29:
Paddle like Hell
(Part One)
I used to like it back when you could easily see the difference between winning and losing. Winning is the greatest feeling in the world after all the hard work that goes into it. Losing just…well, it sucks. But there are times when you can feel terrible even when you win, and feel great even when you lose. I just wish there was a way to figure out what kind of outcome you'd face before it even happened.
Charlie tapped his pen repeatedly against his notebook, staring up at the clock as his history teacher droned on and on about…something. He didn't care; history had never really been his best subject, and who could pay attention the day of a big game?
He was never able to pay attention to a school lesson when a game was coming up. The adrenaline was just too much, making him fidgety and unable to concentrate. He couldn't wait to feel the ice under his skates, to hear the siren indicating a goal, and even just the smell of the ice. There was nothing out there like a hockey game. He could already imagine shoving a former JV player into the boards with a loud—
WHAM!
Charlie jumped at the sudden crash of a large textbook being slammed down onto his desk, a hand pressing down over top of it. He felt his legs slide over the rounded side of his chair and then he hit the floor, pain spread from his hip bone down his leg. Laughter broke around him and Charlie felt his face heat us as he pulled himself into a seated position on the floor.
"Are you with us, Mr. Conway?" his teacher asked, tilting to the side to peer around Charlie's desk. "We don't want anyone to fall behind, now do we?"
"No, of course not," Charlie replied with an over the top, bright smile. "I'm with you."
His teacher stared at him for a moment, narrowing his dark eyes. His upper lip twitched, causing his mustache to shift from side to side for a moment, the hairs shifting just slightly with each breath out of his mouth. "What year was the Declaration of Independence signed?" he asked.
"Uhhhh…1776," Charlie said, picking himself up off the ground. He sat back down in his chair, and grabbed his pen, positioning the tip against his paper before he relaxed his grip and let it drop. "Wait a minute. We're not learning about the Declaration of Independence."
"Ah, so you are with us," his teacher said, lifting his eyebrows as he adjusted his tie. He grabbed the book off of Charlie's desk and tucked it under his arm. "I know you're excited about this game, Mr. Conway, but there's more to life than hockey."
Charlie silently blinked at the man. Hockey was the only thing going for him lately; if he could even really say that. Coach Orion was still a hard ass, but Charlie had managed, somehow, to tune out his angry shouts and comments around the little bits of constructive criticism he gave. If he had to be honest with himself, he would choose the arguing over the silence that had become a staple at his home.
"Sorry, sir," Charlie replied over the tittering that went around the room. A few minutes later, the bell rang and the Eden Hall students started packing up their belongings. Charlie moved as quickly as he could, his body and mind already moving in overtime. He could practically feel the ice under his skates already.
"Talk about history," Guy commented, gently hitting Charlie on the shoulder with a closed fist, "what do you say we make the ex-JV team history?"
Charlie smiled as he pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. "I'm right there with you," he replied, slapping his palm against Guy's. "And with you back on the team, we stand an even better chance than we did before."
"Careful," Connie said with a smirk as she joined the two of them in the aisle as students shuffled around them, "you don't want to inflate his large ego even more."
"And you used to call it confidence," Guy said with a small roll of his eyes before leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.
"I call it vomit inducing," Charlie said, deadpan. He pulled his lips up into a half smile to indicate that he was just joking. Guy and Connie blushed, but traded smiles. Connie muttered a, "You wouldn't be saying that if things were going well with you and Linda. Charlie let out a short, startled laugh. She wasn't exactly wrong and Connie's smirk showed she was aware of that fact as well. "Hey, trust me; I'm happy for you two."
"Thanks," Connie said, brushing her long braid over her shoulder. "But, I'm curious to know how things are going with you and Linda?" Guy's eyebrows lifted.
"Ah, so you asked Petition Girl out?" he asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I must've missed a lot."
"Not that much," Charlie insisted, giving Connie a pointed look. She shrugged. "She's just helped me with Geometry. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have passed that surprise exam."
"Well, maybe we could double date one day," Connie suggested. She lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, once you get the hockey pucks to ask her out; officially."
"Oh, ha, ha, ha." Charlie laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"Well, it's not going to be hard to figure out who these tests belong to."
Charlie looked around the room, realizing with a start that three of them were the last students left in the room. Their history teacher gave them a look of amusement as he stepped over to them, brandishing their previous tests. "Mr. Conway, if you could stay behind for a moment?"
