Page 3 of Josh’s Play

I nodded at the receptionist and looked around the waiting room at the other basketball, hockey, and football players forlornly waiting their turn. It was then I noticed a new face among the damned. He stood out in that he didn’t stand out at all. As opposed to all of the athletic men and women, most of whom were wearing workout clothes in some variation of Hampstead University's maroon and white, this dude was in khaki shorts and a pink golf shirt, wearing two-toned boat shoes, one hue of which matched the color of the shorts. He had one elbow propped up on the armrest, his forearm upright, his left hand and wrist wrapped in a brace.

He was clean-shaven, with short, wavey, light brown hair, sun-kissed in the waning days of summer. He had rich olive skin with a healthy tan that spoke of time outdoors. His legs were slender compared to mine but defined with muscle. He was not unfit but did not have the air of an athlete about him, making him stand out in that room. His phone was propped on this thigh, and he was clearly working to type something out one-handed. Occasionally he would use the thumb of his other hand, scowling in frustration as he remembered he shouldn’t, propping it back up on the armrest in defeat.

He was cute.

I could admit that, right? The guy was cute, Just because I found guys more attractive than women, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t, not if I wanted to make it to the pros. I had been taught long ago that there could be no distractions if I wanted to make it to the NHL. So for the same reason I’d sucked it up and spent an inordinate amount of time in that miserable waiting room and hardly any time on the ice, I would ignore how cute I thought he was and focus on hockey. I reminded myself, not for the first time, that anything that wasn’t preparing me for a future as a professional hockey player wasn’t anything I should be focused on.

The only thing was, there were no other seats, like in the entire place, so I went and sat next to him and just couldn’t help myself.

“What are you in for?” I shot him my winning smile, and he smiled right back.

What did it matter if I chatted up some rando in the waiting room; it wasn’t like I was professing my undying love for him, right? Besides, he probably wasn’t even that way. And yes, that was me thinking I could avoid being that way myself by not saying the word, like some horror movie or ghost story. If I didn’t say “the G word” three times in a row, it would never manifest.

Except the rando with the broken hand’s eyes traveled unabashedly up the entire length of my body before moving from my eyes to the hand he held propped up between us. The look he gave me could only be described as “duh.”

“Right, obviously. Can I ask what happened?”

“I got between a seven-year-old and a wave. Twisted and broke my finger in three places.”

“Wow, a hero! Are you a lifeguard?”

“Nah, just on vacation with my family. The kid’s my niece. How about you? Are you here because of that limp?”

“Shit, is it still noticeable? Yeah, I twisted my ankle goofing off on the ice with my younger brothers.” I raised my leg and rotated my ankle. “Gotta get it right before the season starts, or my trainers say it could get a lot worse.”

“You don’t sound convinced of that.”

“I spend more time here than I do on the ice.” I could hear the whininess in my voice and knew in an instant that I didn’t want the guy next to me to see me that way. I sat up straighter and added, “But I do understand the importance of healing. I get that this helps.” I lifted my leg again and pointed and flexed a few times, my shoelace flopping back and forth. We both watched my foot as I leaned in and whispered, “When I get back there, I have to do this for, like, an hour straight.”

“So are you, like, on the hockey team?”

“Yeah, third year. Goalie. You a fan?”

He looked at me with the biggest, most remarkably blue eyes I had ever seen before as he said, “Never been to a game, sorry.” The small confession lingered for a moment until he continued the conversation. “But it is important that you take care of yourself. You wouldn’t want to get hurt worse. I imagine things get pretty intense once the season starts.”

I shrugged, looking from my beat-up sneakers to the guy's preppy shoes. “I know you’re right. It just sucks. I still go to practice because teamwork or whatever, and all I can do is sit there and watch my teammates practice. It’s fucking frustrating.” I was whining again. I wasn’t generally one to complain, but those blue eyes seemed to invite me in, like he wanted to hear what I had to say; like he wanted to know my secrets. Sharing my secrets was the last thing I wanted to do.

“I imagine it would be.”

I had started to reach out a hand to shake his when I heard a female voice call, “Campbell Ryan,” followed immediately by another woman saying, “Joshua Marshy-Gordon?”

My new friend rose at the same time as I did, so I stuck my hand out after all. “Joshua?”

“Josh.” We shook hands. “Campbell?”

I nodded. “Nice to meet you.” I dropped his hand, maybe a few seconds later than I should have, and we walked across the room together. He was much shorter than my six foot one, maybe about five six, broad shouldered and fit. He strode with confidence, only the bandaged hand he cradled on his opposite shoulder showing any vulnerability.

“Welcome back, Fifty-Nine!”

“Nice to see you, Diane. I’m ready for my foot massage!”

She shook her head at me. “You know that’s not what we’re doing here.” I flashed the sparkling smile I knew everyone loved. I could be charming when I needed to be. It was a skill I had practiced in the hopes I would need to use it at post-game press conferences.

Standing next to Diane was an older woman, and I watched Josh give her a smile just as bright, and possibly just as rehearsed, as mine.

“Did I butcher your name?” the woman asked as the four of us headed back to one of the large, open rooms that housed all sorts of equipment. I knew where I was headed, and Josh and his therapist seemed to be targeting the same corner of the room.

“No, it’s Joshua.” Josh caught my eye, and I took his cue and laughed.