Page 21 of Blood on the Rocks

“Considering the Shark is the one taking the penalty,” Katella said, “I’m guessing that the Shark was mouthing off to Alec so Alec mouthed off back, but you know Alec; the guy has a knack for saying the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time in order to piss his opposition off. Besides Gordon Stash, I think Alec is the Gull with the most penalty minutes.”

It was at that point in their conversation that Kyle Underwood scored the goal during the power play, and both sisters stopped talking, jumped up, and cheered.

When the stadium quieted and Henry Wayne made quick changes before the ref dropped the puck at the centerline, the crowd sat down. Seraphina turned towards her sister. “Which one is Gordon Stash again?” Seraphina gently gnawed on her bottom lip. She knew she should know who Gordon Stash was; she had heard his name before. But for the life of her, she could not remember his face or what he was known for.

“The fans love him,” Katella replied. “He’s a fourth-line center and he’s known for two things.” She started counting the reasons on her long fingers. “That black handlebar moustache he sports throughout the entire season and his fighting. He doesn’t ever start fights unless provoked or if one of his teammates is provoked, but, I mean look at the guy.” She gestured at a man on the ice. “His presence on the ice is intimidating. He really doesn’t have to fight to scare the other team.”

Seraphina looked at this Gordon Stash, taking a mental picture of him in order to remember who he was. In terms of size, the man was colossal. He had the broadest shoulders Seraphina had ever seen on any living human being and he had to be at least six foot six at the very least. His wild curly black hair was hidden underneath his helmet, and from her sitting position, she couldn’t make out the color of his eyes. The moustache that he apparently was so well-known for rested just above his top lip like a sun-bathing caterpillar might and it only added to his intimidating presence. Seraphina was absolutely certain that if she threw on Stash’s jersey, it would probably reach her calves.

And just like that, the man known for his fighting got into a scrap with another Shark. Even though she had been watching him, she couldn’t figure out what had caused the fight. Probably some words or something. But soon enough, both opponents tossed their gloves were on the ice, and Gordon extended that long arm in order to grab the Shark’s jersey before getting a couple of punches on him. The whistle was blown and this fight was broken up much quicker than Alec’s. Seraphina guessed it had something to do with Stash’s size, even though the match seemed relatively even.

But it was Stash who was sent to the penalty box, which meant the Sharks now had a good opportunity to score on their power play.

More defensemen than forwards now littered the ice, with Kyle Underwood being the only offensive player killing the penalty.

Michael Thompson managed to stop a potential goal by dropping his body and sliding in front of the shot. The puck ricocheted off Thompson’s chest pad. Kyle moved to clear it, but he didn’t reach the puck fast enough. A Shark forward managed to get it around Kyle and passed it to his right wing who, because of Kyle’s offensive tactic, was left open. The right wing had enough time to settle the puck the down and shot it into the net.

Sam Miller, filling in for Brandon Thorpe, appeared as though he didn’t even realize he had been shot on, let alone scored on.

Seraphina knew that Brandon Thorpe, had he been on the ice, would have made that save. He just saw things no one could possibly see, making saves that should otherwise be goals. And she could tell by the distraught look on Miller’s face that he knew this as well.

“Don’t let it get to you, kid,” Seraphina murmured under her breath. Miller was probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. He needed to keep his confidence up, needed to brush this off.

The penalty ended abruptly, and play resumed. Seraphina kept glancing at the scoreboard as though it might change without her knowing. But it was still one to one.

There was four minutes and fifty-seven seconds left in the first period when another fight broke out. But this time, it escalated so much and so quickly that no one knew for sure what had caused the fight and who had started it. However, it was obvious that it must have been between a Gull and a Shark, and their teammates deemed it serious enough to go out and defend their respective player. Though the linesmen and even the refs immediately skated over in order to break up the fight, it took some time before the brawl stopped and even longer to see who was responsible. It was deemed that Chad Westwicke, the Gulls’ defenseman, and a forward named Tory Russell from the Sharks, were credited with starting the fight, and both were sent to their own penalty box for a five-minute major. Because their penalties canceled each other out, neither team had to kill a penalty.

Neither team scored by the end of the period. By that time, Seraphina was furious. They were throwing away a game because of stupid reasons. Jumping up from her seat, the young woman decided to have another talk with her team because this was getting to be ridiculous. The fighting, the injuries. She followed the tired players into the locker room. Henry Wayne, seeing her, nodded, as though to tell her the floor was hers. Once the room quieted, Seraphina began to speak.

“What the hell is going on out there?” she asked them. Even though the question itself was rhetorical, she looked at her players as though she wanted some sort of explanation. “We can’t afford to have players coming into the regular season injured from stupid fights they had in the preseason. These games amount to nothing; they’re just practice. They provide an opportunity for Coach Wayne, Coach Stable, and I to assess just who gets to stay on the team and who doesn’t. There are thirty-two of you. I only need twenty-four of you. The only thing I’m assessing now is that you’re letting the Sharks get to you.”

She paused, allowing herself a moment to take in a deep breath and release it through her lips.

“I know we’re all upset about what happened to Ken,” she said in a quieter tone, “and what happened to Thorpe. I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: I don’t think Thorpe killed my grandfather, and until the police come to me, proving Thorpe’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, I will continue to support him and I will continue to have a spot for him on this team. But it better be a damn good team he comes back to. Yes, some fans will turn against Thorpe, against the Gulls for our united stance behind him while others will stay loyal. Other teams are going to give us shit for anything they can – our mascot is a seagull, for crying out loud – but we don’t play for anyone but ourselves. We’re the Seagulls, goddamn it. Go out there and play like one.”

Seraphina clenched her jaw. That was all she really had to say. But there were a couple of things she needed to discuss with the head coach. In a whisper, she asked Henry if she could speak with him. After motioning for the assistant coach Clark Stable to take over the powwow, he led Seraphina to a secluded part of the locker room.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Sera,” he began, his grey eyes twinkling in amusement, “when you’re pissed, you make excellent speeches.”

“Oh.” She waved the compliment away, feeling her face turn red. She wasn’t even sure she gave them, if she had any right to. But as the owner of the team, she felt that if she was pissed off, she had a right to let her players know about it. Especially since she probably wasn’t the only spectator who felt that way. “Actually, I need to ask you a question. Did my grandfather ever mention possibly trading Thorpe to you?”

Though Seraphina had her own idea about the answer to this question, she thought she should cover all bases, just in case. Henry wasn’t only the head coach of the Gulls, but he was Papa’s close confidant as well.

“No,” Henry said, shaking his head. “I heard the rumors though, but nothing from Ken directly. Which, to me, meant Ken wasn’t as certain about trading Thorpe as the press was making him out to be. If he planned on trading Thorpe at all.”

“That’s what I figured,” Seraphina murmured. “What about selling the team?” It was his response to this question that Seraphina was most interested in.

“That’s the funny thing,” Henry replied. “He mentioned that someone approached him about selling the team, but that he wasn’t going to do it. And that’s all he said about it.”

“Was the person who approached him Alan?” She pushed her brows up. “Did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Henry said, shaking his head. “But it sounded more like... The way Ken spoke, I don’t think it was someone close to him. Maybe an acquaintance or something, but not family.”

Seraphina began chewing on her bottom lip, offering a quiet thank you before she headed out of the locker room. There it was again, that feeling that something was starting to register, pieces were slowly starting to fall into place. But nothing was clicking. Not yet, anyway.

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