CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 06 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
"Way to go, West," he said with a grin. "You
nearly beat Matty."
"I wasn't even trying," Matt grinned from in front
of West in the line.
"Liar," West shot back with a smirk.
Matt took his shot on net, glancing off of Jensen's pad as he
returned to the end of the line. West came up, and drove the puck low between
Jensen's skates and into the net, as Brad's ricocheted off of the bar.
"So," Brad said coming in behind West again, "did
you hear Coach Highmore and Coach Thorburn had some kind of blowout this morning?"
West feigned surprise, "Really? Don't they always argue?"
He glanced over to where Highmore was leaning, his chin on his hands, which
rested on top of his stick while he studied the shots carefully.
"Yeah," Brad said with a shrug. "You think Thorburn's
gonna fire Highmore?"
"What?" Matt turned, screwing up his face. "No
way, Coach Highmore's cool!"
Brad shook his head. "Yeah, to you maybe," he murmured,
tossing a look over towards the coach, "but it's still Thorburn's team..."
Matt took his shot, West his follow-up and Brad glanced off
the bar again.
"Focus, Lapointe!" Highmore called across the ice.
Brad murmured under his breath as he pulled up behind West again,
"He's always on my case. He forgets Thorburn made me team captain..."
Highmore was watching Brad, catching something with those intelligent
blue eyes that read people's souls. He blew his whistle again, sliding to
a stop in front of the pile of pucks. "Come here, Brad," he called.
Brad's shoulders slumped as he came up to Highmore, "Yeah,
Coach?"
"Take the shot again," Highmore instructed.
Brad lined up and took it again, the puck slamming into the
bar again mere inches from the goalie's head. Highmore looked thoughtful,
as he gestured for Brad to move aside; taking the same shot, in the same fashion
Brad did, he too bounced a shot off of the top bar.
"Here," Highmore demonstrated, slowly swinging back,
and angling the blade of the stick a little as he did so; a simple roll of
his wrists and the same shot came in an inch lower and struck home.
Brad nodded, taking his position again, and attempting it as
he had been shown--sure enough it too struck home. He blinked in surprise,
and looked at the coach, who was blowing his whistle again for them to resume
their shooting on net.
"So he's not a complete asshole," West smirked as
Brad joined him at the back of the line again.
"Yeah, but..." Brad stopped when Coach Thorburn emerged
from the dressing room area, coming out to the doors and beckoning Highmore
over.
The two men conversed a moment, the steel-grey head of the senior
coach bobbed up and down as he gestured to the team. Highmore folded his arms
atop his stick again as he listened. The team had clustered together expectantly,
wondering what was going on, and what was important enough to get Thorburn
out of his office for a Monday night practice.
Highmore stood back as Thorburn came out onto the ice, treading
carefully with his shoes as he approached the team, Highmore slipping along
beside him. The team crowded around to hear what he had to say.
"Evening, guys," Thorburn said gruffly, studying each
of them with his typical measuring gaze. "We're going to have to do things
a bit differently tonight," he nodded to the stands, where a couple of
people were standing, one of them carrying a large suitcase. "The league
wants us to do a batch of drug testing..." He held up his hands at the
wave of protests from his team, "I know, I know, but the only way we're
going to get rid of this shit is if we show them it's just a load of bullshit.
Go, get tested, do what they say, and I'll have your results for you on Wednesday."
"Right," Highmore called out. "We'll start at
the top and work our way down. Brad, West and Jimmy," he singled out
the captain and the two assistants, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to
the locker room. "You're first; when you're done, hit the showers, practice
is over early tonight."
West nodded, and as he skated past he heard Thorburn mumble
to Highmore, "Fucking predators, this is a school league, what the hell
do we have to gain from doping our players?"
Highmore met West's eyes as he simply nodded in agreement with
the senior coach.
* * *
"That was dumb," Brad said as he stepped into the
shower behind West. "Pissing in a cup; what, they think we're cheats
or something?"
