Disclaimer: Mine. Everything is the intellectual property of me, except the Western Hockey League. There is no Slave Lake Pilots WHL team, but there is a place called Slave Lake. I don't own it.
Summary: Jamie and Gordie bond over NHL Centre Ice, and Trent and Heather get into a sticky situation.
Notes: Was a bit unsure as to whether or not Canadian youth would call them RCMPs or mounties, so I went with the generic 'cops'.
Rating: R for violence and language
Chapter 3: Gordie
"Wasn't she weird?" Trent asked, when all three of us piled into his car to go home. "I keep telling Heather not to let her tag along, but she insists..."
"Trent! Don't be rude!" Heather snapped, removing her mittens and holding her hands over the heat vent. "Jamie's my best friend."
"No accounting for taste, eh Heath?" Trent grinned at her and tousled her blonde curls.
Heather wasn't amused. "Don't be an ass."
"Sorry, Heather," I chuckled, "it's not in Trent's nature not to be an ass."
Trent scowled, taking a swing at my head. "Come on, Gordie. You couldn't possibly be interested in that wildebeest Jamie," he snickered.
Heather opened up her pink satin purse and pulled out a compact, flipping it open to study her appearance. Pursing her lips, she sighed, "Jamie's not a wildebeest. You obviously didn't think so when you went out with her last year."
Trent stiffened behind the wheel, visbily. "Shut up, Heather."
Trent and Jamie? What the...? "You went out with Jamie?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
Trent shot Heather a nasty glare, hand poised over the ignition, keys dangling from his fingers. "You stupid fucking bitch," he hissed, "I can't believe you - "
"Trent, just - what's she talking about?" I asked, intrigued now, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Trent cast another scathing glance at Heather before turning in his seat to face me. His dark eyes sparked with a dangerous fire. "Last year, I met Jamie after a game... We went out for a bit, and then she introduced me to Heather," he said, with an awlward, jerky shrug. "End of story."
"Not exactly," Heather cut in, opening the door and stepping out. "I'm going to find Jamie." Heather stormed back for the Ducharme house, her gait strong, determined and angry, her blonde curls bouncing.
"Stupid bitch." Trent slammed a fist against the steering wheel. "Stupid fucking - "
"Why are you so bent out of shape over Jamie," I asked, with a shrug.
"It's a long story, Gordie," he snapped, leaning back in his seat. "Fuck this... Fuck Heather." He threw open the car door and stepped out. "I'm going to get wasted. You can find your own way home."
I started back into Riley's house. By now, a lot of the party-goers had fallen into alcoholic stupors. Two blonde girls in skimpy outfits were strewn over his couch, and a skinny kid in a toque was curled up on a loveseat. Various other kids were stumbling about Ducharme's place, glassy eyed zombies.
Sighing, I found the only 2 liter of Diet Coke and settled in the empty den with the family's new 50' flat-screen television.
"Modano passes off to Zubov; Zubov fires on Osgood - "
"He scores! Sundin, fifteen seconds into overtime - "
"Turek makes the save and covers up for the whistle - "
The door opened and Heather's friend Jamie poked her head in. "Hey, Gordie. What're you up to?" She stepped into the dimly lit den and shut the door behind her, gently.
"Nothing, just checking out the games on Riley's NHL Centre Ice," I said, patting an empty spot next to me. "Wanna join me?"
Jamie shrugged, settling next to me on the sofa. "Oilers playing?"
"Not tonight," I said, skipping through the channels. "Flames are, though. Losing to Boston 3-0 too."
Jamie laughed, shaking her head, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "Oh, the Flames? They suck," she chuckled, grinning. "I'm a born-and-bred Oilers fan."
I couldn't help but smile back at her. "I'm a Flames fan."
Jamie laughed and balled her hands into fists. "I think those are fightin' words, Gordie."
"You sure you want to take me on? I lead the Pilots in PIMs," I joked, putting the remote down on the coffee table.
"Are you sure you want to take me on?" Jamie countered, arching an eyebrow at me, putting her stockinged feet up on the table. "I've handled boys much larger than yourself."
"Like Trent?" I rolled my eyes.
"What? What about Trent?" Jamie dropped her hands into her lap and stared at me with this cold, clinical gaze, her playful mood gone just like that.
What had Trent done to her? I wondered. "Heather said something about you and Trent," I began to backpedal, furiously. "It was nothing... I mean..."
"What did she say?" Jamie asked, folding her arms underneath her breasts, like she was trying to pull herself out of her own body.
"She just mentioned that Trent had gone out with you before he met her," I stammered, surprised by her sudden behavior.
Jamie sighed. "He would say that, wouldn't he?" she snapped, turning her head, her long brown hair hiding her face. "He's such an asshole... I don't understand what she sees in him... She has to know he's fucking every groupie that crosses his path... She just - he just..." Jamie's voice died off in her throat and she covered her face with her hands.
I moved closer to her on the couch and brushed my hand against her elbow. "You want to talk about it?" I asked, gently.
"Not really..." Jamie sighed, not responding to my touch. "God, I hate him." Jamie raised her head to look at me, her hair falling into her face. "You didn't really pick the best guy to be friends with."
