Carter's Shadow - 6. Chapter 6

"Way to go, West," he said with a grin. "You nearly beat Matty."

"I wasn't even trying," Matt grinned from in front of West in the line.

"Liar," West shot back with a smirk.

Matt took his shot on net, glancing off of Jensen's pad as he returned to the end of the line. West came up, and drove the puck low between Jensen's skates and into the net, as Brad's ricocheted off of the bar.

"So," Brad said coming in behind West again, "did you hear Coach Highmore and Coach Thorburn had some kind of blowout this morning?"

West feigned surprise, "Really? Don't they always argue?" He glanced over to where Highmore was leaning, his chin on his hands, which rested on top of his stick while he studied the shots carefully.

"Yeah," Brad said with a shrug. "You think Thorburn's gonna fire Highmore?"

"What?" Matt turned, screwing up his face. "No way, Coach Highmore's cool!"

Brad shook his head. "Yeah, to you maybe," he murmured, tossing a look over towards the coach, "but it's still Thorburn's team..."

Matt took his shot, West his follow-up and Brad glanced off the bar again.

"Focus, Lapointe!" Highmore called across the ice.

Brad murmured under his breath as he pulled up behind West again, "He's always on my case. He forgets Thorburn made me team captain..."

Highmore was watching Brad, catching something with those intelligent blue eyes that read people's souls. He blew his whistle again, sliding to a stop in front of the pile of pucks. "Come here, Brad," he called.

Brad's shoulders slumped as he came up to Highmore, "Yeah, Coach?"

"Take the shot again," Highmore instructed.

Brad lined up and took it again, the puck slamming into the bar again mere inches from the goalie's head. Highmore looked thoughtful, as he gestured for Brad to move aside; taking the same shot, in the same fashion Brad did, he too bounced a shot off of the top bar.

"Here," Highmore demonstrated, slowly swinging back, and angling the blade of the stick a little as he did so; a simple roll of his wrists and the same shot came in an inch lower and struck home.

Brad nodded, taking his position again, and attempting it as he had been shown--sure enough it too struck home. He blinked in surprise, and looked at the coach, who was blowing his whistle again for them to resume their shooting on net.

"So he's not a complete asshole," West smirked as Brad joined him at the back of the line again.

"Yeah, but..." Brad stopped when Coach Thorburn emerged from the dressing room area, coming out to the doors and beckoning Highmore over.

The two men conversed a moment, the steel-grey head of the senior coach bobbed up and down as he gestured to the team. Highmore folded his arms atop his stick again as he listened. The team had clustered together expectantly, wondering what was going on, and what was important enough to get Thorburn out of his office for a Monday night practice.

Highmore stood back as Thorburn came out onto the ice, treading carefully with his shoes as he approached the team, Highmore slipping along beside him. The team crowded around to hear what he had to say.

"Evening, guys," Thorburn said gruffly, studying each of them with his typical measuring gaze. "We're going to have to do things a bit differently tonight," he nodded to the stands, where a couple of people were standing, one of them carrying a large suitcase. "The league wants us to do a batch of drug testing..." He held up his hands at the wave of protests from his team, "I know, I know, but the only way we're going to get rid of this shit is if we show them it's just a load of bullshit. Go, get tested, do what they say, and I'll have your results for you on Wednesday."

"Right," Highmore called out. "We'll start at the top and work our way down. Brad, West and Jimmy," he singled out the captain and the two assistants, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the locker room. "You're first; when you're done, hit the showers, practice is over early tonight."

West nodded, and as he skated past he heard Thorburn mumble to Highmore, "Fucking predators, this is a school league, what the hell do we have to gain from doping our players?"

Highmore met West's eyes as he simply nodded in agreement with the senior coach.

* * *

"That was dumb," Brad said as he stepped into the shower behind West. "Pissing in a cup; what, they think we're cheats or something?"

"Dunno," West replied honestly, continuing to let the cascade of water wash away the sweat from the day, and practice. He scrubbed his head again, shaking it roughly as he glanced back over his shoulder, "Why, you worried?"

Brad shook his head under the showerhead across from him, "Why should I be worried? It's all bullshit anyway, it's not like they can actually tell shit from my piss."

Jimmy and Matt came into the shower, Matt as always slipping into the one next to West, offering up a broad fake grin to his bud. "They're going to find all the steroids you took to try to catch me today," he said with a smirk.

"I don't think Gatorade and raw talent show up on this kind of test," West replied, turning off his shower and walking back towards the door to the locker room. "Maybe it's you; all those arthritis pills you're chewing back 'cause you're getting old."

Matt, who was nine days older than West, grinned, "Nine days, buddy; respect your elders before I give you a good spanking!"

"Watch it!" Brad said grinning. "Matty's horny again."

"Dude," Matty said turning with his customary broad grin, "I'm always horny..."

"That's it," West said shaking his head laughing, "I'm outta here."

He was the first dressed, tugging his grey polo shirt over top of a worn white dress shirt that he wore un-tucked under it, layering them in an unorthodox manner as he snapped up the wind pants he often wore around practice. He tossed his stuff into his kit bag as he glanced around to check if he had forgotten anything, hefting the big bag to his shoulder as he headed out into the dressing room area.

The sound of a puck hitting the boards caused him to pause as he walked through to the stands.

Coach Highmore was still out on the ice, speeding around the outer boards as he deftly swept the puck to and fro, lining up for another shot, sending it against the boards, the puck riding round the glass partition as he reversed his direction to intercept it again.

West set his kit bag down, laying his bundle of sticks aside as well as he stood just watching. Highmore was quick, and the way he moved, it was a professional's grace, the kind of skill suited to an NHL arena, not some backwater high school rink.