"Dunno," West replied honestly, continuing to let
the cascade of water wash away the sweat from the day, and practice. He scrubbed
his head again, shaking it roughly as he glanced back over his shoulder, "Why,
you worried?"
Brad shook his head under the showerhead across from him, "Why
should I be worried? It's all bullshit anyway, it's not like they can actually
tell shit from my piss."
Jimmy and Matt came into the shower, Matt as always slipping
into the one next to West, offering up a broad fake grin to his bud. "They're
going to find all the steroids you took to try to catch me today," he
said with a smirk.
"I don't think Gatorade and raw talent show up on this
kind of test," West replied, turning off his shower and walking back
towards the door to the locker room. "Maybe it's you; all those arthritis
pills you're chewing back 'cause you're getting old."
Matt, who was nine days older than West, grinned, "Nine
days, buddy; respect your elders before I give you a good spanking!"
"Watch it!" Brad said grinning. "Matty's horny
again."
"Dude," Matty said turning with his customary broad
grin, "I'm always horny..."
"That's it," West said shaking his head laughing,
"I'm outta here."
He was the first dressed, tugging his grey polo shirt over top
of a worn white dress shirt that he wore un-tucked under it, layering them
in an unorthodox manner as he snapped up the wind pants he often wore around
practice. He tossed his stuff into his kit bag as he glanced around to check
if he had forgotten anything, hefting the big bag to his shoulder as he headed
out into the dressing room area.
The sound of a puck hitting the boards caused him to pause as
he walked through to the stands.
Coach Highmore was still out on the ice, speeding around the
outer boards as he deftly swept the puck to and fro, lining up for another
shot, sending it against the boards, the puck riding round the glass partition
as he reversed his direction to intercept it again.
West set his kit bag down, laying his bundle of sticks aside
as well as he stood just watching. Highmore was quick, and the way he moved,
it was a professional's grace, the kind of skill suited to an NHL arena, not
some backwater high school rink.
Highmore came around again, moving with a determined speed down
the ice. Even in the restrictive outdoor clothing he was wearing, he still
possessed a presence on the ice, coming to and fro as he weaved in to send
the puck sailing into the net.
West couldn't help it, he was clapping.
Coach Highmore came to a stop, resting on his stick again as
he looked over at the young assistant captain. "Never seen a guy score
on an open net before?" Highmore asked, a puzzled look on his face as
he tried to figure out what West was clapping about.
"Not like that," West called, coming forward to the
boards. "Why aren't you playing pro if you're that good?"
Highmore studied the younger man a moment as he gauged how much
to tell him, and shrugged. "I had the chance, I turned it down,"
he replied absently.
"Why?" West asked incredulously, not quite believing
that anyone would willingly turn down the chance to live every red-blooded
Canadian's dream to play pro hockey.
"I had my reasons," Highmore replied shifting the
stick to his other hand. "I had to choose between school and hockey,
I chose to go to school."
"Law school, right?" West pressed.
Highmore drew up and nodded, "Yep, I had to choose, be
a lawyer or be a hockey player, I chose the one that would make the most difference.
Besides," he smiled, "this means I get to coach you lazy..."
"Coach," West said, cutting Highmore off as he rested
on the boards, "can I talk to you?"
Highmore sighed, fishing in the pocket of his jacket for his
pair of glasses that he slipped on. "I knew this was coming," he
replied.
"N-no," West stammered, "no, I know you want
to... be private...about it...but... I need to talk to somebody."
"Right," Highmore said. "Well, you sure this
is the right place to do it?"
West looked about him at the arena, its high stands, and the
pennants hanging from the rafters. He licked his lips and nodded, "I
just need to get this off my chest before I explode," he said honestly.
"Get your skates on," Highmore gestured with his stick.
"You can talk to me while you practice your passing."
"But I just..." West said thumbing towards the showers.
