Chapter 10
ASHER REYNOLDS
I’m an introspective guy. Even growing up playing hockey in Michigan, I’ve always wondered about the meaning of things.
I could spend hours skating around the ice in sub-zero temperatures, looking at the trees and the lake and thinking about the vastness of the universe and every little organism in it.
It didn’t exactly make me the most popular guy with the other players sometimes, but it’s just the way that I’m built.
And now, being a philosophy major means that I basically spend a lot of time thinking about thinking–it’s called metacognition, in case you’re curious.
I’m meandering through the athletic complex on Tuesday morning, trying not to look too eager to get to my session.
It’s not really surprising to me that I’ve been thinking a lot about Chase’s confession to me about his sexuality. Especially since we’re about to have our first workout since our conversation on Friday.
I’ve gotten to a place where, in my mind, it sort of looks like when you go to the optometrist and they’re testing your vision. They continually slot different prescriptions–literal lenses–down in front of your eyes until things come into view.
That’s what I’m doing with Chase and this new information. I have this extra lens to add onto what I already know about him, and I’m trying to create a clear view.
And yeah, it doesn’t matter that he’s gay – bi – but it’s… interesting. Especially for a curious person like me. I’ve come up with dozens of questions that I’d like to know the answers to, if given the chance.
I think about them while I walk past the rink, where the team will soon be practicing.
When does he decide to come out to his co-workers, if ever?
Is Lyla aware that he dates men? Are his parents cool with him being bi?
When did he know? How did he decide to come out?
Was he dating men when he played professional hockey and during college?
Did it take him longer to realize that he was bisexual because he’s also attracted to women?
I keep coming back to that last one because the truth is, my reaction to Chase coming out to me was wildly different than when Kellan told me.
And that doesn’t make sense considering that Kellan and I have been friends for way longer when he realized that he wasn’t straight.
If anything was going to make me go down this rabbit hole, it should have been my roommate telling me that he and his tutor, Wells, had started sleeping together and that he was catching serious feelings for him.
It makes me think seriously philosophical thoughts like whether anyone can really know another person. Or can we even know ourselves? And shouldn’t we be constantly changing and evolving and discovering new facets of who we are anyway, as we’re exposed to the world around us?
And then, because I can’t stop myself, I think about what I’ve maybe been missing. I’ve always liked learning about other people and studying them, but I don’t necessarily spend a ton of time looking inward.
I’m the oldest brother. The oldest son. A D1 hockey player who was a starter on a nationally ranked team until I was injured.
Sometimes, I think that maybe I like to think about other people or big, abstract ideas so much because I don’t want to think about myself. I don’t want to face uncomfortable truths. Because once you know something, you should probably do something about it.
And I don’t know that I’m ready to make changes to my life. Especially with all the changes that have already been forced on me in the last few months.
Like, I love hockey, but do I love it because I’ve always loved it or has it been in my life for so long that I don’t know anything else?
I grew up in Michigan and was big for my age.
By virtue of those two facts, I was in skates within days of learning to walk.
It sometimes feels like my path was set before I could ever even conceptualize the idea of choice.
What would I do if I was thrust into Chase’s position, where my entire future was smashed to bits and I was left to pick up the pieces? Or, if I don’t actually play hockey after college, what am I going to do?
These are thoughts that I haven’t voiced out loud, even though I was already thinking about them before I got injured. There aren’t a lot of jobs for people who like to think about the meaning of life or what it means to be a good person. At least, none that I’ve seen advertised.
And now, on top of it all, I’m thinking about how it felt when Chase said that Zane thought he’d caught us doing something. I keep thinking about it.
I know that it doesn’t have to mean anything, but what if it does?
I slip into the sports medicine room, a strange mix of disappointment and relief when I see that I’m alone. Dangerously, all that means is more time with me and my thoughts.
