Chapter Fifteen July #3
Brady opened his mouth to argue, but Nick interrupted. “You were a grump, don’t worry about it. You’re cute when you’re grumpy. So why’d you change your mind about me? Is it ’cuz I’m cute? Please tell me it’s ’cuz I’m cute.”
That earned him a middle finger. “Actually it’s because I saw you at stick-and-puck. You weren’t great, but you weren’t nearly as bad as I’d worried you’d be, and you were trying to get better, so I figured you were okay.”
“Not a total disgrace to the sport and the name Jagr?”
Brady smiled, the exact same shy smile Nick had gotten to see at that stick-and-puck. “Something like that. So why’d you start playing hockey as an adult?”
“This is truth or dare, Jens. You don’t just get to ask me a question like that.”
He made a face. “Fine, truth or dare? Spoiler: I will dare you to jump into the river.”
“Wow, you really know how to manipulate the game. Truth.”
“Why’d you start playing hockey so late?”
“I’m not that old.”
“I started when I was three. Are you three?”
“No, but—”
“Four? Maybe a late bloomer at five?”
“Fuck off.” He did his best to maintain a stern scowl despite Brady’s shit-eating grin.
Give a little, get a little, right? “Never played or skated as a kid. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t really a hockey area like Pittsburgh.
Not a lot of youth programs or rinks. My parents like hockey, but it wasn’t a dream of theirs to have a kid who won them the Cup or whatever.
They didn’t play when they were kids, and we didn’t know people whose kids played…
” He shrugged, going for nonchalant but feeling too stiff.
“I didn’t want to play when I was that young, either.
There was other stuff going on, and with a lack of opportunity and awareness, it didn’t occur to me to ask for it, y’know? ”
Brady nodded as he took a swig of his beer. “I get that. But what made you pick up a stick one day and go ‘yeah, now’s the time’?”
“That’s… that’s a good question.” Nick had explained it to other people, most notably his mom who was concerned for his safety—and unfortunately his concussion had justified her fears—but he wanted to be more honest now.
With Brady. “I went to one of my high school’s games when I was a junior.
We’d won States the year before, and there was this energy at the game…
seeing those guys out there—kids my age—I guess I was jealous and thought I’d missed my chance.
They’d all been playing since they were kids.
Three or four or five or whatever. And I did feel super old at sixteen.
Way too old to start, much less get anywhere as good as they were, skating as easily as they walked.
So I put aside that wish and it stayed in my subconscious for a while, kind of festering more each passing year.
“As an adult, even further removed from my chance to play, I heard about co-workers and friends doing adult leagues for fun. They did softball and dodge ball and pool, and I thought, well, maybe there’s adult hockey.
Maybe they’ve got classes for adults who can barely skate.
I can’t be the only one out there who wants to try.
I’ve got time. I’ve got money. If I want to give it a shot, I can.
So after hesitating for a few months, I said ‘fuck it’ and signed up for an adult Intro to Hockey class. ”
“And the rest is history,” Brady said as he tapped their beer bottles together.
“And the rest is history,” he agreed. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Nick went for coy but knew he was a long cry from it when he asked, “How long have you wanted in my pants?”
Brady choked on his beer; Nick had to pat his back and almost felt bad for his timing.
Almost.
“I don’t know,” he said as he gasped for air, red-faced and eyes watering. “A while? Just, uh… wasn’t sure you were interested or what you were interested in.”
Nick wanted to answer that he wanted anything, everything, but he held back. Too soon, even in these moments of truth building between them. “Fair,” he said instead. “Hard starting something with a teammate.”
“Starting something’s easy,” Brady said. “It’s the aftermath that’s tricky, and we both have a good thing going with the Jagr Bombs.”
There was something there, a bitterness that spoke of experience. Before Nick could diplomatically broach the topic, Brady took over.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Nick said. “Not sure why we’re keeping the pretense of the game at this—”
“What do you like about your job?”
If Nick thought his questions were loaded and came out of nowhere, they had nothing on this one. He instinctively went on the defensive. “I make good money and I’ve got good benefits, plus the vacation time—”
“That you’re not allowed to use in June,” Brady interrupted, causing Nick to lose his rhythm.
“I get to do a lot of complicated work with numbers, and I like that,” he finished, arms crossed in front of his chest as if that somehow helped make his point.
