The Brick Wall

Chapter 8

I'm only slightly surprised when I skate out onto the ice for warm ups in Norfolk to see my mother standing behind my goal.  She grins, waving her hands wildly in the air as though I can't see her amongst the other five or so people in the section.

  Warm ups rarely draw a crowd. Sure you'll have a few kids that come down to bang on the glass, hold up a sign, or wait patiently until someone tosses them a puck.  Most of the time they don't even care if it's from the home team or not, which is why there's a couple of us that always toss one over after warm ups whether we're in our own arena or not.

  I glide around our half of the ice, sans helmet just to get my legs moving.  If we'd have been on home ice I'd have come out before dressing and skated my heart out, work up a nice sweat prior to slipping on the obnoxiously large pads. But, since that wasn't an option, all I have now is a chance to move around in full uniform. 

  When I get closer to the section of glass my mother is standing behind, I slip my blocker off and hold a fist up against the glass. She mimics, her own fist against mine. We tap a steady rhythm; one then four then three at a time. It represents 'I love you,' something we started  the day of my first game, continuing through each one that she's able to attend. 

  I know one day it'll be Lennox fisting at the glass, too. The thought alone warms my chest. 

  But there's an ache amongst the desire. She should be here this afternoon. I should've had her at a game already. I should be the proud father, introducing her to the team, the coaches. But, she's still my secret.  Secrets tend to lead to questions, and I have no answers to give other than a blood test to show she is actually my daughter. 

  Thad whizzes by, taking his stick and slapping against the pads on my legs. It's one of his weird rituals, one that will occur at least two more times before warm ups end, but it's enough to bring me back to the task at hand.

  I stretch out my legs which isn't as easy a feat as it is for the other guys, again thanks to the padding covering my legs looking like mini mattresses for a baby doll.  

  Makes me wonder if Lennox will try to use them as part of her imaginative play the older she gets.  Hell, if she lets me get more than a couple hours of sleep a night while she teethes, I'll buy her a set just for her dolls.

  But there's not much a better wake up call than getting pelted by hundred mile an hour pucks.  For now though, during warm ups, I'm not getting blasted with slapshots, however I am still blocking them all.  Even Thaddeus' wicked shot to the five hole is blocked without issue.  I laugh behind my cage as I hear the string of curses flow through the ice as he skates around to wait for his next turn. 

  About ten minutes into our warm ups, our back up goalie glides over to take my spot. Cristian Berdin hails from Romania and doesn't speak much English. A couple of the guys on the team have taken that knowledge to their advantage and have made him look like a downright idiot in some of the interviews.  But he's back up, so lucky for him, and the rest of this AHL franchise, he's not thrust into public speaking too often. 

  By the end of the first period we're only up by one, the team seeming to struggle to keep up with the Norfolk players. I'm not even the one bringing it to their attention as Coach Anson yells at them, turning beet red as he reveals the opposing team has already made fifteen shots on goal.

  "Lucky for you idiots, Everett's stopping them all! It would be better if at least once in a blue moon you guys would cut them off before the shot!"

All eyes flit to me as I'm toweling at my face. Another squirt of water over my buzzed hair and I'm wiping at my eyes while Coach continues his rant, ending it with a pointed look at all of the defensive line. "Get a hold of the puck before it crosses the line. Understood?"