Chapter Ten April #3
In Nick’s defense, he didn’t mean to Facebook-stalk Brady.
He was avoiding getting out of bed on Sunday morning.
It was pouring rain, and the paths he liked to run would be flooded, so his usual motivation to get up was ruined.
He had nothing but week-old leftovers and an empty DVR, so there was no siren call to lure him downstairs.
There was a nice warm bed right here, and a fully charged phone with a dozen apps that could keep him distracted until even the leftovers looked appetizing.
Facebook was merely one of those apps. Not even the first one he checked.
He wasn’t looking for Brady; he was scrolling to see what people were up to.
That was a thing he did, a completely normal thing, and never ever did friggin’ Brady Derek Jensen appear on his feed because Brady Derek Jensen did not post to Facebook, so therefore he could not be using it to stalk Brady.
As it turned out, Brady’s sister did post to Facebook. As did her new husband. And their friends and family. And all of them were diligent about tagging the relevant people in the many, many, many pictures they posted of the wedding festivities. Pictures and videos.
Videos!
Nick was only human. How could he possibly ignore an opportunity to see what Brady was like outside of the world of hockey?
So he did.
Full stop: Brady was clean-shaven. Brady literally always had a beard. It was well-manicured, it looked great on him, and it was ever-present. It was Brady.
A lot of respect for his sister if she could get him to shave.
Also, a lot of thanks to his sister for showing him the vision that was a clean-shaven Brady.
Holy fuck, if he weren’t crushing on him already, he would be after these pictures.
Honestly, how fucking dare he attack Nick personally like this?
If Nick were a smart man (spoiler: he wasn’t), he would’ve stopped then. He would have realized he was emotionally compromised, closed out of the app, and moved on. Maybe even gone for that run despite the rain.
Instead, he clicked on Brady’s profile and gorged on the feast of posts now tied to his account.
There were pictures of Brady baking cookies.
There were pictures of Brady at the dress rehearsal.
There were pictures of Brady and his sister and their parents and grandparents.
There were awkward pictures of Brady with the other groomsmen, clearly all people Brady didn’t know well but who had accepted him as one of their own.
There were pictures of Brady in a three-piece suit, for fuck’s sake, and Nick just about died.
As far as Nick had seen, Brady’s entire wardrobe consisted of lazy jock-bro attire: shorts, joggers, T-shirts, hoodies, backward caps, and the oldest, most worn pairs of flip-flops and sandals he’d ever seen.
And now Nick would never be able to unsee him in a fucking suit.
Nick thought he’d seen his fill… and then he started on the videos.
There were a few about the minutiae of getting ready for the actual wedding.
Lucy Jensen was a fucking angel, posting videos of her grumpy brother helping to arrange chairs, babysitting the flower girl and ring bearer, arranging flowers for the centerpieces, and wrestling with their dad while waiting for the actual ceremony to start.
The greatest find, though? Better than Brady with no beard and a nice suit, acting like a cute dope?
The videos of Brady drunk dancing. All the classics were there: Chicken Dance, Electric Slide, YMCA, and a glorious rendition of the Macarena.
Brady was part of all of them, at least a half step too slow.
His level of drunkenness was easily apparent by how enthusiastically he participated in the dances, ranging from “I’m doing this because my little sister made me” to “I don’t fucking give a shit, I’m having fun. ”
It was quite possibly the greatest thing he’d seen in… well, he couldn’t really pinpoint when he’d last smiled so much.
Damn.
*
If he were “pre-tournament Nick,” he would have texted Brady immediately about the mess he’d found on Facebook. He’d have teased him about it and enjoyed anything and everything he learned about the wedding, the trip, and Brady’s family.
He was “post-tournament Nick,” though, and post-tournament Nick had to maintain some semblance of distance.
So he did not text Brady.
He did not comment on the Facebook pictures.
He did not seek out more pictures or videos after that initial Sunday morning.
He did his best not to think about those pictures. Or Brady.
And failed.
He focused on other things. The weather improved, so he ran.
Work was behaving, so he cooked more instead of eating out.
He’d found a hockey blog that recommended exercises he could do off the ice to improve his skating and stick-handling, so he did them in a corner of his living room while watching TV.
And when Gail sent him an invite to a bar to watch a game, he accepted because having friends on the team outside of Brady seemed like a good idea.
He walked into the sports bar, a trendier place than he would’ve picked, and scanned the crowd for Gail.
