Chapter Five December
The days slipped by. Work, hockey, family, running, over and over in an endless cycle. There was a brief interlude for Nick’s birthday, a small event that was just him and his cousins closing out a local brewery, and then it was back to the grind.
It was exhausting, and the impending holidays didn’t help.
The end of the year meant tons of work closing out finances, even though he personally only had a small part to play.
Christmas also meant tons of family stuff eating away at his free time.
Luckily, hockey games were slowing down for the holidays, but the trade-off was the stick-and-pucks were filling up with kids home from college.
Basically, he was stressed just thinking about the next few weeks, never mind actually living through them.
A busy social schedule was the only reason he found himself in his current dilemma: he had to use one of the questionable showers at the rink.
Nick tried to scrub the gross feeling off his skin, the itch of invisible mildew. His towel was too soft for the job, but he couldn’t resist trying.
Ugh, he was totally going to need to shower again when he got home.
“If I die from some strange fungus,” he said as he escaped back into the locker room, “please lie to my parents and say I died from something way cooler.”
“Did you use the showers? Damn, you’re either really dumb or really brave.” Gail gave him a once over. “Or both.”
“Healthy mix of both, for sure,” he laughed. “I’m running late, and that’s the only reason I’m willing to risk foot fungus.”
“Want a beer?” Gail offered as if in consolation for Nick’s shower.
Though tempted, he shook his head and sprayed water everywhere. “Nah, no time.”
He pulled out the suit bag from behind his jacket and carefully started to take it out and get dressed. He only had about forty-five minutes to get to Baltimore; there was no time to get a spare suit from home if he stained this one with warm beer.
“Whoa,” Young Greg said. “That a suit?”
All the stragglers still hanging out turned to look; Nick was halfway into his dress shirt with his towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
“You got a hot date or something?” Lexi asked.
Lexi, by pure random chance, was on the bench right next to Brady. This meant that when Nick turned toward Lexi, he got a great view of Brady tensing up. Not just a slight-crick-in-his-neck tense, not oncoming-charley-horse tense. It was more like…
More like when the Douche Brothers called him BJ.
Huh.
“Kind of,” Nick said with a half-shrug, all he could spare as he set to work on his tie. “My grandma’s in town, and my cousins and I are taking her out to this nice place in Harbor East. Can’t exactly show up for a fancy dinner smelling like a locker room.”
“Your grandma would still love you even if you did,” Donno pointed out. “Best thing about grandmas.”
“True story,” Gail agreed. “My parents would get all pissy about my bad grades. Grandmas don’t mind.”
Answering them made Nick take his eyes off Brady, but he tried to keep him in his peripheral vision. Even so, he couldn’t be sure that Brady had relaxed. He was probably imagining things. Wishful thinking and all that.
“Maybe true…” Nick pulled up his suit pants, wiggled them up his still-damp thighs, and stuffed his shirt in. “But I love my grandma enough not to make her endure gross hockey smells. Also, the restaurant might kick me out.”
“Yikes, called out,” Gail said. “I feel like I gotta call Nana when I get home to apologize for being a shit kid in middle school.” A pause. “And a less-than-optimal adult now.”
Nick laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for the call. All right, I gotta book it. Good game, here’s to making the playoffs, and I’ll see y’all next week.”
Gail, Lexi, and Donno waved and chimed in their goodbyes. Brady shoved the last of his gear in his bag and popped right up.
“I’ll walk you out.” And then he grabbed Nick’s bag and shouldered it. He looked absolutely ridiculous balancing both bags like some sort of hockey sasquatch myth, and Nick’s heart in no way leapt into his throat.
“What are you doing?” Nick asked dumbly. As if it weren’t obvious.
“Don’t want your suit to get wrinkled,” Brady said nonchalantly. “You gotta carry the sticks, though.”
It took a moment of staring, jaw comically agape at the chivalrous offer, before Nick could move. “Er, right. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
He held the door open for Brady—he could be a gentleman, too—and grabbed his lone stick and both of Brady’s. He also held the doors out of the rink and tried not to walk too slowly as he dragged out this moment.
Brady was so damn sweet, on top of everything else that drew Nick in, and he desperately wished Brady were his.
Not his teammate, not his new bar buddy, not his go-to guy for hockey practice.
His in a far more meaningful sense, more possessive and demanding but also softer and more intimate.
