Carter's Shadow - 1. Chapter 1

All-American, he guessed that was how he was viewed, sitting in the cafeteria at his table, listening to his friends go on about the game the night before. He was half-interested-after all he had been there playing along side them, hell he'd even scored a couple of goals-but his mind was drifting away from it as he looked about him.

The school was pretty much the same as any other. South Carleton High School was the only English high school in the small town, built on a series of steep hills that swept down towards the mill that fronted the whole town and provided work for eighty percent of the town's entire population. Everyone at the school was connected to that mill in one fashion or another-either their parents worked there, or their parents worked to provide services for the people that worked there.

His grey eyes glanced out of the tall window behind him, looking out across the deep valley that separated the plateau the school sat on from the one of the two main roads out of town. Due to Merrickville's geography and steep hills there really were only two ways in or out of the town. It seemed sometimes that the same was true about people.

You either graduated school and went to college, joined the army, or you stayed. And West had no intention of staying. He guessed that's why he had his sights set on the army; technically he qualified now, he could up and leave school, drive to Ottawa and the army recruiting station there and be in uniform before you could blink. But his father had done that, and for all the pushing the man did to steer his son towards that future, he made it clear West was to finish school, graduate and take a military scholarship to university.

Officer in training. He smiled, his father's way of wanting something better for his son than he had himself, he guessed.

"You coming, West?" Matt asked him leaning down, his palms flat on the table as he gave West a funny look.

West roused himself, realizing he hadn't even heard the school bell, and pulled on his team jacket as he followed his best friend to their lockers. They wound their way through the main lobby, other teammates in their distinctive yellow and red jackets up-nodding to them as they went past as they continued to chat up their girlfriends, who for their part continued to play hard to get, even though from the talk in the locker rooms they weren't.

"You okay, man?" his younger friend asked, tapping his arm with his closed fist.

West glanced down at the shorter winger, too small to be a first-string player but damn fast on a pair of skates. He had his typical Boston ball cap pulled over his short coarse black hair, framing his eyes with its perfectly curved visor. The slight darkening of his skin belied his native heritage that he was very proud of. West respected that, his father always taught him to be proud of where he came from.

"Yeah, I'm fine," West replied as he found his locker, turning the combination on the lock and pulling the battered metal door open. He rifled through to grab his books for his next class, pulling them out and tucking them under his arm as he closed the door.

"West!" Brad called, loping down the corridor. As the captain of the team, Brad was top of the food chain, and while West was a damn good centre, he was still only the assistant captain.

He grinned and tilted his head to Brad, "'Sup?"

"Nothing much," Brad said, walking alongside his two teammates. The three of them headed for their next class-French with the indomitable Mrs. Terriault, the short, ancient Parisian who tried desperately to teach them how to conjugate verbs despite the fact they had no desire to learn it.

"You getting the Bronco tonight?" Brad asked as the three of them stopped just before entering the classroom. Once they crossed that threshold the only language spoken was French, and none of them wanted to try to plot a Friday night out stumbling in French.

"Sure," West replied confidently, he always had the Bronco on a Friday night. So long as he drove his brother to Ottawa to hang with his friends, and brought the kid home before his curfew, West had the truck as long as he wanted.

"Cool," Brad said clapping him on the shoulder as he walked past West and into the classroom. West shrugged glancing down the hall to where a pair of big eyes were watching him from the doorway of another class. They blinked twice, realizing West had seen him, and ducked back into the class. West chuckled to himself shaking his head, Peter was always doing that. The quiet artist guy from his year who was always sick, and entirely too shy for his own good. West often wondered what it was going to take for the guy to come out of his shell.

"Monsieur Harding, dans la classroom, tout de suite!" Mrs. Terriault's shrill voice cut into his thoughts, shocking him into entering the classroom with a sheepish grin, as his two teammates grinned at him from their place in the back, joking about him being in trouble.

"En francais!" Mrs. Terriault snapped as she began to hand out the pop quizzes to the groans of her students.

