Page 4 of Grace on the Rocks

Chapter 2

Even though theseason technically didn’t start until October, Emma and her father pulled into the somewhat crowded Sea Side Ice Palace parking lot. Hushed chanting caught the young woman by surprise and from her spot in the passenger seat, she craned her neck in order to try and pinpoint where the noise was coming from. She couldn’t remember people gathering before a hockey game in order to chant, especially not during the preseason.

By time her father paid the attendant and found a place to park his beloved silver Mercedes relatively close to the large, circular building, Emma could hear the voices much better, and it wasn’t long before she could actually see the group of people making the noise. There were probably only twenty people, but the group was relatively diverse in both age and ethnicity. There seemed to be more females than males, which surprised Emma only because there didn’t seem to be a huge Seagulls fan base composed on solely women. Every other person held a sign that had some kind of clever slogan relating to their cause. But even reading a couple of signs or listening to their chants didn’t actually give anyone who happened to walk by them a clear idea of what they were protesting. One thing Emma did recognize was that whatever these people were protesting about, they were upset about it.

“What are they protesting about?” Emma whispered, despite being safely inside the rink where the chanters couldn’t overhear.

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. He led her skillfully to their section, having walked this exact route many, many times before. “But if I had to guess, it probably has to do with Brandon Thorpe.”

They walked into a small archway where an usher stood in a dark green vest, waiting to check tickets and show guests to their seats. The usher smiled at Jeremy, recognizing him because of his frequent presence at Sea Side. She didn’t even check his tickets.

Once in their seats, Emma turned to her father. “Why would people protest Brandon Thorpe?” she asked. “Isn’t he supposed to be, like, the best goalie in the league or something?”

Jeremy’s brown eyes sparkled with pride. “I didn’t actually expect you to know that,” he teased, but his admiration was detectable in his voice. Before his daughter could come up with some sort of retort, he continued. “From what I hear, Brandon Thorpe is an unofficial suspect in Ken Brown’s death. And before you ask me why, Thorpe hasn’t exactly been shy about asking for more money before extending his contract with the Gulls. And I don’t think Ken was going to give him that money.”

“Why not?” Emma asked. “He’s the best at what he does, isn’t he?”

“Yeah he is,” her father agreed, nodding his head. “But Ken didn’t care only about a player’s performance. He cared about a player’s attitude, too. Maybe even more than performance. I can’t tell you from personal experience about Thorpe’s attitude, but he’s played for the Gulls for three years and besides going to every home game, we’ve been to every Gulls charity event, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a conversation with him besides a brief introduction.”

“So the people outside are protesting the fact that he’s playing tonight given that he could be a suspect in this case, even though the police haven’t actually said that Ken was murdered?” Emma’s voice was doubtful. “Isn’t that like saying he’s guilty without even looking at the evidence, giving him a trial, that sort of thing?”

“That’s exactly what it’s like,” Jeremy said. “But you’d be surprised, honey, how quickly people come to conclusions about others without letting them share their side. Especially people suspected of committing a crime.”

If anyone knew that point, it was her father. As a lawyer defending major corporations, Emma was certain her father was ostracized by people who knew about what he did for a living and probably even by some of his peers. When Emma asked why he decided to go into white-collar law rather than something like criminal law, he told her that he was well-aware that big businesses weren’t popular, and there was a good reason for this, but it didn’t mean that every single last one was bad, and if it meant that he’d have to defend a bunch of bad ones in order to reach that good one, then he would do it. Emma knew her father wasn’t the most popular person because of his job, but he seemed to enjoy it. And she wouldn’t lie; he got paid well which allowed her to live the lifestyle she was used to and liked.

Before they were able to resume their conversations, the lights in the stadium dimmed and an enthusiastic voice over the loudspeaker announced the Sea Gulls. Because it was a home game, the team was decked out in their navy blue jerseys with white lettering and subtle, dark red outlines. They skated with ease and grace, making it look so much easier than it really was. Instead of burying her nose inside the book she brought with her like she normally would have, she decided to watch for a moment. Just for a bit.

