Page 60 of Josh’s Play

Game night was just another excuse to drink heavily and eat pizza that my parents had paid for, this time in the comfort of my own home. The early part of the evening was spent playing games that included my niece, but when my parents took her with them to sleep in her new pop-up tent in their room, a more adult card game was pulled from the shelf. There was lots of laughing and enough noise that I was surprised one of my parents didn’t come out and chastise us. Devon fit in like he was one of us, which made sense because I'd thought of him like a brother practically from the first day we met.

As the evening wound down, I passed Jamie on the way from the kitchen. “Important to hydrate,” he announced awkwardly, a glass of water in hand. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” He closed the doors of the den behind him, a goofy smile on his flushed face.

“Yes, Dad,” I snarked at him as the doors closed. Next I caught Devon exiting the bathroom, looking flushed as well, which surprised me because Devon and I got drunk together a lot, and he didn’t usually look like he did stepping out of that bathroom: like he was glowing or some shit.

“You should hydrate,” I advised him. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yes, Dad,” he replied, and I chuckled before turning serious.

“Hey, man. Listen for a sec.”

Drunk Devon cupped a hand around his ear and swung his head in an exaggerated fashion.

“Asshole.” I put my hands on his shoulders to stop his stupid swaying. “Can you be serious for a minute, or are you too drunk?”

“Yes to both!”

“Good enough.”

“The guy I may or may not have mentioned when I was a little out of it last night.”

“I know who you mean.” Devon nodded at me in that I’m drunk, so my face better show that I’m serious kind of way.

“He’s not out of the closet, so …”

“Yeah. I figured. That sucks, but is it a deal-breaker for you?”

I let go of Devon’s shoulders, and he followed me up the stairs to the guest room that my family called the gym even though it hadn’t housed exercise equipment in years.

“I mean, if you care about the guy, what’s one little secret?” Devon opined, like it was the most important question ever asked.

“It’s one big secret, but it’s not that. It’s … he’s just really driven. Focused. I’d just be in the way. A distraction.”

“Fucking hockey,” Devon muttered, and he went right to the bathroom even though he had just used the one downstairs.

“Dude. Hurry up. I gotta go.”

“I’m just brushing my teeth.” He opened the door. “The more the merrier.”

“I’ll wait.”

Devon was leaving me after the winter break. Okay, that sounded more dramatic than it really was. He’d gotten a one-month internship, and Jamie had generously offered for Devon to stay at his place. Campbell wasn't the first person I’d gotten close to who was focused and driven. Devon had known what he wanted for a long time, and he was going for it over the first month of the new year, interning for an international financial firm on Wall Street.

I’d be starting our last semester without my best friend as the program ran past the first weeks of school. Devon would have to keep up with his course work while he was away.

In my already pissy mood, the thought of missing out on our last first days of the semester had me overly upset. I did my best to hide it from Devon, who was ridiculously excited about going to New York City. I spent the holidays at home, attended a New Year’s Eve party with some of my old high school friends, and left just after midnight, thinking about the only person I wanted to be kissing.

Cam had had two terrible games after Thanksgiving, and our final podcast, which we culled together by emailing back and forth and sharing files online, ended the series with a whimper instead of a bang, though our professor really liked it and encouraged us to actually post it online. Neither of us had reached out to the other to make that happen. Despite a few rough games for Cam, his team had taken up his slack, and the playoffs were a possibility for the Badgers.

I didn’t go to the games, but I did follow them, listening to the broadcast from the campus website. I couldn’t believe that the prospect of the playoffs or of an NHL contract was weighing Campbell down, not with how hard he’d worked to get to that point and how well he’d played, the night representatives of the Blizzard had been in the audience. But what else could it be that had him playing so poorly?

Much as I knew staying away was the right answer, I cared too much about him not to try and help. That’s how I found myself in the waiting room of the physical therapy office one afternoon.

The front desk clerk was hesitant to get Daine for me, but in the end, she called back, and Diane came out to meet me with a hug.

“I’m worried about him,” I began, “and I don’t have Noah’s number, or yours.”

We were sitting on those crappy waiting-room chairs, and the row shifted as Diane swiveled toward me and tucked her legs underneath her.