Brady stared, the blue of his eyes lost in the darkness but not their intensity. “Are those good enough reasons to—?”
“Why don’t you play in a higher league?” Nick challenged. “You’re good enough.” This wasn’t part of his plan, not one of the questions he’d carefully thought out, but he felt like Brady was stirring up his shit and he wanted to return the favor.
“I’m not that good,” Brady said evenly.
The jerk didn’t even look upset by the question, and his apparent calm riled Nick up more.
While Nick didn’t know anything about rating hockey talent, he knew Brady was too good for the team.
He was a ringer, or at least he could be on any given night when he felt like it, and Nick didn’t get why he played down most of the time.
“You’re better than D4. You randomly decide you’re going to get a goal, and you get a goal.
You decide you’re going to make someone look stupid, and you make them look stupid.
Your hockey sense is amazing—the way you read other players and other teams. You skate circles around everyone.
I don’t get why you’re slumming it with us when you could be a couple divisions up. ”
Brady thought for a moment. “Guy’s as good as I am.”
“He’s very good,” Nick agreed. “But I’m asking you.”
“You’re not going to let this one go, are you?”
Nick shrugged. “Not likely.”
It was only half true. If Brady asked him to shut up about it, he would.
He wanted to hear the answer—he really did—but it wasn’t his goal tonight.
He was more invested in the other questions he had, and he’d let this one go in a second if he thought it’d get him answers to those.
Brady, however, didn’t seem that upset by the question; his reaction was almost an invitation to keep digging.
“You’re a pain,” Brady muttered more to the stars than to Nick.
He stared at the sky a while before turning to face Nick.
“Hockey’s supposed to be fun. You get high up, and everyone’s too competitive.
It’s all about someone’s ego, and it makes people act like dicks.
I just want to get my time on the ice, play with people who don’t take themselves too seriously, and go home knowing I had some fun. ”
“So you admit you could play a higher division.”
“I got the skills, maybe,” Brady conceded. “I don’t got the grit.”
“What does that even mean?” He’d heard similar things from friends on other teams in high school.
Things coaches had told them, or maybe teammates, but it was this weird ideology that didn’t mean anything to Nick.
Maybe he’d been more fortunate with the mentors he’d had for track.
It made him queasy to consider how Brady had gotten this idea that he wasn’t good enough to pursue hockey more freely.
“It means I don’t want to break anything or anyone to get to the top,” Brady said, interrupting Nick’s thoughts. “I just wanna play.” He offered Nick a smile and reached over to squeeze his hand where it clutched at the armrest of his chair. “You trying to kick me off the team or something?”
“No!” Nick all but shouted. “No, I just… wondered, is all.”
“Cool.” Brady took his hand away. “My turn, right?”
“Yeah, guess so.”
“Do you really hate Pittsburgh?”
Nick was a little taken aback. There was a flash of real concern before Brady closed it off, his face perfectly neutral.
“Uhh…” He took a deep breath. It was called truth or dare for a reason, right?
“I don’t know what I think about the actual city.
I’ve never been there, so I’ve got no basis for an opinion.
Sports, though? I don’t want the Steelers to win.
They’ve won plenty, and we’re rivals. Do I care if they win?
Not really? They’re a good team, and they keep the Ravens good because we’ve gotta play them twice a year.
Hockey?” He hesitated a minute, but Brady nudged his chair with his knee, so he kept going.
“I don’t like the Pens. Yeah, they’re good, but there’s nothing redeemable about our rivalry.
It’s designed to do nothing but hurt the Caps.
I’ve had commentators and fans tear us apart over that rivalry for a decade plus.
When it comes to hockey, I’m never going to like Pittsburgh. ”
He saw the telltale signs of Brady shutting down.
“Hey,” he said quickly and grabbed Brady’s hand.
He squeezed and waited until Brady met his eye.
“We only play Pittsburgh, like, three times a year. Seriously, I don’t even care that much when we do.
We win, awesome, we lose, oh well. Besides, it’s the offseason right now, we didn’t play each other in the postseason, and neither of us won the Cup.
This is literally the best time of year for a Caps fan and Pens fan to bang. ”
It was a gamble, but it paid off. A smile, small only because Brady was trying so damn hard not to let it shine through, pulled at his lips. “So I’m going to kiss you, and it’s completely unrelated to what you just said.”