Chapter 15

Monday morning found me in a very similar position to where I'd been a week before—confused and distracted by Josh's situation and unsure where to go next. It showed during my early-morning hockey practice, where I made some sloppy passes and could barely keep up with play during our scrimmage, and continued on into my classes, as I once again found myself concentrating on everything except the lesson in front of me.

In particular was how I was going to deal with Amy McLellean, the “Christian Therapist” Josh's dad had apparently gone to. It wasn't that I didn't know what I wanted from her—I just had to pretend to be someone looking to handle a problem teen and see what suggestions she offered. The problem was that I had no way to approach her. I was a twenty-year-old who looked at most like he was twenty-two, and only when I had two weeks’ worth of facial growth. I couldn't pretend to be a concerned parent and going in as a sibling of a “problem teen” seemed too risky: she could just turn me away, asking me to bring my parents in instead. No, I needed to get a real adult to speak with her.

But who? I didn't know any beyond my professors and coaching staff, and I wasn't about to ask any of them to talk to McLellan under false pretenses. In fact, that raised a whole other issue: even if I knew an adult who could pass as a parent of a teenager, how on earth was I going to convince them to go along with this? This whole situation was becoming more unbelievable by the minute. Who on earth would want to be a part of my scheme in the first place?

By the time our USGM meeting began, I'd fallen into a funk, making this the second meeting where I offered very little input or enthusiasm for the whole thing. Not that it mattered. This wasn't like hockey, where I'd have two dozen voices screaming at me if I didn't put my heart into everything I did. Like just that morning, when I'd missed an easy pass, and Travis had torn off his helmet and started shouting at me, looking and sounding more like a coach than a player…

“That's it,” I said, much louder than I apparently should have. All the other execs in the windowless room on the seventh floor turned to me.

“What's it?” Kyle asked. “You agree with us writing a letter to the school’s Board to complain about patriarchal structures on campus?”

“No, of course not. I, uh, just got lost in thought.”

“So, you’re okay with how white men are in control of everything at this school?” Ashley asked, her eyes narrowing on me.

I mocked looking down at myself. “Um, yes. I'm actually in favor of it. As you can tell.” I grinned, to show that I was joking.

Caitlyn sighed. “I'm recording Trent’s vote as a Yes. Any other business?”

There wasn't, and the meeting was adjourned. I helped put the chairs away and then caught up with Caitlyn as we left the building. “No news on my front,” she said. “I still need to talk to professors about the legality of Josh's situation. How about you? Any ideas for talking to the Christian therapist woman?”

I nodded. “I think so. It might be a long shot, but at this point it’s all I think we've got. I’m going to talk to him now.”

“Wait,” Caitlyn said, as we reached the doors outside. “Talk to who?”

“The oldest student I know,” I replied. I left her and took off running, going across campus to the gym.

The school’s athletic center was a relic from a massive construction initiative that had been undertaken in the 70s, and while the other buildings that had been erected during that time had been upgraded and modernized, the center had remained as it was, growing increasingly out of date. Pastel colors, stuccoed walls and a ratty ventilation system greeted those who'd come to work out, though it didn't do much to stop the many fitness freaks on campus. I entered the weight room to find it packed, with few machines available.

I made my way through the crowd of sweaty tank tops and athletic shorts to the grunting and heaving sounds coming from the back, where ten bench presses sat, all of them in use. The guys under these bars made me look small, each of them lifting stacks of 45-pound plates.

On the far right, making the most noise, was Travis. He was seething out one final push of a bar with at least three hundred pounds on it, screaming at the spotter above him not to give him any assistance. After a good ten seconds of hard breathing, he was able to get the bar to the top and back in the rack behind him, at which point he sat up, grasping his arms and cursing up a storm. When he settled down, he looked over at me and smiled. “Hey Trent, fancy seeing you here. Did just learn about this place?”

“Very funny. I normally work out in the morning. And now I can see why. It's like a can of sardines in here.”

He grinned. “You do have to be a bit aggressive with getting your equipment. So did you come here to lift or what?” He gestured to my clothes, completely out of place in a room filled with bare arms and legs.

“Actually, I was looking for you. How much longer are you planning on being here? Something I need to talk to you about.”

His eyes grew large. “You're not thinking of quitting the team, are you? I know we've been ragging on you, but you're honestly one of the best players we have.” He paused. “Or do you need to come out to me again? I’ve read that it's an important step for gay people, so I'm happy to be that person if you need it.”

Not gonna lie, I got a bit hard at that point. Hot guy telling me he cared about my feelings? Yes please. “It's none of those. If there's a better time, I can meet you—”

“Oh, no, I'm done in five minutes. I’ll meet you outside then.” He lay back down under the bar. “Until then, I have a personal record to beat.”

“Most noise made while trying to do a bench press?”

He glared at me. “It's a good thing me attacking you would be considered a hate crime, ‘cause Trent, buddy, you are this close to getting it.”

I left the weight room laughing. He was obviously joking. I think.

***

“Christ, Trent.” Travis took another swig of protein shake from his plastic container. “That is some messed up shit right there.”

“I know. And I honestly wouldn't be asking you about this unless I thought things were as dire as I think they are.”

“You think that your boyfriend’s parents have lied to make decisions for him, even though he's an adult, and now they've sent him off somewhere, possibly against his will.” He looked over at me, protein powder dripping down his chin, and rolled his eyes. “It definitely sounds dire; I'll give you that much. And you want me to dress up as an old guy?”

“I need someone to talk to this therapist and get information for me. It'd be best if they could pose as a parent trying to deal with a difficult teen. And, you know, you kinda look like you could be forty. No offence.”

He laughed. “I’ve been able to buy booze since I was fourteen. None taken, I promise.”

“So, you'll do it?”

He opened his mouth but didn't say anything for a few seconds. “Fine. Sure,” he finally said. “But I need two things from you.”

My mind breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Absolutely. Just say ‘em.”

“One, no one on the team finds out about this. I don't want them thinking I'm going to going around doing favors for everyone.”

“Deal.” Not a hard task. It's not like I wanted them to know that I've been spending every waking hour trying to find my boyfriend.

“And two, I want you to promise you'll bring your focus back to the game. 'Cause we need you and you haven't been there. At all.”

“I know,” I started, but he cut me off.

“I'm serious, Trent. This is my last year, but you have at least another one ahead of you. I really think you could be team captain, but I need to see that in you every practice and game. You know how this works: no matter what's going on in your life, as soon as you hit the ice, it should all vanish. All that matters is you and the puck.”

“I know, I know.” My mind was reeling. He saw me as Captain material? That was news to me, but damn it if it wasn't a big deal. “I promise I'll do that. Cross my heart and everything.”

He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Great. So, when are you going to need me?”

I’d had no contact with Amy McLellan’s office—I didn't even know where she worked or if she had time for an appointment—nor had I arranged any transportation with Cameron. Still, I looked right into Travis’s eyes and answered: “Tomorrow afternoon. What time works for you?”