Page 6 of Josh’s Play (Hampstead Valley #4)

Chapter Six

Campbell

When my professors knew who I was, they tended to underestimate me; at least that’s how it felt when I opened the email from Professor Dayden to see that I’d been assigned hockey. I could hear the conversation in my head. “Of course, I’ll give you credit for games played, Fifty-Nine. Maybe you write a brief summary of one of the games, you know, something quick to highlight the scores, throw in a little color. Something that would run in a local paper. I can help you with that if you need.”

I came to school to learn. Hockey was the dream, sure, but my parents had a struggling farm and two other sons to put through school. I needed a career out of college, no matter what. I was serious about my studies, knowing I would need something to fall back on if I didn’t make the NHL and respecting the opportunity that a full scholarship to Hampstead University offered.

For years I’d worked at the recreation center in my hometown. It had an ice rink, so I would have spent all my time there no matter what, but I’d worked there from the time I was fourteen, doing everything from wiping down the bathrooms, to being a camp counselor, to coaching hockey. I’d twisted my ankle goofing around with my brothers on that ice over the summer, and if I hadn’t known it before, that would have made me realize that hockey wasn’t a given; I needed something to fall back on.

So I’d decided on a minor in sports journalism, thinking that if I couldn’t play hockey, maybe I could commentate or write about it. Maybe I’d learn enough to start my own podcast in my downtime while running the rec center and helping out on the farm.

But then I’d get these sports-obsessed professors. Maybe they were just business savvy and understood the importance of college sports, but they were more than happy to let me slide, to help me slide into a passable grade with minimal effort.

I’d heard it all before. “I know how hard you’re working out on the ice, Fifty-Nine.” “Meet my TA, he’s going to be your tutor for this class.” I had one guy ask me to stay after, take the copy of the syllabus out of my hand, and toss it toward the wastepaper basket. He’d missed, and as I went to pick it up and was smoothing it out, he’d assured me that I didn’t need to worry about the “BS” on those pages. All I needed to do was focus on the ice.

He’d reviewed the game schedule for the year and told me which classes I needed to attend to meet the requirements, and which he thought I could attend that wouldn’t interfere with my time on the ice.

I’d smoothed the pages of the syllabus out, quietly thanked him, and attended every class.

I was sure it was happening again with the sports journalism class, so I showed up early for the next lesson to talk to the professor, surprised to find myself holding the door of the building open for Josh once again.

“You’re early?” I questioned.

“You too,” he replied, but his “thank you” was mumbled, like he was embarrassed by my politeness. Inside we walked in stride down the hall together. He was quite a bit shorter than me, and we both faced forward as we chatted, so I found myself tilting my head toward him, subconsciously inching closer and closer though I kept my face forward.

“Actually, I’m here early on purpose. I wanted to talk to the professor about my assigned sport. See, I took this class …”

I interrupted Josh’s explanation when I heard why he was early. “That’s why I’m here too!”

He stopped then and turned to face me, which is when I realized how close to him I’d been leaning. We were face-to-face, inches apart, Josh standing close enough to the white-washed cement brick wall that I could have easily pushed him against it and boxed him in. I didn’t, but my eyes might have conveyed something along those lines because his got wide for a second, taking me in. Was he thinking something similar?

When I jerked my head back and took a step away, it wasn’t subtle.

“What did he assign you?” I inquired as if it was the most important question in the history of questions. And it was his turn to talk over me as he asked something similar. That’s how we ended up saying “hockey” at the same time.

I laughed, and so did he.

“What do you have against hockey?” I teased.

“Nothing. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t really know much about it. Except that number fifty-nine is all healed and back on the ice.”

I had to smile at that, and for some reason, Josh’s eyes went wide again.

“No, it’s just, I took this class because of my brother. The one you met, Hunter? He plays baseball, and he’s really good. I thought it’d be cool to work with him, maybe write a profile, cover his games. I try to go when I can, so I just figured it would be synergistic, or whatever. Speaking of which, wouldn’t it be synergistic for you to cover hockey?”

