Page 10

Story: Hits Different

Chapter 10

Summit

Parker

I’ve been here for two days, and I want to quit.

I figured I’d be staying with Simon, but he’s allocated me the attic room in a residential house on the campus. I’ve got a couple of roommates, Will and Archie. They’re twins, from the UK, who are on their gap year. They’re nice enough, even if they keep calling soccer ‘football’, and seem completely obsessed by everything American.

I haven’t even seen Simon yet unless you count his face popping up on the induction video that I was forced to watch by myself. I’ve been assigned a desk and told to answer a phone that never actually rings, as most clients apparently contact Simon directly or email Sheryl, the office manager.

Two weeks ago, I was a college student, with a job and on my way to my first amateur fight as a mixed martial artist. Now, I’m a nobody with a landline.

The reception door flies open. Sheryl struggles in under the weight of three large delivery boxes. I turn off the MMA video I’d been watching and hop off my chair. “Let me help. Where do these go?”

“Thanks, hon”. Sheryl gestures in the direction of the store room, and I lug them through. There’s a ton of crap in here, in stark contrast to the pristineness of the rest of the facility. It reminds me of when I was a kid and got told to clean my room.

I’d shove everything in a closet and hope for the best.

“I should clean up in here”, Sheryl follows my gaze. “Simon hates it”.

“Still a clean freak?” She doesn’t answer, which I take as a yes. Unless she doesn’t want to start bitching about her boss with the new guy. I nod at an old whiteboard with a bunch of faded writing on it. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that. I’d forgot it was even here”, Sheryl tuts, “That’s what we call the long-term job list. Or more accurately, the shit list”.

“The shit list?”

“The list of shit jobs nobody wants to do and are never gonna get done”. Netting on the top fields. Repaint gates. New signs. Some are more abstract. Garrison—accommodation deal. “Have you seen your British roommate this morning?”

“Which one?”

“The loud one”. Archie.

“He’s supposed to be doing an induction with a new client”. Sheryl looks at the clock, lips pursed together. “First impressions matter in a place like this. Some of these yuppie types are pretty entitled. Keep ‘em waiting and they’ll start throwing around one-star reviews before you know it…”

“I could do it”, I offer. Archie didn’t get in until late and from the headboard rattling coming from his room, he wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t put money on him showing up on time.

Sheryl hesitates, “That’s nice of you, but…”

“The boss wouldn’t be happy about his reprobate cousin being the welcoming committee for an important new client?” I finish for her. Her pink cheeks suggest I’ve guessed correctly. “There’s instructions to follow, right?”

“Yes, but…” I can tell she’s swaying.

“Or we could just leave your new client waiting”, I say innocently. “I’m sure he’s not filling out the customer satisfaction survey just yet”.

Sheryl regards me thoughtfully, then hands over her clipboard. “Take this over to reception. Follow these questions exactly, and then do a basic mobility assessment. Take some pictures. Stretch here, a lunge there. Nothing to it”.

I grin, take the pad, and haul ass across the courtyard before she changes her mind.

Will told me that it's not uncommon to see people arriving at all times of the day or night. Major league players looking to tune up between seasons. Overseas players keen for a crash course on a US pitch. Rehabbing players, looking to get fit and healthy in a positive environment.

If I gave even the slightest fuck about soccer, this would actually be a pretty cool job.

I push open the exam room door and set my face to professional. This can’t be that hard. “Good morning, my name is—what the hell— Carter ?”

Carter’s sitting on the bench. He’s wearing a navy hoodie, tailored cotton cream shorts and a huge golden smile. His tousled quiff is lopsided in the morning sunshine, and he brushes it back out of his eyes.

From the way his jaw has dropped, he’s just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. We both start yapping at the same time.

“What the hell are you—“

“Here for the summer—“

“You didn’t say—“

“I didn’t know!”

“I can’t believe it! You’re a client?”

“It’s a long story. But, yeah. Surprise! Found myself in need of some rehab. My shoulder”, he adds, ruefully. “Plus, it’s a good opportunity to tune up my game. I got dropped from the European tour”.

Brandon’s here. At Summit. With me.

“It’s just for a few weeks”, he adds carefully, “If it’s a problem”.

“What? No”, I say, louder than necessary. “You just surprised me, that’s all. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other”.

“It’s been about 72 hours, Di Rossi”.

“You know what I mean. Listen”, I’ve got a sudden urge to make him feel comfortable. “You’ve come to the right place. As much as it pains me, Simon’s really built something special here. You’re in good hands. And MLS scouts visit all the time”.

His eyes are shining. “That’s what I’m counting on”.

“I know Summit has always been a big deal for you”.

“You remember that?” I nod. Of course I do . It’s all he ever talked about. “And you’re really okay with us being here. Together?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, focusing on my clipboard.

