Page 43 of Josh’s Play

“Actually, I have some new news …” I sat down next to Josh so we could share the mic and told him about the scout.

Other than our time spent together in class, I didn’t hear from Josh for the rest of that week or into the next.

For my part, I couldn’t get him out of my brain, and every day that I went without seeing him outside of class, I grew more distracted. Noah had stopped questioning me about him, after I snapped at him at breakfast the morning before our next game, saying that it was just a stupid project, and I felt so guilty and so confused, both for having snapped at and lied to my friend and for having dismissed Josh as nothing more than an annoying project partner, that I had a shitty practice that day.

After the third puck that I should have blocked sailed by me, a whistle blew.

“Ryan!” An assistant coach called me over. I prepared for a dressing down, standing tall at the edge of the ice as if ready to take the hit.

“Off day, huh?” was all the coach said.

“Sir?”

“We all have ’em. As a matter of fact, I’d say you’re way overdue.” He flicked his head behind him. "Go on, get out of here. Go focus on whatever’s got you so distracted.”

Fuck. “Sir, I’m not …” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was my worst nightmare.

He put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “We can’t all perform at one hundred percent, one hundred percent of the time. You know that, Ryan.”

The thing is, I didn’t know that. I didn’t think I’d ever heard a coach tell me that, and I certainly didn’t believe it. I tried again to assure him I could continue with the practice. “Sir …”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Ryan. That’s an order.”

After I’d showered, I checked my phone on the way out of the arena. Josh had texted the words “good luck tomorrow,” along with about fifty images of a hockey stick. My heart soared and I smiled for the first time in days. I jogged for a bit before heading back to the Hockey House, trying to clear my mind of Josh and focus on the upcoming game, to clear my head as my coach had asked.

I couldn’t help it. My thoughts kept traveling back to Josh. I responded to his text with a thank-you GIF, and, my heart pounding, I followed that up by texting: I’ll see you tomorrow.

The next evening, I entered the ice after warm-up to the roar of the crowd. We were used to cheers and support, but word had gotten out that I was being scouted, and our little arena was full of supporters and friends. I only had eyes for one spectator, and I found him in his usual spot, notebook in hand. He was scratching away furiously. I stopped at my goal and was about to start my pregame ritual when the crowd started chanting. I looked up to see Diane and some of the other team girlfriends, all standing and clapping along. “Cam! Cam! Cam!” Soon the band joined in, and before long, most of the spectators in the small arena were saying my name.

I snuck a peek at Josh, who had stopped writing and was smiling at me as he chanted, before I looked at Ethan and shrugged. He nodded and waved his stick. I took a quick lap around the rink as my friends continued to lead the chant, passing close to the stands where Josh sat. I risked a slight up nod and a smile and was surprised when his smile seemed shy. His head snapped quickly back to his writing.

Back at my goal, I started my ritual, roughing up the ice to the beat of the music, “Every Little Thing I Say I Do” by Dayglow. The crowd ate it up, and I caught Josh looking, his smile bright enough then to light up the whole arena.

The buzzer rang, and I put all thoughts of chanting crowds, musical interludes, and Josh’s bright smile out of my mind.

Chapter Thirteen

Josh

Holy shit, how did Campbell do it? I was sitting in the stands, and my heart was pounding out of my chest with nerves. I’d been to every home game, but this might have been the first time that it really sank in how much responsibility sat on Cam’s shoulders. Other players came on and off the ice throughout the three periods, but not Campbell. He stood firm at that goal, looking the size of a house in all his padding and equipment, face focused and determined, following the puck the way I’d followed my niece into the surf, like a life depended on it. The isolation of his position, the aloneness among a rink full of players and excited fans, had inspired me, and I’d started writing an article. I realized it was similar to Hunter’s position on the pitcher’s mound.

The opposing team was fierce, and once play started, I put my thoughts aside, only every so often talking an idea into the notes app on my phone while I watched the Badgers play. The opposing team was last year’s champion, and both teams were fighting for a shot at the Frozen Four, which is a thing I totally knew about after all the time Campbell and I had spent talking about hockey.

I’d avoided Cam since our last recording session. Much as I’d offered to help him out with stress relief, I couldn’t get through one make-out session without saying some stupid romantic shit about his stupidly adorable hair. So I’d kept to our usual schedule: I saw him in class, where we couldn’t help but sneak glances and smiles at each other, much as I tried not to, but I’d avoided him otherwise, not even texting or emailing him with my podcast ideas in the intervening week or so.

Did I want to climb Campbell like a tree? Absolutely, but I also wanted to protect him and make sure he was happy; hell, I wanted to be the one to make him happy. Those were not feelings I had ever had or could say I understood. And more importantly, they weren’t feelings Campbell wanted. He could barely bring himself to want the sexy, fun, touching part, the part I was supposed to be giving him, the part I was supposed to be good at. Maybe the best course of action was for Campbell to be a one and done like every other hookup I’d ever had.

Out there on the ice, taking a pregame lap to cheers from the crowd, or doing his adorable little dance thing to the beat of the music in front of his goal, and especially with a gaggle of grown men barreling toward him, yielding large, scary sticks, Campbell was in his element. Through all the rapid chaos of the play around him, he kept his focus, his calm, fierce, competitive focus. It was a marvel to watch. I had to remember that my confusing feelings were immaterial and not let them get in the way of the man who was then dominating the ice.

By the third period, the Badgers were leading two to zero, and Campbell had made some amazing saves. In that last period, it felt like there was a shot on goal every other second, and he blocked every single one. The crowd around me was going wild, and I stood on the bleachers along with them, screaming, cheering, and, as the final buzzer sang, chanting his name again.

I’d been busy with my writing before the game, but when the final buzzer rang, I scanned the crowd, hoping to figure out who the scout was. There were so many people there to support Cam that it was fruitless.

I drew my focus back to the ice as the teams were skating off in opposite directions, and I caught sight of Cam at the back of the line, circling to take in the cheering crowd before facing me, his eyes almost obsessive in their intensity, his smile the brightest I’d ever seen.

Campbell needed to be that happy every day of his life, and hockey was clearly the thing that could do that for him. After that game, even a neophyte like me knew the Buffalo Blizzard would be fools not to scoop up number fifty-nine. All I had to do was not cause the man any distractions, just like I’d promised.

My phone buzzed.