"Trent's... Trent enjoy hockey, as well as the lifestyle," I said, weakly, as if that explained my friend's behavior.
"You don't?" she asked.
"Not anymore. It used to be fun, but now it's a job." I shrugged.
"What about the girls? And the popularity?" Jamie asked.
"I was never in it for that," I sighed, sitting back against the sofa, sinking into the cushions. "I started playing 'cause I loved the game. I loved being on the ice and scoring goals, and setting them up... I never did it for the money or the fame... I never did it to get into the NHL... And now there are all these expectations... My dad wants me to enter the draft this summer... I mean, the farthest east I've ever been is Winnipeg. How the hell am I going to survive in a city?" I paused, realizing I'd been talking non-stop for the last five minutes.
"You're just down to earth, Gordie... The NHL could use a guy like you," Jamie said. She reached out and slipped my hand into hers, squeezing it.
Her silver thumb ring was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, and I began staring at it, intently. "I don't know if I'd be able to make it. Trent would, definitely... But not me."
"I think you're too hard on yourself. If you just gave it a chance..." Jamie shrugged, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'd probably surprise yourself."
Perhaps it was the beer I'd consumed earlier in the evening, or maybe it was the fizz of the Coke reaching my sinuses, but in the dim light she looked almost beautiful. No, not just beautiful. She looked lovely.
I leaned in and brushed my lips over hers, gently, like the touch of a feather. I mean, I'd barely kissed her, but I leapt back as if I'd been scalded with an iron. When I looked down, I realized we were still holding hands.
"I'm sorry," I babbled, raising my hands to my cheeks. "I don't know what came over me..."
Jamie twisted her lips into a small smile. "Don't be sorry. I - "
The door flew open and shattered whatever moment Jamie Polanco and I had just shared.
Trent, his black eyes wide with a fear I'd never before seen, stood in the doorway. "Gordie, you've got to help me. I'ts Heather."
"What happened?" I asked, jumping to my feet, tugging at my sweater hem.
"She's piss drunk and some of the guys from Peace River won't leave her alone." Trent's eyes fell on Jamie for a brief second, before returning to me. "Come on, you've got to help me get her to the car."
Jamie and I followed Trent to the front yard, where Heather was trapped in a small circle of Peace River players. One of them had pulled off her winter toque and was sifting her hair through his fingers. Another one was tugging on the zipper of her jacket, whispering things in her ear.
"Come on, Heather, we know you like us," the ringleader cooed, pushing her jacket off.
"Leave m'lone," she stammered, pushing her palms against his chest. "Go away."
"Come on, guys," Trent called out, "get your hands off my girlfriend."
One of the Peace River boys turned their gaze on Trent, laughing. "There's two of you, Walker, and five of us."
"Don't you fucking touch her." Trent stepped up to the leader of the pack and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him away from Heather. Heather fell to her knees and tried to crawl away from them, but one of the other boys grabbed her around the waist.
"She likes it when I touch her," the other boy sneers, not letting go of Heather. "Don't you, Heather?"
"Let...me go," she protested weakly, balling her hands into fists and battering them against his chest.
Trent grabbed Heather by the arm. "Come on, Heath, we're going home."
Heather wriggled out of her captor's arms and flung herself into Trent's arms. She tried to pull him toward the car, but he remained rooted in position. "Come on, Trent, what are you waiting for?"
"You go to the car. I've got some business to take care of." Trent narrowed his coal-black eyes at the ring of boys that had assaulted Heather.
I stepped up behind him and grabbed him by the arm. "Trent, come on, let's just go."
"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, Walker," the Peace River captain sneered. "Run away like a little girl with your tail between your legs."
"You fucker." Trent shook off my hand.
"Come on and fight me, you pussy. Or are you afraid I'll bust your pretty little face?" the other boy taunted, raising his fists, bouncing on his feet like a boxer in a ring.
Trent charged the circle of boys like a bull, tackling the leader in the midsection and bringing him down, to the ground. He straddled his waist and began slamming his fists into his face. Everyone converged on Trent and the other boy, trying to pull them apart.
Riley Ducharme charged out of the house, yelling. "Guys, I think I hear sirens. I think the neighbors called the cops!"
He may as well have shouted 'FIRE' and pulled the alarm. People were scattering in every direction with no semblance of order. Those who lagged behind were forgotten or trampled.
Trent, a tiny rivulet of blood streaming from his left nostril, his hand clenched around Heather's wrist, gave me a shove in the back. "Come on, let's get out of here before the cops get here."
"What about Jamie?" I paused to look for her, but she was lost in the crowd of frenzied teenagers.
"Forget her, man." Trent pushed Heather into the passenger seat of his car and got in. "Let's get going!"
Sighing, I followed suit and got in, just as Trent jammed his foot on the gas.
"Trent," Heather began to whine, pressing her forehead against the cool windowpane, "what the hell is going on?"
"We're getting out of here, Heather," he snapped, his back rigid against the back of the driver's seat, his knuckles as white as bone.
Sighing heavily, Heather pressed her forehead even harder against the glass. "I was enjoying myself, Trent. Why couldn't we have just stayed?"
I sat back and closed my eyes. The only thing that ran through my brain was that I didn't even get Jamie's number.