Page 6 of Josh’s Play

“Let’s not go crazy,” Hunter demurred. “Maybe we're talking about the minors, and even then, you think Mom and Dad are gonna let me skip college?”

“It won’t be up to them, dude. Oh, hey, speaking of college, I signed up for that sports journalism class this semester. I’m sorry I couldn’t make your game today, but I want to come to a few, maybe interview you for the class. What do you say?”

Hunter, ever humble, studied the carpet again. “Sure.” We let the moment pass. “Hey, you should come to the gym with me.” I flashed my brace at him. “Your legs still work, don’t they? We could use the treadmills after I soak for a bit.”

Ugh! I had really wanted to wallow, but I’d been doing a lot of that since we’d gotten home from the beach.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go change.”

I was getting better at my one-handed skills, but Hunter was still waiting for me in the living room by the time I had put workout clothes on. I would have to remember to thank my mom. I may have scoffed when she purchased slip-on sneakers for me but putting them on was one less battle I had to face to get to the gym.

Hunter was freshly showered and back on the coffee table, a phone in his hands, another sitting next to him.

“Here. Mom said to give you this. She’s rushing to a meeting. She also said you have to be careful and not hurt yourself on the treadmill.”

“She does know I’m gonna use my feet on it, right?”

My little brother scowled at me. “Actually, I think she might be right. You have to make sure you keep your balance. Maybe you should use a recumbent bike instead.”

I pictured myself on one of the recumbent bikes, ensconced between two professors who’d made tenure sometime in the last century. For some reason, an image of Campbell Ryan slow walking on a treadmill popped into my brain. He had looked fine on that treadmill, meandering like he didn’t have a care in the world, his muscled calves and thick thighs bunching and stretching, his round ass raising and lowering in slow motion. He’d stood up straight, his back broad but hidden behind a loose-fitting T-shirt. I could imagine him blocking most of the goal with the breadth of his chest. Not that I really knew the size of a hockey goal.

His reddish-brown hair had been floppy in the front but was tighter in the back. At one point, he’d run his left hand through his hair, and that length took a minute to flop its way from the top of his head back to his face. Athlete that he was, he pumped his arms, twice as fast as his legs were walking, the entire time he was on the machine.

He’d been a sight to behold, especially when he’d smiled at me. And sure, he’d ended our time together by flirting with his physical therapist, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about the hunky hockey player while I was completing an equally low-impact workout at the campus gym.

After we checked in, Hunter and I parted ways. “I may swim a few laps, but I’ll come find you … on a recumbent bike,” he finished slowly and emphatically, sounding terrifyingly like our mother. You know I had to call him out on that shit.

“Yes, Ma,” I said, but his phone had buzzed, and he was buried in it as he turned and headed to the indoor pool and hot tub.

At twenty-one, was I old enough to shake my head and say “kids” because that’s what I was doing when my own phone buzzed? I waited until I was situated on a bike, as predicted, nestled between two people who looked older than my dad. I hiked the seat forward, not thinking about how I was the shortest male member of my family since Hunter’d had his last growth spurt. I had Mom and Hillary beaten by about an inch or two, so that was something, and at least Vera was still shorter than me. I tried not to think about how much longer that would last. I had to look up to talk to her mother back in the day.

I started a hands-free, lazy bike ride as I fished out my phone to discover a text from my best friend.

Dev: How’s the hand?

I shot a picture of my brace and sent it to him.

Josh: About the same. Flight set yet?

Dev: Yeah.

Josh: Send me the deets, I’ll come pick you up.

Dev: You don’t have to do that. Are you even supposed to be driving? Kurt can pick me up.

Josh: Fuck off, of course I can drive. You can hook up with Kurt anytime. I’m picking you up.

Dev: I’m not hooking up with Kurt.

I could see the three dots dancing like my best friend wasn’t done with that thought, so I waited him out. My eye caught my neighbor’s gray hair, and I noticed he was biking faster than I was. I picked up my pace.

Dev: … anymore.

Josh: Whateves. I’ll see you at the airport.

I was still biking slowly enough that I could explore on my phone, and I just happened to find myself on the Hampstead University Men’s Hockey Team website.

Campbell Ryan, number fifty-nine, was a junior from Mayville, New York, a hamlet I had never heard of. I looked it up while my legs pumped away on the chill exercise bike. It was even further north than Hampstead Valley, in the western part of the state.