3
Indi
By the time I got back to Carter Hall, my embarrassment had faded away, replaced by hunger. In my haste to escape Hudson, the sexy good Samaritan, I’d left my pizza behind and now here I was, still without dinner. But as I approached the suite style apartment I shared with my roommate, Ruby Chang, I smelled something delicious wafting out into the hallway.
Ruby and I had only met yesterday and so far, we’d gotten along pretty well. We both had big collections of makeup. We were both very serious about school and we both despised love stories with tragic endings, like Me Before You and La La Land. But last night had been a marathon of getting to know you questions and I wasn’t ready yet for a repeat.
Holding my scarf up, I made a beeline for my room. “Hi.”
“Hey,” she said. “Are you hungry? I made authentic Hawaiian fried rice and by that I mean it’s made with yummy SPAM.”
Only steps away from the safety of my room, I stopped. Lord, I was hungry. Unfortunately, I hadn’t shown Ruby my birthmark yet. The reason I’d avoided it so far was because she was breathtakingly beautiful. Hawaiian on her father’s side and Chinese on her mother’s side, she was an Asian Heidi Klum. She had gorgeous black hair with a natural wave in it that I envied. Her features were elegant and delicate, and even though her lips were on the thin side, her smile was arresting. Don’t even get me started on her smooth golden skin or her long legs.
“Come on. You’d be doing me a favor. I made way too much,” she said.
When I heard the scrape of Ruby’s chair, I made a snap decision.
“Okay, but first I have to tell you something,” I said, removing my sunglasses.
“That sounds a little ominous. Should I be worried?”
“No. It’s not really a big deal,” I said in what I hoped was a casual tone. “I just wanted you to know that I have what’s known as a port-wine stain birthmark on my face.”
Even though my heart was pounding, I tugged my hood down, unwound the scarf and turned around. If she was grossed out, it was going to make things awkward between us for the rest of the year.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding,” she said, putting down the bowl of rice. “That’s…pretty sizable. Were you bullied a lot in school because of it?”
“I got teased every day when I was younger, especially in middle school.”
She growled. “I hate bullies. Nothing good ever comes from bullying.”
“I agree. It’s horrible and I don’t wish it on anyone, but I like to think it made me a stronger person.”
“That’s the spirit. I knew I liked you,” she said, smiling. “Now come sit down and try my fried rice.”
She grabbed an extra fork and we sat down at the table. Even though I was born in China, Chinese food was not my go-to ethnic cuisine, but I was so hungry, I didn’t really care at the moment. I took a bite and was rewarded with a mouthful of deliciousness I couldn’t deny. The SPAM was like a chewy, salty umami bomb in my mouth. Minced ginger gave it a sharp bite, the green peas added a sweetness and when I squirted Sriracha sauce all over it, it was game over.
“Ruby, this is really good.”
She beamed at me. “Thanks. We eat fried rice a lot at home. It’s easy because you can just use whatever you have on hand in the fridge. It’s great for using up leftovers.”
“Funny, pizza is kind of like that too. Sometimes for staff meal, we’d come up with the weirdest combinations.”
“I’m sorry. What’s staff meal?” she asked.
“My parents own a pizzeria. Staff meal is what you feed the restaurant staff before the rush.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s so cool. Did you work there? Can you toss the pizza like they do in the movies?”
“Yes, I can, but it’s not really that hard. People we hire usually get the hang of it after a couple days.”
“What’s the weirdest pizza you’ve come up with for staff meal?”
I took a swig of water from my water bottle. “Well, one of my personal favorites was the cheeseburger and dill pickle pizza.”
“Whaaat?”
“First, you spread ketchup and mustard on the dough.”
“Okay. You can stop right there.” She made a face. “Ketchup and mustard?”
“Hear me out,” I said. “Ketchup and mustard as the sauce. Top that with cheese and cooked ground beef and bake. After it comes out of the oven, you put lettuce, chopped pickle, and onion on top and drizzle it with a sauce made out of mayo and—don’t freak out—pickle juice.”
Instead of instantly recoiling like she had before, Ruby thought about that. “Okay, actually that might not be that bad. It’s like an open-faced burger on crust.”
“It’s delicious. Honestly. Another fave with an unconventional sauce is something my dad ended up putting on the menu, the Brat Bacon Pizza. The sauce is apricot jam and honey mustard. The toppings are bratwurst, dry-cured bacon, grilled onions and cheese.”
“Now, that sounds like it’s to die for. Indi, where did you say your parents live again? Because you seriously need to take me to your pizzeria.”
“They live in Brattleboro, about two hours south of here. We’ll have to visit one weekend. You can have all the pizza you can eat.”
“That sounds amazing.”
After we’d finished and were cleaning up, Ruby said, “Hey, Indi, can I ask you a delicate question? It’s about your birthmark.”
“Sure.”
“I saw how you were dressed before…” She made a circular motion with her hand around her face. “And I was wondering if your birthmark is supposed to be a secret, because if it is, I’ll keep it until I die…”
“No, it’s not really a secret. It’s just…private. The only people who know about it are my very close friends and family.”
