Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance Kate Willoughby (read full novel .TXT) 📖

I was debating on a course of action when Bramley said, “You guys better get a move on or you’re going to be late.”

Birdy laughed as he plopped down on the bench and toed off his shoes. “Yeah, but you know that moment when you have one more chicken wing and no more beer to wash it down with?” Birdy pointed to himself. “That’s what happened to me. Had to have one more beer.”

“And I couldn’t let him drink alone,” Briggsy said. “Tha’s against the bro code.”

“You guys can’t drink before practice,” I said. “Holy shit.”

“You’re freshmen. How did you even get served?” Bramley asked. “Were you at the Biscuit?”

Briggsy nodded again. “That new girl, Tina. She serves us if we tip her ahead of time.”

“So you bribe her,” I said.

Birdy lifted his chin. “I prefer to think of it as a pre-tip.”

While Bramley again told them they were going to be in deep shit if they didn’t start dressing, I turned to AJ.

“See if you can scrounge up some coffee,” I said.

AJ finished tying his skate. “On it.” He took off as I reached out, snatched up someone’s Axe body spray and spritzed the beer-guzzling lunkheads.

“Hey! What the…?” Birdy exclaimed.

“You smell like a biergarten,” I said. “Get dressed. Fast. If you’re late, you’re going to call attention to yourselves and believe me you do not want Keller to find out you were drinking before practice.”

Some of the team had already left the room, but most stayed behind to watch the drama.

“If Coach finds out,” I went on, “you’ll be sitting out three, maybe four games.” I turned to Bramley, who shrugged.

“Maybe more than that,” he said. “Depending on your blood-alcohol level. He has a Breathalyzer, you know, and I saw him make a guy breathe into it once in front of the whole team. Worse, if you’re under twenty-one, he calls your parents.”

I was pretty sure Bramley was pulling all this out of his ass, but I didn’t say anything, especially when it seemed to work. Gone was their “I don’t give a shit” attitude. They were all business now.

AJ came back with two lukewarm cups of coffee just as they were pulling their jerseys on.

“Drink that while Brammy and I lace you up.”

About ninety seconds later, I checked the clock on the wall. We had one minute. That wasn’t enough to get to the ice. You can only walk so fast wearing skates.

As they sprinted toward the door, I said, “Hold on,” and hustled over to the clock on the wall where I turned the hand back three minutes.

“What are you…?” AJ asked.

“Never mind. Just act as if nothing’s wrong. Walk at normal speed. Let me and Brammy do the talking.” I turned to Brammy. “Follow my lead.”

Coach Keller didn’t look happy when we passed through the gate onto the ice.

“Nice of you to join us, gentlemen.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, all innocent like.

“You’re late. When the little hand is on the five and the big hand is on the twelve, that means your asses need to be on the ice.”

“Sorry, Coach. We’re right on time according to the clock in the locker room.” I inclined my head in that direction.

Bramley backed me up. “Yeah, Coach. Go look. We’re right on time.”

I couldn’t tell if Coach believed me or not, but I had never given him any reason not to trust me.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Coach Keller called out to one of the equipment guys to check the clock and adjust it if it needed adjusting, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

Ironically, after practice, we went to the Biscuit in the Basket—the scene of the crime. AJ didn’t feel like cooking so he convinced Birdy and Briggsy—or the Brewski Brothers, as they’d been dubbed—to buy him, Bramley and me dinner. More sober now, they realized we’d saved their asses and wanted to show their appreciation, and I wanted to tell the manager, Kippy, his new hire was jeopardizing his liquor license. Win win.

The Biscuit was a homey place. In fact, table seventeen—a long high table with about twenty stools around it—was usually ours. The wood-paneled walls were covered with photographs of Burlington U’s sports teams through the decades.

I got a double order of their whiskey maple chicken wings, cole slaw, fries and a pitcher of beer that was obviously off limits to Birdy and Briggsy.

“That was a pretty slick move, Forts,” AJ said. “That thing with the clock.”

“I hate to say it, but I have to agree,” Bramley said.

I lifted my mug of beer. “Thanks. But that’s a one and done stunt. Keller won’t fall for that again.”

AJ turned to the Brewski Brothers. “No offense, but if Forts and Brammy hadn’t done anything, I’d have probably sat back and watched the shit hit the fan when Coach smelled the beer on you.”

Judging from the nods, most of the other guys would have stayed out of it too.

“He wouldn’t have noticed,” Birdy insisted, pouting a little.

“I don’t know about that,” AJ said. “You both looked a little wobbly out there. Especially you, Lord Briggerton.”

“Regardless,” I said, “you don’t drink before practice or games. Period. End of story. If it happens again, we won’t lift a finger to bail you out and no one else should either. I believe in second chances, but not thirds and fourths. We’re a motherfucking Division 1 school. That means you step up and represent.”

“Hear hear,” AJ said, raising his stein.

Jonathan Kurlander, a mouthy senior defenseman, said something I didn’t quite catch.

“Fuck you, Kurly,” AJ blurted.

Whoa.

“Hey,” I said, “I missed that.”

Kurlander shrugged. “I said not all of us think of hockey as the end-all be-all. Some of us are actually here to get an education.”

Ever my wingman, AJ was riled up now. “If Forts didn’t want an education, he’d be in the fucking NHL right now.”

Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Most likely, I’d have been playing for San