CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 35 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
The good old hockey game is the best game you can name, and
the best game you can name is the good ol' hockey game...
West had been playing hockey since he was little. As a kid it
had been his first, third and hundredth favourite thing in the world--bubble
gum and wrestling had to factor in there somewhere... His best friends were
either on his team or played hockey somewhere else.
If he wasn't on the ice, he was playing street hockey at age
eleven, stepping out of the way of cars, beating the death out of a tennis
ball in the brown slush caused by road salt meeting freshly fallen snow. On
the days they couldn't get outside they were inside playing table hockey,
always taking a break when hockey night in Canada came on the TV with its
typical fanfare that sent his heart rate soaring.
He had books on hockey, quarters with hockey players stamped
on them, and of course the immense collection of hockey cards dominating an
entire corner of the basement. Now that had been the first real racket West
had ever been exposed to, trading in back room deals conducted on the edge
of the playgrounds. Two muffins, five bucks and a dare usually got you a card
you wanted; how many times had he done stupid things just to secure a prized
player?
He climbed down from the train into Toronto's Union Station,
following the crows up into the main station, carrying his sticks and searching
out his equipment bag.
He supposed this was what it felt like to be in the NHL--on
the road over half of the year, the excitement of being in a new city, an
important game coming and the chance to be out on your own and doing something
that mattered.
He spared a glance to Coach Highmore leaning against a large
sandstone pillar watching them, and West couldn't imagine why anyone would
give up a professional hockey career. It had been so much a part of all of
their dreams since they had been little. There were those that believed firmly
that Canadians were built for the sole purpose of getting out on that ice
and scoring the winning goal.
The team were decked out in their matching team jackets, each
sporting a new baseball cap with the team mascot on it. A group of boys ready
and willing to do battle for a real cause, out to defeat a bitter rival.
Matt struggled with two large equipment bags, grinning as he
stumbled and dropped one at West's feet. "Do you need me to carry that?"
he asked, nodding towards the doors of the station and the buses that would
ferry them to the hotel.
West glanced down at it and reached out to pick it up.
"No you don't." Clovis stepped in and motioned to
Paul; the two defensemen hefted the bag between them, making it look weightless.
West smiled and nodded his head in thanks, looking about at
the team, his team. He was their captain, and as much as Thorburn and Highmore
were coaches, they were his warriors; they were ready, after Thorburn's carefully
orchestrated stunt, to follow him out onto the ice and do what had to be done.
The old man was still as cunning as they came; no one got anywhere thinking
they could outfox him.
A couple of the younger team members were horsing around off
to one side, causing mayhem for a couple of tourists, as the young players
had found a crushed can, and were passing it back and forth between them in
the middle of the station.
It was all part of the life, a Neanderthal and juvenile culture
that everyone automatically associated with hockey. An environment where cruel
and 'I don't give a shit' behaviour was considered cool and usually went unchecked.
It wasn't an environment that bred tolerance, and there had been times when
West had just wanted to up and quit. But then he wouldn't be standing there,
in Toronto, ready to go into the league finals, everything riding on what
he, and his teammates did.
Coach Highmore touched his arm. "Ready?" he asked,
looking at West warmly.
"Yeah, Coach," West replied with a nod, resting his
sticks on his shoulder as he started after the team as they began to move
towards where the busses were waiting for them.
* * *
"I'm still not driving you to Toronto," Will repeated
firmly, looking up from his crossword puzzle, enjoying the first quiet night
in his own house in a long, long time.
Peter was seated in his customary spot, in the middle of the
rug, save for the fact that his back was squarely to the TV and he was staring
intently at Will. He wasn't saying a single word, but his body language was
speaking volumes.
"It's not going to happen," Will repeated, clicking
his pen and entering another answer into the grid.
Peter sat perfectly still, his blue eyes pleading with Will.
Will glanced up again, "No," he said shaking his head
again, "I have work to catch up on tomorrow, not to mention I can actually
get stuff done around the house without a bunch of friends charging through
the middle of it like a herd of elephants..."
Peter blinked, his eyes as big as saucers, a glimmer of light
catching the moisture pooling at the bottom of them.
"No..." Will repeated again, "Nope, no and again,
no." He entered another answer, stopping and changing his mind as he
corrected it.
Peter's bottom lip was quivering slightly.
"Oh bloody hell," Will said in disgust tossing his
paper aside. "Call your mother while I go pack a few things.... I swear
hockey is going to be the bloody death of me!"
