Chapter 127: Modo VIII—Where He Belongs
Modano was not a man who was prone to be full of himself. He always made a point of not thinking too highly of what he knew were his considerable assets as a hockey player. He knew that he was talented but also, having a smug head always seemed to deplete those talents. He preferred to be humble.
But even he couldn’t help but feel smug, feel glorious when he heard that the starting line would be him on right wing, Peter Forsberg on left and gorgeous Joe at center. With both Foote and Blake as the starting D, well it was too much. He knew a starting line up like that was every coach’s wet dream.
Trying not to feel too awed by it, Modano thought to himself. I belong here, this is it, and I’ve found the perfect place. He had to wonder what the other team was thinking. The audience, the audience that had been booing him and cheering for the hits lashed upon him weeks ago was now screaming in joy at the mention of his name. Modano blinked rapidly through the blaring rock music and dancing lights and looked around at the crowd. Then he glanced at Joe, and Joe was looking at him! Omigod! And then Joe smiled at him and, and, and he winked at him! If he could have, Modano would have just fallen to the ice and died at that point.
If only Brett could see that little wink. And Brett was here too. How perfect was that? Now Brett could see him as he was in all his glory and happiness! Brett could see that he had gotten over their past, that he didn’t care about him anymore and no longer thought about that first day they had shared each other’s bodies, in the middle of a stormy.... Modano shook the memory out of his head and took a deep breath.
It was impossible to take a deep breath he noted with some worry. He still wasn’t accustomed to the altitude here, and he hoped that it didn’t show too much in this game. As nervous as he was, his breath was already shallow. Plus, he wanted to make a good showing to Joe, and he would be damned if Peter outshone him!
As some beefy muscled bald man whom the fans seemed extremely enthused about sang the Star Spangled Banner, Modano noticed Patrick Roy shifting back and forth on his skates, jittery as ever. He wasn’t too sure what to make of him. He had never really been in the same locker room with him. He was actually pretty reserved and almost regal in a way until he would lay some funny quip or joke on the team. He saw no sign of a fiend or the villain he knew him to be, but it was too soon to tell.
After the bald guy was finished singing and the teams assembled for the face off, Modano felt an enormous sense of calm. This was the game and this was where everything was left at the door. And there was Joe, wearing the same jersey as him, taking the face-off....
The puck was won back to Rob Blake who immediately handed it to Footer who passed it Forsberg. Modano kept an eye on them as they skated into the offensive zone. Peter dumped the puck forward as he was trying to shake off Brenden Shannahan and it circled the end of the rink and slid along the boards. Modano went for it and immediately felt the pressure of Nik Lidstrom so he passed it to Joe. Instead of shooting it, Joey dropped it for Peter who swung around the net with it, stopped and made a move towards the right. Cujo slid his body to the right and Peter slipped around and tried to tuck it in the empty side. Cujo shot his pad out, however and the puck bounced off it where Lidstrom retrieved it and cleared it from the zone. The fans cheered loudly, already liking the effort put forth by the unit.
Modano gasped as he sat down on the bench, his heart was glugging. There was electricity he had felt it when his pass connected to Joe. There was something there and it was exciting.
"Good shift," Joe had said in a deep voice. "Good shift boys, let’s keep that up."
Indeed! Mike had thought.
As they were waiting for their line change, watching something of a defensive collapse by Skoula and deVries, and Roy making a row of nice saves, Modano felt Joe’s voice near his ear. "Hey Modo," he said calmly, "next time we’re in our own end take a good look behind the glass."
"Oh yea?" Mike said cringing at the sound of the puck clanging off Patrick’s goal post. "Why?"
"My son is sitting there with Mimi," Joe said, "and look what Patty did to him, hehe I think I’m starting to laugh about it now."
"Oooooooo!" the audience squealed as Patrick snared a puck in his catching hand and held it high in the air. The whistle blew to end the play.
"Joey, Modo, Peter," Hartley barked. "On the ice."
The three swung over the boards onto the ice.
"Shit we need more D-men," Peter muttered next to Modano, "We can’t go on like this minus Kaspar and Trep."
