The Penalty Box (18 page)

“You can't do it for Tuck?” Katie implored. “Just for a few weeks?”

“I've already got a place for me and Tuck.”

Katie couldn't hide her surprise. “You do?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Mina crouched down, plucking a half-dead dandelion from the ground. “My friend Snake said we could stay with him until I find a place.”

Mina frowned, crushing the dandelion in her palm. “That's right, I forgot; all my friends are lowlife scum.”

Katie gave a short laugh. “No offense, Mina, but you have to admit the name
Snake
doesn't inspire images of wholesome living.”

Mina almost smiled. “Snake's a good guy. He's been through the program and he knows what I'll be facing. He'll be very good support for me.”

“What does Snake do?” Katie asked politely.

“He's a bouncer. At the Tender Trap.”

“Niiiice.” The Tender Trap was the topless bar one town over in Summersby.

Mina released the crushed dandelion from her hand. “Don't be so judgmental, Katie, okay?”

“Sorry.” Mina was right. For all Katie knew, Snake could very well be Didsbury's own Mr. Rogers. But she doubted it.

“Does Tuck know Snake?”

“No.” Mina's mouth pinched. “But I'm sure he'll like him. Snake's got a chopper.”

“He'll think that's cool,” Katie was forced to admit.

“Exactly.” Mina seemed relieved. “See? I know what I'm doing.”

They walked on in companionable silence, both watching Tuck. He'd grown bored with kicking leaves and was now walking along with his head thrown back, staring up at the cloudy sky.

“Watch where you're going!” Katie called.

Mina looked at her sharply.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to overstep my bounds.”

“Katie.” Mina grabbed Katie's arm. “I just had a great idea!”

“What's that?”

“Do you think maybe you could ask your boyfriend if there are any waitressing jobs open at his bar? Snake said he could get me a job dancing at the Trap, but I'd really like to avoid that if I can. And I have waitressed before.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Katie replied cautiously. “But I'm not promising anything.”

“You're the best!” Mina exclaimed, throwing her arms around her sister. “What would I do without you?”

Praise them
.
The
words thundered in Paul's head as he followed his team into the locker room following their 4-2 defeat to the Richmond Condors. One of the coaching manuals he occasionally thumbed through spoke of the importance of pointing out what a team did right before delving into what they did wrong. He would follow that advice, even though the chaos he'd witnessed on the ice had sent his blood pressure through the roof. He had to remind himself they were young and inexperienced. Discipline, skill, and finesse would come in time.

It had better or he'd lose his mind.

“Guys, gather round.”

Twenty sweat-drenched, weary little bodies packed in close to him.

“I'm really proud that . . . all of you remembered to wear your cups today.” Jesus, was that the only positive thing he could come up with? He had to do better than that. “Some of you worked very hard today. But there are a few things we need to go over, okay?”

The boys nodded tentatively.

“One of the things we need to remember is that we don't all skate to the puck.” Paul could feel the muscles in the back of his neck knotting as he recalled the way the whole team would dive into the corners like a pack of coyotes chasing a rabbit. It was pitiful. “Another thing we need to remember is that hockey has rules.” He gazed deeply into each and every pair of eyes. “You can't pass over the blue line, remember?” Some of the boys nodded vigorously, including Chuck Wilbraham, who had been one of the worst offenders. “Chuck, if you know the rules, why did you keep passing over the blue line?”

“I forgot,” Chuck muttered.

“Your forgetfulness helped us lose,” Paul snapped. They shouldn't have lost. He'd drilled them to death, played mock games with them during practice, and fed them an encouraging slogan each week. Entering the rink today, he was brimming with confidence, certain that his boys were golden, solid. Yet the minute they hit the ice, they fell apart. If they didn't get their act together, he would be the laughingstock of the Youth Hockey League.

“Mr. Bitterman.” His eyes sought the red-haired boy who was his first-line left winger. “When the puck comes to you, you do not stop moving and wave to your parents, saying, ‘Look, I've got the puck!' Got it?”

The boy cast his eyes down.

“Mr. Becker.” Paul's voice was stern as he stared into the face of his top goalie. “Getting your gloves tangled up in the goal netting wasn't a good defensive strategy, was it?”

“No, Coach.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because Richmond scored and I wasn't ready.”

“That's one way of looking at it.” Paul's left temple twitched. “Another way to look at it is like this: You were caught like a fly in a goddamn spiderweb. People were laughing.” Paul began rubbing the base of his neck. The more stupid foul-ups that came to mind, the more upset he found himself becoming.

“Mr. Fisher!”

Tuck met his gaze directly.

“No one likes a puck hog, you got that? You start passing it to your teammates or your behind is going to wear a groove in the players' bench!”

“But—”

“No buts!”

“Yes, Coach,” Tuck muttered.

Let's see, did that take care of all the screwups? Nope, wait, there was one more. “Wingers!”

Six pairs of anxious eyes forced themselves to his.

“When you weren't all chasing the puck, you were playing table hockey, skating up and down your zone in a straight line!
Play the ice!
” He shook his head. “Honestly, guys, what the hell happened out there? I'm incredibly disappointed.”

“Sorry, Coach,” mumbled a lackluster chorus of voices.

“What are we?” Paul demanded, echoing a refrain he started every practice with.

“Warriors?” the boys called out somewhat uncertainly.

“That's right. We're warriors. And what do warriors do?” Again his eyes touched each and every one of them. “They win battles. How? By being ruthless, skilled, and cunning. By always being one step ahead of the enemy. By keeping their wits about them at all times. Are you boys wimps, or are you warriors?”

“Warriors! Warriors!” the boys shouted, regaining some of their fighting spirit.

