Chapter Six January
I know you missed your boy but seriously?? You couldn’t wait til we woke up to say goodbye??
i’ve spent many new years eves with you i don’t think you can be upset
i’m surprised you’re up already
it’s not even noon
Jenna May (9:45 a.m.)
??
But oh god you’re right I hadn’t even checked the time
Just promise me you won’t embarrass yourself when you see him again
Nick (9:48 a.m.)
if i could reasonably make that promise i would
She was right, he had gotten up earlier than necessary and bailed on his cousins and friends.
They’d been quietly sleeping off their evening of drinking and movie watching, and he’d figured they wouldn’t miss him.
He’d barely slept, and he hadn’t seen much point in hurting his back pretending to sleep on a couch in Mykala’s crowded living room.
Instead, he’d gotten up around six, gone home to change, and enjoyed a quiet run.
He’d also taken his time showering and wrapping the gift he’d carefully selected for the Yankee Swap.
After that, he’d gone through only seven outfits before he’d settled on khakis and a blue sweater he’d gotten for Christmas, and calculated his departure time down to the minute to make sure he arrived right at eleven.
And still, he had nearly an hour left before he had to head out.
Longest morning ever.
The team thing was going to be fun, but there was no point in denying that he was only this worked up because he hadn’t seen Brady in weeks.
Yes, they had texted as promised. He’d gotten some pictures of Brady in his new Team USA jersey, several images with a huge black lab draped across his lap, and some selfies of him and the mysterious Lucy, who had in fact turned out to be his younger sister.
Despite a huge size difference—she just came up to his shoulder—she obviously had Brady wrapped around her finger.
In turn, he’d shared some pictures of himself with Jenna and Terry playing board games, videos of said cousins falling all over themselves at an open skate, and random things he’d seen on runs or trips out.
He posted a lot of them to Instagram and Facebook, but he’d long ago realized Brady only logged onto Facebook for the team group chat; anything he wanted Brady to see, he had to send to him directly.
It wasn’t complete separation—in fact, it was kind of nice because he got the impression that Brady wasn’t keeping up with anyone else on the team, and it stupidly made him feel special—but it wasn’t the same.
Texting from a few miles apart, knowing they’d see each other later that week, was substantially different than texting from another state.
It shouldn’t be, but it felt like it was.
Soon, the status quo would settle back into place. Games started up again in a week, and there was plenty of hockey to watch in the meantime. All he had to do was not go crazy before 10:38 a.m. when he could finally head out and arrive at exactly 11:00 for the team gift exchange.
He checked his phone. 10:01 a.m.
Fuck, this was going to take forever.
*
Despite his carefully orchestrated plans to arrive on time, he ended up getting distracted by a call from his grandma wishing him a happy new year.
(“I called your cousins, but you weren’t there…” she’d said meaningfully, and he could hear his cousins teasing him indirectly through her words. “So I had to make a second call.”)
It put him behind schedule enough that he didn’t arrive until 11:33 a.m., which made him nervous he’d missed Brady’s arrival and squandered precious seconds of awkwardly trying not to gush that he was back.
Imagine his delight when he pulled into the unfamiliar neighborhood behind a black Jeep. They both parked about a half block away from Benns’s house, the only place with room left, and Nick had to take a few calming breaths before he jumped out of his car.
“Long time no see,” he said casually. Who’d missed Brady like crazy? Not him, nope.
“ ’Sup.” Brady acknowledged him with a nod and headed to his passenger door to pull out a basket, its contents obscured by bright-gold wrapping paper. “What’d you bring?”
Nick held up a small, neatly-wrapped-but-nondescript rectangular box. While Brady’s shone, his wrapping paper was a deep scarlet, like a black spot in the morning light.
“It looks like a toaster box.”
“It’s not a toaster.”
Brady gave another skeptical look to the box. “If you say so.”
“It’s not. Why would it be a toaster?”
“People bring weird shit to Yankee Swaps. A toaster would actually be pretty tame.”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” He tucked his gift under his arm, drinking in the sight of Brady. Backward cap. Socks and sandals. Hoodie. The shorts were gone, though, traded out for joggers that showed off his hockey thighs and ass in a whole new way.
Nice, very nice.
“I was actually surprised when you said you were in for this,” Nick said conversationally and started to walk toward the nearest row of houses. Best way to get his mind and eyes off those fine legs. “Figured you’d be out of town for a few more days.”
