, and Kathy can spill back out, as a forward.

  I turn my head towards Carla, my D-partner for this last crucial ninety seconds. She gives me a little nod.

  The puck drops. Whitney loses the faceoff. Number 15 tries to ice it. Carla chops it down, and it falls like a gift at her feet. She slides it over to me, and I rip it in deep. Larissa and Randi pile into the corner on top of Number 14, and Randi comes up with the puck. She dodges 14, trying to create space for herself. I hear skates behind me, and I know Amy’s gone to the bench. Kathy has a full head of steam as she blows by me, and she’s calling for the puck as she moves into the high slot. Randi pivots and puts the puck right on Kathy’s blade.

  Number 27 lies down to block the shot. The Weyburn goalie is squared away, negating the corners. Kathy slides it past 27 and cuts hard to the left. When the goalie moves with her, she passes to Larissa behind the net. Larissa flips the puck behind the goalie and it rolls down her back and in.