“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 werestiff 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.
CHAPTER 9
