AN: I don't have time to thank all the reviewers personally, so I'll just say I really appreciate the reviews! Thank you. And, to 8JbFbAbM9, yes, they were 10/11! My bad, sorry about that. Sorry about the late update, but it was my birthday on Saturday, so I didn't have time! Updates will be less frequent from now on because I have college (boo!) but I'll try to update at least once or twice a week! Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!
Center Of Attention
11. bitter taste
Adam kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe, letting his duffel bag drop onto the floor. The room was empty, as Dean was out with the rest of the Ducks, celebrating their win. Though they'd insisted he'd join them, Adam had declined. He was beat; scoring 6 of the 11 goals did that to you. He sank onto his bed, content to just sit there for a while before he noticed a stray puck on the ground. It was probably Portman's, but Adam groaned nonetheless. Looked like hockey followed him everywhere, no matter where he was.
Not that he minded. Of course not. He was just tired.
Adam reached out to take the puck, scruntinizing it. He loved hockey; to him, it was a way of life. It had started out as a sport, back when he was a Hawk. He'd joined the team because of his father, wanting to make him proud. Wanting to make his brother proud.
He tossed the puck into the air, high up. He caught it with ease when it came down.
And then, there'd been the Ducks. Because of them, because of Bombay, because of Charlie, he'd learnt it wasn't just a sport. It was also a game, something he could enjoy. Adam smiled at the puck in his hand as he leaned back against the wall behind him. Though he hadn't fit in with the Ducks at first, he knew he'd do it all over again if he had to. Even the brawls with Charlie.
Charlie. Adam wondered how his best friend was, taking a look at his watch. Charlie had been with his father for over an hour now. Banks knew that, when Charlie returned, he'd want to talk to Adam about it; it was the only reason he wasn't fast asleep yet.
"Banks!"
Startled, Adam looked up to see the door open with a bang. Larson, taking in the room's surroundings as though the Ducks would come out of the shadows and tackle him, entered the room cautiously. Despite the fact he'd spend about a day with them, Adam knew his old friend was still weary of the Ducks. He was sure the feeling was mutual, concerning Charlie at least.
"Portman's not here," he told Larson, smiling. "Come in."
Larson looked relieved, and then beckoned to something behind him. The smile Adam held was gone within seconds when another person came in hesitantly. "Hey, Adam."
Adam clenched the puck in his hand, tense as he regarded him, coolly.
"Hello, McGill."
This is awkward, Charlie thought as he and George walked through campus. Neither had spoken, and Charlie was getting antsy. Hadn't he said he wanted to talk? What a waste of time, Charlie thought, irritated. He could be with the Ducks right now. Hell, he could be with Linda right now.
"So, Charlie," George finally spoke, as if reading his son's thoughts. "Tell me something about yourself."
Charlie shrugged as he stuck his hands into his pockets. His fingers took a hold of the folded note inside of it, the note the Ducks had left him. It gave him the strength not to make a break for it and run. "I'm fifteen," he said, unsure of where to start. "I like hockey."
Yeah, so he wasn't really helping things move along, but he didn't know what to say. George nodded, and the pair walked in silence once again. Finally, Charlie couldn't take it anymore, and he turned towards his father, determinated. "Why do you want custody? Why now, after all these years?"
George didn't answer at first, staring at the open sky. Charlie couldn't help but follow his gaze. There were a few stars out, nothing special. He scowled, rolling his eyes. He'd never been known for his patience, and this wasn't the time to test it.
"I've been sober for eighteen months," George said, still not looking at him. "You might not remember, Charlie, but I was a mess. I drank whenever I could. At home, at work. You see, your mother and I were very young when we had you, and it put a lot of stress on me. I know this isn't an excuse for what I did, because there's no excuse for that." Charlie lowered his gaze towards his feet as they continued to walk, uncomfortable.
You see, your mother and I were very young when we had you, and it put a lot of stress on me. Had it been his fault?
"One day, my boss caught me drinking. He fired me. I was so angry, Charlie. That was the day..." George cleared his throat, "Your mother left me."
Charlie knew what he'd originally wanted to say: that was the day I hit her.
"I fell into a depression. A friend tried to get me help, but I refused. For years, I didn't want to continue living. I drank myself to near death and ended up in the hospital." Charlie swallowed hard, this wasn't easy to hear. Though he disliked the man, he was still related to him by blood.
George laughed then, to Charlie's surprise. "That's when my life took a turn for the better. I was listening to the radio when I heard it. Some team called the Mighty Ducks had won the peewee state championship. Charlie Conway had scored the last goal, leading them to victory."
