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

“Well now, isn’t that nice,” Jessica said. “Well, it was good seeing you,” Jessica said.

“What a small world, Bonnie exclaimed after she’d sashayed away. “Jessica and Indi went to elementary school and I think middle school together. Right, Indi?”

Indi nodded.

“What was that she called you?” I asked. “Juicy?”

“It was just a stupid nickname from school.”

“A nickname, huh? I sense a great story here,” I said. No one loved nicknames more than hockey players. Most of us were just known by iterations of our last names, but some, like my dad, got something out of the ordinary. Often, when you were the new guy, you were gifted with something that cemented your low stature on the team. There was a kid I knew in middle school who was notorious for getting boners in gym class. A lot of the guys called him Woody, as a result. He threw it back in their faces saying at least he was always ready, which just earned him another nickname—Eveready.

Indi reached down to get her purse. “No story. I liked Juicy Fruit gum. That’s all.”

“Is that where that came from?” Bonnie asked. “You learn something new every day.”

“Should we start calling you Juicy now?” Kevin asked jovially.

“No.”

All of us started at her sharp tone.

“Sorry,” she said, standing up. “I don’t chew Juicy Fruit anymore. Please don’t call me that.”

Now I really sensed a story there, but not a great one. Indi’s body radiated tension and she had a tighter-than-normal grip on her purse strap.

“I like Indi better anyway,” Bonnie said as we all stood to go. “Hudson, did you know her full name is Indira? We named her that because it means ‘beautiful.’”

“I did not know that, but I agree,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders and giving her an earnest smile. “She is very beautiful.”

Coach Keller gave me special permission to drive back to Burlington with Indi, a much more pleasant experience than I would have had on the team bus or in my dad’s Camaro. Even though all the hockey equipment was stowed in the storage area, the stench still contaminated the coach. Luckily, seniority counted for something and the freshmen usually got assigned the seats where the smell was the worst.

“Your parents are really nice,” I told her as we whizzed north along I-93.

“Thanks. I think they’re sort of goofy.”

“We all think that about our parents.”

“They were really impressed with your hockey playing.”

I scoffed.

“No, really. No one in my family is athletic, so anyone who’s even mildly good at sports is to be admired.”

“Too bad they had to see me lose the game for us,” I said sullenly.

“Are you talking about when you fell?”

“That and when Brammy sent me the puck and I just let it go by, yes.”

“But that could happen to anyone, right?”

“Not to me.” Not until lately, anyway.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who pouts after losing.”

“All right, I won’t.”

“But you are,” she said.

“Are what?”

“Pouting.”

I pointed to my forehead. “This isn’t pouting. This is frowning. This is pouting,” I said, pushing out my lower lip.

She laughed.

A few miles went by as I analyzed the game in my head. Even though I’d narrowly escaped my dad’s critique, I ended up doing it myself here in Indi’s car. I systematically identified each of my mistakes, misjudgments, and fuckups, along with ways I could have avoided them. I was mired in these thoughts when Indi’s voice broke through.

“Is it normal for hockey players to mentally flagellate themselves when they make mistakes? Because I can tell that’s what you’re doing. It’s like your dad conditioned you to go through this routine after games.”

It was disturbing how spot-on she was, but I didn’t let on.

“You don’t understand. My dad wasn’t the only one watching tonight. Someone from the Dragons was there too, one of the player development guys all the way from San Francisco. Of all nights for him to come see me. I probably would have been fine if he hadn’t called ahead of time and let me know. I would have been blissfully ignorant. I mean, half of what we do is mental. It’s not all just physical. So once something starts messing with your concentration and focus, you’re screwed. It’s all connected. If my mental game isn’t there, I play like shit, which just makes me more stressed and it’s a vicious circle.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone. Maybe a doctor can help.”

“You know I hate doctors.”

“So what? Suck it up and deal.”

I shook my head. “There’s also the extra pressure of being captain. I’ve been team captain before, but college sports are a hell of a lot more intense than high school.”

“What do you get out of being captain? Maybe you should resign,” she said.

“I’m not a quitter,” I snapped.

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that macho baloney. You’d be making your health a priority, something I’m sure all pro athletes do.”

“It’s not macho baloney and I do prioritize my health. I just need to get used to this extra pressure. Believe me, if I have the career I want, I’ll probably look back at these four years and think those were the good old days when I didn’t know what real pressure was.”

“Okay, change of subject,” she said, “you said I was your girlfriend back there…”

“Yeah, sorry. I said that spur of the moment because we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now and it didn’t feel right to say I was your friend. You’re okay with that, aren’t you? I should have asked you if it was okay before I blurted it out.”

“No, I’m glad you blurted it out. I loved the look on Jessica’s face when you said that.”

“Is there some bad blood between you?”

“You could say that,” she said, but she didn’t elaborate.

18

Indi

“So how did dinner with your parents go?” Ruby asked.

She and I were heading to the Green Bean for some coffee before our first classes of the