“Synergistic.” I thought about the word and his question. “Maybe, only I worry that … You see, some professors …”

“You can tell me. I’m not gonna narc to my parents; besides, you’re probably not about to tell me something they don’t know. Some professors think you're taking their class for an easy A, right?”

“Yeah, something like that. I’m serious about hockey, and I want to succeed, but I know not everyone makes it to the NHL. I want something to fall back on, you know? So I take my classes seriously too. I would never ask for and don’t want any special treatment. I don’t want this guy thinking I can get away with listing the scores of my own games and calling it sports journalism.”

“Makes sense. Do you want to write? Or be a broadcaster?”

“I want? … I want to always have a hand in the sport. I learned to skate on that little pond on our farm.” I remembered Josh being in my room and commenting on a picture of my brothers and me. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. “But I first played the game at the rec center in our town, and I’ve worked there since I was fourteen.”

“Wow. The only thing I’ve done consistently since I was fourteen is jerk off.”

As I laughed at his remark I realized I had been holding in a tension throughout my whole body as we walked down the hall. The laugh released it.

“Well, you can’t make a career out of that.”

He raised his eyes, and they danced with mischief.

“Okay, yeah, I guess you can. But you don’t need to go to college to learn how!”

“No, you definitely do not!” His eyebrows shot up again.

“I’ve always thought I could maybe run the rec center after I graduate. You know, if I need a job. But yeah, I was thinking it might be cool to do some commentating on the side or start a podcast.” I shrugged like my idea was maybe stupid, and Josh picked up on it, his face turning serious.

“I’m impressed. You’ve really got your life mapped out. It’s a good plan.”

“It might be cool to focus on baseball for this class. My only thought in coming here today was ‘not hockey.’ I’m a big Hattans fan, and my brothers played Little League. What do you say? Should we go in together? Or would you prefer if I wait outside while you talk to Dayden?”

Josh had this intense stare as he fixed those blue eyes on me. He didn’t respond right away, and I could see the cogs working in his brain. I could feel a tension between us, too, but I fought to ignore it. Eventually, he nodded. “Come on, Finn, we can do this together.”

He lifted his shoulders as if trying to get to his full height. With a confident stride, he continued down the hall, me rushing to follow him as he opened the door and entered the classroom.

Professor Dayden was at his desk, watching something on his phone. His eyes lit up as he locked onto mine, over Josh’s head.

“Mr. Ryan, Mr. Gordon, you’re here early.”

“It’s Marchetti-Gordon,” I mumbled, and Josh fixed those sparkling eyes on me in surprise.

“Like the dean, of course,” Dayden responded, looking at Josh and nodding.

“What’s got you two here so early?”

Josh spoke up right away, and I couldn’t help but feel protected, like he had my back and wanted to help me.

“It’s our assignments, sir. We were wondering how set you were on them because we were both thinking …” Dayden was listening to Josh but looking at me.

“You don’t want to do hockey, Cam? I thought it would be …” He looked at Josh then as if conveying that ours was a conversation that shouldn’t be had in front of him.

Much as I wanted to call the professor out and fill in that last word for him— easy —I decided it was best not to be combative. I really had been looking forward to taking the class.

“I thought it might broaden my horizons, sir, if I focused on another sport. I'm a big baseball fan, and I hear our team has a real shot at a championship this year.”

“And you, Josh?”

“It’s just that my brother plays baseball; he’s a pitcher. I took this class because of him, and I thought it would be perfect if I could write about him.”

“Hunter Marchetti-Gordon,” the professor said. “You can’t be interested in sports in Hampstead Valley and not know about Hunter. I saw him when that summer league team of his played here last month.”

“So, what do you say? Can we switch?” Josh implored.

Dayden didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Sir?” Josh questioned.

“There will be opportunities over the semester for each of you to explore other sports, but I don’t think it’s necessary for me to start reassigning people.” He looked pointedly at me again. “If I did it for you, I’d have to do it for everyone, and who needs that aggravation? If both of you want to switch, that means both of you will find some challenge in the assignment. Should make for a great project.”

I could see a fire in Josh’s eyes, but I could also see the resolve in Dayden’s. We weren’t going to get our way, and frankly, I admired Dayden for it.

