Page 55 of Josh’s Play

Oh, fuck. What had I done?

Chapter Fourteen

Campbell

Thanksgiving weekend had been enlightening on a number of levels. I’d arrived at my family’s farm on Wednesday evening to a low-key celebration.

“I know how superstitious you hockey players are. We are not celebrating your future. We are simply celebrating the hard work and determination that sent a Buffalo Blizzard scout to watch my baby play.” Mom may have started to choke up a little there at the end.

I was welcomed home with a group hug and a feast for dinner. My family went to bed early since there were always chores to be done at sunrise, but I couldn’t sleep and found myself downstairs snacking on leftovers of all my favorite foods.

My father showed up a few minutes after me. He eyed my plate of meat and veggies as well as the detritus of mashed potatoes, which I had eaten first, and without saying a word, he walked around our large, wooden country-kitchen table and visited the refrigerator.

“Finish up second dinner so we can start on second dessert,” he said as he put a pie plate in front of me.

I’d been staring at my text chain with Josh, trying to decide what message it would send if I wished him a happy Thanksgiving. I subtly turned my phone over as my dad fished out two clean forks before climbing onto the bench next to me.

Josh had stayed over at the Hockey House the night of my big win, the night that Denny Maltby had come to talk to me. That night was important for both of those things, but it was also the night that I knew my feelings for Josh would overwhelm me. I didn’t think I could ever see him, whether secreted behind a closed door, or in the middle of a party, or in the middle of a lecture on sports journalism, without him, and the world, knowing how I felt.

I didn’t want the world to know, but I didn’t want Josh to know either. It wasn’t fair to him. I had agreed to a causal relationship. Josh didn’t need my heart eyes and feelings messing up his hookup. He was already compromising by being with me more than once.

So over second dinner, I finally decided I would tell Josh I was freaking out over getting caught, that sneaking him out of my room was way too risky, and that I couldn’t be with him anymore. Would it break my heart? I was fairly sure it already had, but it was the right thing to do, the fair thing to do for Josh.

Only, I hadn’t brought myself to do it before the holiday, ignoring him instead, deciding on my own that we would get through the end of the semester, get through our project, then part ways. I didn’t have to have sex with him again; I wouldn’t.

It was the perfect plan: I could say goodbye to him and get on with my life. No distractions.

The only problem with that was that I had been nothing but distracted the entire week. We hadn’t had another game before Thanksgiving, but I was shit at practice each and every day leading up to the holiday. My teammates, our friends, and the coaching staff all thought I was choking over the visit from the Blizzard’s assistant coach, but I knew better. I was fucking distracted by my feelings for Joshua Marchetti-Gordon.

I shoveled in a few more bites, then dad slid the pie closer to me, handing me a fork.

“Right out of the pie plate? Mom’s gonna kill us.”

My dad just shrugged around a mouthful of strawberry rhubarb, a devilish smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

“It’s Thanksgiving, and her baby’s home. There are two more pies in there for tomorrow. Oh, and the batter for her famous sour cream pancakes. She’s not going to notice if the rhubarb is a little mangled.”

“Yes, she is,” I countered.

“Yes she is.” We laughed.

“That was some game the other night, kiddo.”

“You listened?”

“We watched! Sports News Now! III played it since the opposing team is the defending champ. But all anyone was talking about after the game was you, kiddo.” It was Dad’s turn to start choking up.

“You know when you were little, you were so free on the ice. I could tell, even under those layers of padding that weighed as much as you did that first year, I could tell how much you loved it by the way you glided when you played. And when you settled on being a goalie? You had—you have this intensity about you, but I could always see that little boy floating on the ice; he was still there too. That’s how I knew you loved it. That’s how I knew all the hard work and all the pressure you were under, that you put yourself under, were worth it. Because I knew you loved the game. That that's why you played.” He poked a finger in my shoulder both of the times he said that.

“When you got older, I worried you were playing for the wrong reasons. The wrong reason, really.” Dad looked pointedly at me, to emphasize the obvious. “For the money.” I held his gaze. Helping my family had always been one of my goals. I may have been too young to understand what a second mortgage was back when my parents took one out to perform renovations around the farm, but I knew that if I could pay my parents off, it would be a huge weight off their shoulders. Off all our shoulders.

“I want us all to have that feeling of floating on the ice, Dad. That feeling of freedom. And if we can turn this place around, if you can focus on organic farming and not whether or not we’re going to lose everything, then you can float too.”

My dad sighed and took another bite before continuing. “Son, you have the biggest heart, and I know you want to help, but somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing it. I stopped seeing the joy on the ice, the freedom, the love.”

“Dad …”

“Let me finish, kiddo. I stopped seeing it until this year. We came to that early game, and there he was, my happy, free little boy. I listen to the games and know you're having an amazing season. I see the highlights online, and I know the man standing in front of that goal. I know he’s my son. And, my God, Cam, you were floating, flying in that game last week. I think about Coach Beckett from high school. He pushed you so hard and taught you practical skills. But it was like you were getting better at hockey and losing yourself at the same time.