Blindsided: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Victoria Denault

  I make it into the locker room and my stomach sinks. Everyone is in their equipment with their skates laced, seconds from hitting the ice. Even our goalie, Josh, who is usually the last one dressed because he has so much damn equipment, is ready to go. I yank my shirt over my head and toe off my shoes while undoing my jeans. Lex, a freshman who has made a point of sitting beside me in the locker room at all our practices so far this year, stands up on his skates and starts handing me my equipment as I need it. “I thought maybe you were skipping.”

  “You can’t skip practice, like unless you’re legit dying and even then I’d still be here,” I reply tersely and then feel bad. He seems like a good kid so I add a grateful smile as he hands me my pads.

  “Let’s do this!” Coach Keller calls sticking his head into the room and slapping the wall by the doorframe. His eyes land on me. “You forget how to dress for practice, Adler?”

  “Something like that, sir,” I say and give him a light smile that he doesn’t appreciate in the least. “I’ll be out there in a second, Coach. I’m sorry.”

  “Uh-huh,” Coach says and turns his attention to Lex. “Let’s go rookie. Let him tie his own laces.”

  I cringe inwardly as Lex shuffles off with the others. The guy is just being nice so I hope Coach doesn’t take the piss out of him for helping me. Bart Keller is a tough but fair coach and most importantly he is good at his job. He keeps us focused and motivated and he has been instrumental in helping a lot of his former players make the NHL. And maybe he’ll help me if I can get to practice on time. Fuck.

  I get out there as quickly as possible but Coach doesn’t let me off the hook. Even though I work as hard as I can in every drill and keep my mouth shut in between them, not daring to joke around with the guys, he still stops me when it’s over.

  “You were late getting here, you can be late leaving,” he says calmly as he tosses five pucks on the ice. “Twenty minutes of individual stick handling drills, and then swing by my office before you leave.”

  I nod and make sure not to show him any kind of facial expression that might make him notice there’s a groan of dismay trying to escape my lips. Coach has every right to penalize me for this. I suck it up and do the drills. After I’ve showered and changed back into my jeans and T-shirt, I head out of the locker room to his office at the end of the long hall across from the entrance. As I pass by assistant Coach Garfunkle’s office he looks up from his desk. “Adler! Wait a second.”

  “Hey Coach Garfunkle,” I say as he stands and starts to walk around his desk. I hope he isn’t going to chastise me too.

  “I told Coach K not to go too hard on you.,” Coach Garfunkel says in a stage whisper as he comes to a stop beside me. “Told him I’ve been sensing your chi is off.”

  I blink. Magnus Garfunkle played college hockey right here in Vermont but was never drafted. On our team website it says he has a degree in sports management but what it doesn’t say, but he will be sure to tell you, is he also has certificates in transcendental meditation, Buddhist theory and Reiki. As if that wasn’t quirky enough, he’s short and squat and mostly bald so he kind of actually looks like a Buddha.

  “My what?” I mumble back, confused.

  “Your chi. You know, life force. Energy. Spirit.” Garfunkle waves his hands around in front of me like he’s clearing smoke from the air. “It’s been off ever since you got back from summer break. That can mess with everything from your ability to meet deadlines to your sleep patterns to your performance on the ice.”

  “And you told Coach K this?” I ask and he nods emphatically.

  “He’ll go easy on you. Meanwhile, here.” Garfunkle pulls a leather rope out of his pocket and shoves it at me. There is a crystal hanging from it. “This is rainbow moonstone and it will clear the bad energy invading your chi. Wear it around your neck and hang it by your bed when you sleep.”

  “Uh…okay. Sure thing,” I say because I don’t want to continue this conversation. I loop the rope over my neck and tuck it in under my shirt so no one sees it.

  Coach slaps me on my shoulder appreciatively. “Keep it close to your skin, good idea.”

  “Thanks for this. See you later Coach,” I say not because I believe in any of this new age crap, but I just don’t want to keep Coach Keller waiting any longer.

  When I rap on his open door, Coach Keller is sitting behind his desk and I can tell by the expression on his face he heard the whole exchange with his new age assistant.