“Okay. I get it. Thanks for clarifying. And for the record, I want to say that I’m really grateful you shared this with me. I think we’re going to be great friends.”
Touched by her sincerity, I had to blink back some tears. I’d been afraid that being so beautiful might have caused her to place a higher than normal value on looks, which would mean that once she saw my PWS, I’d become an object of disdain. I’d had it happen. One of my aunts was obsessed with her appearance, and she loved to dole out criticism about people’s clothing or hair or whatever. She was a mean girl who never grew out of it and although she’d never said anything to my face, I knew she talked about me with pity when I wasn’t around.
But Ruby was the opposite of a mean girl. People claimed you made some of the best friends in your life while at college, and so far, it seemed like that might be true.
4
Hudson
When we got to the Blue Spruce, our teammates were already there, milling around the lobby. While my dad went to the hostess stand to tell them the whole party had arrived, Jason Nightingale pulled me aside. He was one of the incoming freshmen and from what I could tell, a nice guy. We called him Birdy for obvious reasons.
“Dude. Your dad is really D-Day Forte?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I was being pranked. I mean, I knew your last name was Forte, but I never put two and two together—that you were one of the Fortes.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I go around announcing it.”
My family has had a player in the NHL since the day the league came into being. Over a hundred years of hockey playing men came before me, so the minute my parents looked at the ultrasound photo of my tiny dick and balls, my fate was sealed. I was going to play for the NHL or die trying—not an exaggeration.
After we were seated, the guys all spoke in hushed tones for a few minutes, like they were in the presence of the Pope or something, but by the time appetizers were served, my dad had them all eating out of the palm of his hand. He had long ago learned how to make people feel as if they were part of his inner circle.
“So, anyone want to play a game?” he asked.
Shit. I knew what was coming, but befor
e I could think of a way to derail it, AJ said, “Sure!”
My dad grinned. “The name of the game is You’re Full of Shit: Hockey Edition. I’m going to tell you ten facts about hockey and you tell me if I’m full of shit or not. If I win, you each chip in ten extra bucks for the tip, in addition to the twenty percent I’ll be giving. If you win, I’ll put a hundred into your team kitty. Deal?”
The team kitty was a stash of money that built all season. The captain and alternate captain decided which infractions required a contribution and, in the spring, the money was donated to a local charity.
Everyone was down for that. One of the freshmen mustered up the guts to ask for a selfie too, and my dad assured them they’d go outside after dinner and they could have all the selfies they wanted.
My dad pointed at me. “Hudson, you don’t get to play.”
“No, I know.” I’d seen him do this many a time at parties and charity fundraisers. At one high end event, he raised ten thousand dollars with this game.
“And no fair giving them hints. No sign language, no eye rolls, nothing.”
I held up my right hand. “I swear by all that’s holy I won’t help them.”
My dad rubbed his hands together in anticipatory glee. “Let’s start with an easy one. You all know what a Gordie Howe hat trick is, right?”
Rolling his eyes, Spencer Briggs said, “It’s when you score a goal, get in a fight, and get an assist, all in one game.”
“Correct. What would you say if I told you Gordie Howe only did that twice in his whole career? Oh, and no fair Googling. All phones on the table.”
There were groans of protest, but they all complied.
Briggs said, “That doesn’t seem possible. They named it after him. He must have done it more than twice.”
AJ looked at me, but I gave him my poker face. A minute or so more of debate went on before my dad called for a “final answer” from me. I’d been designated as the team representative since I wasn’t playing.
“The consensus is you’re full of shit,” I said with a laugh. Saying that to my dad never got old.
With a grin, my dad shook his head slowly. “Oddly enough, it’s true. The record for Gordie Howe hat tricks is actually held by my brother Rick, with eighteen in his career.”
“Good old Uncle Rick,” I said. Not surprisingly, Uncle Rick also held the family record for the most missing teeth. Go figure.
“Brammy, did your dad score any Gordie Howes?” Birdy asked.
All eyes turned to Pete Bramley, admittedly not my favorite guy on the team. He was moody and not receptive to the couple of times I’d tried to be friendly. I was actually a little surprised he agreed to come to this dinner. Oddly enough, his dad had also played for the NHL. But Bramley hadn’t been drafted. He told everyone it wasn’t his life’s goal to play professional hockey, that he wanted to be a screenwriter, but Burlington U wasn’t exactly known for its TV and Film department. It was, however, known for its excellent men’s hockey program and plenty of their players have gone on to the NHL without being drafted.
“No,” Pete replied, “but he’s a Stanley Cup champion.”
“Who’s your dad, son?” my dad asked. His tone was casual, but I could tell his dander was up. The fact that he’d never won the Cup really stuck in his craw. Everyone in the family knew not to bring that up in his presence.
“Craig Bramley. He won the Cup with Colorado but he also played for LA and Arizona.”
According to his Wikipedia page, Craig Bramley was one of those solid—and I mean solid—physical players who got a decent amount of ice time, a good portion of it spent delivering hard hits. His career reminded me of Uncle Rick’s.
“I remember your dad,” my dad said, nodding. “We didn’t play too often since he was in the Western Conference, but he’s a good guy. How’s he doing?”