* * *
West stretched out in the opulent hotel room he and Matt were
sharing for the night. Most of the team was getting ready to go out to supper,
but West just wanted to lay down. But he had to put on a brave face for the
team that was counting on him, no matter how much pain he was in; they needed
to see that he was okay, and keeping up with them was probably the only way
to do that.
At least Coach Highmore had recommended they all take an hour
or so to settle in before they went out; that gave him at least a chance to
rest before they all descended on a restaurant to terrorize the staff and
cause general mayhem.
Matt came out of the bathroom in just a towel, and flopped on
the opposite bed, still damp from the shower he had taken to wash away the
travel dirt. He folded his arms up behind his head and looked over at West
who was sprawled across his bed, hand resting on his injured ribs, still in
his jacket and staring vacantly up at the ceiling.
"We're going to take care of you tomorrow, you know that,
right?" Matt said, sitting up to look at his friend. "Just like
you look after us."
"I know...." West said tiredly; there was no point
in pretending to be fine with Matt, his friend could spot when West lied easily.
"You don't have to do this," Matt said. "You
don't have anything to prove that you haven't proved already."
"It's not about that," West said, his eyes closing
as he took a long breath. "It's not about proving anything, it's about
the team, it's about my school..."
"Duty?" Matt asked quietly.
"Yeah," West nodded. "It's got to be done, and
I can't let you guys down, I can't let the school down..."
"You're going to make one hell of a soldier," Matt
said thoughtfully, laying back against his pillows. "You'd look hot in
a uniform."
"You've been spending too much time with Blake," West
smiled tightly. "I think you're going native."
Matt sat up again. "You think so?" he asked, grinning.
"Think I'd make a great go-go boy?"
"Do I want to know what a go-go boy is?" West asked
tiredly. "No...wait, I think I don't want to know."
Matt stood up and twitched his towel, "I could take your
mind off the pain..."
"What is it with you?" West asked craning his head
up a bit. "Isn't Blake giving you enough?"
"He gives plenty," Matt grinned. "It's fun, you
should try it."
"Not with you, I'm not," West smiled. "I don't
know where you've been."
"I know exactly where I've been," Matt winked as he
let his towel slide a bit so that the top of his leg was exposed and the faintest
hint of his pubic hair, "you wanna see?"
"Not particularly," West replied. "I see it every
time you're in the shower, remember; besides, we're going in a few minutes."
"We have enough time," Matt said getting onto West's
bed, a knee on either side of West's legs, adjusting to keep the towel on.
"No, no we don't," West repeated a little more firmly.
"I don't want to have sex with you."
"I know," Matt said, sitting back so he was resting
on the tops of West's legs. "Why not?" he asked, looking puzzled.
"I'm cute, we're friends... so why aren't we doing it?"
"Because you're not gay?" West supplied.
"Yeah, but I'm bi, right? I mean I sleep with Blake and
it's okay..." He folded his arms, "And I mean you're attractive
for a guy..."
"Which do you like more?" West asked. "When you
jerk off, what do you think of?"
"Girls mostly," Matt shrugged. "But sometimes
I think about Blake..."
"Right," West said. "And how long have you been
jerking off?"
"Since I was thirteen," Mat admitted with a grin.
"And in all that time," West said, "'cause you've
known me longer than that... have you ever jerked off thinking about me?"
"No... there was the time when we were in the kitchen..."
Matt waffled.
"I recall," West rolled his eyes. "Dry humping
my leg doesn't count."
Matt shook his head, "I usually think about Mel..."
"Right," West nodded, patting Matt's leg. "I'm
not attracted to you, either. So why bother sleeping together?"
"For fun," Matt nodded. "That's what Blake and
I do."
"It's not my kind of fun," West stared up at his buddy's
face and smiled. "Maybe if I love the guy, but I don't want..."
he shook his head.
"Yeah," Matt nodded, getting down off of West and
going to his suitcase, digging through it for something to wear, letting his
towel fall and pausing a moment before checking to see if West was looking.
West was still staring up at the ceiling, and Matt reluctantly pulled on his
pants.
* * *
Andrew walked across the lobby of the hotel; Thorburn's curfew
had all the players tucked in tight at ten thirty. That left him with a bit
of time to himself; after the madness at the restaurant, all he wanted to
do was find the hotel bar, have a quiet drink and go to bed.
He contemplated calling Will, but his boyfriend was probably
tucked in asleep. Unlike most guys in their mid-twenties, Will was usually
in bed by ten thirty on a week night.. That meant Andrew wasn't going to get
a chance to talk to Will before he went to bed.