  “Sit down. Shut the door,” Keller commands and I do exactly that.

  When I look back up at him he’s frowning. “I’m going to say this just once. I don’t want you starting the season the way you’re starting the season. Late, lagging a little on drills, not quite as focused as you should be.”

  “I don’t want to start the season like this either, Coach,” I say and try not to let the frustration in me bubble up to my face where he will see it. “I’m going to try harder.”

  “Good.” He nods and looks me in the eye again, his face stone. “Now that Garfunkle is taking care of your chi is there anything else I can do? I think my wife has a quartz paperweight I can lend you.”

  He isn’t smiling in the least as he says that and for a terrifying second I think he’s serious but then he grins. The appearance of Coach Keller’s sense of humor is as rare a sighting as Big Foot, so I’m thrown for a loop as he chuckles at his own joke. But I find myself smiling. “I don’t need more crystals, sir, I need a winning lottery ticket.”

  “What?” Keller’s smile evaporates and he’s back to his resting-stern-face.

  “Nothing. I’m kidding. I just…family stuff,” I mutter and clear my throat. “But I swear I will not be late again. I’m dedicated to this team, sir. I swear.”

  “Working on your farm didn’t prove to be a problem last year,” Keller reminds me. “And it can’t become a problem this year.”

  “It won’t be. I promise.”

  He doesn’t look all that assured but then again he never does. He barely cracked a smile when we made it to the semi-finals last year. I stand up as he turns his attention back to his practice notes. I head out into the hall and out of the arena. The day is bright and warm, not a cloud in the sky, which makes my dark mood even more obvious. Cooper is leaning up against the side of my truck as I approach. He’s my partner on D almost every shift I’m on the ice and we’re good friends off the ice too. “Hey sunshine.”

  He’s being sarcastic so I give him a sarcastic smile in return. He pushes off the truck as I approach. “Need a lift somewhere?’

  “Nah. Was actually making sure you knew about the party tonight,” he says and pulls his sunglasses down off the top of his blond head to cover his eyes. “Big one at Delta Phi Epsilon. We’re all going.”

  “Awesome,” I reply and try to mean it.

  “So you joining or bailing like you did last night?” Cooper wants to know and I frown.

  “Technically I didn’t bail last night. I never said I was going,” I remind him.

  Cooper rolls his eyes. He just wants to have fun. I wish I was him. “Anyway, you coming or what? It’ll be fun. Do you know what fun is?”

  “I remember fun…vaguely.” My phone starts ringing from my back pocket and I pull it out.

  “Be there, Adler,” Coop says and gives me a friendly shove as he turns and walks away, but I barely acknowledge him as I stare at the number on the screen. It’s Vickie. Ugh.

  I know Vickie too well to send her to voicemail, even though I really want to. Another guy who works for her told me he sent her to voicemail one too many times and she wouldn’t send him out on jobs for three months. So I sigh and hit answer. “Hey Vickie.”

  “Hey, honey,” she says. She has a southern accent but it’s fake. She’s working on it with a dialogue coach. Normally she has a fairly thick Boston accent. Vickie, like all of us, has dreams. She doesn’t want to run a maid service with half-naked male cleaners for the rest of her life. She wants to be a voiceov
er actor. “How’d last night go?”

  I think back to the job I did last night. Two middle-aged women who shared a small house in Plattsburgh, New York. They were typical. They kept giggling and insisting they’d never done this before. But then one of them said how cute the costume idea was and asked when that started, meaning they knew not all the Manly Maids wore costumes to disguise themselves. Still, they were harmless. “Good. Fine.”

  “Awesome. Now, sugar, I need you to get me out of a little pickle this afternoon,” Vickie says and I want to groan but I don’t. Plattsburgh was over an hour away and the job last night had taken two and a half hours. I hadn’t gotten home until way late. I don’t take local gigs because I don’t want people to find out about this little side hustle, and I didn’t feel like another long drive to clean toilets in my undies. But I also can’t afford to say no to work. “Before you say no, I’m willing to pay you twenty-two an hour for this one.”