Highmore came around again, moving with a determined speed down the ice. Even in the restrictive outdoor clothing he was wearing, he still possessed a presence on the ice, coming to and fro as he weaved in to send the puck sailing into the net.

West couldn't help it, he was clapping.

Coach Highmore came to a stop, resting on his stick again as he looked over at the young assistant captain. "Never seen a guy score on an open net before?" Highmore asked, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to figure out what West was clapping about.

"Not like that," West called, coming forward to the boards. "Why aren't you playing pro if you're that good?"

Highmore studied the younger man a moment as he gauged how much to tell him, and shrugged. "I had the chance, I turned it down," he replied absently.

"Why?" West asked incredulously, not quite believing that anyone would willingly turn down the chance to live every red-blooded Canadian's dream to play pro hockey.

"I had my reasons," Highmore replied shifting the stick to his other hand. "I had to choose between school and hockey, I chose to go to school."

"Law school, right?" West pressed.

Highmore drew up and nodded, "Yep, I had to choose, be a lawyer or be a hockey player, I chose the one that would make the most difference. Besides," he smiled, "this means I get to coach you lazy..."

"Coach," West said, cutting Highmore off as he rested on the boards, "can I talk to you?"

Highmore sighed, fishing in the pocket of his jacket for his pair of glasses that he slipped on. "I knew this was coming," he replied.

"N-no," West stammered, "no, I know you want to... be private...about it...but... I need to talk to somebody."

"Right," Highmore said. "Well, you sure this is the right place to do it?"

West looked about him at the arena, its high stands, and the pennants hanging from the rafters. He licked his lips and nodded, "I just need to get this off my chest before I explode," he said honestly.

"Get your skates on," Highmore gestured with his stick. "You can talk to me while you practice your passing."

"But I just..." West said thumbing towards the showers.

"You want to talk, you do it on my terms," Highmore replied firmly.

"Ok, Coach," West replied bending down to slip into his skates, undoing the zips on the side of the pants to let him step into the skates. Lacing them up deftly he grabbed a stick and joined Highmore out on the ice.

"Right," Highmore sent a puck in his direction, "so talk."

Realizing he had his chance, he didn't know what to say; his grey eyes frowned down at the puck that was sliding back and forth as he pushed it around with his stick, "I..."

"If you're worried about how I'm going to react, don't--I already know," Highmore said. "Pass the puck."

West returned the puck across the ice, glancing as a couple of his teammates banged through the main doors heading for the lot outside. He suddenly became painfully aware of where he was, and the kind of conversation he was trying to have with his coach.

"Your move," Highmore said as the puck clattered against West's skate.

"I... shit," he cursed, realizing his resolve was wavering. "I don't know, I'm scared to death some days, others I couldn't care less."

"Yeah, been there," Highmore said tossing West a meaningful look. "It's not easy. So am I the first person you've told, or...?"

"My parents know," West replied honestly, tapping the puck over to Highmore again. "I told them when I was sixteen."

"Wow," Highmore replied in surprise. "They take it well?"

"Yeah," West responded, as he smiled, "Mom thinks I should find a good doctor."

"All moms think that," Highmore replied with a grin. "Sounds like you're ahead of the game, why'd you need to talk to me?"

"I-" West shrugged, "I just wanted to talk to someone else that's..."

"Ahh," Highmore said knowingly, "and you think I am?"

"Aren't you?" West glanced up confused.

"Remember what I was saying this afternoon about private?" Highmore swept around in a large lazy circle. "It doesn't matter if I am or if I'm not, it doesn't change who I am, or the fact that I'm your coach. It doesn't change the fact that five minutes ago you said I should be playing in the NHL. My..." he paused, choosing his words with care, "friend has an old saying, 'What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?'"

"I don't get it," West said looking thoughtful.

"He's British, most of what he says doesn't make sense," Highmore replied with a slight smile. "The point is, one thing doesn't affect the other, so what's the point of bringing it up?"

"Right," West nodded in understanding, "but... I mean what's going to happen if people find out about me?"

"Do you want them to find out?" Highmore replied, studying the young centre again.

"I..." he stopped and realized something about himself as he turned his head and looked towards the locker room.

"I underestimated you," Highmore realized at that same moment.

"I..." West breathed a bit heavily and glanced at Highmore, "Wow..."

"If you do decide to do it," Highmore drew himself up to rest on his stick, "it's not going to be easy; but the simple ability to look yourself in the mirror each morning and know who's looking back at you..." He nodded, "Anyway, you should go, I have to lock up and such."

West had done as he had been told, and was loading his kit into the back of the Bronco as he watched a battered black Jeep pull up outside the arena. Coach Highmore was locking the doors and walking down the steps with his own kit bag as a man in a rumpled suit, hair in disarray and a broad smile on his face, got out to open the back of the Jeep.

West paused to stare; the other man was handsome, no older than Highmore was himself, sleeves rolled up and a sure smile on his face whenever he looked at Highmore. A smile the coach was returning. And suddenly every motion became important to West.

The way the newcomer touched Highmore's arm, the way Highmore in turn stepped a little closer...

Highmore glanced across the lot, catching West staring at him, arching a meaningful eyebrow as him, as the newcomer turned and shook his head, still grinning as he nudged Highmore.

Highmore for his part stared at the other guy in evident shock, as the newcomer simply shrugged, offered up a small wave and got into his Jeep. West shook his head, watching Highmore get into the other side. Was he or wasn't he? And if he was, what did it have to do with the price of tea in China?

He shrugged and climbed into his Bronco, knowing it was time to go home.