Chapter 2
Hank Tucker had expected a lot of things out of this preseason camp.
Expected that he’d work hard. Make the best possible impression. Navigate around the team politics, though he’d been around the Bandits long enough now to know that Max kept things pretty easy. Chill, even.
Charlie was less chill, but then Charlie was a first overall draft pick. Was considered the very best before he ever got on the ice, and as a result, had a lot to prove. Carried that with him all the time.
Hank got that; he had high expectations of himself, knew what he was capable of, and also knew what he could do.
Craig Inverness, the Bandits’ GM, had pulled him aside yesterday and they’d had a good productive talk.
All the things Hank needed to do to reach the roster—he might not be quite there yet, but Inverness had reassured him that the path to a full-time roster spot and a slot as a top-pair d-man was in his grasp.
But what he hadn’t been sure about was Ethan Barnes, Charlie’s little brother.
He’d had good stats his freshman year in college—and that plus his last name had guaranteed a first-round draft pick. It was the second part that bothered Hank. It wasn’t a surprise, considering Ethan’s older brothers had also been first-round picks. But that didn’t mean Hank had to like it.
But Ethan wasn’t what he’d expected at all.
He’d expected a bratty, entitled little asshole who wanted everything handed to him.
Who was already one hundred percent sure of his skill and the way he’d fit into the team.
He’d gone out of his way to talk to him on the first day, because Ethan was the newest first-round pick, and while the Bandits were chill, there were some things that were too ingrained to skip.
Like making nice with the other guys who he might be playing with for a long time, no matter his personal feelings about them.
Hank leaned against the wall by the front desk at the laser tag facility, surreptitiously watching as Ethan laughed with his brother and Danny about who was going to be on which team, and couldn’t quite pinpoint when he’d begun reforming his opinion.
Ethan was not stuck up or egotistical. He was actually surprisingly laid-back. Relaxed, even, not vibrating like Charlie often did, like he was tuning himself to a frequency only he knew.
He wasn’t contained either, like Max.
Instead, he was open and sunny, smiling at everyone, but a little surprisingly prickly whenever he imagined that someone was treating him differently because of his last name.
Not what Hank had expected, at all.
“You’re staring.”
Hank startled and looked over at the head of the d-men, Brock Jones, as he joined Hank in his spot on the wall, waiting for the rest of the team to get here.
He hadn’t wanted to come to this get-together tonight, either.
Would have rather gone back to his hotel room and caught up on sleep.
But when the captain told him he was hosting a team get-together, even doing something Hank really didn’t want to do, like laser tag, you didn’t say no.
Hank had had that lesson drilled into him by his dad and his agent.
Make friends. At least be friendly. Neither of those came easily to Hank, but he was trying anyway.
“I’m not,” Hank protested. He didn’t even think he really liked guys—not like that, anyway—but he couldn’t seem to stop trying to figure out Ethan Barnes.
“You are,” Brock said, chuckling under his breath. “Charlie put you on baby duty, too?”
Staring at Ethan wasn’t helping, but it wasn’t hurting, either. Also didn’t hurt that the youngest Barnes was pretty good to look at. If you liked honey-blond curls and big blue eyes and a few fleeting glimpses of tanned abs.
Hank didn’t, but if he did, then at least his preoccupation would make more sense.
“Nah,” Hank said. Charlie wouldn’t have asked him, anyway. He wasn’t even a lock for the main roster, and Charlie was the phenom of the franchise. Besides, everyone knew that the only guy who Charlie gravitated towards was Max.
“He seems pretty different from Barney. Not so intense,” Brock observed, tilting his head as he looked in Ethan’s direction, too.
“Imagine if there were two of them,” Hank half joked, even though when he’d come to New York this year, he’d kind of expected that there would be two of them.
“Heard that Avery is more like Charlie,” Brock said. “And the couple of times I met him, yeah, that tracks.”
Hank only knew Avery Barnes by reputation, but that was definitely another reason why he’d expected Ethan to be different than he seemed to be.
“He’s just young,” Hank said, even though it was stupid to be defending Ethan. Especially because Brock wasn’t even saying anything negative about him.
“But gonna be good,” Brock said. “I had to cover him in that last drill, and he gave me as many fits as Charlie does.”
“Better two-way guy, I think,” Hank said. Which, as a defenseman, Hank could respect that.
“That’s what the scouts all said. Best of both worlds, of both of his brothers.”
“That would suck, don’t you think,” Hank said, before he could snatch the words back. “Constantly being compared to your brothers? Your sister? Everyone expecting that you’re going to be great because of your last name?”