Nick almost tripped over his own feet when he saw Terry sitting at the bar.
“What are the chances that you’re here for some completely unrelated reason?” he said as he grabbed a seat a few down from his cousin, noting the empty seat and abandoned jacket between them.
Terry frowned. “Unrelated to what?”
“Beauty, brains, or brawn,” Gail said. She moved her jacket and took the chair. “Nobody gets all three. Some people don’t even get two.”
“Or one.” Nick wrinkled his nose at his cousin. He loved Terry, he did, but some days he felt like Terry was living on a completely different wavelength than the rest of them.
Gail mussed Terry’s hair and smiled. Terry smiled back, huge and wide like a puppy, and she rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. “He’s here for the same reason you are.”
“He’s here to make me throw up in my mouth?”
“Hockey, dumbass. Playoff games require group gatherings at bars to drink and yell at the TV.”
“Terry doesn’t even speak hockey.”
“I do!” Terry said defensively. “Goalie. Hat trick. Biscuit. Dasher. Ovie. Backcheck.”
“It feels like you did a quick search of ‘hockey’ and wrote down some talking points. Also I can hear the extra E you added on Ovi, what the fuck?!”
“So he’s a puck bunny. Leave him alone.” Gail waved over the bartender.
“Oh God,” Nick whined. “Please stop talking.”
“Sorry, bud. You got here too early. No one else is here yet,” Gail said in a voice that indicated she was in no way sorry, then turned to the bartender with a polite smile. “Can we get a couple pitchers and glasses?”
While Gail went through the menu and ordered some starters, Nick leaned back so he could see behind her chair. Terry followed suit.
“Who else is coming?” Nick asked.
Terry shrugged. “Some people from your team, I think. I invited Jenna, but she’s got a work thing or something. Gail mentioned inviting someone from her work; dunno if they’re coming.”
Nick’s heart skipped a beat.
“Who, exactly, from my team?”
Terry made a face. “Lexi, Mags, GG, maybe Donno but I think he said he might be stuck doing some family thing instead, and Brady,” Terry dutifully recited and counted off each name on his hand.
He looked proud of himself for remembering them all, and then his expression withered when he saw Nick’s face.
Terry never did like to be the bearer of bad news.
Shit.
Did Nick want to see Brady outside of hockey? Hell yes he did, and that was the problem. Hockey kept things safe; bars and beer were not safe and invited them to fall back into old habits. Things were finally better now, and he wanted to keep them on the right track.
All of which Terry knew, the sneaky bastard.
Nick glared first at his cousin, then at Gail. “You didn’t mention this.”
“Did you really think I invited you here to hang out, just the two of us?” Gail asked.
“I—I mean— You did once before!”
“To read you the riot act. The beer was to soften the blow. This is to watch hockey. No offense, Nicki, but that’s more suited to large groups and not one on one.”
“Don’t pretend this invitation was completely on the level,” he accused.
Gail batted her eyelashes. “No idea what you mean. But let’s be honest, I saved you from worrying your pretty head over it. Aren’t you glad I spared you some moping? Now pour yourself a beer, put your big-boy pants on, and settle in. I got a feeling this game’s going to OT.”
The game hadn’t started yet and the sound wasn’t on, so there was no distraction from Nick basically being a third wheel on his cousin’s date.
It gave him weird middle-school flashback vibes…
except that the mean girl wasn’t bossing Terry around simply because he’d do as he was told.
Gail seemed by all appearances genuinely fond of Terry.
Well, he was willing to take the hit here. He was wrong about how well they’d mesh, and he didn’t mind his temporary third-wheel status if it meant Terry was happy.
Other people slowly arrived. Lexi rolled in, grabbed a beer, and ranted about how the Presidents’ Trophy was garbage.
GG was next; he chatted with Terry out of obvious curiosity and made it 100% clear that as soon as the game was on, he would find himself a quiet corner to watch and would only reappear during intermissions.
And then Brady came. Backward hat, not at all dressed for the weather, about to walk into a hockey game at any second, Brady.
Nick’s heart might have skipped a beat but thankfully he maintained a calm(ish) demeanor. Terry reacted more, not-so-subtly taking out his phone. Based on his shit-eating grin, he was texting Jenna about this small victory over their cousin.
I got to see him first :))))))
Nick was only unsure how many )’s made it into that message.