* * *

West was Wesley Theodore Harding on his birth certificate, but nobody ever called him that, it just didn't suit the six-foot-tall athletic guy with his naturally highlighted brown hair, thin features and sparkling eyes. The rakish grin and natural self-confidence that he seemed to be imbued with suited the image his name conjured up. He was supposed to be everything 'West' summed up.

He came through the back door to the kitchen of the small farmhouse, dropping his book bag beside the shoes on the floor and taking a moment to tussle his eight-year-old sister's hair as she sat doing her homework at the kitchen table.

Sammy glanced up, a petulant look on her face at being disturbed from her arithmetic; she hated math about as much as everyone in the family seemed to, it must be genetic. West glanced about to make sure no one was looking before he leaned down to whisper, "The answer's four."

"Don't help her!" his mom said, coming up from the basement freezer carrying a bag full of pork chops she intended to cook up for supper and setting them to defrost in the microwave. "She's already had her father helping her earlier, she's never going to learn to be independent if you boys keep giving her all the answers!"

West grinned and stood up, pointing to the next one, "Five." He shot his mom the sweetest smile, as Sammy frantically scribbled in the last answer, getting up from the table finally done her homework and rushing off to the television in the den.

His mom rolled her eyes as she set about preparing vegetables. West came up and took the knife from her hands as he sliced the carrots, freeing her up to prepare the potatoes.

"You're in a good mood today," she observed looking over the rims of her glasses. "Going out later?"

"Yep," West replied, chopping swiftly with a keen eye. "I'm supposed to pick up Brad and Matt and we're going to cruise downtown."

His mom rolled her eyes as she set the potatoes on the stove and turned on the heat, "You boys, what do you do on a Friday night, anyway?"

"That is for him to know, and you to sweat over," West's father stated, banging in from the yard, kicking off his boots and stopping long enough to kiss his wife and grin at his oldest son before he hung up his jacket. "I take it you want the Bronco tonight?"

West nodded as he swept the carrots into the pan and poured water over them, "If that's ok?"

"You see he's always good on a Friday night when he wants the truck," his dad said with a teasing smirk over at his mom as he walked through to the living room where Sammy was watching her cartoons. "You can borrow it as long as you drive your brother."

"Done," West called back, as the back door banged again as his brother stomped in. Joey looked about him as he grinned, tossing his book bag down and starting to head towards the television.

"Table!" his mom called, gesturing at the kitchen table with her wooden spoon.

Joey skidded to a halt, flashing her an unimpressed look as he stomped back to the table and set about setting out the knives and forks. West shook his head at his brother. Joey took after his mom, while West was most definitely his dad's son. He was short and wiry, with glasses stuck on the end of his nose that made him look like a geek, even though Joey's marks were nowhere close to what they needed to be to make him a geek.

West shrugged as he trotted back through the old farmhouse to his room. He was lucky enough to have his room on the main floor. It had once been the dining room, but they had converted it to his room after Sammy had been born, which was a bonus for West, as the room was bigger than his old one had been. Plus, his dad had hauled the old sofa in there and tucked it up against a wall; with his own television, it gave him a bit of his own space.

He flopped down, knowing he probably should do his homework. He had a hockey practice the next day early, and if his friends dragged him out on a Saturday night, the only chance he would get would be on Sunday night when he baby-sat Sammy. As good a time as any to get his homework done, he guessed.

He scooped up a remote and clicked on the stereo above his bed, cycling through the CD's till he found something he liked and leaned back, closing his eyes. It had been a long week, which meant it was great to finally decompress. Between games and practice, school and his chores, it was going to be great getting into the city and not think about stuff for a while, just drive.

There was a knock at the sliding glass door, and he sat up as his mom poked her head around the door. "Do you need me to iron anything for you tonight?" she asked, not coming into his room. She was always very respectful of his space, a fact he was always grateful for.

"No, I'm just gonna wear my navy polo shirt and maybe a pair of levis," he said getting up and turning down the music. "It's just me and the guys."

"All right," she said with a smile. "Dinner should be ready in half an hour." She stepped out and closed the door.