Pete shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“Give him my best, will you?”
“Sure.”
“All right, going back to the game,” my dad said. “You all know the logo for Montreal, right? It’s a big C with a little H in the middle. I’m here to tell you that contrary to popular belief, the H stands for hockey. Am I full of shit?”
Some of guys thought it stood for Habitants, but others said it stood for hockey. After a lot of arguing, they went with hockey and got a point.
The score was tied by the time the bill came and we had to finish the game before we left because the tip amount had to be resolved.
“All right, boys, it all comes down to this,” my dad said. “Wayne Gretzky was captain of all four of the NHL teams he played for. Am I full of shit?”
“I know for a fact he was captain of the Oilers,” Briggs said.
“Give me a break, Briggerton, everyone knows that,” AJ said.
“What about LA?” Birdy asked. “Did your dad play with him, Bramley?”
“No, that was before my dad.”
“But still,” Birdy said. “You don’t have any idea? Maybe your dad mentioned it in passing?”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember every word my dad ever said.”
“Okay, guys, come on,” Seb Hunter said. “We can get this one. Dom said he was on four teams. Who are the other two teams?”
“The Rangers and the Blues, I think,” Birdy said.
“Oh, yeah. He went to New York to play with Messier again before he retired,” Hunter said.
“But was he captain there?” Pete asked.
Hunter groaned in frustration. “I don’t know. I’m trying to picture him in the Ranger jersey and damned if I can remember if there was a C on it.”
They argued about it a little longer, but even though there had been no consensus, they told my dad he was full of shit, only because he’d fooled them so many other times during the course of the evening.
My dad laid both hands on the table and leaned forward, a slight smile on his face. “Well, boys…”
My teammates all seemed to be holding their breath.
“You won! Congratulations,” my dad said with a laugh. He closed the folio on his credit card and handed it to the waiter, who had hung around to hear if he was making an extra hundred. He looked disappointed, but I knew my dad would make good on that too.
“Which team didn’t make him captain?” Briggs asked.
“It was the Rangers who didn’t give him the C.”
“That makes the Rangers dumber than shit, doesn’t it?” Birdy said. “I mean, he’s the greatest hockey player who ever lived.”
“The C doesn’t automatically go to the best player, son,” my dad said. “Not to toot my own horn, but even though I was usually the top scorer on my team, I was never captain. No. You need a leader to be captain. Someone who will put the team ahead of everything. The guy who demands more of himself than anyone else, who knows how to motivate the team. That was never me,” he said, laughing. “I’m way too selfish.”
By the time we left the Blue Spruce, my dad had gained a couple dozen new fans. When he gave you his attention, it was like stepping into the sun after a month of cloudy skies. He posed for selfies with my teammates, the restaurant staff and several other patrons. It should have been a fun evening, and for the most part, it was, but as was often the case with my dad, he had an agenda tonight and I needed to confront him about it.
Back at the apartment, I asked AJ if he wouldn’t mind going up without me, that I needed a word with my dad.
“Sure thing, Forts,” AJ said handing my dad the keys to the Camaro. “Thanks again for dinner, Dom, and letting me drive your car. It was great.”
“Hey, my pleasure. Thanks for feeding my kid. See that he eats a vegetable once in a while.”
“Will do,” AJ said with a two-finger wave goodbye.
I turned to my dad. “I know what you were trying to do back there at the restaurant.”
“What? You mean like eat dinner?”
“Come on, Dad. You were really sly about it, but you were trying
to convince the guys I’d make a good captain.”
“I was? Because I’m pretty sure I never said, ‘Hudson should be captain.’ I didn’t even talk about you.”
“That’s because you’re too smart for that.”
“Aw, he thinks I’m smart. And I didn’t even go to college.”
I gave him a hard stare.
“All right, fine. Is it a crime for me to want you to be captain? Christ. You know as well as I do you’re the best man for the job. You came out of your mother a leader. I could see you were captain material when you were five years old, playing with your friends. You would organize everyone into teams of approximately equal strength and make sure the other boys played fair, especially against the littler kids. Everyone listened to you because you had their respect and you stepped up and got the job done.”
I shook my head. “Look, Dad, I appreciate the dinner. All the guys did, but I don’t want you trying to buy me the captaincy—no, don’t even deny it. And besides, I’m only a junior and they usually pick a senior to wear the C.”
“Ah, but the Graham boys have gone to Vegas and Seattle, and I talked to your coach and he says even though that Bramley boy and some other kid…”
“Kurlander.”
“Yeah, that was the name. Your coach said even though those boys are seniors, you’re obviously the better candidate. He could be blowing smoke up my ass, but I don’t think so. Your work ethic has always stood out. I saw to that.”
“You’re missing the point. The point is, if I get the captaincy, I want it to be because they think I’m the best choice, not because D-Day Forte schmoozed the fuck out of them.”
“Actually, son, you’re the one missing the point. The real point—the only point that matters—is that you’ve been drafted, yes, but you’re not in the NHL yet. I know guys who were drafted higher than you and then floundered around in the AHL for most of their career, only getting called up once or twice. That will not be you, not if I can help it.
Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance Page 2
