*Sorry guys, cut my finger on a chef's knife making Christmas dinner and now I can't type worth shit! chapters might be a little slow coming for a while...

Chapter Eight

"Hey dude, whatcha workin' on?" I step onto the rink and skate towards the kid at center ice, shooting the puck against the sideboards. I think his name is Lucas. I think that's the name I heard Angela screech when she was barking out orders and didn't realize anyone was around. As soon as she saw James and I standing in the hall, she did a 180 degree flip and tried to act all syrupy sweet. Not sure how dumb she thinks I am but come on! Did she really think I'd buy that?

"Um… just my backhand. Coach says that I need to improve on it a bit…" He shrugs. "If you need the ice, I can go…"

"No, no, don't be silly. It looks like you're doing pretty good…" I offer, watching the kid, drop his eyes to the ice, clearly no confidence in himself. If I was his coach, that might be the first thing I would tell him to work on.

"Yeah well, practice makes perfect right?" he smiles shyly, still avoiding eye contact. That's not entirely uncommon for me. Kids tend to either get intimidated or try and show off when they are on the ice with me. I guess I prefer shy to cocky anyway. I remember being the same way with Gretzky at a three day camp when I was fourteen – too star struck to talk, too nervous with him watching me to skate properly. I was a mess. My dad lectured me that night. The next day, I was better and Gretzky noticed me.

"For sure…" I nod and with my stick reach for one of the pucks, giving him a light pass. Lucas grabs it easily, does a simple figure eight stick handling drill, then fires it at the side boards on his backhand. Quiet a bit of force, which is good, but accuracy is just as important. I grab another puck and pass it to him, this time a little high from his passing range, making him move for the puck. He reaches for it easily, conducts the same drill and hits the same spot he hit the first time.

"Good job. How often do you work on your backhand?" I ask, taking a shot on my own.

"Umm… as often as I can. Whenever the ice is free or whatever," He explains. "Coach said I also have to work on my faceoffs and gain ten pounds… so this is really the only one I can do on my own…" Sounds exactly like what my coach told me.

"How are the faceoffs coming?" I ask again, knowing how hard faceoffs can be to improve on.

"Not too bad… Liz works with me in her free time…" he explains and I am caught a bit off guard, finding myself smiling at just the mention of her. I have tired not to think about her too much since last night, pushing myself through the trainer's drills and shooting practice but I can't help but feel like shit about the whole thing. James basically carried her out of the bar and I wanted to go and check on her but after we got back to the school, I kinda lost track of where she went and… well… now I just haven't seen her yet. She had quite a bit to drink so I'm not entirely surprised at her absence at breakfast but it's getting pretty late in the afternoon. You can normally see her running about, looking like she has a million things to do which I am sure she does but still… her absence is making me nervous. I hope she's not mad at me or avoiding me or anything… I won't lie, I thought that maybe she would be here at the rink and that's why I came down, instead of heading to the golf course with some of the guys. That and spending the afternoon with Richards and Giroux, chirping me on the green, didn't sound like much fun. At least now I get to work on some on-ice stuff that I am afraid has slipped while I have been off – like faceoffs.

"Oh yeah? You wanna work on them now?"

"Really?" Lucas looks shocked. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'll pretty much play with anyone who is willing to play against me. "I mean, um, yeah! That would be great… if you don't mind…"

"Sure no problem, ten pucks back and forth?" I suggest. We'll start with ten, see how long he can go before wishing I was dead. I could do it all day.

"Yeah, sure!"

"Gather them up rookie…"

-.-

Fuck, I need some cold air. I thought cleaning out the industrial freezer would do the trick but it wasn't what I needed. Too confined, too stale. There is nothing like the cold air of the arena. It has a certain feeling about it.

I reach out and crack the door to the barn and instantly feel the sensation I needed. I don't know how to explain it. It's just comforting. Almost solves the pain of the hangover. Who the hell let me drink so much anyway? Seriously…

I moan out loud when I hear the barn isn't empty. I was really hoping for some quiet time, just to lie across a bench or up in the stands and stare at the ceiling. Maybe I can scare them away? I thought they all went golfing. I head up the hall to the ice and see who two guys standing at the center dot, throwing pucks down in faceoff drills. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given who it is. Lucas was practically born on this ice and Sid… well… is Sid. It's pretty common knowledge the guy is a rink rat at heart. So am I, so I won't judge.