West grinned as he tugged the thick mesh curtain back into place. The disadvantage of the dining room was the glass panelled doors; if he didn't keep the curtains sitting right anyone could see inside, though he had nothing to hide so it didn't really bother him much.

He wandered back to his desk and flipped on his computer, waiting till it booted up as he logged onto the net checking his email.

MSN trilled its familiar warning as Brad messaged him: You get the truck?

West chuckled as he spun the leather office chair his dad had gotten him for last Christmas and sat down, resting his feet on the tower case that sat under the desk as he balanced the keyboard across his knees.

Yep, have to chauffeur the kid, but shouldn't be a problem, he typed back.

Kewl, Brad always spelled it that way, I got Matt on the phone, we're all psyched for tonight man, we're going to 'phods.

West grinned as he shook his head, They're gonna card us if we bring Matt, you know that.

He's got his brother's id, it's all good relax man. We'll get in just fine.

West shook his head, Dude you're a bad influence on me.

You're a goodie two shoes anyway bud. See you at eight.

See you then.

West shook his head as he got up and fished through the drawers under his bed where he kept his clothes. Picking out the shirt he wanted and the jeans, he set them out ready for when he went to shower after supper. Absently picking up the basket ball that sat on the edge of the bed, and bouncing it once...

"Not in the house!" Mom called loudly, causing West to wince as he put it back on the bed.

"Sorry Mom!" he called, grinning up at the wall that separated his room from the kitchen, taking a moment to flop down on the couch again. He looked mildly irritated as the phone on his desk began to ring.

Reluctantly he got up and answered it, "Hello?"

"West, it's Jenny, what are you up to tonight?" came the pretty voice down the line.

West carried the phone back to the couch with him as he sat down, rubbing his temple, "Uhh, I'm going out with the guys, we're hitting Ottawa, probably 'phods."

"Cool," she said sounding excited. "Mel and I are planning to go, maybe we can meet up or something?"

"Sure," West said magnanimously. "Brad'll like that."

"Oh," she said pausing, "yeah. Well I have to go, I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Sure thing," West replied spreading out a bit on the couch. "It should be fun."

"Yes," she replied before hanging up.

West stared at the phone and smiled again shaking his head. Brad had been after Jenny-Lynn for as long as they were in school. Maybe they'd actually get together tonight but it wasn't likely. Brad would try and Jenny-Lynn would shoot him down yet again and Mel would just offer another sarcastic comment about him crashing and burning.

He chuckled shaking his head over the same old pantomime that played out every Friday night they went out. It was becoming a great pattern, and he had to admit, in the time they had left for their senior year, it was going to be one of the things he missed when he went off to university and joined the army.

"Dinner!" His mother's call had him up and joining the hungry stampede through to the dining room, Sammy desperately racing Joey to get there first, both the younger siblings seated and looking expectantly at the bounty being laid out on the table in front of them.

West stopped long enough to help his mom carry through the plate of pork chops and set them close to where his dad sat at the top of the table. He sat down on his side, facing his sister and brother, both of whom were eyeing the same big pork chop hungrily, knowing that they were both going to make a race for it the second Dad selected his.

West shook his head as he reached out and scooped potatoes onto his plate. His money was squarely on Sammy, she was getting quick in these types of races.

Dad lifted his fork, noting the two eager little eating machines as they both eyed the chop, and he smirked across the table towards Mom, as he speared the one they were after and applied it to his plate.

West grinned, game set and match to Dad; sometimes it helped being alpha male.

Sammy and Joey were staring in shock at their pork chop, allowing West to lean forward and snatch the next largest and pass the platter down to Mom. The two younger siblings responded with baleful glares as they were stuck with the leftovers. Sammy tossed an accusing glare at Joey, blaming him totally for the situation.

"So Joey, need a ride tonight?" West asked tucking into his supper.

Joey nodded as he poured himself some juice from the pitcher, "Can I get a ride to the Rideau Centre?"

"Sure," West said. "You want to be picked up there after?"

"Yeah, around midnight?" Joey asked.

"Your curfew's at midnight," Mom reminded sternly.