He yawned to himself as he took a turn past the doors and drew
up short, taking a step back to stare at the battered black Jeep that had
just pulled up, and the little blond kid rushing though the doors, almost
running straight into him.
"Peter?" Andrew asked in surprise.
Peter flashed a toothy grin, his eyes lit up brightly as he
shifted from foot to foot. "Hi," he said breathlessly.
"What are you doing here?" Andrew blinked a few times
as Will came through the door lugging an overnight bag.
"He's being a pain in the arse, that's what he's doing,"
Will grumbled, tossing a glare at his sprog.
"Will offered to drive me to see the game," Peter
explained.
"Offered, manipulated... what's the difference," Will
shook his head as he headed over to the reception. "I'm getting us a
room, then food..."
Peter bobbed his head enthusiastically, "Cool, room service..."
Will turned his head as he set his bags down. "That's not
going to happen," he shook his head, grumbling that his visa would singularly
out to butcher his bank balance after the trip was over.
Andrew shook his head as he slipped Peter some cash and nodded
to the hotel's restaurant that was, fortunately, still open. Once the young
man had dashed off, Andrew stepped up beside Will as he waited for the room
order to process.
"He talked you into driving all the way here?" Andrew
asked shaking his head.
"It wasn't so much the talking," Will chuckled, shaking
his head. "You know, the puppy-dog eyes..."
"Ah," Andrew grinned, "I didn't know they still
worked on you... You know, I could use a new Mustang..."
Will gave Andrew a level look, "Don't you start as well,
that's all I need."
Andrew placed his hand on Will's waist, "You can share
my room, that might cut down on the bill--put Peter on a cot or something?"
Will nodded and made the arrangements with the clerk, sighing
with a little relief, glad that he wasn't going to have to pay too much more
for the trip than he had to. Once everything had been settled, he and Andrew
carted the bags upstairs to the room.
"I guess he really likes this boy," Will said as they
rode the elevator upwards, juggling Peter's backpack to his other shoulder.
"Yes," Andrew agreed, "but I think there's more
to this trip than a boy missing his boyfriend..."
"I don't know," Will said turning and leaning in a
little, "I think it has everything to do with boys missing their boyfriends."
Andrew smiled as he kissed Will lightly, "I would say I
missed you, but it's only been six hours."
Will shook his head as they exited the elevator and walked up
the corridor, a couple of room doors closing quickly as students scampered
back to their rooms. Highmore grinned and glanced at Will, "It's the
one on the end, I think I have to do a quick room check..."
Will laughed, remember what it was like to be that age and away
from home.
He found the room and let himself inside; it felt strange to
be there, and he set the bags down over beside Andrew's suitcases. He took
a moment to glance around him as he settled in, testing the bed and looking
out the window at the bright lights of Toronto.
He stopped, catching sight of the photo tucked into the mirror,
and he got up to pull it down.
"You big old sap," Will said, turning as Andrew walked
into the room.
"What?" Andrew said taking a look over Will's shoulder
and smiling at the photo of Will taken on their last vacation, asleep in a
canvas chair, a stupid grin on his face and a cup of coffee dangling from
his fingers. "It's so you."
"You couldn't take one of the graduation photos, or the
ones from Christmas, you had to take one where I look stoned." Will shook
his head, "And you're still a sap."
"I can't sleep without it," Andrew explained. "It's
my lucky charm."
"You know, most guys masturbate to fall asleep," Will
chuckled.
"I do," Andrew replied still grinning. "Do you
want to catch something to eat? Or do you just want to sleep?"
"You know what I want?" Will asked sitting down on
the bed. "I would love to watch a movie, have a pizza and just enjoy
some time with my boyfriend."
"They have a couple of great action films on..." Andrew
said excitedly.
"Ok, so I retract the sap comment," Will said with
a nod. "You're still way too much of a guy. All right, we'll watch the
action flick--nothing says romance like guns, guts and gore..."
"And pepperoni," Andrew added. "I could light
a scented candle or something."
"Just get your arse on the bed," Will said arching
an eyebrow.
"My 'arse'?" Andrew said mimicking Will's accent.
"My 'ass'," he corrected with a wink, "goes where I want it
to go..."
"Your 'ass' is mine," Will reminded, patting the bed
beside him, as Andrew shrugged and crawled up beside him. "Where's Peter?"
"Getting something to eat," Andrew said.
"Right," Will nodded, a twinkle in his eye, and he
smirked.
"We don't have time," Andrew warned.
"Don't we?" Will asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
