Page 8

Chapter Eight

Campbell

I’d never kissed a guy before, and just like that, I had. And not just any guy, but Joshua Marchetti-Gordon, the guy I’d been pretending I didn’t want to kiss since the day I spied him with his arm propped up, sitting in the waiting room of a medical office.

He brushed my arm as he maneuvered around me, and our gazes met and held. I knew I wanted him, and I knew he could see it in my stare.

And those impossibly blue eyes? What were they saying to me? I’m sorry? I’m not sorry?

“You all right?” he asked, and I could barely even nod in response though I tried for a small smile.

He slipped out and down the hall, and moments later, Noah arrived with two of our teammates.

“There you are. You're here early. Who’s the little guy?” our team captain, Ethan, asked.

Noah slapped him. “Everyone’s little compared to you, you unnatural, giant freak.” Ethan rubbed his arm though Noah had just tapped him.

“That was the guy from the party the other weekend, right? Josh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said distractedly. “We’re in that sports journalism class together. I'm gonna teach him hockey, and we’re gonna blog about it or some shit like that.” I attempted to sound blasé, all the time wondering how flushed my cheeks were and if the guys could see what was happening behind my sweatpants.

I was able to get out of further conversation when our coach appeared on the opposite side of the ice.

“Oh, good. Everyone’s up bright and early. Ryan, my office.”

“Yes, sir.” I scooped up my safeties and crossed the ice. Even just gliding from one side to the other gave me that rush that being on the ice always did, centering me, calming me. I pulled my fingers through my hair as I slowed on the other side and followed our coach down the hall.

Staring at his back, I wondered what he wanted. Could he possibly have been in the arena the whole time? Had he seen me with Josh?

“Glad you’re here early. Have a seat, Ryan.”

Coach Weadner sat behind his desk, and the assistant coach entered, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

Neither spoke, so after I nodded a good morning to the assistant, I questioned, “Sir?”

“I’ve got a friend in Buffalo, Ryan.”

“Buffalo, sir?”

“Denny Maltby. He and I played together in college, and he …”

“He’s assistant coach for the Buffalo Blizzard.”

“That he is, son.” Coach Weadner paused. Whether he meant it to or not, it came off as being for dramatic effect. I sat up straighter and waited.

“He’s sending a scout, Campbell. So I need you focused and healthy and ready to impress. Because I believe you can, son. I know you can.”

I had walked into that room in a fuzzy haze for one reason and left it shocked for a completely different reason. The Buffalo Blizzard were sending a scout to watch me play. I resolved then and there to keep my eye on the prize. Like Coach had said, I needed to stay focused. I couldn’t be kissing boys in front of the players’ bench, or anywhere else for that matter. Putting hockey first was a decision I had made years ago. I couldn’t forget that, not when my dream was there within my reach. If I could make it come true, the sacrifice would be worth it.

After morning practice, I showered and threw on my sweats. I was sitting on the locker-room bench, my gym bag between my legs, wondering how I was going to work with Josh on our project and not have a repeat of what had happened on the ice earlier that morning.

I felt a slap on my shoulder.

“Cam, you all right?”

“Huh?”

“What’s up with you today, man? Let’s go eat, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I said distractedly.

I slung my gym bag over my shoulder as I followed Noah out of the locker room.

Josh and I had scheduled to meet again the next week, but I didn’t think I could handle another visit to the rink, so I suggested we meet at the library, the neutral, safe, boring library, so we could talk about our project.

Practice was optional on Sunday evenings, but I always went to optional practices, which is why it had been so frustrating when I returned to campus earlier in the summer, and they hadn’t let me play.

I texted Josh to see if he could meet me around six that evening, but he said something about family dinner and asked if we could push it back until eight. I was anxious to see Josh again and set the record straight with him, so to speak.

I was zoning out on the couch with my teammates. A football game played on the TV, and the occasional cheer or jeer pulled my focus to the score every once in a while, but mainly I thought about the previous weekend, like I’d been doing all week. I thought about Josh and how he had kissed me, then I pushed that thought right out of my head by thinking about my conversation with Coach Weadner. My opportunity to make it to the NHL was before me. I had to focus on one thing and one thing only: hockey.

My resolve was strong when my phone buzzed.

Shelley: Hey, I’m at the library.

Shelly: Snagged a study room.

He texted the room number.

Noah came up behind me, shoving a beer in my face.

“You even watching this game, man?”

He waggled the beer, and I muttered, “No, thanks.”

He took a sip, hovering over my shoulder. “Oh, never mind. You’re not paying attention to the game. A study room? With Shelley? Wait, who’s Shelley? Is she the one with the long hair who came to all our games last year? You hardly ever even gave her the time of day.”