“Of course, Professor. Thanks for hearing us out. I spend a lot of my time thinking about hockey, but I haven’t spent a lot of time writing about it. You’re right. It will be an interesting challenge for me.”

Josh looked like he was going to argue, so I grabbed his forearm and led him to the seats we had occupied in our first class. He leaned on the desk and crossed his arms as I sat at mine and took my tablet out. Josh and I both looked over to see that Dayden had pulled up his phone again and was putting on earbuds.

I logged into my tablet while Josh stewed above me. Once I was set up, I looked up at him. “What do you know about hockey?”

“Fuck all,” was his spitfire response. An idea bloomed in my head as other students began to filter in. It was perhaps the best and most definitely the worst idea I had ever had.

Finally, he sat at his desk in frustration, unpacking a laptop and getting set for class. I watched him complete the entire maneuver with one hand though he did turn the computer on with his left thumb, which stuck out from the brace and bandages that surrounded the majority of his hand. He shook his wrist out after performing the task as if just then remembering the state of his left hand.

He looked at me as the computer was loading. I got the sense he knew I’d been watching him the whole time.

“Hand doing okay?”

“I get the pins out tomorrow. Gotta say, I’m not looking forward to it. It took forever to get used to having them in there; now the doctor’s gonna yank them out.” He performed a little shiver before leaning in close to me. “Would you think less of me if I told you my mom was coming with me?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the confession. “You're lucky to have your parents close by. I can’t imagine going through something like that without one of them there to support me. Hell, I was a whiny bitch over a barely sprained ankle.”

“You’re back on the ice, though, right? Doing okay?”

“Good as new, just like you’ll be after tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Hey, I have an idea …” I started, but the bell rang, and Dayden started the class by looking in our direction and saying, “You should have all gotten your assignments by now. If you haven’t, see me after. If you have, please do not see me. Your assignments are final. If you’re struggling with that, well, that’s all part of the lesson. Do you think just because you're a big football fan you’ll get to start your career as the color commentator for the Super Bowl? Let me assure you, you will not.”

Dayden talked about some more-realistic career paths that the class would learn about, and I listened and typed a few notes but mostly I watched Josh peck away at his keyboard with his one good hand and one overworked thumb.

Could I spend more time with him and not be tempted? I thought back to that night in my room. He’d leaned in and kissed my cheek, that was all. But what if he’d leaned in and done something else? Something more? I had avoided temptation for years. Could I have avoided it if Josh had pushed me down that night or even just simply kissed me like no man ever had before?

I tried to focus on Dayden’s lecture, deciding it was important to take detailed notes in case Josh wasn’t able to keep up. But it was damn near impossible to keep focused with Josh right there next to me, and while my thoughts were busy hatching a plan to spend even more time in his presence.

Class ended, and I didn’t rush to pack up, instead standing up and holding Josh’s backpack open for him after he’d propped it up on the desk.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” The classroom cleared out quickly, and before Josh stood to leave, I straddled the chair in front of him and leaned in.

“I have an idea.”

He tilted his head like a lost puppy. An adorable puppy, with crystal-blue eyes and a chest that strained in his HU maroon-colored golf shirt.

“Shoot.”

“We could work together.” My heart was beating in outsized proportion to one dude asking another dude to be project partners. I knew working with Josh would be difficult, dangerous even, but I was drawn to him, and this would be a way to spend time with him in places like the ice rink or the library, definitely not alone in my bedroom.

His head still tilted, he asked, “On the final project?” I tried to look in his eyes, but nope, I couldn’t do that, so my gaze traveled back down to his chest. Nope. I settled on the brace, my heart beating so hard I worried he could hear it.

“What do you know about hockey?” I asked him again, trying to focus the conversation on a school project and not on my hummingbird heartbeat.

“Not much.” He sounded apologetic.

“See, it’s perfect. I teach you hockey, and you come to the games and write about it. Maybe we record, like, a podcast about how it’s going, you from the student’s perspective, me from the player’s.”

“ Hockey One Oh One .” I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t help but look up into his eyes. Yeah, I was done for.

“ Hockey One Oh One ,” I repeated. “I love it. What do you say?”