Paul nodded. “
That's
what I like to hear. See you at practice on Monday.”

 

 

Katie was so
busy working on her book, taking care of Tuck, and trying to keep her relationship with Paul a secret that fall turned into winter without her even noticing. One morning the leaves on the trees were brilliant red and yellow; the next the trees were bare and she was shoveling the driveway after half a foot of snow had dropped out of nowhere. Katie never minded the winter, and now that Winterfest was here, she was actually excited, especially since Tuck had never been.

She and her nephew made their way down to Harkin's Pond where the festival was traditionally held. The pond was frozen solid, peppered with smiling skaters doing lazy laps around the ice. Booths were set up selling everything from hot chocolate to baked goods, while tobogganers flew down the surrounding hills, their delighted screams piercing the late morning air. A curling competition was underway, baffling Katie completely; she couldn't understand the appeal of throwing what appeared to be a lead tea kettle down the ice.

“Hey, you.”

Bitsy sidled up to Katie, clutching a cup of hot chocolate in her mittened hands.

“Hey.” Despite the carnival atmosphere of the festival, Katie felt on edge. Pleading the Tuck defense, she had made it clear to Paul she was uncomfortable going to the festival with him. He'd been annoyed, but he hadn't pushed the issue. She spotted him across the pond, sitting on a bench talking to some other men as he laced up a pair of skates.

“It's really packed,” Bitsy noted.

Katie nodded. She'd heard from her mom that the festival had grown in popularity in recent years. If the swarm of people tramping around in the snow was any indication, her mother wasn't exaggerating.

Tuck tugged on Katie's ski jacket. “Can I find Gary and roast marshmallows with him?”

“Okay,” said Katie. “But if you go anywhere else, let me know.”

Tuck ran off, leaving the two women alone.

Bitsy blew into her cup. “I can't deal with all this food; I want to stuff my face.”

“I know.” Katie said. “Back in high school, I used to hit every food booth, but cram it all in my bag to eat later. I was afraid if anyone saw me eating they'd call me a pig.”

“That's really sad, Katie.”

“I know. But I always loved everything else about the festival: the skaters, the snowman building contest, even being outside. There's nothing like cold, crisp winter air to make you feel alive.”

“Speak for yourself.” Bitsy took a big gulp of hot chocolate. “Why aren't you with Paul?” Before Katie could answer, Bitsy continued, “Let me guess: if the town finds out about the two of you, life as we know it will come to an end.”

“Don't give me a hard time, Bits, okay?”

“There he goes.”

At first, Katie thought Bitsy was referring to Tuck. But then she saw her friend's eyes were trained on the ice, where Paul had just started skating. Katie watched him, amazed by the ease with which he breezed past all the recreational skaters. Everyone else present turned to watch him, too. Reading their faces, Katie could see they were all thinking the same thing she was: that skating was as natural to him as breathing.

Katie edged closer to the ice. In all the months they'd been spending time together, she had never seen Paul looking so blissful. Never. It was if he'd been transported to a different world.

Spotting her, Paul skated over to the edge of the pond. “Care to join me?”

Katie shook her head vehemently. “I can't skate.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don't want anyone to know about us, remember? Go back out on the ice.”

Paul snorted. “What, I can't even talk to you?”

Katie peered at him. “Shouldn't you be wearing a helmet?”

“I should. But I'm not.”

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not. But you know what? It's been years since I've skated on this pond and felt the wind mess up my hair and freeze the tips of my ears. I wanted to experience that again. The freedom.”

Katie smiled. “I don't blame you. It sounds wonderful.”

“It is. See you at practice Monday,” Paul concluded, skating back to the center of the pond. Then he was off, racing up and down, wind tussling his hair just the way he'd described it.

 

 

Katie watched in disbelief as Paul made the young Panthers sprint from one end of the rink to the other for what had to be the tenth time. She was accustomed to seeing him challenge them at practice, but this went beyond skill building. It was downright sadistic.

“Again.”

Her eyes sought out Tuck. Initially one of the more enthusiastic sprinters, he was beginning to lag physically, and was far from the only boy struggling to complete the drill. They all were. All wore looks of dogged determination, none of them wanting to disappoint their coach.

She looked down at her laptop and began typing. “Sports purports to train young boys to be men,” she wrote. “Whether conscious or unconscious, it reinforces gender roles of competition, work, and success—all key components of assumed male superiority. Coaches, who serve as initiators in the patriarchal rite—”

“Again.”

Katie's head snapped up.
Not again!
He couldn't be serious! She watched as Chuck Wilbraham, straggling far behind the other boys, slowed to a halt on the ice.

“Move your butt, Wilbraham,” Paul called out, “or I'll move it for you.”

“But Coach,” the little boy said, panting, “I—”

He never finished his sentence as a stream of vomit erupted from his mouth. Horrified, Katie half rose in her seat as Paul blew the whistle around his neck.

“Okay, guys! Enough for today. See you Wednesday!” Paul skated over to Chuck, putting an arm around his shoulders. Katie strained to hear what was being said, but couldn't make it out. All she knew was that the boy was nodding and hanging on every word Paul said. Then he joined his teammates in the locker room.

“Can I speak with you a moment?” Katie's voice rang out across the arena.

“Sure.” Paul skated off the ice, doffing his helmet as he joined her a few rows up from the players' bench. “Man, are you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, leaning in for a peck to her cheek. Katie jerked away.

“Care to tell me what
that
was all about?”

Paul looked confused. “What?”

“Making little boys sprint the length of the ice till they vomit their guts up.”

Wariness crept into Paul's eyes. “It's a drill, Katie. And only one of them puked.”