"We'll tell Coach you're on your way," Guy said, taking Connie's hand before the two of them made their way across the wooden flooring to the door. They collected their tests as they left.
"I'm sorry for not paying attention, Mr. Bailey," Charlie said before the African American man could say anything.
Mr. Bailey chuckled. "Son, I know history isn't for everybody," he explained. "Al l my years teaching here, I can usually spot the difference between those who like the subject and those who are taking the class because it's required of them." He was silent for a moment, peering over at Charlie before handing him his test. "Whether or not you're interested, I want all my students to at least try to take something from this class."
Charlie took his test and flipped it over in his hand to look down at the red 94 in the top right hand corner. "Do you remember what it was I said on the first day of class about history?"
"It's a giant…or something?" Charlie asked.
"Don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes, either," Mr. Bailey added. Charlie froze, feeing his eyes widen. He had rolled his eyes on the first day of school, but come on! The guy was using an old analogy he was sure was just as outdated as their history books. "It's an outdated analogy I know." Charlie shifted his weight from foot to foot. Could the guy read his mind? "Even if the events we're discussing doesn't interest you, there's always something you can learn from it." He gave Charlie a hint of a smile. "I didn't mean to single you out today. Despite not always having your attention, I know you're still taking in the material and you know what you're talking about. You've been scoring pretty well on these examinations. You're doing very well in this class."
"Thank you, sir," Charlie said with a nod as he slid his test into his backpack.
"Now, I don't know if it's that you don't have the Eden Hall school spirit," Mr. Bailey continued. He paused for a moment and Charlie was sure he briefly thought about his love for hockey. "Or maybe academics in and of itself isn't as important to you at this moment of time, but I don't want you to forget that there are still things you can learn in the classroom that you can't learn on the ice."
"Sure," Charlie replied, zipping up his backpack.
"I won't keep your any longer. Good luck today."
"Thanks, Mr. Bailey." Charlie lifted his hand in a small wave before hurrying out of the classroom.
Finally, in just an hour it was going to be game time. Nothing was better than that. And to prove to coach Bombay that they were all doing better than him would be the icing on the cake. The 94 percent wasn't that bad, either. He could at least show it to his mom to prove that hockey wasn't the only thing going through his mind like she had mentioned in no uncertain terms recently.
Whether she was tired of hearing him talk about "Coach Bombay" this, or "Coach Orion" that or about hockey in general, he wasn't too sure. But, this game was at the forefront of his mind at most times recently. Linda popped up every now and then, only for him to think about how badly things could and might go if he tried asking her out.
Would she say "no"? Would she laugh? If she did say "yes", then what? He hadn't ever been out on a date before. Heck, the closest he had, which definitely did not count, was the play dates his mom had set up with another single mom and her daughter years and years ago. Last he checked hitting someone over the head with a block and stealing animal crackers weren't great dating activities. They weren't the best social interactions, either. Stealing and hitting; maybe he really was a hockey player at heart.
As he spotted Kyle pacing back and forth in front of the ice rink, he had to fight the urge to knock the guy over. It was bad enough he had to keep what he had seen from his mom, but now he was here? He wasn't a big fan of Eden Hall, anyone could see that, but at least it was a place he could go to in an attempt to get away from everything else at home.
"What are you doing here?" Charlie asked, walking over to the older man. "You've never come to see my games." He lifted his eyebrow. "Don't you have work or something?" As he turned his head away, he muttered a "like usual" under his breath.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," Kyle replied with a hint of a smile. He shrugged his shoulders before rubbing his hands together. "It's a big game today, right? Your mom couldn't make it so…"
"Oh, she can't?" Charlie asked, feeing his shoulders drop just slightly. "She hasn't missed a game in a while." Heck, she practically made sure she was the first one in the stands at their very first game at Eden Hall. He understood, but it still was disappointing to know that she couldn't see him play.
"She had to pick up a double shift," Kyle explained.
Charlie made a humming sound in his throat. "If you're spending more time on those business lunches, instead of working in the office, I'm not surprised," he said, adjusting his backpack on his back. Kyle let out a sharp breath of air, crossing his arms over his chest. "What?"
"You haven't told your mom anything, have you?" he asked.
"Nice to see you, too," Charlie said, deadpan.
"You didn't really give me the warmest greeting either, kid," Kyle muttered, scratching the side of his jaw. Charlie bristled. "Did you?"