Completely beyond her capacity of control, Emma’s eyes managed to catch onto Kyle’s skating form. She thought she heard the announcer say Kyle would be starting. His hair was pushed underneath the black helmet clipped underneath his chin though strawberry blond strands stuck out here and there. The pads underneath his clothing made his shoulders and torso look bigger than he really was, which greatly contrasted with the size of Kyle’s head and caused Emma to smile in amusement.

The three forwards lined up in the center of the ice, against the opposing team, the Phoenix Panthers. And just like that, the referees, in helmets and ice skates as well, started the game and skated out of the way.

Emma was close to the glass, only four rows from it. There weren’t many people around her, and she figured that that had to do with the fact that the season had yet to start. She actually preferred it this way; she could see so clearly in front of her and she didn’t have to worry about people standing up and being obnoxious. After a couple of minutes, one of the referees blew his whistle, causing the game to stop.

“What happened?” Emma asked her father while keeping her eyes in front of her.

“Icing,” her father replied, too entranced in the game to look at his daughter. “It means that one of our guys was in the neutral zone and shot it past the two red lines, the last one being where the goaltender is located, and nobody touched it. But if Peters had cleared it while being in our zone, icing wouldn’t be called.”

Emma didn’t fully understand why clearing it was such a big deal, but she decided not to ask. As much as her father knew about hockey, she didn’t think he’d know the answer to this question, either.

When Kyle was off the ice, Emma focused her attention on Brandon Thorpe. He had stretched before the game, his fingers – encased in thick, white gloves – touching the ice as he bent one knee and extended the other and then switched. He took his stick, thicker and shorter than a regular hockey stick, and traced it on the ice in the form of a crescent moon before kneeling forward. Even she could feel the focused tension brimming from the player and he was a good deal away. His mask fit his head completely, almost as though it molded to his head, and though Emma couldn’t make out the designs completely, she thought she saw darker forms of seagulls decorating the white plaster. It protected his face – Emma couldn’t detect a poignant facial feature besides his eyes, but even here, she wasn’t sure of the color – and made it seem smaller than it really was. She didn’t want to believe it fully, but someone with that much intensity could possibly commit a murder, if he was angry enough.

Maybe she could understand why those people were protesting him playing; watching him – a guy who could have possibly killed an old man – almost felt like she conspired to have Ken Brown killed, too. Like she supported it.

Then she reminded herself that perhaps she, too, was making a quick judgment about him. Maybe he didn’t do it.

Whether he did it or not, Emma couldn’t deny that Brandon Thorpe was good. He made saves she thought were impossible. Every time he did, fans, both supporting Phoenix and Newport, started to boo. Almost to the point of distraction.

As a result, she couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. Emma had no idea how he managed to keep his cool throughout the entire first period; if Emma had been in his place, she probably either would have started yelling at the crowd or skating off – well, staggering since she couldn’t skate – the ice in a fit of tears. Yet, looking at Thorpe, he seemed to be totally and completely unaffected by it. Like he couldn’t hear them.

Was that even normal?

It was only seven minutes and fifteen seconds into the first period when Matt Peters, the captain of the Seagulls, began a fight with a member of the other team. The fans started cheering and standing up to get a better view of the scene before them.

“How stupid,” her father muttered. When he noticed his daughter’s curious gaze, he said, “Well, it’s preseason. Fights in preseason are just asking for injury and we can’t afford to lose Peters because he hurts his hand over a fight that has to do with Thorpe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hockey players try and get under their opponent’s skin,” Jeremy said. “Some jab players with their stick – normally goalies, but I’m just generalizing - and some cross-check a little more than necessary. Others throw around words, insults. Since Thorpe is obviously making headlines, Phoenix is probably trying to mess with the Gulls using Thorpe. And the Gulls, they’re not exactly dirty but if they feel personally attacked, they get the job done. What I’m guessing is that Benson wanted to mess with Peters, said something about Thorpe, and Matt felt like he needed to defend his teammate and got into this stupid fight.”

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