Belatedly, I shut down my phone. “What? Huh? No. It’s not … It’s no one you know. I’ve got to do a project for one of my classes. We were assigned to work together. So yeah, I’m headed to the library. To work!”

“Sure, man. Whatever you say. You’ve got lots of projects going on this semester, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. I gotta go,” I muttered.

I hoisted my backpack and took a deep breath as I stood outside the closed door to study room 3C, determined to put an end to my flirtation with Josh. I tapped on the door, and Josh stood as I opened it, rubbing his one good hand on his jeans as if he were nervous.

“Hi,” we said at the same time, both cautiously, both in a whisper. I tried to chalk it up to the fact that we were in the library. His nervous chuckle matched mine as well. I said, “Hey,” as I entered and closed the door.

Josh was dressed in that impeccably casual way of his. A pristine polo, baby blue this time, to match those eyes. His jeans looked brand new and fit him perfectly, the darker-blue denim complimenting the shirt, his belt patterned in lighter and darker blues, the light color matching his shirt exactly. And sure enough, his boat shoes were blue this time. A Hampstead University maroon hoodie was tossed on an ottoman along with his backpack.

The room had a table and wooden chairs but also a few cushioned chairs in the corners and that big comfortable-looking ottoman. Josh stood in front of one of the cushioned chairs, on the far side of the room. I plunked my backpack on the table and dragged a hand through my hair, keeping my focus on the bag as I began.

“Josh …” Then I made the mistake of looking up into those blue eyes. I wanted to dive into the oceans that sparkled within them and live there forever. I had to stop myself from telling him so. I sat at the table and took my phone out of my bag, focusing on it as I spun it on the surface.

“You were right,” I whispered.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “You’re right. I’ve never kissed a guy before.” He didn’t say anything, forcing me to look up. I stopped the phone as he nodded, silently asking me to go on.

“No one knows, Josh. I mean, no one. Not my family, not a friend back home. Not even some clandestine hookup, because there haven’t been any clandestine hookups.”

“Okay,” Josh said as my fingers threaded my hair again.

“And the thing is, I can’t, Josh. I’ve got too much at stake. My career.” I couldn’t help but smile through the stress of the conversation, and Josh responded, his features relaxing as well.

“Coach says a scout is coming to see me this season. I’m on their radar, Josh. I can’t think about being gay, or dating, or coming out, or anything but classes and hockey.

“No distractions,” I said out loud, like I’d said to myself a million times since I was a kid.

“Okay,” Josh said again, and he smiled kindly.

“So, please. Can we keep what happened at the rink between us?”

He nodded, “Of course.”

“And … can we work together on this project without it happening again?”

“If that’s what you want.” I didn’t know if Josh had meant it as a statement, but to me it sounded like a question. What did I want? For the very first time in my life, I had someone I could be honest with about the answer to that question.

“I don’t know if it’s what I want, Josh. But it’s what I have to do.” Those blue eyes were like crystal lasers as they locked onto mine. He was searching, and I let him, realizing that he was the first person, the only person who had ever looked at me and seen the real me, the whole me. I knew the smile I gave in return was small in comparison as his lit up his face.

“Right. Got it. Study partners.”

He yanked his backpack off the ottoman and onto the table to rummage through it, pulling out his small laptop. It was the first time I noticed it.

“No more brace?”

Josh waved his left hand my way. “I still need to keep it wrapped and do a bunch of stupid exercises every day, but yeah.” He wiggled his fingers slowly before flexing his wrist back and forth. “No more brace!”

He sat at the table in front of his computer. I felt awkward, like there were things that had been left unsaid. If I opened my backpack to begin work, the moment would be over, my chance would be over, the kiss would be over.

Thoughts bounced around in my mind, and I realized that it wasn’t over for me. That moment at the rink had held possibility and promise, only interrupted by my teammates showing up. I stood up and paced over toward the ottoman.

“Campbell?” He looked up, and all I could see were those eyes, remarkable, and kind, and honest.

He ignored my pacing and propped his hands on his keyboard. “Cam? Would you want to talk about the scout coming? We can take some notes, how you’re feeling, how you’re playing or preparing or whatever, then follow it through to the other end. Tie in your journey and your future into my learning about the sport.”

He was doing what I had asked, focusing on the project and forgetting everything else. I didn’t think I would ever be able to focus on anything but him again. And that was a very big problem.

“Finn!” Josh had continued talking and typing notes into his computer, but he looked up at me when I didn’t respond, his eyes alight with humor. I made eye contact in return, hoping the storm I felt behind mine wasn’t visible.