"No, I didn't tell my mom anything," Charlie reassured his step-father, putting a hand in the air. He lowered his eyebrows. "Why?"
"Because she said she wanted to talk tonight," Kyle replied.
"Good!" Charlie replied, stepping past Kyle. "Then maybe I can finally stop feeling like I'm dodging land mines when I'm at home." Kyle grabbed his arm, pulling Charlie in a circle to face him. "What?"
"I get that you're mad about what you think you saw," Kyle said and Charlie let out a loud laugh.
"Look, I know what I saw may be twisted on your side of things. You may even be able to talk yourself out of whatever problem you have with my mom," Charlie explained, "but I know how it made me feel." Kyle pressed his lip together. "Oh, and it makes me really dislike you. It makes my stomach hurt, and it makes me not even want to look at my mom because she somehow can always tell when something's wrong." He gave his step-father a pointed look. "Oh yeah, and it makes me feel like you're just alike all the other guys."
"I don't know who you think you are—"
"I'm freakin' Paul Revere in this situation," Charlie said sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air. Kyle gave him an odd look. He'd do the same thing if someone spat out a historical reference in the middle of an argument. "Only I need to warn my mom that a selfish jerk is coming her way. This would make me, once again, the relationship killer!"
"Now hold on—"
"Do you know how many guys I've had to watch run off on my mom because of me?" Charlie asked, jabbing himself in the chest with his finger. He let out a sardonic laugh. "Only, lucky them; they hadn't even married her, yet." His chest burned with anger, or due to his short breaths of air between words. He needed air. He needed to get away from this guy. "Do you know how many times I've tried to build her back up, feeling like crap, and she still would tell me it wasn't my fault?"
"It's not, Charlie," Kyle insisted.
"This time I know that," Charlie said with a nod of his head. "It's yours." He then lifted his hand in the air. 'I don't know how you can act like nothing is wrong, but then again, I've been giving you a bit more credit than these other guys my mom has dated."
"Come on, Charlie." Kyle let out a heavy sigh, grasping his hair between his fingers. "That's not fair."
"What's not fair is that you're coming to me with your problem before a game this big," Charlie said, walking past his step-father. "Then again I'm not surprised; you have to be pretty selfish to cheat on someone."
"I'm not cheating on your mother," Kyle said to Charlie's back. But he just kept walking. "Not, really anyway." He heard the older man let out an angry sigh. "Damn it, Charlie, it's complicated. Why is it bad that I need someone to tell my frustrations to, too?"
"Last I checked," Charlie said as he grasped the door handle to the glass door. He glared at Kyle's reflection. "You and mom should be working through this—whatever it is—as a team. I mean, that's what a marriage is, right?"
"Charlie—"
"Speaking of which I have to go help my team I'll see you later bye," Charlie said in one breath before leaving him behind, trying to put as much distance between them. He let out a sigh, shaking his head. Come on, Charlie, its game time. Just focus on that.
Coach Orion slid a stack of papers underneath the bull dog clip on the clipboard in front of him before settling back in his chair. He got out of his seat and started to pace before pausing and looking up at the clock. It was almost game time. One that was probably more important than their first game against the Blake Bears.
He knew going into this school year that there were people who were not happy with the Mighty Ducks being the new JV team. Not that it was a last minute decision or anything. But, the parents to those JV kids who weren't getting the opportunity to play this year had fought tooth and nail—and with a lot of money and promises—to get the decision reversed. But, he knew why the Ducks were chosen and he knew the alternate reasons for his hiring, too.
"It's for the greater good of the school," Dean Buckley had explained to him in his office early that summer. "I know you could use the money and the school could use the publicity." The Dean looked a little ashamed, his eyes downcast, knobby fingers twisting one over the other. "Enrollment has been declining despite our successes. As a student, and future hockey player for Eden Hall, how would it sound to you to have a former professional player coaching you?"
He was silent, scratching at his jaw. "If this season goes as well as I'm sure it could with your expertise at hand," Dean Buckley hurried on, talking over the silence, "more scholarships could open for our students. More grants could come in for better opportunities for not only the students, but to hire experienced faculty, renovate buildings. It'd be advantageous to us as you can see."
