Chapter Thirteen The Canada Tournament
just got into town and checked in
the drive’s a bitch way worse than going to pittsburgh
forgot to ask you when you’re arriving/where you’re staying
so if you’re in town lemme know and we can get a beer
Brady (11:14 p.m.)
I think lexi’s here too and maybe young greg if you wanted me to see if they wanna come too
Brady (11:38 p.m.)
ran into young greg at the hotel bar he’s super excited to drink so I bought him a beer
Brady (11:43 p.m.)
we’re at the marriott btw
Brady (12:15 a.m.)
so i’m guessing you’re asleep or driving or on a plane or something
safe travels see you when you get here
Nick’s heart had either stopped or was beating so fast he could no longer feel it. These messages… he didn’t know how to read them. Or rather, he did, and it reminded him painfully of their last tournament together: a build-up to dashed hopes and resentment, then months of awkwardness.
He did not want to do that again.
Since they’d won, Nick had been careful to avoid the topic of travel.
He didn’t want to talk about when they were getting there, how they were getting there, where they were staying, or if they wanted to split a room again.
Brady didn’t mention any of it either, which Nick felt was an agreement not to let things go as poorly as last time.
When they had talked about the trip, it was specifically to discuss hockey: what would the teams be like? Should they go to the Hockey Hall of Fame? Could they work in a trip to Scotiabank Arena for kicks? That sort of thing.
And now Brady was flat-out inviting him for drinks at a hotel bar. That was… flirty, right? But also not, since he’d offered to bring other people as a buffer?
As long as I don’t go back to his hotel room, things will be fine. He’s excited and bored, and that’s it. He’s probably texting everyone to find out where they were. Alternate Captain’s duty or whatever. I’m not special.
Nick (6:17 a.m.)
heading to the airport in a bit probably won’t be checked in until noon
which means i probably have time to grab lunch in town before our game tonight
suggestions?
we could grab a group if other people wanna explore downtown
Thank fuck that Brady was probably asleep and that Nick had to turn his phone off for the flight.
The last thing he wanted was to obsess over his non-relationship with Brady.
Instead, he could panic about the mountain of work that would pile up and set him behind for the rest of the month just so he could disappear for three days.
Or just as likely, he could grow anxious about the upcoming games.
Or maybe, if he was lucky, he could read the book Max had gotten him for Christmas and not think about anything except gay medieval knights.
Brady would look pretty hot dressed as a knight.
Aaand he was back to square one.
Fuck his life, honestly.
*
“What is a milk bar, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Brady admitted as he stared longingly toward the steps.
They were on the first floor of a building that had a different restaurant on each level, including what was lauded as an award-winning milk bar one floor up.
Brady had chosen the place based on review.
“But after these noodles we should check it out.”
“Noodles and milk, yum. Definitely the light fare I want before an important game.”
“Doesn’t Ovechkin eat a whole meal of fettuccine alfredo before games? And you’re questioning my taste?”
“Hey, I’ll have you know it’s chicken parmesan. But yes to Ovi and yes to me questioning your taste.”
Brady grumbled under his breath; they were saved by the server bringing water, menus, and a pleasant smile.
“So… no one else wanted to come out?” Nick asked after they’d ordered.
It wasn’t that he was suspicious, it was more—okay, it was 100% because he was suspicious.
Two people going out for lunch alone when their whole team was around screamed “date,” right?
No, it didn’t, because they weren’t dating.
They weren’t flirting (anymore), they weren’t sharing a room (this time), and they did not drunkenly fall asleep on a couch next to each other (what an embarrassing mistake).
None of those arguments were particularly convincing. They were dangerously close to dating for two people who would both agree they were actively trying to not date each other…
Brady shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Only saw Young Greg this morning when I checked on him after breakfast. Benns texted this morning, but he’s here with his family, so I didn’t think he’d be up for it. Didn’t see anybody else.”
…except Brady picked the place and ignored Nick’s suggestion they invite other people.
“Young Greg okay?” Nick asked.
“Overdid it with the beer last night, but he’s not hungover. Just not used to it.”
“He a chatty drunk? He seems like he’d be a chatty drunk.”
“True facts right there. He wouldn’t shut up about government conspiracies, particularly regarding the legal drinking age, smoking pot, and a long rant about the JFK assassination.”