  “What? Why?” I ask, confused. “And also, I’ll take it.”

  Vickie already paid us well. Twenty bucks an hour, and she included commuting time. “Because I’m desperate, Tate. This client booked last week and Vinnie was all set to handle it but he ate bad mussels or something last night and he swears he can’t leave his bathroom now. Everyone else is booked except you.”

  “Okay…” I’ve helped Vickie out of scheduling jams before and there’s never been a pay bump so there’s more to the story. “When and where?”

  “Five o’clock tonight. 10 Greene Street,” Vickie says and pauses dramatically before adding. “Burlington.”

  And that’s why she wants to pay me so much. “I can’t ever do Burlington, Vickie. I told you.”

  “I know. I know. But I’m desperate,” Vickie whines. “And it’s only one gig, Tate. One time. And you wear a costume. There’s no way anyone will recognize you. And even if they become repeat customers, I swear I won’t ask you to work there again. Even if they ask for you specifically. I promise.”

  “Vickie I want to help and I need the money it’s just that I can’t. If anyone recognizes me I’m screwed in ways I can’t even begin to explain,” I reply. I told her my parents were religious zealots and would disown me. Vickie doesn’t know I’m a hockey player and I want to keep it that way. And she has no clue I’m on a full scholarship and that the rules for the scholarship indicate that we are only allowed to work part-time at an on-campus job. I figured the less people who know my secret the better.

  “I’ll pay you twenty-four an hour,” Vickie replies. “And I’ll give you my new client in St. Johnsbury. Twice a month. Vince covered it once already and says she tips like forty bucks every time. She’s yours exclusively if you take this, just this once.”

  I shouldn’t. It’s risky but damn…the money is too good to pass up. “Just this once, Vickie.”

  “Thank you, stud,” Vickie says and repeats the address before hanging up.

  I hang up and close my eyes, rubbing my forehead. I really hope I don’t live to regret this.

  3

  Maggie

  “Who left all the pots in the sink covered in…” I stop mid-yell and stare at the crusty orange-ish gunk covering one of the three pots in the sink. “I don’t know what this is.”

  “Jasmyn was playing around with a homemade marmalade recipe,” Daisy replies as she walks into our tiny kitchen carrying a square Tupperware she’s eating cereal out of because there’re probably no clean bowls.

  “We are heathens,” I announce and sigh as I drop the pot back into the sink, which is filled to the brim with dirty dishes. “When is Caroline hiring that cleaning service?”

  “She left it in my hands,” Daisy replies as she shovels another spoonful of Cap’n Crunch into her mouth and sits in one of the chairs at the tiny bistro table in the corner, which is currently covered in junk mail and books. “I’ve hired someone. They’re coming this evening.”

  “Aren’t people supposed to tidy up before their maid comes?” I ask but Daisy shakes her head, her copper hair shimmying around her shoulders.

  “That’s for people who have shame. We do not,” Daisy says with a grin.

  I actually am embarrassed that we’ve let our rental get so out of control. Just not embarrassed enough to clean it. When we all first moved in together in July, I tried. Daisy, our mom and I were doing everything at the farm all summer because Dad was still recovering from his stroke and my uncles were too busy with their own business. I was exhausted every single day but I would still get home from ten hours at the farm and scrub the toilets, mop the floors and do the dishes. When I got completely fed-up with that, I made a schedule for everyone else to help but no one is following it and I refuse to do it all alone again, so here we are with stains on our countertops and rings around our toilet bowls and dust bunnies in our hallways. But then our roommate Caroline’s dad dropped in for a spontaneous visit last week and was horrified. He said he would give her a monthly stipend specifically for a cleaning person. Thank God for a rich roommate who is also a really great, albeit messy, friend.

  “When does the maid get here?” I ask as I give up on the idea of cooking something and walk over to the cupboard and pull out a bag of tortilla chips. Daisy smiles. I stop midway to the fridge to retrieve the jar of salsa. “What?”