"Dean, I understand what you're getting at," Coach Orion said as he massaged his eyebrows. "But, you have to understand. My daughter—"
"Yes, yes, the accident," Dean Buckley said, his demeanor changing. Coach Orion shifted in his seat. He hated seeing that shift; the change from being open and normal to understanding and compassion. The "I'm sorry" that was held in their eyes before they said it. He did feel a certain warmth for people that took the time to think about his daughter's well being, but he could see the additional words behind the looks. The "I'm sorry you were responsible for your daughter's condition" look. He saw it every day in his own eyes, only just little different: "You are the one who nearly killed your daughter."
"I appreciate the offer, but I need to make sure she's taken care of," he had replied, sitting up straight in his seat.
"Ted, I can make sure that happens," Dean Buckley insisted. "We can help you with whatever you need, I personally promise you of that."
He still wasn't sure. On the one hand, he knew how hard it was to play politics, and at times, it's what you needed to do to get ahead. This was just another level of that game; a harder level. On the other hand, he promised himself that he wasn't going to let politics get in the way of the sport he loved and dedicated so much time to ever again. Despite that, a big flashing sign baring his daughter's name blared in front of his eyes. Reminding him what was most important. Medical bills were piling up and he would get the chance to be on the ice again.
"What, exactly, could you do to help my daughter?" he asked, sitting straighter in his seat.
"So much, Ted," Dean Buckley said with a smile that slowly spread across his face. "So much." He peered at Coach Orion over the tops of his glasses. "So do we have a deal? You'll coach the new team?" Coach Orion sucked in a breath of air before offering his hand. Dean Buckley pulled his back just slightly. "Just know that their scholarships are on the line."
"The way I see it, Dean, everything is on the line." With a handshake, he was the new coach for the JV Eden Hall hockey team.
Coach Orion gave a brief shake of his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. He sat back down in his abandoned seat and started straightening his desk once more. Anything to pass the time quickly and to keep his mind clear of anything until the game started.
"Good luck today, Coach."
Looking up from the stacks of papers in his hands to acknowledge Gordon, Coach Orion finished straightening the stack and got out of his seat. "Same to you," he replied. He used one hand to smooth down his tie, offering the other to his old friend. "Hope your boys are ready to go."
Gordon chuckled. "Honestly, I think they've been ready the minute they found out about the Ducks," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest as soon as he let go of the man's hand.
"You wouldn't be wrong, I suppose," Coach Orion agreed with a sigh. He then allowed himself to give a half smile. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Just helping out my old school," Gordon replied as he slid his hands into his pants pockets. "You know how I am about school spirit."
Coach Orion stared at his friend. "I thought you hated this school," he commented.
"It had its good moments, besides the Dean needed my help so…" Gordon shrugged his shoulders.
"And…your bosses in California are ok with that?" Coach Orion asked.
Gordon was silent for a moment before looking up at the coach. "You're not too happy about working here, either," he replied, changing the subject.
"That's true," Coach Orion agreed with a nod of his head, "but you know why I had to take the position,"
"I should," Gordon said, bobbing his head back and forth. A small smile came to his face. "I helped you get the job."
"Yeah." Coach Orion nodded. "Yeah." He sucked in a breath of air through his nose before releasing it, scratching at the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. "Thanks for that."
"Of course," Gordon replied with a nod of his head.
"So, how's your job going?" Coach Orion asked. "I mean, clearly, right now, it's not considering you've been here for a while now. Right?" Gordon stayed silent. Coach Orion hummed, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "You really miss coaching, don't you? So, what, is the drinking supposed to fill that void?"
"Something like that," Gordon replied with a nod of his head. "I'll let you go get ready. No hard feelings either, way, right?"
"Well, it's been a while since you've coached, right?" Coach Orion asked, rubbing his chin. "So, uh, I won't blame you for being sour after a loss."
Gordon chuckled. "I never thought Ted Orion had the capability to brag," he replied. "Well, this Ted Orion, I mean."
Coach Orion bowed his head just slightly, a half smile on his face. He had been a hot shot back in his prime. He had no problem letting other people know it, either. Those same people had no problem turning right around and talking about him the second he announced he wasn't going to be continuing the sport. "Washed up", "out of money", and "desperate" were thrown around often.
"Well, while your Ducks have been here, they've been learning what playing hockey is really like," Coach Orion said with a teasing smile.
"We'll see about that," Gordon replied with a small smile of his own, recognizing the jab of humor. "Just as long as they still have fun." He struck Coach Orion with a pointed look. "It's not a bad thing. Having fun doesn't hurt anyone."