Brady shrugged and fell into step beside him. “I wasn’t going to be in town, but I came back for this.”
Nick stopped short. “Wait, what? You came back for this? Instead of hanging out with your family?”
Eyebrow raised, Brady also stopped. “Couldn’t we all be hanging out with family right now? I got work tomorrow anyway. What’s it matter if I came back this morning or tonight?”
“You—you drove in this morning?!” Nick sputtered. He’d been dicking around his house all day to pass the time, and here was Brady probably fresh off a four-hour drive.
…he really did want to be here, didn’t he?
“Yeah?” Brady shrugged. “It’s not like I could drive in at night; people drive like shit on New Year’s Eve. Had beer with some old friends, slept, woke up, and drove. I mean, what’d you do this morning?”
Tossed and turned thinking about seeing you in person again, got up early so I could try to work off some nervous energy, and here I am, as exhausted as you are but without anything like a 350 mile drive to show for it.
“I took a shower?” he offered because that was about the safest thing he could say.
Brady’s eyes flickered up to check his hair, still damp, and then he licked his lips.
“See? Not much different,” Brady said.
“What!? It’s completely different—”
“Nicki, Jensie!”
They both startled at the sound of Benns’s voice. He was on a porch a few houses down, waving enthusiastically to them.
“Glad you could make it! Come on in, we’re getting set up downstairs!”
Brady and Nick stared at each other like they were taking a last gulp of fresh air before plunging into some forced group bonding. Nick rolled his eyes and set off first. He liked having Brady to himself, but this would be fun too.
Benns waved them in. “Good to see you, boys. I trust you had a good holiday. Listen, I’ve got some hot chocolate on the stove so why don’t you head down when you’re ready, ’kay? Meet you in the basement in a bit.”
And then he left them in the entryway.
“Uhh…” Nick asked as they stared down at the neat line of shoes next to the door. “Shoes on or off?”
“Is Benns the type of guy who takes his shoes off?” Brady asked. He looked like he was mentally doing some math to figure out how many Jagr Bombs were accounted for. “These could be Guy’s shoes. He’s Canadian, right? That’s a thing there, isn’t it? Take off your shoes when you’re at a house?”
“Doesn’t help us know if we should take ours off,” Nick pointed out. “Better safe than sorry?”
“…sure.”
They walked down in their socks—Nick’s red and green stripes with candy canes on the heel because, duh, it’s the holidays; Brady’s boring and white with only a light gray toe to give them the semblance of personality—and were greeted by most of the team already lounging on the sofas, recliners, and the comically large bean bag chair in the corner.
Every single one of them had their shoes on, Guy included.
“We’re idiots,” Nick mumbled, then more loudly, “Hey guys, where do we put the gifts?”
“Coffee table,” Lexi said. “I think you’re the last ones, so we can start once the hot chocolate’s ready.”
“Sweet.”
Brady put his basket down in the only clear space big enough.
Nick tried to be more strategic. He needed a spot that wasn’t super visible because this wasn’t a gift for just anyone to grab.
Yes, he understood how the game worked and that buying a gift for a specific person was an exercise in frustration, but this could work.
In fact, once it was opened, he knew it’d go where he wanted it to.
“All right,” Benns said cheerfully once everyone had a mug of cocoa with their preferred amount of marshmallows and/or whipped cream.
“We’ll draw numbers to see who goes first. On your turn, you open a gift from the table.
You then have the choice to either keep your gift or trade it for one of the gifts someone else has already opened.
If someone takes the gift you have, you get to take one from someone or open a new one, and so on.
No gift can be taken more than three times. Clear?”
Guy raised his hand. “Why do we do this?”
“It’s fun?” Young Greg said.
“It’s hilarious?” Donno added.
“It’s competitive gift-giving to buy the gift everyone wants and end up with the best gift from other people?” Lexi said.
“It’s less awkward than a Secret Santa when you get someone you don’t know well?” GG said.
“It’s tradition,” Gail said firmly.
Guy nodded. “Okay, I understand.”
He did not understand, and they all knew it, but oh well.
They each drew numbers from a startlingly pink winter hat. Gail was first, then Donno, followed by Brady, Young Greg, Guy, Benns, GG, Lexi, Nick, and then Mags at the end.
Nick had to stifle a protest when Gail went to the table, inspected each gift with a poke or shake, then took his scarlet red box. He felt a burst of panic.