Page 17 of Josh’s Play

His head still tilted, he asked, “On the final project?” I tried to look in his eyes, but nope, I couldn’t do that, so my gaze traveled back down to his chest. Nope. I settled on the brace, my heart beating so hard I worried he could hear it.

“What do you know about hockey?” I asked him again, trying to focus the conversation on a school project and not on my hummingbird heartbeat.

“Not much.” He sounded apologetic.

“See, it’s perfect. I teach you hockey, and you come to the games and write about it. Maybe we record, like, a podcast about how it’s going, you from the student’s perspective, me from the player’s.”

“Hockey One Oh One.” I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t help but look up into his eyes. Yeah, I was done for.

“Hockey One Oh One,” I repeated. “I love it. What do you say?”

Chapter Seven

Josh

Sure, I had said. Hockey One Oh One, I’d agreed. I didn’t think that would mean I’d be up at five thirty in the fucking morning on a Saturday. But there I was, gym bag in hand, approaching a side door to the ice rink that was propped open and all but blocked with Campbell Ryan’s huge chest. He was scrolling through his phone until he heard me approach.

I was greeted with the brightest smile I’d ever seen at five fucking thirty in the morning. I hoisted my gym bag with my good hand and waved to him with my brace, and that beautiful smile immediately turned to a look of concern.

“Hi?” I had the word come out as a question, hoping he’d explain his change in demeanor.

“Hey,” he responded. “I’m such an idiot. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.” I gave him a head tilt in further question. “I mean, your hand. When you fall …”

“Excuse me, when I fall?”

“Well, yeah, it’s your first time on skates and all. The likelihood …”

“What makes you think it’s my first time on skates?” I swung my bag in front of me. “You know I grew up here, right? I’ve skated my whole life.” He looked at me incredulously. “In circles, around the pond at Hampstead State Park. It’s practically an obligation at the Winter Festival. I’ll be fine.”

He opened the door wide, still skeptical and doing that thing where he held it and made me squeeze past him, my wool coat brushing against his fluffy down jacket. The move no longer surprised me, so I looked right at him as I passed and said, “Thank you,” our faces close.

“To the right,” he responded before overtaking me. I followed him down a long, gray hallway until we reached a series of doors, and he stopped. Pointing to one, he asked, “What’s your size? There are skates in here.”

I gave him one more perplexed look, moved my bag to the front again, and held it up. “Got my own.”

“Wow, okay. Let’s see what you can do, then!” We continued down the hall and entered a locker room. Campbell led me toward the back, where a series of lockers and cubbies lined the wall. He stopped in front of the one labeled fifty-nine and took one of the pairs of skates out.

I sat on the bench in front of the lockers and took my brace off as I toed off my shoes, ready to get laced up. Campbell eyed me with concern.

“Put that back on,” he barked, and before I could do anything, he was on his knees in front of me, holding his hand out for me to hand over a skate.

“I can do this,” I said, but I passed one to him all the same. He looked it over.

“They were my older brother’s. Been around for a long time.”

“Good brand,” was all he said as he tapped my foot and guided me into the skate. I felt ridiculous, but I have to say, for the brief moment he was gently holding me, I felt something else as well. Just like Campbell himself, it was this inexplicable combination of spark and calm. I looked at his hand, cupping my ankle, then when I lost his touch, I looked at him, and we locked eyes.

We repeated the move for my other foot without taking our eyes off each other. I worried the pulse of my heartbeat could be felt through my socks as he lifted my foot like it was some precious work of art, guiding it into the clunky boot like he was threading a needle.

Then Campbell patiently laced up each skate. We didn’t speak, but he questioned me with a head tilt, and I nodded to indicate that the laces weren’t too tight. I watched intently as he laced up the second boot. I pushed off the bench as soon as he was done, trying to break the tension in the air, but he sprung up and pushed me back down, hands on my shoulders.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Where do you think?” I pointed to the door.

He shook his head. “Wait for me.”

“Just point me in the right direction. I told you I can skate!”