I didn't really want to see him today. I didn't really want to see anyone but as I stand here at the side of the rink, watching, I can't make my feet move away. Looking out onto the glass is like looking through a port hole into the past – just replace one hockey player with another. I have a picture in an album of Charlie teaching his brother how to take faceoffs, right here, in this exact same position. Of course, Lucas is shorter but if you didn't know better, you would swear it's Charlie out there right now. I feel a tear form at the corner of my eye and quickly wipe it away.

"Keep your elbow up," I listen as Sid instructs Lucas, before throwing the rubber down on the dot. Lucas sweeps the puck between his feet, just like he was taught and comes back up for another puck. Sid throws it down, Lucas sweeps it away. They continue until Sid is out of the pucks in his hand. Lucas then dutifully skates around behind him and gathers the pucks back to center ice - like the younger player should. If anything, the kid knows respect, the 'hockey code'. It has been drilled into him from day one.

Sid watches Lucas collecting the pucks, collecting them into a pile. Lucas gathers them into his hands and bends over from the waist to drop for Sid. Sid uses the exact same form and technique and expertly pulls them back. I wonder how long these two have been going at it? Lucas drives me nuts when I give in and come out to help him, he never wants to stop, never gets tired. He could do the exact same thing a thousand times in a row and never get bored.

Lucas drops the last puck and instead of aiming for the puck, Sid shoves his stick into the blade of Lucas's skate and knocks him off balance, sending him to the ice hard on his ass. I accidentally let out a gasp. I'm normally better at seeing guys fall but in my eyes Lucas is still the little kid running around, chasing his brother, wobbly on his skates. I'm a little protective. The two guys look over at me.

"You gotta stay on your feet," Sid warns him, extending his hand to help pull him back up to his feet. Pretty sure if Sidney knocked me to the ice, I'd be pissed but Lucas is beaming from ear to ear. "I think that's enough for today bud."

"Oh, okay thanks… I'm just gonna stay out here…" Lucas offers. Sid laughs and skates over towards me.

I open the gate door for him and step out of the way while he steps off the ice. "That was nice of you… to work with him. He kinda needs a little push sometimes…" I smile. "I appreciate it."

"My back is going to be sore. We've been out here for a long while now. Kid never gets tired... but he's definitely got talent," He nods, looking back out as Lucas starts practicing his backhand shot.

"Yeah, yeah he does…" Duh. Of course he does, he's a Ross.

"He doesn't seem to realize it though."

"No, he knows, he just hides it…" I correct him. "He's watched his whole family fall apart because of hockey…how inclined would you be to work on your drills?"

"I guess… why do you still work with him?" Sid asks, turning back to me.

"What do you mean?"

"He said you help him with faceoffs. You've seen all the same things, wouldn't you rather see him be a psychologist or something?"

"That's funny… hockey player turned psychologist…" He would have a line up down the block. I look back out to the ice and can see Lucas running turn and stop drills with the puck on his stick. "I guess… I guess he reminds me of his brother. I used to help him and it just takes me back to a different time, when things were easier, better." Wow, getting a little to sappy here. I snap myself out of it and put on my business tone. "Plus it would be really great for this place if he made something out of himself. Have a name associated once again."

"Right…" Sid nods. I am sure he understands how endorsements work and didn't come here to be sucked into some sob story about this school. In fact, I still don't know why he is here. "Listen I, um, wanted to apologize for last night…"

"No, please… you don't need to do that…" I beg him to stop cause you know... this isn't awkward.

"No, I do. I just get really competitive… I should have let it go. I didn't mean for you to get upset…" Sid looks down at me with guilt in his eyes. I have seen this look from enough people to last a life time.

"It's not your fault! It was just one of those songs…" Jesus, I do not want to have this conversation.

"Yeah… I kinda caught that…" He nods and shifts uncomfortably on his skates. Wow, if he's uncomfortable, he should imagine how I feel right now.

"Yeah, it was embarrassing…" I add and we continue to stand in awkward silence, the sound of pucks hitting the boards ringing out behind us. Why couldn't he just be like all the other guys and pretend it didn't happen? That would be soooooooo much easier.

"You sang it really well…" Sid offers quietly.

"Thanks."

"So, um, what are the plans for dinner tonight? James mentioned some restaurant?"

"Yeah, The Cornerstone, our old hangout… good memories there…" I nod, glad for the change in subject. "Good burgers, sandwiches… a change from the chain restaurants, you know?"

