Chapter 1

Brad leaned back against the wall of his dressing room stall, trying to recover his breathing from the hard hockey practice. He used a towel to wipe away the sweat still leaking from his pores.

The ten-day-long training camp for the Belleville Falcons ended today. Coach Stanton and his staff had put the players through good, hard practices in advance of the final exhibition game before the start of the regular season.

Brad survived several rounds of draft pick selections this year and last, with invited players and free agents being cut from training camp. He wondered if he’d played hard enough to impress the coaches and make the team.

What made camp more of a challenge was that the coaching staff split the team in two for practices, scrimmages, several simulated games, and several exhibition games. Brad and his close friend, Jake Campbell, were placed on opposite teams and played against each other almost every shift. On the ice, they had to put their friendship aside, trying to prove their hockey skills to the discerning coaches.

Adding to the tension was the fact that Brad’s dad was on the coaching staff. This would be Dan’s first full season as the Falcons’ skills coach. He tried to be objective when the coaches and General Manager asked for his input in selecting who does and doesn’t make the team. He gave his opinion on several players and declined to comment on Jake Campbell or his son to avoid any conflicts of interest.

More importantly, Coach Stanton, his assistants, and General Manager were making the final cuts today for the few rookie spots remaining. Brad gave a quiet laugh, looking at his close friend Jake Campbell, who was just as tired from the strenuous workout.

Jake smiled at Brad as he sat beside him and taped their water bottles, toasting their close friendship. Though they’d been competing for one of the four or five rookie vacancies on the team, they supported each other. They realized the odds were slim that they’d both make the team and had agreed not to hold any animosity towards the other, no matter who becomes a Falcon. Brad had put in his best possible effort to make the team and hoped his hard work on and off the ice had paid off.

His constant love, Abby, had reassured him before his last practice. “I still love you and am so proud of you, no matter what happens.”

Brad let out a deep sigh and finished off the last of his bottled water. He exhaled deeply, smiling quietly. He had to trust that he’d impressed the coaching staff with his skillful play during the two exhibition games he played in, scoring three goals and two assists. Jake had been equally good and, in some respects, better than him.

“Yahoo, alright, I made it!” They could hear yelling from the hallway. The door burst open, and a sullen-looking Scott Warren came in.

“What was all that hollering about?” Brad asked.

“It sounds like one of the guys made the team,” Scott said, throwing his stick and gloves down. Brad feared his good friend had bad news.

“Who was it, who made the team?” Jake and Brad needed to know, with one less opening left for them.

Scott’s face grew the biggest smile. “It was ... me! I made the Falcons, and I owe it all to you, Brad!”

“Hey man, you did all the work. I’m very happy for you! All I did was help my friend. I can’t play defence, but you sure can; congratulations, buddy!” Brad went to Scott, giving him a hardy hug and handshake. Jake also offered his congratulations.

Scott was so happy he didn’t shower, quickly changed from his hockey gear to street clothes, and went to tell his parents his exciting news. Brad then took off his gear and headed for the shower. The warm water felt good on his growing list of bumps and bruises and massaged his biceps and calf muscles. He returned to the main room, towelling off, and noticed Jake was gone.

As he was dressing, the door burst open again, and Clark Bertrand stormed in. He threw his gloves, stick, and helmet on the floor, swearing up a storm. “I didn’t make the fucking team!” He grumbled.

Brad looked on in silence as Clark muttered endlessly, quickly changed from hockey gear to clothes, and left. “Holy shit, they cut him too? He played for the Falcons for half of last season and still got cut?” He said this in an empty room. Brad’s hopes of making the team sank even lower.

Brad finished dressing and putting away his gear in his hockey bag. “I thought you’d gone home,” he said, seeing Jake enter the room.

“When you were in the shower, I was called into the coach’s office. Brad ... I made the fucking team! I’m a Falcon!”

“Hey man, way to go, Jake! I knew you’d make it! I’m so happy for you!” He congratulated his good friend with a strong hug and handshake but silently felt jealous of him. Brad did the math; there was only one spot remaining for three rookies.

