Chapter Seven The Pennsylvania Tournament #2
Brady pushed forward with his hand raised, shouldering Nick aside but somehow managing not to break contact afterward. It was completely unnecessary and almost certainly intentional.
And Nick leaned into the contact to show he absolutely approved.
“Yes, Jensie?”
“A lot of the teams seem to be relying on a pinch-in from the D. It’s almost always a set play, you can see them jumping in before their guys even have full control of the puck.
I’d recommend the centers be ready to cut that off and do a blind pass up to the neutral zone.
Nothing hard enough to ice, but something that our wingers can anticipate and rush after on a breakaway. ”
“Great observation, I’ve seen that as well. Centers, be on the lookout. Defense, keep an eye out for a good opportunity as well. Wingers, if you see that happen, maybe hesitate a moment if necessary, but be ready to make a run for it. Anything else?”
There was some chatter, but no one spoke up.
“I wouldn’t mind taking some faceoffs,” Nick added hesitantly. He would love to play center, but he wouldn’t risk it during a game that mattered. “I know I can’t take on that full center position, but I’m decent at the drop. I can win them and then switch back to wing once the play starts.”
“I can second that,” Brady said with the same puppy-dog enthusiasm he’d been showing all day. “Nicki’s a beast at faceoffs. I help him practice ’em.”
That earned a few raised eyebrows and shared looks from the rest of the team.
“You guys practice together?” Donno asked slowly. “Like… outside of warm-ups?”
Brady jerked like he’d been slapped; he took a step back so their arms were no longer touching. “I, uh… I mean we… stick-and-puck,” he babbled lamely, his eyes on the ground and very much looking like he regretted saying anything.
Nick’s cheeks grew hot, and he tried not to make eye contact with anyone. That didn’t stop his stomach from doing flip-flops.
Even Benns seemed thrown off, though he didn’t comment. “GG, you okay with that?”
“With not taking a draw?” he asked. “Yeah, I can handle that.”
“Great!” Benns waited for any more additions and nodded solemnly when there were none.
“We’ve played great so far. I think we’ve done a fantastic job against a really impressive lineup of teams who have completely different skill sets and strategies than we’re used to seeing.
It’s tough to continuously play at such a high level in such a short amount of time, so no matter how we end up ranking tomorrow, I’m proud of the effort we’ve put forth. ”
He let the pep talk sink in before he nodded toward Gail. “Gail has volunteered to take over our… What did you call it?”
“Required Post-Game Relaxation and Socialization Meet-Up,” Gail said. “Aka Happy Hour at a bar by my hotel.”
“Yes, that!” Benns said with a nod. “She’s organizing a gathering tonight to help us relax and not stress out too much before playoffs tomorrow.
You guys take care of yourselves, and don’t drink too much or stay up too late.
It’s no fun playing hungover, and I don’t want to see anyone run out of steam when we still have to make the drive home tomorrow evening. ”
“Yes, sir,” Brady said with a military salute. It surprised a laugh out of half the team; the rest of them gawked.
It also hopefully helped them forget that Brady and Nick practice together.
“Is this what Jens is like in Pens territory?” Donno asked. “If so, I kinda like it. I’m also kinda scared.”
For his part, Nick was as baffled as the rest of the team, though it came with a strange light-headedness whenever Brady’s erratic behavior was pointed his way. This is good, right? Please say it’s good…
Their last game of the night wasn’t particularly interesting. The opposing team tried to push hard, but they seemed too burnt-out to do much. The defense was able to lock things down in their zone, and Nick led the centers in faceoff wins.
“Tell me why you’re not usually a center,” GG said near the end of the third. They’d probably only get one more shift, and GG was already taking off his helmet. “I don’t mind, but I can’t win ’em like you can.”
“That’s something to think about,” Benns agreed. He appraised him, GG, and Young Greg sitting together on the bench and nodded in approval. “Your line has good chemistry. I don’t want to break you up, but switching Nicki to center might open things up and give you guys more opportunities.”
“Thinks he’s not fast enough,” Brady interrupted. He patted Nick’s helmet affectionately, caught himself, and knocked Young Greg’s and GG’s helmets for good measure before jumping over the boards onto the ice for a shift.
“What is up with him?” Young Greg muttered with wide eyes as Brady immediately hip-checked someone and stole the puck. “Fucking spectacular.”
Nick nodded in agreement and could barely pull his eyes away when Benns shuffled closer to him on the bench.
“Well, Nicki,” Benns said, “if that’s why, from what I’ve seen, you’re plenty fast. Maybe we try it out more in the future, if you’re interested?”
