Chapter Thirteen The Canada Tournament #5
For the first time since they’d left Canada, Brady gave his trademark half-smile. “So you cool with staying here until this storm breaks?” Brady asked.
“Beats ending up in a ditch in fucking New York or wherever we are.”
“New York,” Brady confirmed. When Nick raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. “Not my first road trip north. Haven’t gone far enough to be in PA yet.”
“Ugh. Great. How many hours?”
Brady pulled out his phone. “Looks like six-ish? If I can drive faster than twenty, anyway. We get clear roads, I can make up some ground but not a lot. We still got plenty of time. It’s only the afternoon.”
“With no chance of the sky clearing up. What if it goes all night?”
“I can drop you off in DC if you need me to. Help you avoid the Metro if we end up being that tight.”
Nick buried his face in his hands. He’d resigned himself to staying here a few hours at least; his heart had barely calmed down from being out in the storm, and he was serious about his ditch concerns.
His garbage work issues weren’t Brady’s problems, period, and they were not worth totaling Brady’s Jeep in an accident.
Still, it gave him a headache to think about dealing with his boss tomorrow if he was late, never mind if he missed work entirely. He’d have to email his boss and his HR person as soon as he knew for sure he’d be out; maybe he should do it preemptively once they got a room.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nick said with a fake calm he hoped he’d be able to maintain long enough to get some sleep. “I’ll need to stop by my place to change anyway. Crazy as it sounds, I didn’t pack any work-appropriate attire for my hockey tournament in another country.”
“Well,” Brady said solemnly, “now you know better.”
Nick huffed a laugh. “Guess so. Let’s eat and get a room. Maybe we can nap before we head out again.”
*
“What do you mean there’s only one bed?” Nick said dumbly.
The receptionist shrugged. “It looks like a biblical flood out there. Everyone’s trying to get off the road and hunker down. We’ve only got the one room left; take it or leave it.”
“It’s a double bed, right?” Brady said. Fuck him for his calm, disinterested voice.
Good idea. Fuck him.
Ugh, not helping.
“It is,” the receptionist confirmed.
“We’ll take it.” Brady slid his credit card across the counter. “Two keys, please. Upstairs or downstairs?”
“Downstairs. Second from the end. You’re gonna get soaked.”
“Already are.”
Nick was so in shock, he was a good five feet behind Brady as he headed to the doors.
“Should we get our stuff?” Brady asked. There was a seemingly impenetrable wall of water between them and the car. At least the pathway to the downstairs rooms looked relatively covered, though it leaked enough that the receptionist was 100% correct in his assessment that they’d get soaked.
Again.
We’re going to share a bed…?
He shook his head and tried to concentrate.
What had Brady asked?
Oh, right.
“Why bother? Do we even know how long we’ll be here?”
“I mean, I don’t know about you, but I could use some dry underwear and socks.”
Nick flushed. He’d seen Brady in his underwear many times in the locker room. Now, it would be in a shared motel room with one bed. “You wear sandals,” he sputtered. Footwear was a much safer topic. “Why would you even need socks?”
“You get the door open for me, and I’ll grab your bag, too.”
Without giving Nick a chance to protest, Brady was swallowed by the rain, only his silhouette marking his progress.
Shit, guess I’m sprinting to the room…
He wasn’t as wet as he thought he’d be after the run. Then he fumbled with the slick keycard and learned just how leaky the upstairs walkway actually was. He’d barely gotten into the room by the time Brady was shouldering past the door behind him.
His T-shirt clung to him, as it probably had in the dining room, but somehow Nick hadn’t noticed, and Brady kicked the door closed like some kind of waterlogged hockey model.
“It’s getting worse,” Brady grumped.
“Don’t say that.”
“Well…” Brady tossed the bags onto the loveseat masquerading as a couch, way too small for either of them and certainly no substitute for the missing second bed. “Too late. I guess I can promise not to say it again.”
“You suck,” Nick whined.
Now Brady was running his hands through his hair. Where the fuck was his hat? He always wore a hat! This should be illegal.
“Wanna watch TV?” Brady suggested as he grabbed a remote.
Nick’s heart leapt. He was back in their last shared room, remembering in picture-perfect clarity how a night of TV had replaced the chance for anything else. It’d meant avoidance and rejection, and Nick bristled at the memory.
But no. One look at Brady, and it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He was relaxed, finally calmed down from the drive, and seemed genuinely interested in the pay-per-view movie selections.
Nick didn’t know what to do with that. Mentally he was spent; he needed to pass out for a reset. He’d zone out if he tried to watch anything. And he was certainly too exhausted to deal with… all of this.
“I’m actually kind of beat,” Nick said with a tentative glance to the bed. “How you wanna do this?”
“Pick a side. I’m gonna grab a towel; want one?”
How can you be so blasé about this!? he wanted to shout. “Sure,” was what he said.
More damp than dry, stripped of his wettest layers, Nick collapsed under the blankets and sighed in relief. It wasn’t home and it smelled a little musty, but it was dry.