"Uh... sorry bout that," Mike said uncertainly looking at the Swede.
Peter smiled with perfect teeth. "Not your fault."
Modano peered at the glass as they skated into their zone and he recognized Michele Roy. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Little Mitchell was sitting in her lap, his chubby little hand shoving popcorn into his mouth. Stark and black, Modano could see Patrick’s autograph on his forehead. That shithead! Modano thought, defacing Joe’s flesh and blood like that. He also noticed that little girl, Patrick’s daughter, and her blue eyes huge and unsettling like her father’s. She also had an autograph on her forehead and Modano laughed. Joey had got his revenge.
The first period went briskly it seemed that way to Modano. There was no score but there had been a lot of skating and lot of shooting and not even a penalty. In a way, Modano had felt a bit disappointed. He knew the media hype there was around Red Wings/Avalanche games and perhaps he had bought into that a little too much.
Modano glanced up at the shot stats on the board at the beginning of the second period and noticed that already the Wings had close to twenty shots on them. Shit! Modano thought, we do need more defense! And Patrick hadn’t allowed anything on that. Modano looked at the goalie as he made another string of saves before holding for a face-off.
He could hear an angered curse from Chris Chelios all the way to the bench and Chelios skated around Patrick. Patrick must have said something, Modano thought because Chelios replied in a way that made Patrick stand up straight and bark something back. He knew that ruse, if they weren’t scoring on him so far then they might not score on him all night. So they had to see if they could get him off his game by annoying him.
When his unit was on the ice, Modano could see Patrick saying something quickly to Footer before the face off. And then Footer gave a long look at the Red Wings bench where Chelios was now sitting. Modano actually felt a twinge of excitement. Something was beginning here; some pot was being stirred.
The puck was dropped.
The Red Wings won the face-off and they dumped it into the Avalanche zone. Modano felt a jolt of nervousness when he saw Patrick dart from his net to retrieve the puck. Why the hell did noone tell him to cut that shit out? Blake retrieved the puck from him and passed it to Forsberg and they began to muscle it down the other way. Modano made one last glance at Patrick. Honestly, he had always thought of the goalie as one of those clowns at a carnival-dunking booth, daring you to use that tomato to drop him in the water.
The puck came to Modano and he kept it on his stick, feeling a body pressing against him.
"C’mon Modo, let me have it."
Modano’s hair prickled at the sound of that high, gravelly voice. He knew Brett’s voice and it unsettled him, making him fall back.
"Thanks," Brett said briskly as he took the puck from him and skated away with it.
Modano felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment until he saw Brett leveled by a check from Footer who rescued the puck.
"I’m sorry!" Modano gasped as they sat back on the bench, "I didn’t mean to do that I don’t know what I was thinking!"
"S’Okay," Joe said curtly. "Just don’t let it happen again.
That hurt inside Modano’s chest and he shook his head. He saw Brett slumping on the Red Wings bench, his face red and his eyes shut. Footer must have delivered one helluva hit. Chris Chelios was leaning over Brett, talking to him and then he glared back at them. Was that a slap mark on his cheek? Modano frowned.
As the second period was coming to a close the teams were still locked in a scoreless tie and Coach Hartley it seemed was beginning to juggle the lines. This time he had Forsberg, Drury and Tanguay as a line with Blake and Footer.
Modano leaned forward watching with some concern. As the puck came back to Foote Chelios slammed him from behind. There was an outcry on the bench but no call. Chelios tried to shoot the puck out of the zone but it hit a teammate and it shot back behind the Red Wings net.
Drury was the first one on the puck and Chelios was right behind him. Instead of fishing for the puck, he was leaning his body against Drury. When the puck squirted out Hull took it down the ice, flashing by the benches. Modano didn’t want to look. Within seconds he could hear the disappointed hush of the crowd and the curses of the men on the bench. Brett had scored.
The period ended less than a minute later and as Modano followed the team into the dressing room. He took one glance at Brett, just one and he saw that smug look on his face as they made brief eye contact. It hurt him too much for words.
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