Page 65 of Josh’s Play

Josh

I knew the fucking Winter Festival was over. It was always the last week in January, and it ended on Sunday night. Everything was still set up, but with the sun setting, the park would be closed shortly too. I passed one guy on my way to the pond who looked suspiciously like the guy who had let me into the ice rink after Cam’s great game in the fall. Other than that, the place was deserted.

We said our hellos, but Cam wouldn’t say more except to shove a pair of skates at me. He was standing in front of a bench in his big puffy jacket, his Hampstead University hat and scarf the same color as mine. He had the matching gloves as well, and the sweatpants he wore sported the same maroon color. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how Campbell always matched because the majority of his wardrobe came from the HU Athletics Department.

Cam’s hair was mostly tucked in the cap, just a few of those auburn strands sticking out, and his face had that beautiful flush to it that he got out in the cold but at other times also. I was trying really hard not to think about those other times even as I imagined myself pulling off his hat so I could run my fingers through his hair and kiss him.

The sun peeked out from behind the mountaintop as it set behind him, giving the pond an orange glow, the fairy lights strung around it dancing in a light breeze.

I repeated my question if just to get the thought of kissing him in that romantic setting out of my head. “What are we doing here, Cam?”

“Skates, please?”

The sun hadn’t set so far that I couldn’t see those big, expressive eyes as they pleaded along with the word. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say no to Campbell Ryan. I didn’t have to be happy about that fact, though, so I sighed as I dropped to the bench next to him and yanked the skates from his hands.

He watched patiently as I took my time slipping off my boots and replacing them with the skates.

As I finished lacing the second skate, I tried again.

“Cam.” He held out his hand without saying a word. I wanted to grab it as much as I wanted to run away. We looked at each other for one beat, two, then there were those puppy-dog eyes. I reached out my hand at the same time as I stood, shaking my head even though I wasn’t sure if I was frustrated with him or with myself. We made our way to the edge of the pond hand in hand, but I let go as we both set foot on the ice.

Cam immediately took off skating ahead, then turned around to skate backward as I followed him, my hands shoved in my pockets, my pace keeping time with the music almost against my will. A peppy, lighthearted tune faded into a song by John Hiatt, and Cam slowed down. I slowed too, and we continued to glide to the music. When the verse flowed into the repeated chorus, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, and I tried again.

“What are we doing here, Cam?” He didn’t stop, continuing to skate backward the entire time and holding eye contact with me. It was a marvel to watch as he instinctively navigated turns he couldn’t see, and as he kept us skating around the circle of the pond. Despite skating backward, he was clearly the one in command. It reminded me of the presence I always felt, the intense concentration and absolute rightness of him guarding his goal when I watched him play. I missed watching him, and I worried about the slump that he appeared to be in. He began by talking about hockey, and it was a stark reminder that, whatever this was, hockey would always come first. I repeated that thought internally over and over like a mantra as I tried to drown out the music and listen to Campbell.

“My dad told me recently that he used to love watching me play because it was the place I appeared most at home. He said I used to float on the ice.

“Did you know they televised that game before Thanksgiving break? He said watching me that day reminded him of that little boy.” Cam kept gliding, John Hiatt kept insisting that I have faith, I kept reminding myself what I had to do, what I had to be for the man in front of me. The man I wanted to be everything for. The man I could never have.

He slowed down, putting us much closer to each other as we continued. He lowered his voice for the next part as if he were afraid to say it.

“And he was right. It was an amazing game.”

I opened my mouth to agree, but he put his hand up to stop me.

“And every game since has been shit. And I’ve tried, really hard, to blame my meeting with the Blizzard, or finals, or the Frozen Four, or anything else. But the truth is, I’ve been distracted.”

Fuck. There it was. The one thing, the one fucking thing he’d worked so hard to avoid. We’d spent a good portion of one of our podcasts talking about how superstitious hockey players are, and I started to put some pieces together. Maybe Cam wanted us to go back to our friends-with-benefits thing because timing-wise, us breaking it off coincided with his slump.

My heart didn’t know if I could take walking away from Campbell if we started up again, but one look at those fucking anime eyes, and I knew I’d give in if that was what he was asking.

“Campbell.”

His hand went up again, but his face mapped an apology as he said, “Let me finish, please.”

I nodded.

“I came out to my parents.”

I stopped cold, a small spray of ice raining down from my skates. Campbell reached out for me but he quirked a smile when he remembered that I wasn’t hopeless on the ice and didn’t need his help to balance. I wanted to tell him how I’d learned to skate on this very pond, winter after winter, coming here with my family to tread the path he and I were on. I had hoped my niece would come up for the Festival this year, but since Devon was staying at my brother’s place, they hadn’t visited since Christmas.

I wanted to distract Cam with all of this because I was so worried about his parents’ reaction. But instead, trepidation in my voice, I asked, “How’d that go?”

“Fine, great. I think they were surprised, but it was fine. They agreed with me,” he hesitated to add, “that it would be best if I stayed in the closet.’

I bet they did, I thought. It was easier to keep it to myself since Cam had cut me off from commenting at almost every other juncture in our conversation.

We stood on our skates and stared at each other. I hoped my look conveyed empathy. I wanted so much to comfort him, imagining that his coming out hadn’t been easy, but the words wouldn’t come.