“There you are. Sit the fuck down, Campbell. We have work to do. It’s okay, really. You’re not the first closeted guy I’ve come across. I’m not going to say anything. You can stop worrying.”

“Worrying?”

“About being outed. I promise, I won’t tell. Everyone should come out in their own time, in their own way. But Cam ...” He hesitated, then stood, gesturing toward the ottoman and encouraging me to sit. I took his cue. Josh swung a leg and straddled one of the wooden chairs, facing me.

I sat up straight, feeling awkward on the backless, cushioned seat.

“That’s better.” He smiled again, and I could feel myself leaning into it. Leaning into him. “No one should have to go through what you’re going through alone. You said no one knows. Well, now someone does, so, you know, if you ever need to talk, or if you have any questions. Or if you decide you’re ready.” I could feel my eyebrows rise as my eyes went wide. He quickly added, “I mean, I grew up here; I can tell you every gay hangout from here to the Canadian border. If … when you’re ready, or whatever.”

I shook my head no but didn’t say anything. It felt like I would never be ready, could never be ready. There might be a few queer people in professional sports, but I didn’t see how I could ever be one of them. I reminded myself that I couldn’t have any distractions, that I couldn’t have him as a diversion.

“I forget sometimes,” he went on, looking to fill the silence, “that not everyone has it so easy. I came out when I was fifteen.” I smiled at him to continue, happy to have the focus off me, and much as I didn’t want to admit it, happy to learn as much about Josh as I could. “Even that wasn’t a big deal; I just piggybacked off my brother.”

“Piggybacked?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, thinking of the memory. “My brother Vance, he’s this quiet, shy thinker, always brooding, rarely speaking. Then one day at dinner he’s all, oh, by the way, I’m gay, and I just sort of blurted, holy crap, me too! ”

I relaxed and leaned back on one arm, tucking one leg up as we continued talking.

“You stole his thunder!”

“Nah, Vance wouldn’t see it like that. At least I don’t think he did? He had a pretty shitty year after he came out. Like he was really depressed for a while, but I don’t think it had to do with coming out. He’s a writer, and he gets all in his head and shit when he’s working. My dad’s the same way. Vance is still at school here, working on his doctorate.”

“Wow, so, like, your whole family is here?” I’d meant it as an off-handed comment, but it took Josh a good ten minutes to answer that question since Vance wasn’t his only sibling. He fired off names and stories, and I tried to keep up.

“Then there’s Vera,” he concluded after listing more brothers and at least one sister that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to keep straight. “She’s my niece.” He smiled a soft and utterly beautiful smile. “My oldest brother’s kid. She turned seven this year.”

I did remember something he’d told me. “Her mom’s the one who died.”

“Yeah,” Josh said wistfully, but then he raised his still-bandaged hand. “And the one who’s responsible for this. She’s a fucking daredevil! Charging into the waves at high tide. Wiped out like it was nothing. I think she asked her dad if she could do it again before she knew I was hurt!” He laughed fondly, and I laughed along with him.

After flourishing his left hand again with the word “hurt,” Josh hung both of his hands over the back of the chair and looked surprised when leaned forward and I took his right hand in both of mine.

I felt a fire pass through his hand to my fingertips before he yanked it away. I tucked mine in my lap and looked down at them instead of up at him. I could practically see the flames coming from them. The heat traveled through me. My face burned.

“Sorry!” he was quick to say. “I thought you didn’t … I was just surprised that you …” Josh swung over the chair and slid it out of the way, kneeling in front of me, bending and wedging his head so that we were looking at each other again.

His eyes were smiling but so kind. Not laughing at me, I understood. He was looking at me in sympathy and understanding. He took my hands in both of his, never taking his eyes from mine. Though the passion remained, the fire calmed immediately, the touch of his hands feeling so right.

He started again, squeezing my hands. “I was just surprised, is all.” We quietly looked at our hands entwined together, and he waited.

“Josh …” was all I could get out. I didn’t know what to say. No, that was a lie. I was afraid to say what I wanted to. I had fought for years not to be in a situation where I wanted another man. Where another man wanted me. Yet there I sat, face-to-face with a beautiful man that I definitely wanted. A man I had kissed, a man I thought about constantly. A man whose hand in mine ignited my entire body.

I watched him clock the emotions playing out over my face in place of words that I could not articulate, and eventually Josh rescued me.

His good hand reached up, and he held it near my face, watching me as he did so. I didn’t move, not to lean into it and not to pull away, and he took that as permission enough to gently stroke my cheek.

