Power Play

Chapter 5-1

Chapter 5

Ryan wonders how they can possibly get back

to where they were before his mother interrupted them. Mere inches

apart, he saw the look in Dante’s eyes, he saw the

way his friend studied him, his nose, his mouth. He could almost

taste the kiss, and it would be a hundred times sweeter than Noah’s

hurried press of lips, it would be amazing. He can still feel

Dante’s hand on his, the fingers curling into his palm.

He closed his eyes, so sure this was it, one

kiss and the words would come tumbling out, Dante would say the

things Ryan himself feels in his heart and the nervousness between

them would fade, the awkwardness would disappear. Then Dante would

kiss him again, they’d lie together on the bed in each other’s

arms, their faces close and their noses touching, and Dante would

kiss him again. Ryan’s lips tingle in anticipation.

But his mom had to ruin the moment. How old

is he? Nineteen, and she comes knocking with donuts and milk like

he’s two. She’ll probably knock again at noon with sandwiches and

lemonade, ask Dante if he wants to stay for dinner. If he wasn’t in

this chair—

You would have never met him, he

tells himself and that’s true, he probably wouldn’t have. But he

shops at Later Skater, eventually he would’ve seen him, and given

the easy friendship that’s bloomed between them, he’s positive they

would have struck up a conversation. And he’d be in the dorm, with

a little more privacy, and he could have invited Dante there…

But if you weren’t stuck in this

thing, a voice inside his head wants to know, would you have

the time to get to know someone like him? Before the accident,

if it wasn’t hockey, Ryan wasn’t interested. Now he has nothing

but time, and Dante has slid into place in his life almost

effortlessly, as if they’re simply meant to be friends. Or

more… He tries to think of anything, anything at all, to get

Dante leaning back over him again, to get his friend looking his

way, to get him to go through with the kiss this time.

If that was Dante’s intention all along—as

the morning wears on and Dante doesn’t make another move, Ryan

begins to wonder if maybe he’s misread the signs. Maybe Dante’s

just very friendly, maybe Ryan saw more in his smile than he

intended—when Ryan closed his eyes, so sure the moment was right,

this was it, maybe Dante pulled back and it’s a good thing

his mother interrupted them after all. Maybe Dante doesn’t feel the

same way Ryan does.

And maybe he’s just scared. Ryan

watches Dante flip through the scrapbook his mother complied of his

first year on the hockey team, a book of photos and news clippings

and programs from the games, and wonders if someone like Dante

gets scared. He wonders if he’s anything to be frightened

of. Maybe he’s scared you’ll turn him away. Maybe he doesn’t

want to go further because he’s afraid of losing what you’ve

already gained. Ryan doesn’t know, and he hates that little

voice inside and its maybes. Would it be so hard to just

say, look, I like you, do you like me too? Like in

elementary school, write a note to a crush and pass it around the

room during class, circle yes or no. Would that be so

bad?

Only he’s not brave enough to be that blunt

and the later it gets, the more his courage shrivels inside of him

like the dying flowers on his desk, until he’s convinced himself

that Dante’s simply being a friend, nothing more, and that

near-kiss was just a figment of his imagination.