"Sounds good… I'm starving!" He rubs his stomach and I can't help but laugh.

"Hockey players are all the same… you're always hungry…" I offer and head to the door, cracking it open with a push on the crash bar but the door barely budges, as there is a body blocking its path.

-.-

"Hockey players are all the same… you're always hungry…" She laughs and heads to the door, cracking it open and letting the bright light from the sunny summer day stream into the dark hall of the rink. I have to squint to help my eyes adjust but it looks like she is struggling with the weight of it and isn't able to get it open all the way.

I step out of the stream of light and let my eyes focus and can see that her struggles have ended as a bulky older man steps into the light.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Where is Charlie? Where is he?" The older man starts yelling, like my grandfather when he doesn't realize that his hearing aid is turned off.

"Oh fuck…" Liz swears under her breath as the old man steps into the rink, stomps past us and heads into the dressing room.

"Who's that?" I ask, watching him wander off.

"Charlie's dad…" she whispers under her breath, burying her face momentarily in her hand. She takes a moment and then steps past me and enters the dressing room after him. I can't help but follow.

"Charles? What are you doing over here? Where's Louissa?" Liz inquires, using a calm voice that most people would reserve for helping a lost child.

"Where's Charlie? He has to mow the lawn! Just because he's got a bit of God-given talent, doesn't mean he get out of doing his chores!"

"Okay Charles, I'll… I'll let him know…" Liz offers, trying to usher the older man out of the dressing room. Upon closer inspection, he doesn't appear that old… maybe 50? 55-ish? Not that far off from my dad anyway...

"The grass is getting long! It's going to jam up the mower blades! That kid! He can't do anything right!" Charles shakes his head and wanders off, back out into the hall and across to another dressing room. Liz's hands spring up and cover her face and her shoulders begin to shake. I step in quickly and place my hand on the back of her shoulder, attempting to pull her into me. It's instinct. You see a crying woman and you want to help but she pushes me away and quickly wipes the tears off her face.

"Please help me get him out of here before Lucas sees him!" She pleas, looking over my shoulder to where she can still see Charles fiddling around the room across the hall.

"Sure of course… let me just slip off my skates," I nod and plop down on the nearest bench. I normally pay attention when I take my skates off, do an inspection of the steel, the edge, the laces, then give the boot a once over with a towel but for now I just dump them on the ground and slip on my sandals.

"Hey there sir, it's a pleasure to meet you," I head into the dressing room after Liz and introduce myself, extending my hand but he just looks down at my hand and then back up at me, as if he is trying to rake his memory for who I am.

"Who are you?" Charles Sr. snaps at me.

"I'm Sidney, a friend of Charlie's…" I offer hesitantly. He looks at me suspiciously but he seems to buy it.

"Oh… well I'm sorry son but he can't play hockey till he's finished mowing the lawn. You'll have to come back later…" Wow. He sounds just like my dad – or rather dad's of my friends when I would harass them to play hockey every minute of every day as a kid. It's scary actually. It's scary to imagine that my dad could turn into this if anything happened to me.

"Ms Ross, I am so sorry," A large Caribbean woman in nursing scrubs barges into the room, seemingly out of breath. "I was just unpacking the groceries and I turned around and he was gone…"

"It's fine, just – just get him out of here and don't let it happen again," Liz assures her and waves her hand towards Mr. Ross, as the nurse moves across the room and begins convincing the senile man to leave the room. She successfully convinces him to leave with the bribe of some fresh baked banana bread and they leave the confined space.

I look over to see if Liz is okay and there is a pained, yet vacant look on her face.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that…" She begins. "Please don't say anything…"

"I won't, I promise," I assure her. Who am I going to tell? We stand in silence but my mind is anything but quiet. "Was he always like that or...?" I ask, not able to stop myself any longer.

"No, he lost it after…" I watch as she pauses and I nod in understanding. "The guilt and everything… ate him up…"

"Right, gotcha." She doesn't need to explain anymore. I can tell it's still hard for her to talk about and it's selfish of me to want to discuss it any further, even if I feel like I just saw the Ghost of Christmas Future. Damn.

"I should get back to the lodge, I've got a lot to do and now apparently I need to mow the lawn," she laughs to herself but I can see she isn't laughing on the inside.

"Sure…" I nod and watch her go, feeling my heart breaking for the girl.

I think I'll go call my dad.