Chapter 2 #2
Ethan nudged him again. “Don’t tell me you bought into that bullshit about how we’re like the same freaking person.”
“Of course not,” Hank said. Even though he kinda had, a little.
“As annoying as Charlie can be, the media’s worse about us.
Like we’re a three-headed monster. All the same.
But we’re not, you know?” Ethan glanced up at him, challenging look on his face, like he already knew that Hank had.
That Hank had bought into the worst of the assumptions about the Barnes brothers.
“Clearly,” Hank said dryly.
“If they wanna talk about being inseparable,” Ethan huffed under his breath. “They should talk to Charlie about Max. Are they like this all the time?”
“Um, yeah, I guess? I didn’t really spend all that much time with them last season,” Hank admitted.
He’d been on the main Bandits’ roster for maybe a quarter of the games, sure, but Hank had known his place.
It wasn’t in Max and Charlie’s super-special friend circle.
He’d been around them during full-team events, but it wasn’t like Max was inviting him over to his condo.
Ethan nudged him again. “We gotta beat the pants off him today. I can’t wait to see his grumpy face. It’s always so good when he loses.”
“Charlie?” Hank told himself he shouldn’t be surprised by this. But he was, kinda.
“Oh yeah.” Ethan grinned, leaning in even closer.
He smelled good—sweet and summery, like sunscreen and fruit. Hank kept trying to clear his head. Remind himself that no matter how fun and amusing Ethan’s conspiratorial smile was, or how appealing he was, Hank wasn’t into guys. Hadn’t ever been, not like that, anyway.
“Besides,” Ethan continued, his expression going a bit sly, “don’t you wanna beat Willy?”
“Why would I want to beat Willy?” Over the years, Hank had been told he had a great poker face.
But Ethan just laughed knowingly. Maybe it wasn’t that Hank’s ability to lie hadn’t gotten worse, he was just shitty at doing it when it came to Ethan.
Yeah, he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.
“I don’t know, maybe because you’re competing against him for a roster spot.”
Ethan was not wrong; Willy—or William Blomgreen, originally from Sweden and drafted by the Bandits in the third round four years ago—was Hank’s main rival for the empty slot on the third d-pair, though Hank liked to think he was his own biggest competition.
“Sure,” Hank said.
Ethan just cackled again. “Anyone ever tell you that you don’t give much away?”
All the time, Hank mentally answered, but you’ve already gotten more than most. And even that isn’t enough.
He didn’t know whether he should be comforted or frustrated by that fact.
“Yeah,” Hank agreed.
But Ethan didn’t look too upset about it as Max called for them to come get outfitted.
“Still,” Ethan said, after the employee had instructed them on how to put on the sensors and handed out their laser guns, “we wanna win.”
“Duh,” Hank said, and fist-bumped Ethan’s outstretched hand, then he did the same with Max, followed by Emil, Lars, and then finally Dom, who shot Ethan a skeptical look as he did it.
“What?” Ethan retorted. “Come, I know you wanna beat my brother and Pavel.”
Dom snorted. “Cool it, kid.”
“Dom’s all about that Zen attitude,” Emil said.
“Yeah,” Lars added, “for a goalie, he doesn’t care much about winning.”
“Not true. I just try to keep a level head about it,” Dom said.
“Well, I wanna win,” Ethan said stubbornly.
Max laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “We’ll see what we can do for you.”
The laser tag employee went over the different sections and levels. Where they’d see the leaderboard. How they’d known when they were eliminated and needed to exit, and where those exits might be.
“Alright,” she said with a grin, “is everyone ready to play?”
“Where’s the other team?” Ethan asked.
She just chuckled under her breath. “You’ll find them; I promise.”
They followed in a line behind Max, even though Hank was pretty sure that Max, while a great hockey player who really wanted to win, was too much of an overall team player to have a truly killer instinct. Which they’d need, if they wanted to come out on top.
And sure enough, as Max led them deeper into the labyrinth of dark rooms, it was becoming clear that he was being overly cautious. Typical captain behavior—not wanting to lead them into a trap that might lose him a teammate.
“Come on,” Ethan hissed under his breath. “Max. We gotta go faster. Track their asses down. Pin them, until they can’t get away.”
Max stopped, and the line of guys bumped into each other. Hank, who’d been following, tried to ignore the way it felt when Ethan’s body plastered against his and then didn’t move away, but stayed glued head to toe to Hank.
“I don’t want to lose anyone,” Max said, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to split up.”
“Charlie’s gonna split up, for sure,” Ethan said. “Maybe a few of us should go ahead, do some scouting.”