“I’m not bothering to set an alarm,” Nick groaned. “I’m sure the absence of rain will wake me up, the silence so overpowering I’ll think I’ve gone deaf.”
“Uh huh.” Brady fiddled with his phone. “I’ll set one in case I fall asleep. Check how things are going in a couple hours.”
“ ’kay,” he said around a yawn. His adrenaline spent and his body safely shielded from Brady by the blankets, Nick was asleep within seconds.
*
He woke up to relative silence. For one hopeful second, he thought the rain had stopped, but no, he could still hear it banging against the window.
Blinking his eyes open, he found the room was nearly black.
It couldn’t be that late; it was most likely the storm making it appear dark.
The only light came from the TV, screen on but dimmed and displaying the pay-per-view menu.
Brady’s movie had ended and that must have woken Nick—the shift from movie noise to the steady thrum of rain outside.
As his eyes adjusted, he rolled over to survey the room. Where was Brady—?
His breath caught in his throat.
Nick had been facing the window, back to the room. Now he saw everything: a better view of the TV, the bathroom door ajar with its faint light peeking through, the ugly motel art by the door, their bags on the minuscule loveseat… and Brady sleeping no more than a foot away from him.
Brady always looked good. It was unfair how attractive he was, and more unfair that he could be sweaty, exhausted, and smelling of hockey gear and still outshine the sun.
Now was no exception. His features were softened by sleep, his breathing long and steady and hitching on a barely audible snore that Nick shouldn’t be able to hear over the rain but they were that close to each other.
Transfixed, Nick watched as Brady slept. It looked like he’d been leaning against the headboard to watch the movie and then gradually fallen asleep. He now slumped against his pillow with his hair cascading over his forehead and into his eyes.
That’s probably why he wears hats, Nick thought, an absurd thought. Almost as absurd as how his fingers itched to reach out and brush the stray hairs away, or to caress his cheek, or to just touch, to bridge that divide that had always kept them apart.
Those last few inches…
He didn’t know how long he stared. Too long. There was no platonic length of time for watching his friend sleep.
Brady frowned and opened his eyes.
Nick’s heart leapt in his chest. If he were smart, he’d close his eyes and pretend to be asleep.
Nick was not smart.
Brady noticed him watching and instead of the crinkles in his brow deepening, he honest-to-God smiled. “Hey,” he whispered, as though he thought it would be profane to ruin the moment with anything louder.
“Hey,” Nick replied just as quietly. He wanted to ask if he’d slept okay or if they should check the weather, to say anything to break the spell they were under.
Instead, Nick said nothing, and Brady said nothing back.
The moment dragged on long enough that things should be awkward, but they weren’t, and Nick marveled at that.
And then, despite his better judgment, his arm twitched.
It moved of its own accord, freeing itself of the starchy blanket, crossing those last few inches, and finally resting over Brady’s hip.
That was it, a relatively innocent touch over clothes.
No caress, no dipping below the waistband of Brady’s boxer-briefs, no grabbing at the swell of his ass.
No, simply his arm, draped casually but familiarly over him.
An invitation.
An opening.
Brady’s eyes went wide. He looked genuinely stunned by the move. Not unhappy or angry, just surprised that this was where they’d ended up on a rainy Monday in June when they weren’t even supposed to be here, separately or together.
Serendipity? Fate? Inevitability?
It didn’t matter. They’d made it.
It took all of five seconds for Brady to react. It was long enough for Nick to regret it and think he’d ruined everything. Brady was a skittish horse; how could Nick expect him to do anything but bolt?
He didn’t though.
He did the exact opposite.
That first kiss was too rough and messy to be enjoyable. It was also so distinctly different from every time Nick had ever imagined this moment. He was so in shock he almost didn’t reciprocate with more than a surprised gasp.
Their lips broke apart only for Nick’s instincts to finally kick in.
He chased that broken kiss, and when their lips met again, he was ready for it.
It started too fast, too desperate. Nick did his best to slow down and commit this moment to memory.
He savored the feel of Brady’s lips, the taste of him, the way Brady mirrored Nick’s movements.
They’d earned this kiss, and he was going to make the fucking most of it.
He sucked Brady’s bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth dragging across it and earning him a deep growl. He liked that sound and made a mental note to do that again later.
“Why now?” Nick breathed.
“Why not?” Brady countered.
Part of Nick wanted to push him back and hold him at arm’s length until he got a real answer, because damn it, this could have been them months ago!
The other part of him acknowledged, yeah, good point. If the choices were now or never, then could he really argue?
Brady kissed Nick again, this time working his way from Nick’s lips to his jaw.
He couldn’t help it; Nick giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Brady mumbled. He pulled away only far enough to remove his shirt and fling it across the room.
“Your beard tickles,” Nick said. It was half true. Definitely easier than admitting he was just so fucking happy that he couldn’t help himself.
“That a problem?” He still looked sleep rumpled, a little grumpy even.
Nick grinned so wide it hurt. “Best problem of my life. Kiss me again, yeah?”
“I think I can handle that…”