Chapter 8
PERRY
Hearing the small crowd that had managed to get tickets to watch the tournament in person cheer for us got my heart racing, and not in a good way. Seeing Evan grin his face off and wave helped a little. He loved people.
One thing I never quite got used to was having randoms standing around the periphery, not part of the game, just there to watch. I sometimes felt like they were trying to see into my head to learn how I did what I did.
Joke was on them, since I had no idea how I did it. It simply happened, and I took advantage of it. My team always said my gift for finding the exact right shot was why we were top of the heap, but if they couldn’t make the shots I saw, my weird skill wouldn’t be worth much.
And make the shots, they did. Almost perfectly, delivering us effortlessly through the first game of the round robin in nine ends. With us up by ten stones, there was no point playing the last end since catching up would be impossible for the other team.
They were young guys, with only half of them over eighteen, and great sports about the defeat. Starstruck at playing in the same rink as the Olympic hopefuls, they were a bit giddy, though still respectful. That didn’t stop the Darren twins from sneering at them and making unkind remarks.
“You don’t have to do that,” Evan said to one of them. “They’re just excited.”
“You’re not special,” the twin replied.
“Don’t think I am.” Evan puffed up, hands on his hips. “Not sure why you think you have to point it out, though.”
“Ev.” I wrapped my hand around his wrist.
“Nah, it’s all good.” He smiled at me. “Don’t need to be special to him, do I?”
I kissed his cheek, because I knew what he wasn’t saying in front of the asshat. That he was special to me, and that’s all he really cared about.
Still, he walked the younger team over to the team area and sat with them until the rest of the games for that round were over. The Darren twins left them alone.
For a few minutes, I watched as Evan chatted with them about the game they were watching, answering questions and even inspecting the handle of one of their brooms.
“He’s a good guy,” someone said from behind me in a voice low and close.
I startled, turning to find Channing standing almost inside my personal space. “He’s the best,” I agreed.
Channing’s smile did unexpected things to my nerve endings, and for a second, all I could do was blink at him. “I like that you say that right out loud,” he practically crooned at me. “Says something about you.” Then he walked away.
I stared after him, wondering what it said about me, exactly, that I didn’t hesitate to agree that my boyfriend was an amazing guy. Feeling eyes on me, I looked up to see Evan watching me, speculation all over his face.
I hurried over to sit next to him. “Hey.”
“What was that about?”
“He was happy you stood up for the kids.”
Evan chuckled. “They aren’t kids.”
“Well. A couple of them literally are. Anyway, Channing thought it was good of you.”
“That I took a side against his own teammates?”
We both looked over to where Channing was talking to the twins, his face grim, theirs downright angry. Next to their waif-like planes and shaggy hair, his height and sleek black locks, half wept up in an elastic made him look like a panther cornering a couple of mangy wolves.
“What do you think he’s saying to them?” Evan asked.
“Does it matter? If they’re not tight, better for us, right?”
One of the young players leaned out so he could see me past Evan. “Let them duke it out. Can’t play a tight game if you’re not a tight team. Gives you guys the advantage in the final.”
“You say that like it’s a done deal. We might not face them in the final.”
The kid scoffed. “Of course you will. Who here is going to beat either of you?”
I appreciated his confidence in us, but I wasn’t about to count any eggs until they hatched. Or whatever.
We played two more games, winning by comfortable margins. In between our games, we watched the young team play, encouraging them along. They weren’t winning, but their third game was going well and they seemed to be enjoying the day.
“They have potential,” Shaw said at one point, between stones.
Our last game had been a quick one, and the boys were on their last end, so we found a good vantage point where we could watch.
“Potential for humiliation,” one of the Darrens muttered as he passed.
“Dude, you are not supposed to be walking back and forth here,” Shaw reminded him. “Take a seat.”
“Whatever. Not like a little distraction is going to make a difference with these guys.”
“That guy is an absolute dick,” Shaw whispered.
“Jason.” Channing had appeared at the end of the viewing area and waved his teammate over.
Jason rolled his eyes, jumped up as the player on the sheet pushed out of the hack, and stomped off the platform.
From where we sat, we clearly saw the kid’s gaze move from his play, to Jason, then back down the house.
His stone wobbled and veered too far right, crossing the hog well outside the twelve-foot ring.
He almost looked like he was on the verge of tears as he stood and watched his stone float away from the play.
On Shaw’s other side, Evan leaned forward to scowl at me. I understood his anger. Jason Darren had screwed up the guy’s shot. Maybe not on purpose, but clearly out of disregard for the etiquette of the sport.
But this was not our game. All we could do was watch.
Thankfully, the chief ump lifted a hand and called a halt to the game, calling the kid over to him.
As the player crossed the sheet, he glanced our way and from the corner of my eye, I saw Evan give him a discreet thumbs up.
“Do you want to take that shot over?” the ump asked.
Again, the kid glanced at my boyfriend, who nodded. “Yes, please, if that’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” The ump patted his arm. “Collect your stone and wait for me to get back, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good lad.” Then the ump stalked off to the end of the house where Channing and Jason Darren were standing, Channing lecturing Jason in an angry stage whisper.
I had to strain to hear the ump, but I was hella curious. “I’m giving you a verbal warning, Mr. Darren. You pull something like that again, and you will be ejected from the tournament. Understood?”
Darren said nothing, jutting his chin out, belligerent and frowning, arms crossed.
“Understood, sir,” Channing said. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Once the ump had returned to the game, Channing and the rest of his team disappeared from the house, and didn’t return until the last possible moment before their next game.
It was gratifying for everyone who had observed the incident to watch the boys go on to a draw for that game.
Not a win, but not a loss, either. The comeback from the interruption to delivering their best performance of the day so far proved Shaw had been right.
They were young and inexperienced, but they had a lot of potential.
They’d be a team to watch in a few years, if they stuck together.
The next game we played was against the team second in the division to us and it wasn’t a gimme. At one point, Shaw’s injured hand slipped on his broom and he nearly fell on his face. Though he insisted he could keep going, we made sure he did as little sweeping as possible after that.
His mishap had the other team up in arms about whether he interfered with the stone. The ump called no interference but we didn’t want to take any more chances. We wanted a clean game, and an honest win or loss.
We did end up beating them by only two stones in an extra end, after which, Shaw admitted he was done. His fingers were stiff and sore, and a bit swollen. “I don’t want to cost us a win or cause friction,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I don’t think I can sweep effectively anyway, and it’s going to start affecting my delivery, so we might as well. Plus if we do it now, we have the lunch break to get it all sorted.”
He had a point. If we subbed him out now, no one could accuse us of messing with the other teams’ clocks, or game times when Darby took his practice deliveries.
We earned every point in that game and all the practice with Darby the week before paid off. He accepted my calls, even when I could tell he wasn’t convinced they were the right ones.
“I wish I knew how you see those shots,” he said to me after I instructed Robbie where to aim his last stone and he did exactly what I had hoped, and curled it around with enough weight to take out two of our opponent’s scoring rocks.
“So do I.” I was only half-joking, since I knew what I saw when I looked down the sheet but couldn’t tell you why I saw what I did, or how it worked except that under too much stress, it didn’t work as well.
So whenever Evan sidled up to me and slipped his hand into mine, I was grateful. It was like a soothing balm over my nerves to feel even that much of his skin against mine.
Tournaments were always rough for me, with the endless need to be “on” both game-wise and people-wise.
Whenever I could, I booked the day after a tournament off so I could cocoon myself in our apartment and not talk to anyone except Evan, if he was home.
I was looking forward to that stage even before the game against the Olympic team started.