"I'll catch up" Adam responded as he sighed, making sure that the locker room was empty before plopping down on a stool in front of his locker. He made one final glance around the room before pulling an ace bandage out of his gym bag.
At the Iceland game a week ago, out of anger, Olaf Sanderson smashed his hockey stick straight down on Adam's right wrist after he scored team USA's only goal. At first, Adam passed the pain off as just soreness. He figured that the next morning it would be fine. However, he woke up the next day and the pain was even more extensive than after Sanderson first hurt his wrist. He couldn't rotate it without wanting to scream out in agony. He decided against telling Coach Bombay, or Captain Blood, as the team was referring to him as, because he felt that Bombay would think he was trying to get out of practice, since the team was on two a day practices. He definitely couldn't call his father and tell him. For one thing, his dad wouldn't believe him; and for another thing, he had received a call from his dad the previous night after getting back to the dorms. Adam figured it would be another congratulatory call, telling him how much the scouts must be impressed and that it would only be time before he made it to the pros. Instead, though, he spent an hour on the phone listening to his father belittle him, that even though he did score a goal, his playing was less than perfect, it stunk. He didn't want to let the team down, especially since he was the number 2 scorer in the entire tournament, which of course his dad wasn't too thrilled with. "There is no reason that you can't be number 1" was his response to Adam telling him he was #2. Therefore, with no one to turn to, Adam hid his injury, and hoped that the pain would subside on its own. In the mean time, he wrapped his wrist after every game and practice and so far, no one has noticed.
Just as Adam was about to wrap his wrist, a voice startled him. "Now just think how well you would play with two good wrists." It was Bombay.
"It's just a little sore." Adam lied.
"I should have spotted this sooner, I wasn't doing my job. I'm sorry Adam"
"Coach, I'm fine I can play, I swear." Adam replied with a little fear setting in his voice, afraid that Bombay would bench him and he would be letting everyone down, especially his father.
"Prove it!" Coach Bombay demanded as he picked up Adam's hockey stick and held it out to him.
Adam stood up and went to grasp the stick with his left hand. Bombay stopped him. "No the other one." Adam groaned as he clutched the hockey stick with his right hand. "Now rotate it."
Adam looked Bombay straight in the eye, silently pleading for him to let the issue go, before he slammed the hockey stick to the ground.
Bombay sighed, "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to bench you."
"No!" Adam cried.
"Adam you could injure yourself permanently"
Adam went on a tirade "You can't do that, I've got to play, the scouts are here watching me, this is my big chance."
Bombay interrupted "You're young, you'll have plenty of chances, believe me."
"But the team...my dad is counting on me."
Bombay's face softened, though having only met Phillip Banks a few times, he could tell from those few meetings that he took Adam's hockey serious. Bombay knew how important this tournament was to Adam in order to please his father. Seeing how upset Adam was, Bombay motioned him to sit as he sat in the stool next to Adam. He knew what Adam was feeling, or so he thought, since Gordon once himself felt he had to please his father on the ice. Bombay nudged Adam in the knee forcing Adam to look up at him as he spoke "Hey, when I was a kid my dad worked a lot so when he made it to a game I wanted so bad to score a hundred goals for him. I would spend half the game a nervous wreck my stomach in knots."
"That's how I feel." Adam interjected. Bombay nodded and continued.
"Before he died he told me that his happiest times were watching me skate on this pond we had behind our house. He didn't need me to score a hundred goals for him. He was proud that I was his son and that I did my best. I'm sure that's how your dad feels."
A tear slipped its way down Adam's cheek as Bombay's words sunk in, especially at his last sentence, not because it was true, but because he knew, that doing his best wasn't good enough for his father.
"I know it is," Bombay confirmed. "now lets go get that wrist x-rayed."
Feeling completely defeated, Adam reluctantly followed Bombay out of the locker room, dreading the talking to he was sure to get once his father found out. Connie and Julie were waiting at the end of the hallway for Adam. Both girls offered to skip the celebration and tag along, but Adam told them that it wasn't necessary. No use in dragging down their fun, on account of me, Adam thought.
As Julie and Connie were taking off Bombay reminded them of the team's midnight curfew. Captain Blood may be gone, but he still had to maintain some authority over his players. After a quick stop by Bombay's office to pick up Adam's medical information, both Adam and Bombay headed to the UCLA medical center.
****
"Well Adam, it appears to be nothing more than a mild sprain." Dr. Bueller pointed out on the x-ray despite Adam not being able to decipher it.
"How long will I be out of action?" Adam questioned.
Dr. Bueller adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat "If you keep it wrapped and ice it once a day, and don't put pressure on it, I say no more than a week."