He wanted movie nights when one of them would hog the blanket, or bumping into each other in the kitchen while they made dinner, or reading quietly with their legs pressed together.
He wanted them enjoying each other’s company without needing to say a word.
He let out a sigh that clouded the air and then dissipated with his longing.
Things were good. Things were (possibly?) moving in the right direction.
There was no reason to push. Slow and steady was the way forward, if he ever got the nerve to go forward, and walking together to their cars was a piece of that.
And sometimes, enjoying the crush stage was fun.
He opened up his trunk and insisted that Brady let him put his own damn bag and stick in.
“Thanks, man,” Nick said, and winced slightly. He was an idiot.
Hey, buddy. Friend. Pal. Man. Bro.
“No problem.” Brady didn’t leave. He stood there, toeing the cracked asphalt as he readjusted his own bag, and stubbornly didn’t say goodbye.
“You in town a whole lot longer? I figured you’d head back to Pittsburgh for the holidays…?” Nick offered.
Brady nodded. Insane as it was, he was still wearing shorts and sandals, though it was cold enough to warrant the addition of a hoodie and socks to his regular ensemble.
Sandals and socks, for fuck’s sake. It was kind of cute and added to his presence as an indomitable hockey player who didn’t understand such mortal concerns as cold or fashion.
His breath was wonderfully warm as it carried on the air to Nick, who valiantly resisted the urge to lean closer and breathe him in.
“Probably not the whole time,” Brady said. “Lots of projects to finish up at work. I could do ’em at home, but…”
“But being at home over the holidays doesn’t inspire a strong work ethic.”
“Nope.” The “p” popped, and Nick really wanted to feel Brady’s lips against his when he did that.
Slow and steady, some still-functioning part of his brain warned.
Fuck, he needed to get out of here.
“So uh… I should—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brady hurriedly interrupted and took a few steps back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“You didn’t.”
“Still.”
They didn’t move. Nick bit back a smile that he knew would consume his whole face if he let it. “Well, I’ll see you Monday night. Rockville, right?”
“Yeah, Rockville Ice Arena.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
“…bye.”
“See ya.”
Another five seconds passed (a painful five seconds that Nick mentally counted out so that he would know that he absolutely, positively needed to leave if the number got too high) before Brady turned on his heel and lumbered toward his Jeep.
He threw a wave over his shoulder, adorable and effortless.
Nick took a half step backward and bumped into his car. Shit, he was a mess. A really happy, bubbly mess who would overanalyze this whole interaction for the next week at least.
And hopefully his grandma would understand if he were a few minutes late. He was pretty sure she’d forgive him for swooning over the handsome boy who’d walked him to his car.
*
Grandma Pauline did in fact forgive him. Worse, she had a shit-eating grin when he arrived at dinner.
“Terry tells me you’re late because you were at a hockey game,” she said with a raised eyebrow, an open invitation for him to elaborate.
Five pairs of eyes, all sparkling with amusement, looked at him over their drinks. He hadn’t even sat down, and he fell the last few inches ungracefully enough that the chair wobbled.
“Uhh…”
His grandma gave a dismissive wave and took a sip of her wine. “Sweetie, it’s fine. If this boy’s caught your eye, then I don’t mind sparing you for a few minutes. Though I require preferential seating at your wedding.”
Nick’s cheeks flushed. “Grandma, I don’t—”
“I’m teasing, Nick. Calm down, and let’s get you a drink.
We’ll save talking about handsome young men until later.
And handsome young ladies, of course,” she added with a nod toward Terry and Sean, though as a rule, Sean didn’t date and Terry’s lady woes were well known.
“Until then, no talking about someone who’s not present at this table.
Now walk me through everything I’ve missed since I visited in the spring. ”
A lot of their conversation rehashed topics that had come up at Thanksgiving because Grandma Pauline hadn’t made the trip up from Florida this year, though Nick noticed some of his cousins edited their comments for her benefit.
Terry’s job hunt wasn’t as stressful, Sean’s clients weren’t as annoying, and Jess and Mykala weren’t having issues with their stepdad.
For his part, Nick tried to be honest, but he too found himself sparing his grandma the more troublesome details of his life.
Not that Chad from Sales was even worth discussion. He was an ant, and Grandma Pauline would say so without a second thought. “And really, Nick, you shouldn’t let him get under your skin. He’s beneath notice, and you should treat him as such.”
If only.