Charlie finally looked up to watch his father. There was a twinge of... what, pride? in his voice. "I knew it was you. I knew it was my son. And it was that moment that I realized what I'd lost. And I wanted to get it back, Charlie. I wanted you back." George smiled down at his son, though Charlie averted his gaze. "So I quit. And let me tell you, it was harder than I'd thought it'd be. But the AA meetings helped, and I build the courage to ask for joint custody."
"But why joint custody?" Charlie was still aggravated. To him, George had asked for too much in too little time.
"Because I didn't think your mother would let me see you. I didn't think you'd want to see me." George smiled, this time more wryly. "And I was right."
He continued before Charlie could even open his mouth, "I just want to spend time with you, Charlie." He hesitated before he sighed, "Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes!" The answer was out before he could think about it, but Charlie wasn't about to take it back. "It's hard. For me, and mom. It's too much."
"I'm sorry," George looked sincere, but his tone was anything but, "But I'm not letting you go, Charlie. Not this time." He put his hand on Charlie's shoulder, his grip hard. Charlie could feel his hand through the shirt he wore, his palm warm. The feeling consumed him, like he couldn't breathe. He quickly shook his shoulder free and shook his head.
"Look, I have to go. It's almost curfew." Curfew wasn't for another hour, but Charlie didn't care. He didn't want to talk anymore, at least not to this man. He turned, hands back into his pockets. The crumbled note was still there, but didn't offer him any comfort this time.
"Wait, Charlie!"
Charlie ignored his father and left.
"—when you were a Hawk, do you remember?"
Laughter filled his ears as Charlie neared closer to the dorm. He frowned; that voice, it didn't sound like Banks or Portman.
"Yeah, like when you knocked Hall's helmet off." Larson, Charlie recognized, was saying.
"Or Conway, when you decked him. He went down like the little bitch he is!"
"McGill,--" Adam gritted his teeth, but he never had the chance to finish as the door creaked. He looked to his left just in time to see Charlie step inside. Shit, he thought, knowing fully well the captain of the Ducks would get the wrong idea. He didn't have time to open his mouth or even react, as the next thing he knew Charlie had strode forward and swung his fist.
He punched McGill in the nose, who immediately shouted, 'fuck!' and clutched it. If you asked Adam, he deserved it. To his surprise, Charlie didn't leave, or even tried to punch McGill again, but instead he sat down on the bed, next to Adam. The look on his face clearly stated he wanted the Hawks to get out.
Larson caught on, eyeing Charlie warily. "Come on, McGill," he said, and Adam could see a smile. McGill grunted, but he didn't protest. By the red on his hand, it seemed as though his nose was bleeding. The two of them left, Larson closing the door behind him. The room fell silent.
"McGill came to apologize," Adam spoke after a minute. "It wasn't my idea,--"
Charlie cut him off, "I believe you, Banksie."
Though this was a relief, Adam wasn't at ease. He knew something was bothering Charlie, but he clearly didn't want to talk about it. But that was fine, Adam reasoned, they could just sit there for a while. It was comfortable.
The door suddenly slammed open and in came Portman, shouting rather than singing, "We are the champions!" His eyes sought out Adam's, who immediately knew what he was about to do. Portman lunged as he hollered, "My friends!" Before Banks could move, Portman held him in a headlock.
"We'll keep on fighting!" And there was Fulton, arms spread wide. He sprang on top of Portman, who crashed onto the ground, still holding onto Adam who toppled as well. "'Till the end!" Both Bash Brothers startled to wrestle, Banks caught in the middle.
As Charlie laughed for the first time that day, nearly falling off of the bed in hysterics, Adam whined, "Get off of me!"
Comfortable indeed.
"You broke his nose."
Charlie chewed his breakfast the following morning as he looked up, watching Larson take a seat next to Julie, opposite him. She smiled in hello, which Larson returned, before he turned back towards Charlie. "He's not happy," he told Captain Duck, talking about McGill. "Watch your back, man."
"Thanks," Charlie couldn't help but grin, ignoring Julie's questioning look. Larson looked at Adam, who sat beside Charlie. Though he didn't ask, Adam knew he wanted to know whether everything was alright between them. Banks nodded; after all, McGill had been the one to take it one step too far.
Adam suddenly noticed someone heading their way. He nudged Charlie in his side, who looked at him, "What?"
Before he could respond, a throat was cleared. They all turned to see Linda. Charlie smiled, until he noticed the look on her face.
"We need to talk," Linda told him softly, before she eyed the rest. "In private."
This is not good.
