That was life in the locker room.
“You’re up,” Trevi said, stepping aside to stretch.
I maneuvered myself beneath the barbell and hoisted it onto my shoulders. Then I took a good step backward, stuck out my ass and squatted. The first three reps were okay, but numbers four and five nearly killed me.
When I’d finally parked the barbell back onto its holders and turned around, Trevi was massaging his own shoulder with one hand. He’d done that a lot this afternoon. “That bothering you?” I asked him.
“It’s just a big knot,” he shrugged. “But it’s going on two days now. Stubborn bitch.”
“Huh,” I looked around the weight room. “Do you know if they have any tennis balls around here? I know a trick.”
“Yeah? Hang on. It’s gettin’ to the point where I’ll try anything.”
I stretched my quads until he came back with a hard rubber ball. “Will this work?”
“Sure.” I took it from him. “Now sit down on that bench.” That’s when I saw the slightest hesitation. Maybe Trevi didn’t realize that I’d actually have totouchhis shoulder. And now he wondered whether it was worth it. “It won’t make you queer,” I joked.
His expression turned sheepish, and he sat down on the bench. The best thing to do would be to probe his shoulder with my fingers, looking for the knot. But I knew he’d be happier if I kept my hands off him. “Point to the spot,” I said. He reached two fingers back, digging them into the muscle. “Okay,” I said, putting the tennis ball there. When he took his hand away, I began to press. “Right there?” I asked, putting some weight behind the ball.
“Yeah. A little higher?”
I adjusted the ball a fraction of a centimeter, and put even more weight behind it.
“Christ,” he grunted.
“I know. But it works. In fact, it will still work even if you cry like a little girl right now.”
He chuffed out a laugh.
“Drop your head, and just try to relax. It takes a couple of minutes for your muscle to stop fighting back.”
“‘Kay,” he said.
Pressing the ball into his muscle, I glanced around the busy room. Hartley and Orson were doing split squats against the windows. Those were the two players who rated highest on the Rikker scale. Orson was a solid eight. I always found him easy to talk to. And Hartley was a nine. That dudeworkedto include me, and never even seemed to notice he was doing it. In fact, he could earn himself a ten. But I was saving room on the Rikker scale. Maybe I’m a tough grader, but I hoped that the unlikely day would come when somebody actually told me that they were glad I showed up to play hockey here.
After those two, there were a couple of sevens, and a handful of sixes, like Trevi.
Graham was in the opposite corner, his big legs visible on either side of a press bench. He was a zero on the Rikker scale. I’d been at Harkness a month, and he still hadn’t looked me in the eye, except by accident.
His avoidance both weirded me out and made me angry. Unfortunately, I hadn’t handled it well. Instead of ignoring him, I’d begun trying to provoke him, just to try to get a reaction. Any reaction.
It started the day he’d crashed into me at Coach’s house. I don’t even know why I’d thrown down that ridiculous comment.Was that good for you?Cheesy, much? But even though I’d said something patently ridiculous, he reacted as if I’d threatened his life. He went pale and shrunk back.
I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d tortured him a few other times, too. He just made it so damn easy. Last week, we’d come face to face in the hallway here at the rink. There was nobody else around. I didn’t say anything, I only blew him a kiss. And I got the same horrified expression all over again. Lately he’d been circling the perimeter of the dressing room just to avoid me.
But I was always aware of him. When he walked into a room, I felt him, like a change in the air pressure. Just an oblique glimpse of him was all it took to put me on high alert. I didn’t want to be so sensitive to him. It’s just that I didn’t know how to stop. We’d been so close all those years ago. My subconscious just couldn’t get over the idea that we weren’t anymore.
His laugh was the hardest thing to bear. If he were across the room talking to Bella or a couple of buddies, sometimes I would hear him laugh. And the low sound of his quiet chuckle always crushed me.
Iused to love to make him laugh. And I didn’t know how to quit listening for it.
“Wow,” Trevi said, turning his head. “That’s trippy.”
“What?” I asked, shaking off my reverie. “Did you feel it release?” I eased up on the tennis ball that I’d forgotten I was holding. I chanced putting my fist against his body instead, probing for a knot. But I didn’t find one.
“Yeah. Damn.” He rolled his shoulder a couple of times. “It’s so much better. Awesome.” He stood up and turned around. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” I handed him the ball. “If the knot comes back, you can try it by yourself, trapping the ball between you and the wall. But it’s hard to get the angle just right.”