“Fuck, that sounds hilarious. Wish I could hear that garbage, you should’ve live-tweeted it or had a video going or something because holy shit.”
Brady raised an eyebrow.
Right. Brady probably didn’t even have Twitter.
The conversation fizzled out as they waited for their food. Nick tried to come up with a neutral, safe topic to bring up that in no way resembled, So what’s your room number at the hotel? or Maybe we should talk about that time we woke up together on my couch?
Brady salvaged the meal with an innocent, “Going to the Hockey Hall of Fame, underrated or overrated? Where’d we land on that?”
A soundless laugh escaped Nick. “I don’t know that the team decided—”
“Fuck the team; they’re a mess. They went to dinner at a friggin’ chain restaurant by the airport last night, for fuck’s sake. You and me, should we go?”
This was sounding more and more like a couple’s retreat that occasionally featured the Jagr Bombs and a hockey tournament. He’d really like that to be the case. “Underrated. The Cup—or I guess a Cup—is there—and Ovechkin’s got a trophy on display that I wouldn’t mind seeing—”
“Alexander Ovechkin does not own the Rocket Richard Trophy.”
“Possession is like nine-tenths of the law, so he kind of does.”
There was a dismissive grunt, barely more than a percussive puff of air, but Brady didn’t protest. “So, you in? We stop by tomorrow after our morning games, grab some food, then meet up with everyone for the evening games?”
The server dropped off their ramen, buying Nick time to consider.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “I’m game.” A pause. “Do you think anyone else would want to go?”
Brady’s face twitched briefly, though his expression immediately smoothed around the edges.
“We could ask,” he said dismissively, as though doubting the twelve other people who’d traveled with them, all of them hockey players and hockey fans, would want to go to some place as obscure as the Hockey Hall of Fame.
“Right,” Nick said under his breath, then dug into his food. He let himself be distracted by the meal and the time ticking by to their first game of the tournament. He didn’t say much, and Brady seemed content to enjoy his company and the food.
Nick thought he did a good job of remaining calm and aloof, though inside he was struggling to keep it together.
This—whatever it was going on between them—was nice.
The time, the attention, it was a glimpse into the type of relationship he’d wanted with Brady since the first week they’d met.
(Well… maybe not the first week.) It wasn’t a romantic or sexual relationship, but it bordered on it, like it could dip into those strange new realms at any moment if either of them wanted it to.
At least that was the veneer, the shiny outside coating that hid the truth.
It felt like the PA tournament. A balloon filling with potential, only to burst and leave their friendship shattered in its wake.
They’d been so good before that trip, and they’d managed to recover and get back on solid ground afterward.
Nick wasn’t sure he could handle riding that emotional seesaw again.
And if they had a repeat of PA, it would completely sour Nick’s view of tournaments.
Whatever had made Brady jump ship then hadn’t gone away; his issues were still there, whatever they were.
Maybe if all this were happening back home where events felt more real, less exotic and special. Somewhere that didn’t give them any excuses to take things out of context and then ignore them when they got back.
He snorted, realizing he’d called Toronto “exotic.”
“Hmm?” Brady asked around a mouthful of noodles.
“Nothing,” Nick said with a dismissive wave and a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m an idiot, that’s all.”
Brady nodded in easy acceptance. Yes, sometimes you’re an idiot, nothing unusual there.
If nothing else, they were on the same page about something.
*
“I’ve never been blown out so badly in my life,” GG grumbled on his way back into the locker room.
“That’s what he said,” Young Greg and Lexi said at the same time, earning boos and groans.
“Don’t you mean ‘she’?” Donno asked.
“Gender inclusivity,” Lexi said.
“Don’t want to make Gail angry or uncomfortable,” Young Greg added. “and I have zero issues offending the rest of you.”
“You’re a swell guy, you know that?” Mags said.
Young Greg gave him the finger as soon as Mags turned his back.
“Well, I’m still pissed about this loss,” GG said, every inch a crotchety old man.
GG rarely showed his age—he was old enough that he had a son graduating from college, giving him a solid decade on the rest of the team—but his sullen expression, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his general annoyance that anyone could find anything funny about their situation, aged him a good two decades.
“We get our asses handed to us nine to two, and y’all wanna laugh it off? ”
“Laugh or you cry,” Young Greg countered.