Nick was staring after Brady and had to shake his head to refocus. “Yeah, sure. Fine with me.”
Nick had hoped there’d be time after the last game—a 2:1 loss that they nearly tied with an amazing shot from Benns, but it went right through the crease—to head back to their hotels.
The pretense was to shower, to get Brady settled in, and to change.
It wasn’t that he expected anything else to happen, but he wanted a chance to feel things out away from the team.
“All right,” Gail announced in the locker room. She had her phone out. “There’s a bar about a mile from here. Happy Hour deals on pitchers end in thirty, so hurry the fuck up and get your butts over there. First few people, grab a table and order some beers.”
“So soon?” Nick grumbled. “I wanted to change.”
“Tough titties,” Gail said. “Happy hour. Three-dollar pitchers. Three dollars, Nicki. I’m not paying full price ’cuz of your delicate sensibilities.”
“It would be a good idea to get food sooner than later,” Benns said. “Recovery after all the hard work we put in today will be key to doing well tomorrow. So, please moderate your drinking, eat some protein and carbs, and get some sleep.”
Nick wouldn’t say he pouted about the lost opportunity, but there was a definite slump to his shoulders.
“You in a rush?” Brady teased, his voice right in Nick’s ear, so close he must have noticed how the hairs on the back of Nick’s neck stood up.
It was too low for anyone else to hear, so there was no mistaking it; this was for him.
He clapped Nick on the back as he wiggled past him to get to his gear bag.
“Plenty of time, Nicki. Plenty of time.”
There was definite intent in Brady’s eyes. He still hadn’t said a word about what he had planned, but he looked at Nick hungrily and gave him his full attention.
Oh. Okay then.
This was real. Shit shit shit shit. Yes, obviously yes, but also oh fuck, oh crap, he was not ready for this to go from fantasy to reality.
Nick might have had an out-of-body experience. He didn’t recall changing out of his gear or the drive to the bar or even finding Donno and Guy amiably ordering four pitchers of beer.
There was a beer in front of him, half-empty, by the time Brady hopped onto the chair next to him and slid an arm around Nick’s shoulder. Brady pulled him close in an almost hug, barely more than a quick squeeze, and then he pulled away.
“How many beers we aiming for before Benns gets here and shuts us down?” Brady asked, then helped himself to the rest of Nick’s drink.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp, and the whole time the fucker made eye contact with Nick over the rim of the glass.
Nick was a goner. No need to worry about getting back to the hotel. He’d die right here in the bar.
“He’s not coming,” Guy said with a mischievous smile. “So I think it’s up to us Alternative Captains to oversee the evening.”
Brady laughed and poured Guy some more beer; Guy laughed. “Guess we’ll be here late, huh?”
The team drank and talked and ate. They finished off their first pitchers and got some more, and the whole time, Nick felt like his skin could barely contain him.
Every time Brady shot him a glance or unnecessarily bumped into him, it felt like he was about to explode.
Every time Brady’s attention wandered for five, ten, twenty minutes, it was like he was going to implode.
Just when he thought he couldn’t last another moment, when he was about to head out and hope Brady would follow him—
“BEEJ!”
Everyone at the table turned in unison toward the loud voice.
Brady froze, beer stuck in midair as he processed the name, the location, the voice. Nick frowned in confusion as he saw the pieces click together for Brady.
“Holy shit,” he said with a wide smile. “Amelia Landry.”
A tall woman with long, neatly braided hair pushed through the crowded bar and opened her arms expectantly. Brady stood—he was maybe two inches taller than her—and accepted the hug.
“Hey, Aimes,” he said affectionately, like he was talking to a little sister or favorite cousin. “You here for the tourney?”
“Fuck yeah I am, though I didn’t see your dumb ass all day. Saw your name on a score sheet somewhere, figured I’d have to find you and give you shit for playing D4 and only scoring three goals.”
Brady gave her the finger.
Young Greg gasped out loud. “What’s gotten into him?!” he said, concerned parent and awed teammate both.
“You know I can’t cut D1,” Brady said.
She crossed her arms across her chest. “The ankle ain’t broke anymore, Beej.”
“Maybe I like getting on the scoreboard more than once every full moon.”
“You’ve gotten soft in your old age.”
“I’m three months younger than you.”
They broke into simultaneous drunken laughter at that.
Wow. Was this Young Brady?
…what happened to make him Older Brady?
“Come buy me a drink,” “Aimes” said. “Catch up.”
“You buy me a drink.”