Page 80 of The Tryout

On the phone, Coach told him it was likely to be a short trip; just one or two games. Zimmerman, a third-line winger, had experienced an unexpected muscle strain during the Saturday night game. I try to pack optimistically but not delusionally – enough clothes for five or six days rather than just one or two. I know if it lasts longer than that, the organization will help him out.

When Finn comes out of the shower, he still seems a bit dazed. Looking at him there, the water dripping off the ends of his hair and onto his shoulders, I wish we had time for a little distraction. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that now – or, apparently, for the next couple of days.

As he gets dressed, I can’t help but feel like something is…off. I toss in a few more pairs of sweats, then turn toward him. He’s chewing his bottom lip so hard I worry he’ll draw blood. Stepping away from the bag, I walk toward him.

“What’s wrong? You’re gonna do great.”

He looks at me, eyes full of uncertainty.

“I’ve never…I’ve never been on a plane before.”

I try to school my expression, to not let my surprise show. Yes, I’ve flown a lot – most recently to get here, but also on family vacations and with my team in college. In fact, it’s been one of the harder transitions for me – the idea of spending half a day on a bus when we could easily take a one hour plane trip.

Once again, I realize how little I had considered that to be a privilege. If you had asked me before meeting Finn, I would have said that everyone flies. Clearly, I would have been wrong.

I step forward, wrapping my arms around him. He settles right in, taking a deep breath.

This has been one surprise of the past couple of weeks: the physical intimacy between Finn and I, something beyond just the sex. Sure, Jamie and I would hug or whatever; but the slow, silent times I spend with Finn is something new. His head in my lap, or my own resting on his hip, there’s a reluctance to part that is totally foreign to me. I feel the same thing now, his head on my shoulder, his breath coming more and more slowly.

After a few minutes he backs up.

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“...really overwhelmed?”

He nods his head.

“Ok, let’s work through this. First off, why don’t you check what I’ve packed? Oh, and you need to add your toiletries, too.”

He drifts over to the bed where he pokes through the suitcase.

“Isn’t this too much?”

I shrug.

“Better to have too much than too little. Let me have faith in you, okay?”

He blushes at this.

“Looks good.”

He tosses in his toiletries, the same bags that live in our room on the road. I help him zip up the bag, carrying it to sit next to the front door. Opening the front closet, I grab his gear bag.

“Your gear good to go? Anything in the dryer?”

Finn unzips the bag to check, meticulously sorting out the pads, skates, and base layers.

“We’re good.”

Good. We’d be a little short on time for a load of laundry.

I grab Finn’s hand and pull him over to the couch, sitting down and pulling him down so close to me that he’s nearly on top of me.

“Okay, flying. What questions do you have?”

His eyes go wide and I realize my mistake – how would he even know what questions he has?

“Let’s start at the beginning. Have the Huskies sent you anything?”