Brock glanced over at him. “You got a soft spot for the baby Barnes, Tuck?”
“No,” Hank argued. “Just . . . it’d be good, right? Everyone thinking you’re amazing before you even show up, but then also, everyone thinks you’re amazing before you even show up.”
Brock tilted his head thoughtfully. “I like being good ’cause I’ve worked for it. You, too. You’re earning a spot on the roster the hard way.”
Didn’t Hank know that a little too well?
Playing in the AHL wasn’t the worst, but he wanted to stop feeling like he couldn’t quite take a breath and relax.
He wanted that permanent Bandits roster spot so bad he could taste it.
Not because of the prestige of it, or the money, but because he knew he could do it.
Only wanted to fulfill not just his own expectations, but his potential.
The potential he knew lay dormant inside him that he recognized, that everyone else saw, too.
“We’ll see,” Hank said noncommittally. He knew nothing was promised. It was entirely likely he’d start the season back in Syracuse, but maybe if he worked his ass off during camp and preseason, he’d be the first name on the list if there were any call-ups.
Brock patted him on the back. “Yeah, you’re gonna get there, bud.” He gestured over to where Charlie and Max had their heads together, Ethan and Danny apparently excluded from the final team determinations. “What do you wanna bet they’re gonna be on the same team?”
“Charlie and Ethan?” Hank gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You said it. Maybe half the team’s on baby duty, but nobody’s on more baby duty than Charlie.”
“Nah, that’s a given. I mean Max and Barney.”
“Oh.” Yeah, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that if Charlie was around, Max wasn’t that far behind, and vice versa. “You think Max would stack his own team that way? Doesn’t seem like a very Max-like thing to do.”
Brock hummed under his breath. “True. And the only thing Max gives a shit about more than Barney is being the best freaking captain in the whole NHL. He’d never want to give anyone the idea he’s stacking the deck—or the teams.”
“Exactly.”
A group of some of their Nordic players—Emil, Lars, and Willy—walked in, followed closely by Dom and Sasha.
“I think that’s about everyone,” Max announced, glancing over the assembled group.
“Nope,” Charlie chimed in, “Pavel texted me and I’m pretty sure he told me he was coming.”
Brock snorted. “You’re pretty sure?”
Charlie shrugged. Pavel Sokolov was the Bandits’ backup goalie, only over from Russia for a few years, and his English was . . . not great, still.
“He’s coming.” Dom, their other goalie, spoke up. “I talked to him as we were leaving.”
“Okay,” Max said. He picked up a paper. “We’re gonna have two teams—the blue team and the orange team.”
“A little fanatical, don’t you think?” Danny said, and Charlie elbowed him in the side.
“I think it’s nice,” Charlie piped up.
“’Course you do,” Ethan muttered, and maybe Hank wouldn’t have heard him say it, but he’d drifted closer, without even really meaning to.
Hoping, even though it was kind of stupid, that they’d end up on the same team.
Maybe that he’d get close enough to Ethan to get a decent read on him.
Honestly, he didn’t need to. Ethan was a forward, and therefore not one of the guys Hank would be competing with for a roster spot, and on top of that, he was going back to Portland, anyway.
But embarrassingly, Hank wasn’t sure he cared about either of those two things. Not at all.
Charlie shot his brother a glare.
“So, blue and orange,” Max said. “I’ll be taking the blue team and Barney’ll be taking the orange.”
He listed off who’d be playing for the blue team: him, Ethan, Hank, Dom, Emil, Keegan, and Lars. Then the orange team: Charlie, Brock, Pavel, Willy, Sasha, and Danny.
It was a good distribution between forwards and defense—but what was most surprising was that Max had taken Ethan on his team.
“Can you believe that Charlie didn’t insist I play with him?” Ethan asked, nudging Hank, as the orange team went to get outfitted first.
Maybe if he hadn’t already talked to Ethan, he’d have assumed that Ethan would be annoyed that Max had split them up. But Ethan was clearly okay with it. Even pleased about it.
“I thought you guys never wanted to be separated,” Hank said.
Ethan just rolled his eyes. “We miss each other, sure, when we’re apart.
I hated that Charlie was out here, on the East Coast, by himself.
I already miss having Avery nearby. We’re close, even for brothers.
But I don’t ever want to be attached at the hip to Charlie.
He’s annoying as hell a lot of the time. ”
“Ah,” Hank said. He was slowly beginning to put together that different version of Ethan in his head.