Page 14 of The Legend Next Door
He leans his chin against a balled-up fist, elbow resting on the arm of the swing, and looks away from me.
After a long time, he nods.
When he looks at me again, the shroud around him is barbed and weighted. It’s pulling him down. Holding him back. I don’t talk or move or look away. I sit with him in the heavy, barbed place so he knows he isn’t alone.
When Luca returns, he has a large beach ball in his hands.
“Better,” says Ben. “Now you won’t take Jeremiah’s head off.”
“I wouldn’t take his head off, Dad. I know what I’m doing. I’mreallygood at hockey.”
I think about something Luca said the day I met him, and in light of what I know about Ben now, it makes me want to laugh.
Luca trots to the end of the porch and Ben gets to his feet and stands a few yards from where I’m sitting.
“Are you ready?” asks Luca.
“Born ready,” says Ben, throwing a wry smile my way.
Luca lets loose a surprisingly hard shot that sends the beach ball flying in our direction. Ben has his mug in one hand and a stick in the other. He hardly moves. Hardly looks. It’s as though he has an entirely different set of senses than most people. At least one of which was specifically designed to stop objects hurtling toward him. He turns the stick a fraction and stops the ball dead. He taps it lightly to return it to Luca, but his triceps dent deeply. So do his calves. And his lateral hamstrings.
His shorts are made of a thin, light fabric that shows everything.
They’re navy, the shorts.
I didn’t think the color mattered, but maybe it does.
I didn’t think hockey was the game for me either, but I’m starting to think it might be.
I sit, quiet as a mouse, and watch Ben and Luca play. Now and again, Luca offers Ben advice on how to improve his backhand, and Ben looks at me over his shoulder as if to saySee what I have to deal withand I smile like a fucking idiot.
The shorts Ben’s wearing are becoming more and more indecent by the minute. The fabric is really flimsy, even more flimsy than I initially thought. Not only that, it’s clingy as well. His calves and lateral hamstrings aren’t the only thing at play either. His glutes are getting in on the action as well.
I’m not sure who invented these shorts or told straight guys it was okay for them to wear them, but they were clearly designed with the male gaze in mind.
“…for the rest of the day?”
It takes me a second to fill in the blanks, but with some effort, I manage to piece together that Ben is asking me about my plans for the day.
“I’m editing some photos I took last week and have a massage client this afternoon. You?”
“Luca’s going to his Aunt Amy’s for a playdate with his cousins this afternoon, and I’m going to hit the gym while he’s out.”
Gym. Mm. Nice. More flimsy, clingy clothes on Ben, with sweat and testosterone added.
And an increase in blood flow and muscle volume in his body.
And pronounced veins running down big, beefy arms. More pronounced, as they’re already pronounced as fuck.
Jesus, I need to get it together.
“That’s nice. That’s so nice. I hope you have fun. Do you like working out?”
To his credit, Ben manages not to look at me like there’s something seriously wrong with me.
“I love it,” he says.
Luca appears to have lost interest in the game. He drops his stick and climbs over the railing at the end of the porch, disappearing from view as I collect myself, my mug, and Ben’s mug and get ready to leave. Ben walks me down the path and opens the gate for me.