A week, if we keep playing as well as we have been, I will be able to return in time for the championship game, Adam thought to himself as the doctor led him back to the waiting area were Gordon was.
Bombay stood as he saw the two of them walk towards him.
"Well Adam's free to go." Dr. Bueller began handing Gordon a slip of paper. "Here is a prescription for some pain medication." He turned to Adam "You should take one when needed for any pain but no more than 3 pills a day. Good evening, Mr. Bombay...Adam, and good luck with the rest of the tournament." Dr. Bueller left them to go tend to some other patients.
"I'm going to go get your prescription filled and you are going to go call your father." Bombay told Adam. Adam went wide-eyed and gulped. Bombay saw dread in Adam's eyes and was quick to add, "Remember what I told you, it'll be okay." Adam nodded knowing it wouldn't be.
Gordon retreated to the pharmacy on the third floor and Adam slowly made his way to the pay phone and picked up the receiver. He paused, and juggling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he used his one free hand to dial the operator.
"Operator how may I help you?" the voice on the other end asked.
It's now or nothing, Adam sighed. "Yes I would like to make a collect call to Phillip Banks in Edina Minnesota, telephone number 123-555-9876."
The operator told him to hold as she confirmed billing of the call. "You are free to talk."
"Dad?"
"Adam, son, saw the game tonight you're playing was a bit sub pare tonight. I expect more out of you. You will never make it to the NHL with piss poor playing. You were not good enough tonight." Phillip firmly told his son.
"Dad, listen, I can explain." Adam said knowing at that very second, his dad was rolling his eyes not really wanting to hear his excuses, but this time it wasn't an excuse.
"I sprained my wrist." Even though he wasn't face to face with his father, Adam closed his eyes and tensed up waiting for the lecture he was about to get. There was a pause.
"Adam, I'm disappointed. I want you to explain to me how you could let this happen." Phillip demanded. Adam went on to tell his dad about the whole Olaf cracking his hockey stick straight over his wrist in anger.
"...but Dad don't worry, we are sure going to the final game and I will make sure I am playing in that game."
Phillip sighed "I suppose that is going to have to do, you really let me down, Adam. This one stupid mistake you made may have cost you an opportunity to become the youngest pro hockey player."
Adam couldn't believe, or rather, he could believe, what he was hearing. His dad blamed him for all this. Of course, it was his fault for hiding his injury, but could you blame him, he wouldn't wish even on his worst enemy the berating he was receiving. Tears began to form in Adam's eyes, he tried to explain himself, but Phillip cut Adam off.
"Save it! I don't want to hear your excuses. It's not good enough. You better make sure you are in that final game!" With that said, Adam heard his dad slam down the phone, leaving him listening to a dial tone.
"How'd it go?" Bombay asked behind him. Adam hung up the phone and blinked away his tears before turning around to face his coach. He forced a smile "You were right."
"See, Adam, I told you." Gordon responded.
"He wasn't upset at the fact that I'm not playing, but rather upset about me endangering myself for not telling you about my wrist sooner."
"That's great, I mean about your dad understanding, come on lets get out of here. I decided to move back in the dorms to keep you goofballs in line," Gordon laughed, "So I'm heading over to the condo to clear out my things, I can give you a lift to the movie theater. If we hurry you'll make it in time."
"No thanks coach, I'm kinda tired. I think I'll walk back to the dorms if that's okay."
"Okay." Bombay agreed handing Adam his bottle of medicine, which he promptly put in his pocket. Both left the medical center and Adam walked the three blocks back to the dorms, his mind reeling about everything that happened tonight, his body feeling numb, devoid of emotion. Once back, he drudgingly climbed the three flights of stairs to team USA's floor. He opened the door to the room he shared with Jesse and Charlie and immediately sat down on his bed, placing his head in his hands, or rather hand since he couldn't put any pressure on his right one. He sat there for a few moments before sighing and getting up to change into his pajamas: a pair of sweats, and an Indiana Racers tee shirt.
Adam downed one of his pain pills, despite not being in any pain. How could he be, he was numb. He took one in hopes that it would make him fall asleep faster, so he could escape his nightmare of a life, at least for a few hours. He pulled back the blanket and crawled in. He leaned over and flipped on his radio that was on the nightstand next to him nestled back into his bed and listened to what was playing.
"This is my Vietnam. I'm at war. Life keeps on dropping bombs, and I keep score. Daddy was a lunatic; he liked to push my buttons. He said I wasn't good enough, but I guess I wasn't trying...."
Adam choked back a sob as he listened, his emotions returning full force. He leaned back over and switched off the radio. The song or at least the part he heard were so true to his life. Adam couldn't take it anymore, he curled himself into a ball under his blanket and buried his face into his pillow and proceeded to cry himself to sleep.