Chapter 27 Brody #2
“Brady Williams, the Tigers’ assistant captain, played at BU when I was at BC.
We also went to rival high schools in Canada, so the fucker has been in my life for way too long.
He knows I struggle when I’m off the ice, and he likes to start shit with me.
Saying things under his breath. Calling me names.
I’m sick of it. Punching him in the face is exactly what that dickbag deserves.
He’s lucky I haven’t run into him off the ice. I’d fucking destroy him.”
“I get why you’re frustrated, Ethan, but you have to know he’s doing it because it’ll get a rise out of you.”
“Trust me, Coach. I’ve tried ignoring him, but he’s a piece of shit.
” Ethan leans back and folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not just me he targets.
It’s anyone he deems weaker than him. When Emmy was on the team, he said things about her.
Thank fucking god Maverick never heard, or Brady would be six feet under.
I know I joke around about women, but my mom raised me right.
I respect them, but he doesn’t. When he mentions his ex-wife, I want to strangle him on her behalf. ”
“Okay. Look. We don’t play the Tigers again until the first week in April. I need you to try to keep your temper under wraps until then.”
“Come on, Coach. Half of the fighting is to get the fans involved. You know they love it when we go at each other.”
“I’m asking you to knock it off, Ethan, and behave yourself.”
“Okay. Yeah.” Ethan nods. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it. I love this sport, and all that stuff makes it more fun.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve always hated bullies.
“As for Brady Williams, I’ll talk to the league.
I won’t mention names, only that I’ve heard there might be some inappropriate behavior happening behind the scenes that doesn’t align with our values.
And if that doesn’t work, I played with Williams’s coach at BC. I’ll give him a heads-up.”
“That means a lot.” Ethan smiles, visibly relaxing. “I don’t want to be a problem child. It just… happens. I’m protective of things that are important to me, and being treated right is very important to me.”
“You have a good head on your shoulders, kid. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank my mom. She’s the one who got me started in rec hockey when I was first diagnosed. Saved my life. Gave me something to focus on rather than all the things I wasn’t good at.”
“Don’t forget your dancing videos.” I give him a nod. “Keep them PG, and we won’t have a problem.”
“What about PG-13?”
“Fine. But if I catch wind of you recording something without clothes on, your ass is in for a world of hurt.”
“Yes sir.” He grins and pops to his feet. “Anything else you need from me?”
“Yeah. I’m here, okay? I’m not going to make you feel different, but if there’s something I can help with, let me. The team has resources. Ways to make things easier. You have to tell me though. I’m not a goddamn mind reader.”
“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate you.” My phone buzzes twice in my desk drawer, and he smirks. “Something else requiring your attention?”
“Scammers, probably. Go get some rest, Richardson. And no minutes in the box in tomorrow’s game. Got it?”
“Got it. See you tomorrow morning.”
When he leaves, I grab a sticky note and jot down a list of things I’m going to look into that might ease some of the stress he’s carrying.
I make a note to talk to our community outreach staff to see if we can find an autographing method that might be more accommodating for him.
I add the coaching staff to the list, wanting to fill them in on what’s going on so we don’t set Ethan up for failure.
Forty-five minutes later, I have a plan of action I’m going to implement. I finally let myself look at my text messages, smiling at the ones from Hannah that have come through.
HE: I’m not someone who can sit around all day, so I left your place.
HE: But I’ll see you tomorrow morning for some skating.
Me: Sorry for not responding. Coaching stuff. The boys have morning skate tomorrow, so can we do 12?
HE: Don’t apologize. I know you’re busy. 12 is great!
Me: See you then, IQ.
HE: Can’t wait, BB.
“Sorry, Coach, I forgot my—holy shit.” Ethan stands in the doorway to my office with his mouth open. “Are you smiling?” He glances around. “Is the world ending? Is this a simulation? What the hell?”
“I’m not smiling.” I scowl and scrub a hand over my face. “Mind your business.”
“You are grinning. And that’s not a ‘I just watched a funny video’ grin. That’s a smitten grin. Oh, shit. The boys are going to love this.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Sorry, C.” Ethan shrugs and holds up his phone. “I’ve already told the masses. We have bets on your love life.”
“You all need new hobbies.”
“I get it, Coach. Love is scary.”
“I’m not—don’t use that word.”
“Someone is defensive.” He winks. “For what it’s worth, happiness looks good on you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look exactly the same.”
“Sure you do.” Ethan swipes his phone off my desk and waves. “Don’t forget to invite us to the wedding!”
When he leaves again, I pull up my phone camera. I study myself and frown.
Same beard. Same circles under my eyes from not getting enough sleep. Same nose I’ve broken half a dozen times.
I don’t really look different, do I?
Another message from Hannah comes through. This time, it’s a photo of her in the grocery store holding up a pineapple, your least favorite fruit!!! written under it, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in my laptop screen.
Smiling.
I’m fucking smiling just at the sight of her, and I guess that tracks.
I like her.
I like her in a completely normal, completely acceptable I don’t want to just fuck you, I also want to feed you three meals a day kind of way.
I like her in a how the fuck do we make this work long-term even though there are fourteen years between us kind of way.
That’s a problem for Later Brody, because Current Brody takes a selfie sticking out his tongue. Types the bane of my existence and tries not to get fucking butterflies when Hannah hearts the message in response