“This blush of yours brings out the red highlights in your hair.”

I let out an awkward laugh and ran my fingers through my bangs.

“Josh, I can’t …” That sentence should have been I can’t do this . But the reality was that I couldn’t fight it any longer.

Unfinished words hanging in the air between us, I leaned down and found his lips. He held me steady as I kissed him, the gentle touch of his hand to my face a clear communication that I could keep kissing him or pull away. He was receptive to my lips on his but not aggressive in return. The choice was mine.

I wrapped both arms around him, hoisting him so that he stood taller on his knees, nestled between my spread legs. I tilted my head and kissed him in earnest, tightening my grip around him, pulling him as close to me as I could. Our chests pressed together, and I worried that the pounding of my heart would scare him away, remind him that this was all new to me. Remind him of all the times I’d said, “I can’t.” His lower half was flush with the ottoman, and I wished more than anything that he was flush with me instead.

I whimpered at the thought, and the sound is what finally triggered Josh. His hand slid from my cheek to my hair, and he repositioned my head, his hand and tongue moving in tandem until he was possessing my mouth and in control of my entire head. I moaned again, and my hands traveled up Josh’s back, to his neck, tickling the short hairs at its base before traveling up and down his spine. I could feel the fire in my hands, and I wanted, no, I needed to feel more. I tugged at his shirt, tucked perfectly into his jeans, the belt making the move a challenge.

I grunted in frustration as I yanked at Josh’s shirt, and it took us out of the moment. He leaned away from me, his hand still gently in my hair. I stopped my work at his back, grasping his sides instead. It was his turn to growl in frustration. He shook his head no and kissed me gently one more time. He sighed as he pulled away again. My instinct was to follow him, to chase his lips and keep doing what we’d been doing. To do more. But I didn’t.

I was surprised when he leaned toward me instead of standing up, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pulling me to him until we were forehead to forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted.

“Don’t be. I don’t know what it’s like to be in the closet, but I know it must fucking suck. You have your reasons, of course, but …”

I pulled back and put my finger to his lips. He couldn’t help but brush it with a kiss, and I couldn’t help but hitch my breath. But he didn’t finish his sentence. I put our foreheads back together, keeping us close while also allowing me to look down and not at him.

“I can’t come out. It’s simply not possible.”

He nodded against me. “Okay,” he said as he stood, putting me eye level with his arousal, evident through his tight jeans.

“Okay. But here’s the thing.” He leaned down and pecked my lips. “I know.” He shrugged, our faces still close.

“What if …” he began. “I mean, we have to do this project together, right? We’re obligated to spend time together. Maybe we could …” A finger traveled down my cheek, hooking on the loose collar of my worn-out T-shirt, brushing my collarbone and sending chills to my core. It was like flying on the rink, the sensations of fire and ice running through me at the same time.

“Josh …” I had meant it to be a request for him to stop, but I could hear the desperation and need in my own voice. It sounded foreign on my tongue.

“I get that you’ve got a lot going on. I get that hockey comes first. I get that you’re in the closet. And I get that you’re horny as fuck.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that, and it felt good. Josh dragged the chair back over and straddled it again, providing a barrier between us, giving me space.

“You’ve got hockey to focus on, and I don’t do relationships, so whatever this is between us, you don’t need to stress about it. If you’re ever ready, it could just be whatever. If you’re not, then we’ll just keep working on our project.” He held his hands up in a shrug, and when he put them down, they were hanging off the back of the chair again. He turned them palms up in offer, and I grasped them.

“No worries, okay?” he implored. I nodded and squeezed his hands, one more gently than the other.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“I can be a safe space for you, Cam. If you decide that’s what you want. No one would need to know.”

“I’ll … I’ll think about it.”

Josh let out a sigh, and for a brief second, I thought I saw a look of concern cross his face, like maybe he was upset with what he had said, or what I had. It was gone in an instant, and he was smiling at me.

I squeezed his good hand one more time, careful to let go of the other before getting up from the ottoman. The hard-on I had been sporting was almost under control. That didn’t stop Josh from eyeing it as I rose. He let out another long, shuddering sigh. His intention was clear, but when he spoke, the weight of the sigh was replaced with a lilt.

“Have you thought about it yet?”

I laughed as I joined him at the table, where we plotted out our project, a podcast that would track Josh’s introduction to the sport as well as my season as a player.

“I still can’t believe a scout is coming specifically to see me. It’s nerve-racking, like I’ll have a fucking spotlight following me around the ice.”

“ Season in the Spotlight ,” Josh mumbled.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “ Season in the Spotlight .”