  “Nothing. The cleaner will be here at five. You’re home right?” Daisy says and she’s still smiling in that way she smiled when we were six and she put a grasshopper in my bed.

  “Yeah…why?”

  “I just want us all here…to supervise.” Daisy shrugs and finishes her cereal. She leaves the Tupperware on a pile of mail and walks out of the kitchen.

  “Weirdo,” I mutter and grab the salsa from the fridge. I take it and the chips to my room. I hate eating in my room but at this point, it’s the cleanest place in the house. Although I refuse to clean up after Caroline, Jasmyn and Daisy, I do clean up after myself.

  I walk down the long hall, wide wood floorboards creaking as I go, to my room at the front of the apartment. We picked cards for rooms. I scored the highest card so I scored the biggest room. It’s like winning the lottery in this quirky third story apartment in a building built in the eighteen hundreds. It has a teeny but private bathroom attached and a door to the large balcony that fronts the apartment. The other bedrooms are at the back and side, so if my roomies want balcony access they have to go through the door off the living room, which is next to my room.

  I open the door and immediately relax. I love my room in all its quirky but clean glory. I open the door to the balcony and admire my flowers and plants for a second. I covered our balcony with flower pots and boxes of them hanging on the railing. Jasmyn attached a bunch of tiny pots to the wall with herbs. We bought some brightly colored plastic bucket chairs that are cheap but comfy. It is an oasis. I would love to sit out there right now and relax, but instead I walk over to my desk and crack open the salsa and dip a chip in as I flip open my laptop. I should be reading an assignment for my Sustainable Business Strategies class, but I am still stewing about not getting a booth at the farmer’s market and want to brainstorm other moneymaking ideas.

  When I told Daisy the whole story about Clyde she was equal parts amused and miffed.

  “I was flirting with Hank. He works at Biscuit in the Basket now because the Adlers let him go. Not enough money for staff and he says a big chunk of their crop tanked again this year. They’ll forfeit that booth before the end of the fall season and we can snag it up,” she had said. Hank was five years older than me and had been a farmhand with the Adlers since he was in high school. He had a thing for Daisy and probably wouldn’t lie to her. But still, I couldn’t rely on their perpetual bad luck.

  “Tate said he’d use the booth to sell his body before he lets us take it over,” I had replied.

  “Gosh I hope Clyde got a good left hook in. I hate the Adlers,” Daisy had grumbled.

  “George had a bruise on his face but Clyde’s gonna have a black eye,” I told her. �
�And he had the nerve to blame it on me. He said if I really wanted to prove I should take over the farm, I should make it a priority and I should have been the one to go down to city hall and reserve the spot.”

  “He’s gonna sell it,” Daisy predicted sadly. “He is just looking for any excuse he can because he cares more about money than family.”

  Daisy was probably right, which was why figuring out a backup plan took precedence over my schoolwork. Clyde had been threatening to sell the farm for a while now, which had Daisy and me both terrified and angry. My mom and dad raised us there, they dedicated their lives to it, as our two uncles had as well, and Daisy and I were actually planning to do the same. The last couple of years, we’ve all spent more time and energy than we should trying to convince Clyde to let us take it over. So now that we don’t have the fall market, I have to figure out how to off-load our honey and cheeses. The stores we are currently selling to don’t need larger supplies at the moment so I start contacting new ones via their websites.

  I finished the entire jar of salsa and am in the middle of applying for a booth for a weekend fair in Upstate New York when the buzzer for the front door squeals through the apartment.

  “The maid is here! I’ll buzz him up!” Daisy hollers, way too excitedly. I chuckle as I crumple up the now empty chip bag. Suddenly there is a knock on my open door and I turn and see Daisy, Caroline and Jasmyn staring at me with grins so big they’re almost scary.

  “What?”

  “Go get the door!” Daisy demands.

  “I thought you let her in?”

  “I buzzed them up but someone still has to let them into the apartment,” Daisy explains and bounces a little. “We want you to do it.”

  “Why don’t you get it?” I ask and the hair on the back of my neck starts to rise. Something is up. I don’t know what, but I don’t like it.