“Are you sure?” Max sounded skeptical.
“Yeah,” Ethan said confidently. Hank was pretty sure he didn’t know jack shit about strategy, but then he didn’t protest when Ethan added, “I’m gonna bring Hank as backup.”
“You down with that?” Max asked Hank under his breath.
Hank shrugged. He wanted to win, sure, and yes, absolutely Ethan had been right and it would feel good to beat Willy at something, but he was not convinced this was the way.
Still, he wasn’t certain Max’s way was the better choice, either.
“Alright,” Max said.
“Come on,” Ethan said impatiently, wrapping a hand around Hank’s wrist and tugging him forward, out of the group.
With anyone else, Hank probably would’ve shaken them off immediately. Wouldn’t have been okay going off on their own in the first place. But something about Ethan’s boundless confidence and curiosity was addicting.
Hank wanted more of it.
Ethan took them to the left, instead of continuing forward, like Max’s group. He moved quicker, too, peeking around the corner of each successive room before plunging ahead.
“Hey,” Hank muttered as Ethan peered around another half wall. “Be careful. There’s stuff in the middle of this one.” There was. Several large boxes stacked together that absolutely could hide a small-ish hockey player. A Charlie-sized hockey player, probably.
Not Pavel, for sure, or Brock. Willy, either. He was about Hank’s size, and Hank was pretty sure he couldn’t pretzel himself to fit behind the barricade, but maybe Willy was more flexible.
“Yeah,” Ethan said and did pause, thankfully.
Then his hand went right around Hank’s wrist again.
It was big and warm and the feel of it was inescapable against his skin.
Hank wanted to shake him off, but in fact, didn’t.
Didn’t even move away when Ethan leaned in closer, mouth right next to Hank’s ear.
That was even warmer, and Hank told himself that the way his neck was heating up was purely coincidental, and even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter because at least it was too dark in here for Ethan to see the telltale flush against his pale skin.
“You wanna go first?” Ethan murmured. “You could go check it out while I cover you.”
“So I could just get blown away if there is someone there?”
Hank felt rather than heard the rumble of Ethan’s laughter. Because of course he was laughing about even this. And Hank couldn’t even be annoyed about it, because Ethan was so . . . so . . . so . . . something.
Hank pushed away the half dozen words that he could use to fill in that particular blank. This was not the time to be freaking out because he liked, a little too much, Ethan’s body pressed against his.
“What do you think, then?” Ethan asked.
Humming under his breath, Hank took in the problem.
Analyzed it. Everyone was always telling him he had a big brain and that he should use it more, especially on the ice.
This wasn’t the ice, but it was similar, wasn’t it?
This wasn’t all that much different than when the opposing team was trying to run a play and there were so many unknown factors and Hank had to make the best educated guess before he committed to a defensive strategy to stop them from scoring.
“You’re right,” Hank finally admitted. “Only one of us should go.” Same as when one of a defensive pair always committed to the net, while the other hung back, just in case they were needed elsewhere.
“I can go,” Ethan said, but just as he started to, Hank grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and yanked him back.
Ethan glanced up at him, grinning. “No?”
“We gotta be smart about this,” Hank said. “Don’t just recklessly move ahead.”
“Why not?” Ethan wondered.
That felt like a very Ethan-like question, and Hank supposed it was a very Hank-like answer when he retorted, “Because we gotta think about it first.”
“Oh, boo,” Ethan teased. “You’re all brain, huh?”
Hank told himself firmly that this was the worst possible time to flirt with Ethan. Not just that—Ethan was the worst possible person to flirt with. If he was flirting. Which obviously he wasn’t.
But he couldn’t swallow it down.
“Not all brain,” Hank said pointedly.
Ethan let go a gust of a breath. “For real, dude,” Ethan said, “you’re built like a tank. Deceptive, really.”
“Maybe that’s what we need to do,” Hank suggested.
Tried to refocus their energies on figuring out how to get past this hiccup instead of sitting behind this wall, teasing each other.
Thinking about how Ethan had noticed he’d put on a lot of muscle and bulk over the summer.
Didn’t let himself think at all that Ethan hadn’t just seen it, but felt it.
“Oooh,” Ethan said, “deception. I like it.”
“We’re gonna pull back,” Hank murmured into Ethan’s ear. “See if maybe that tempts them into exposing themselves and following us.”
“Smart,” Ethan said, giving him an approving look. “Not just a pretty face.”
Hank was not touching that, either.
“Come on,” Hank said. “Follow me.”