“Coach Stanton wants to see you next,” Jake told him.

“Oh boy, here it comes. It was nice knowing you, Jake. Maybe you can skin me the odd free ticket to watch you play this season,” he said, preparing to hear the bad news.

“You played just as good as I did,” Jake reasoned.

“You can backcheck better than I can,” Brad admitted to one of his weaknesses.

Brad stood at the open doorway to Coach Frank Stanton’s office and knocked on the door frame. “You wanted to see me, Coach?” He asked, noticing Coach Stanton and Assistant Carl Benson.

“Come in, Brad, and please close the door,” Frank asked. They offered their hands to shake and asked him to sit. Brad looked at the giant crest of the Falcon on the wall above the coach’s head. The bird’s feathered head was framed by spread wings, eyes furrowed with a menacing glare, and outstretched talons ready to strike any foe.

“How are you doing, Brad?”

“Nervous as hell,” he replied, and the coaches chuckled.

“As you know, today we’re setting our final roster and making the last cuts,” Frank began.

“Yes, I know. I’m happy to see that Scott and Jake made the team; they’re both great players,” Brad praised his friends.

Yes, they are, and Scott especially seems to have a young mentor in you,” Carl mentioned.

“I don’t have any special skills; I’m just supporting my friends.”

“You’re being quite modest, Brad,” Carl offered. “You talk a lot with the other players about different tactics and offer them advice, and some do listen, which, coming from a rookie, is quite unusual.”

“Scott was having a few problems that were affecting his game and home life, so I helped him out a little. I’m always willing to learn and pass on my limited hockey knowledge to the other players.”

“Except for one skill, you never seem to talk about or display very often: your ability to shoot right- and left-handed,” Frank noted. “That is a rare gift you should use more often.”

“My dad taught me how to be ambidextrous, just like a switch hitter in baseball. You’ve got to have some secrets. A player can be a teammate one game and your opponent the next.”

“You’re a good friend and teammate,” Carl mentioned. “But it’s time to talk about you.”

“How do you think your play has been during training camp?” Frank asked.

“What an experience! I hope I’ve done well enough to make the team.”

“What do you feel is your major weakness?” Carl wondered.

“I suck at backchecking, and that’s from being caught out of position too often. I’m watching Mike Johnson closely to see how he does it. He’s a good player to watch and learn from.”

“Our major decision about you is whether we send you back to midget for your final year, though that wouldn’t help you grow as a player,” Frank stated.

“On the plus side, you have an NHL-calibre shot that is very accurate, which is very rare for a sixteen-year-old player. You have good speed and hands and seem to want to set up power plays when you’re on the ice during the man advantage.”

“I apologize if I’m not supposed to do that as a rookie. It’s something I did a lot in midget and feel comfortable doing so.”

“Don’t be sorry for a skill that comes naturally to you,” Carl noted. “You and Jake Campbell seemed to play well together or against each other.”

“Jake is a great left-winger. We were teammates in several tournaments over the years and have a healthy respect for each other as opponents and friends. And it doesn’t hurt that his mom and my parents are very good friends.”

“Brad, we’ve decided that you need to progress as a hockey player, and the only way that is going to happen is by being a member of the Falcons. Congratulations, you made the team!”

Brad had to control his exuberance, wanting to yell at the top of his lungs. “Thank you, thank you so much! I won’t let you down!” He vigorously shook their hands with gratitude.

“You can see the trainer for which number you’d like to wear and be properly fitted for your new hockey gear,” Carl said.

“That’s an easy choice. My dad wore number 27 when he played junior hockey years ago for the Hamilton Red Wings. If I can, I’d like to wear the same number to honour him or reverse it and wear seventy-two.”

“I don’t know if that can happen. General Manager Peterson and the Board of Governors have been discussing retiring number 27 to honour the years and contribution Tony Bishop has made to the Falcons.”

“He holds several team records and, as you probably know, already has a successful career in the NHL.”

“Maybe if you can give me a season or two, I can give you two reasons for retiring the number 27,” Brad boldly predicted.