"You want to talk, you do it on my terms," Highmore
replied firmly.
"Ok, Coach," West replied bending down to slip into
his skates, undoing the zips on the side of the pants to let him step into
the skates. Lacing them up deftly he grabbed a stick and joined Highmore out
on the ice.
"Right," Highmore sent a puck in his direction, "so
talk."
Realizing he had his chance, he didn't know what to say; his
grey eyes frowned down at the puck that was sliding back and forth as he pushed
it around with his stick, "I..."
"If you're worried about how I'm going to react, don't--I
already know," Highmore said. "Pass the puck."
West returned the puck across the ice, glancing as a couple
of his teammates banged through the main doors heading for the lot outside.
He suddenly became painfully aware of where he was, and the kind of conversation
he was trying to have with his coach.
"Your move," Highmore said as the puck clattered against
West's skate.
"I... shit," he cursed, realizing his resolve was
wavering. "I don't know, I'm scared to death some days, others I couldn't
care less."
"Yeah, been there," Highmore said tossing West a meaningful
look. "It's not easy. So am I the first person you've told, or...?"
"My parents know," West replied honestly, tapping
the puck over to Highmore again. "I told them when I was sixteen."
"Wow," Highmore replied in surprise. "They take
it well?"
"Yeah," West responded, as he smiled, "Mom thinks
I should find a good doctor."
"All moms think that," Highmore replied with a grin.
"Sounds like you're ahead of the game, why'd you need to talk to me?"
"I-" West shrugged, "I just wanted to talk to
someone else that's..."
"Ahh," Highmore said knowingly, "and you think
I am?"
"Aren't you?" West glanced up confused.
"Remember what I was saying this afternoon about private?"
Highmore swept around in a large lazy circle. "It doesn't matter if I
am or if I'm not, it doesn't change who I am, or the fact that I'm your coach.
It doesn't change the fact that five minutes ago you said I should be playing
in the NHL. My..." he paused, choosing his words with care, "friend
has an old saying, 'What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?'"
"I don't get it," West said looking thoughtful.
"He's British, most of what he says doesn't make sense,"
Highmore replied with a slight smile. "The point is, one thing doesn't
affect the other, so what's the point of bringing it up?"
"Right," West nodded in understanding, "but...
I mean what's going to happen if people find out about me?"
"Do you want them to find out?" Highmore replied,
studying the young centre again.
"I..." he stopped and realized something about himself
as he turned his head and looked towards the locker room.
"I underestimated you," Highmore realized at that
same moment.
"I..." West breathed a bit heavily and glanced at
Highmore, "Wow..."
"If you do decide to do it," Highmore drew himself
up to rest on his stick, "it's not going to be easy; but the simple ability
to look yourself in the mirror each morning and know who's looking back at
you..." He nodded, "Anyway, you should go, I have to lock up and
such."
West had done as he had been told, and was loading his kit into
the back of the Bronco as he watched a battered black Jeep pull up outside
the arena. Coach Highmore was locking the doors and walking down the steps
with his own kit bag as a man in a rumpled suit, hair in disarray and a broad
smile on his face, got out to open the back of the Jeep.
West paused to stare; the other man was handsome, no older than
Highmore was himself, sleeves rolled up and a sure smile on his face whenever
he looked at Highmore. A smile the coach was returning. And suddenly every
motion became important to West.
The way the newcomer touched Highmore's arm, the way Highmore
in turn stepped a little closer...
Highmore glanced across the lot, catching West staring at him,
arching a meaningful eyebrow as him, as the newcomer turned and shook his
head, still grinning as he nudged Highmore.
Highmore for his part stared at the other guy in evident shock,
as the newcomer simply shrugged, offered up a small wave and got into his
Jeep. West shook his head, watching Highmore get into the other side. Was
he or wasn't he? And if he was, what did it have to do with the price of tea
in China?
He shrugged and climbed into his Bronco, knowing it was time
to go home.