As I do light stretching, I start to think about crazy things like wondering what Chase’s type of guy is. Or whether he’s ever been in a serious relationship. Has he ever been attracted to someone that he’s worked with in a therapeutic setting?
But that’s normal, right?
It’s because I’m impressed with him, I decide. At every turn, Wyatt Chase seems to buck convention or stereotype.
Think he’s just some dumb former jock? Well, get ready for a badass physical therapist who’s great at what he does.
Only know him from his playboy antics when he was younger? Guess again. He’s the doting father to a daughter whom it’s clear he loves more than anything.
And his sexuality? He’s the type of guy–with his athletic build, perfectly symmetrical facial features, and those cute glasses– who could have women falling at his feet, and would never have a shortage of company if he wanted it.
But instead of taking the easiest route because it’d be so readily available, he’s open to pursuing relationships that can absolutely fuck up his career trajectory in the world of collegiate and professional sports.
I’m a little bit in awe of him, and realizing that makes me heat up, glad that I’m alone.
With the way that I’ve been thinking about him, I feel like I’ve been caught doing something when he steps into the room a minute later. He must have come in from one of the other doors, since my eyes have been peeled on the entrance from the hallway.
I’m standing on the treadmill where I do my ten minutes of warm-up walking, about to hit the start button.
Chase drapes his arm across the treadmill screen. “Not today.”
He’s wearing his requisite cherry red Radford polo, along with a pair of black khakis.
I spend an extra second or two looking at his darkened arms. “You’re really tan,” I blurt out.
He smiles, but now he’s looking at me a little more closely.
God, I don’t want to make this weird. Is it weird to comment on his appearance? “Spend your summer outside?”
His smile turns more genuine, exposing his white, straight teeth. Why haven’t I noticed what a nice smile he has before now? “Lyla and I went to the beach a lot. She’s a real water baby.”
“That’s brave of her. The water on the New England coast is no joke, even in the summer.” Good. This is good. I sound almost normal, even if my heart is beating faster than I’d like.
“Didn’t you grow up in Michigan?” he challenges. His eyes scan down one of my tattooed arms, where an icy pond and snow covered pine trees snake around my forearm.
The look–his focused attention on my body–lights something up inside me, and I swallow instinctively. The team constantly gives me shit for not being able to tell if someone is hitting on me, but it’s usually because I’m in my own world.
Is this what it would feel like?
I mean, I have no reason to think that Chase is into me, and even though my heart feels like it’s going to crawl out of my throat, I like it.
And it doesn’t help when it seems like his voice drops an octave lower as he says, “I have something else planned for you today.”
“What are we doing instead?” I breathe out.
Suddenly, I have this irrational fear that he’s going to do something like send me to Zane to continue working on my recovery.
I don’t know why the thought flits through my head, but my whole chest seizes with the possibility that I wouldn’t get to spend so much time with him.
He pulls his gaze away from my arms, and I resist doing something stupid like flexing my bicep to get him to look at me again. He’s focused on his iPad, his fingers playing mesmerizingly across the screen.
Finally, he looks up at me again, meeting my stare. “Today is your first hydrotherapy session.”
The main door to the sports medicine room opens into the large area that has the tables, mats, treadmills, and a carpeted area for floor exercises.
It’s separate from the weight and conditioning room, and is generally only used by players to get taped up before practices or work through any mandated physical therapy plans with the medical staff.
At the back of the long, rectangular-shaped room is another door that leads to the hydrotherapy room.
When the school did the remodel a year before I started at Radford, they spared no expense.
I’ve been able to see it through the large glass window that separates the two rooms, but I haven’t used it yet this season.
When you walk into the room from the sports medicine area, the largest body of water is a therapy pool that can comfortably fit one player who walks against the water’s resistance. There are jets at both ends that create a flow, simulating moving against a current.
Farther back into the room, there’s a cold plunge pool on one side and a hot tub directly next to it. Those are sometimes used by players after practice, so there’s another door at the back that leads directly to and from the locker room and shower area.