Is that what you're calling your drinking? He pressed his lips together for a moment. On the one hand, he understood what that was like. He understood how easy it was to get lost in a bottle and to just do whatever it was his non-existent inhibitions wanted for a night. On the other, it wasn't going to be fun forever. It would never be fun forever. Nursing hangovers became more of a chore and something he dreaded. Everything was still there, and seemed even more troublesome when not looked at through beer goggles.
But, it was easier; it was an escape from reality if only for a moment.
"I used to be able to agree with you on that," Coach Orion said with a sigh through his nose. He shook his head, almost a harsh twitch from side to side. He could practically hear the screeching of tires, the blaring horn, the crunch of metal and his daughter's terrified cries all over again. "I'll see you out there. I need to go talk to my team." He blindly reached for his desk and grasped a clipboard. Tightly clutching it in his hand, he made his way out of his office and to the locker room.
Stopping in the doorway, he let out a sigh. He turned around to face Gordon, blinking as his old friend nearly ran into him. "Thank you, for helping me, when I needed it," Coach Orion said as Gordon took a few steps back. "I'll return the favor the best I can. Whenever you ask."
"I know," Gordon replied. "Thank you."
Coach Orion tapped the clipboard against his thigh before heading out of the room. He followed the echoing voices of his team to the locker room and stepped through the swinging door, lifting an eyebrow as he silently regarding, not only Guy as he talked animatedly with Averman as he pulled his jersey down over his pads, but at Adam who stood awkwardly—partially due to his towering height over everyone—in the center of the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Yet, he was still talking easily with his former teammates.
"Mr. Banks," Coach Orion called, cutting over the talking, his voice bouncing off of the lockers. "As much as I'm enjoying seeing this little reunion—"and in a way, he was. He hadn't seen his team look more…relaxed since the minute he set foot on the ice during their first practice. "But…" He silently, jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
"Sorry…sir," Adam said quietly, eyes widening just slightly. He lifted a hand and scratched the back of his head, looking like he wanted to say something else before he quickly shuffled out of the room, tossing a "good luck" over his shoulder.
Coach Orion didn't say anything until he was sure he had everyone's attention. He cleared his throat as he lifted the clipboard and started to read out loud. "Nate Riley, 56; Damien Price, 35; Lucas Hemingway, 5; and Trevor Donovan, 2. Do any of these numbers mean anything to you?'
"The mental ages of the other team?" Goldberg asked, earning snorts and quiet laughter from his team. "I mean, come on. Some of the guys here act like little adults and others are just, I'm sad to say, immature."
"Yeah, like you're the poster child for maturity," Averman commented with a roll of his eyes. He turned towards Goldberg—who was laughing with Russ and receiving a high-five from Ken—eyes narrowed into a glare in response to the ball of socks that was thrown at his head. "Case and point."
"Gaffney?" Coach Orion asked, swallowing the bubble of laughter that threatened to rise in his chest. Julie lowered her glove covered hand into her lap.
"Stats," she replied.
"That's right," Coach Orion replied, lifting the clipboard into the air. "In the last season this team played, Nate Riley, who I'm sure some of you have been getting to know really well as of late," Portman lifted his eyebrows, but didn't say anything, " had 56 goals. Damien Price had 35 shots on goal, Lucas Hemingway had a total of 5 power play goals, and Trevor Donovan had 2 games resulting in a shutout. The whole team is pretty impressive and you can see why the school board have been backing them for years. But, your stats rival theirs and could, arguably, be even better."
"I've watched a lot of your tapes and Gordon knows how to coach a team. He knows how to coach a team offensively. But, hockey isn't just about being a strong team," Coach Orion explained. He started to pace up and down the aisle between the benched—what little space there was between the skates poking out into the aisle. "You have to be a well rounded team at this level, not just a powerhouse, not just your positions. These boys know how to play like a team. You can, too. There are people out there who don't think you deserve to be here. Let's prove them wrong."
He started loudly clapping his hands together. "Alright, let' go," he called. "Starting lineup: Gaffney in goal; Germaine, you take the face off in center; Averman on right; and Robertson on left; Reed and Taylor on defense." He spun on his heels and made his way out of the locker room, the voices of his team ("Averman, do you have any extra of those elastic glasses straps?", "Why are you going to use them as sling shots again?"), fading behind him.