He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Are you training in physical therapy?” He nods approvingly. “You must be crushing college if Simon’s letting you loose on his most promising clients. That’s how I’m categorising myself, by the way”.

“College is going really well”. I dismiss the flicker of guilt at the ease of my lie. “I figured I’d get some work experience under my belt before senior year”.

“That’s awesome”, he settles back, smiling. “I knew you’d be killing it”.

I never normally care what people think about me, but with Brandon, it’s different.

The thought of him finding out that I’m some loser who’s been kicked out of college for the same issues that almost got me kicked out of high school makes me feel kinda sick.

“I’m going to run through some basic mobility tests with you, then you’ll get a schedule with a trainer and, yes?” The corners of my mouth reach upwards, as Brandon raises his hand like we’re back in history class. “Mr. Carter. You have a question?”

“I was just wondering if you could talk me through some of the recreational activities that you have here at Summit”, Brandon says, in a tone that I recognise as his most earnest student voice, “I don’t know whether you saw from my transcript, but I’m big on the importance of a work/play balance”.

“Ah, yes—your transcript”, I grab an imaginary clipboard from the desk and make a show of flicking through imaginary paperwork. “Very interesting reading”.

“Oh, really?” His nose wrinkles, “How so?”

“Your grades are impressive. Suspiciously so, for someone who confused To Kill a Mockingbird with We Bought a Zoo in middle school”. He snorts, and I continue, “Keen athlete. Punctual. Well mannered. Good breeding . All looks in order Mr Carter, oh- oh dear ”.

“Problem?”

“Under surplus information, it says an inability to satisfy sexual partners to full completion ”, I inhale sharply, “That’s not really the kind of approach we look for in our clients here at Summit. How disappointing”.

“Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination, Di Rossi”.

“ Easily distracted by shiny objects”.

“You could argue that’s merely a case of heightened observational skills”.

“And as for the STI test, well…”

“All right, enough!” he yells, shoving me, half-laughing. “You always knew how to push my buttons”.

“What are best friends for?” I grin, which he returns, before the smile slips from his face. Because we aren’t really best friends, are we? We were, then we weren’t. Now, it still feels unclear. Like we’re being careful with each other.

I hand over his induction forms. “Here, fill these in. Leave no detail unembellished”.

I busy myself printing his pass and ID card. The only sound comes from the scratch of his pen against the paper. I glance up. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and he still does that thing where he silently mouths the words that he’s writing, just like he did in English class.

“Finished”. He passes the paperwork back over. “When can I kick a soccer ball?”

I flick through them. “You can’t be serious”.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Under ‘Cause of Injury’, you’ve put ‘Small-Dicked Goalkeeper’”.

“That is factually accurate. I’ve seen Volchok in the showers”.

I smirk, then glance at the clock. Shit. We’ve been chatting for so long; I need to get him through the proper induction or Sheryl will be pissed.

“Let’s go through the mobility exercises. If you wanna just slip your shirt off and stand against the wall over there”. I grab the camera. “I just need you to do a few stretches, and we can see how banged this shoulder really is”.

Brandon hops off the bench and yanks his shirt over his head, exposing broader shoulders than I remembered.

I used to take a weird kind of pride in the fact that I was bigger than he was, having started lifting weights much earlier. Now, I’d guess we probably benched the same. Our body types might be different, but he’s still a lean, muscular guy.

I catch myself. What does that even matter? The days of my one-sided competition with Brandon should be long over.

“Just turn around for me and take these”. I hand over the resistance bands as he absently scratches his chiselled abdomen. The sunlight catches on the silver chain that hangs loosely halfway down his chest.

I guide him through a couple of basic motions, trying not to be alarmed by the way he grits his teeth whenever he has to move his shoulder.

“That’s enough for today”, I say, and he practically collapses in relief.“Time for me to show you round the facility”.

“Really?” he asks, looking pleased.

“It’s kind of my job”. His face falls immediately, so I quickly add, “But I want to”. The room suddenly feels small. Too small for the two of us and twenty years of combined history. I need to get out of here as much as he does.“Come on”.

I lead him back through reception and drop the clipboard in the new entrant tray. As I do, one bit catches my eye.

“Very funny”, I nod to the ‘Sexual Orientation’ heading, where he’s ticked ‘Gay’. “You’d better update that before I turn these in”.

I hand the clipboard back, but Brandon’s hands remain by his side.

“Carter?”

“That part’s not a joke. But I think you already know that”. He slips his hoodie back on. “If you want to talk about it, or to me, then you know where I’ll be. Just don’t give it another three years”.

He’s out the door before I can reply. I stand in silence. Brandon’s gay . This should feel like a bigger revelation than it is. But it’s not. Of course it’s not.

One minute we’re best friends. The next we’re complete strangers. Despite all the weirdness, one truth stands out.

The second I saw him, any thought I had about leaving Summit vanished from my mind.