Joey made to complain; he was sixteen and felt that a midnight curfew was horrifically unfair on him.

Dad swept in to the rescue. "He'll be on his way home," he said, "and it gives West a bit more time to be out; it's not fair on him if we make him come home for midnight because of Joey's curfew."

West glanced at his mom, she was contemplating it carefully. At least Joey knew enough to keep his mouth shut, he knew well enough to not say anything and let her make up her own mind. She often got stubborn when she was triple-teamed by the men in her life.

"All right," she caved after a few minutes of mulling it over. She sounded reluctant, but she was trying to seem cool with it. "Just don't get into trouble," she said, tossing a warning over at Joey. "And I want him to carry a cell phone when he goes out," she said looking over at her husband.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, exaggerating her concern, smiling as he fished his off of his belt and handed it over to Joey, "Take this with you, we'll get you your own when we go shopping tomorrow."

Joey grinned, eyeing the phone as he ate, entirely too excited by having one.

"No long distance calls," Dad stated firmly, catching the look and shaking his head, "or you will be paying for them out of your allowance."

"Speaking of which," Mom said with a smug smile, getting him back for putting her on the spot earlier.

Dad winced, and she knew she had hit him right where it hurt, the pocketbook. He shot her a dark look as he pulled out his wallet grumbling and pulling out the bills, slapping a five down in front of Sammy, who grinned and swiped it. A ten slipped across the table to Joey, and a twenty went across to West.

"Fill the Bronco while you're at it?" Dad commented, pulling out another twenty and adding it to the first.

"Sure," West replied pulling out his wallet and adding his allowance to it. His dad was only teasing, he made sure they earned their allowances; chores out on the farm, work around the house and babysitting all contributed to make up their allowance. Nothing came free in their house, and West supposed it was his dad's way of teaching them the value of money.

They finished their plates, West rinsing his and loading it in the dishwasher as he went off to get ready. The main bathroom was opposite his room on the main floor. It was an old farmhouse, the bathroom being an extension that had been built onto the side of the house. His father had modernized the bathroom, but hadn't managed to finish it so the walls were bare plaster and bare floor boards were covered with rugs.

He shook his head, eight months and it wasn't even close to being finished, maybe he should offer to give his dad a hand on Saturday afternoon.

He ran the shower, slipping out of his clothes, stuffing them into the hamper as he tested the water, ensuring it was nice and hot before he stepped in. He enjoyed the cascading water as he closed his eyes and let it run over him washing away the day's grime. He reached out and poured a little shampoo into his hand as he began to scrub it into his hair, using the excess to scrub his skin. Soap was soap in his mind; it all did the same job. He heaved a sigh as he leaned against the cold tiles and let the water rinse over him.

He drew the face cloth down over his smooth skin, glad of the development he trained so hard for. He didn't work out in a gym, it came from the constant practice and games, training under Coach Thorburn who wasn't about to let the reputation of his Storm falter because of lazy players.

Finished he climbed out of the shower and dried himself off, wiping the mirror clean of condensation as he began to shave, grinning at himself as he mused about how he would look in a beard. The triple-bladed razor scraped away the fine blond hairs in well-practiced long strokes; his father had taught him that was the way to get a closer shave, never rush, take your time and only lift the blade when you reached the end. He cleaned it off and drew another long stroke, his grey eyes sparkling back at him. He was handsome, cute probably, but handsome was more masculine. A small nose with well-proportioned features and a dazzling smile he got straight from his dad.

Yep, he felt good. He applied some hair product to his hands as he deliberately messed up his hair into the carefully crafted mess that he loved to walk about with. Running a hand back through it he nodded in satisfaction as he tightened his towel around his waist and set off back to his room.

He got dressed, pulling on his loose-fit jeans and polo shirt, checking himself again and fixing his hair one last time as he scooped up his can of Axe. He shook it absently as he glanced at his computer, spraying a little of it down his shirt front; somehow he preferred to do it that way.

He was ready to go and it was still early. He shook his head as he clicked on the TV and waited till he was due to go.