Chapter 3 #2
Ethan recognized some of the women’s volleyball team.
Half a dozen guys from the football team.
A few of their own teammates. There was always a good crowd at Gamma Sigma.
It should’ve been a good spot to find someone to at least make him forget about Hank for the night.
But the problem was that every single person in this house knew who he was. Knew his last name.
And Ethan could never be sure that was why anyone wanted to talk to him. Maybe Hank wouldn’t talk to him now, but he’d never gotten the impression, not once, that Hank had only been friendly because he was Ethan Barnes.
“Sure,” Ethan said.
“You like him, though?” Wally questioned, like he hadn’t just complained less than five minutes ago that Ethan wouldn’t stop bringing Hank up.
“Liked him,” Ethan said firmly.
“Time to find another guy then, or hook up with a girl. I won’t judge.” Wally grinned at him.
Ethan groaned. “I don’t know about that. I just wanna have a drink and relax, okay? Maybe leave the hooking up to you.”
Wally just elbowed him again, right in the bruise.
“I hate you,” Ethan said.
“If you really did,” Wally said as he led them up the porch stairs towards the open front door, “who would listen to you complain about the guy?”
Ethan had to admit that he had a point.
“Come on,” Ethan said, changing the subject. “Let’s grab a drink.”
Wally nodded, and they turned towards the kitchen.
Brody—one of the senior d-men on the Evergreens—was there, leaning over the counter, watching something on his boyfriend’s phone. The boyfriend was huge and had a possessive arm slung around Brody’s waist. The boyfriend was Dean Scott, defensive end on the Evergreens football team.
Brody’s eyes flicked up. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d be coming tonight.”
“Sick of this one being pathetic,” Wally said, poking a thumb in Ethan’s direction before he leaned down to rummage through the cooler on the floor.
“Hard to be pathetic when you scored the game-winning goal,” Dean pointed out in his deep voice.
“He’s still managing it,” Wally said.
“And he is right here, trying not to be pathetic, but it’s hard when it’s all anyone will talk about,” Ethan retorted.
“I didn’t say it,” Brody said, moving away from his boyfriend’s loose embrace, and approaching Ethan, lifting his fist for a quick bump, “but that was an absolutely murderous play in the third. Stealing the puck right off Andrews’ stick. Kept him from scoring.”
Ethan fist-bumped him back and nodded, taking the hard seltzer that Wally tossed him. “Thanks,” he said. He cracked the can open and took a long drink.
“So what is the pathetic problem?” Brody asked. “Not a problem with the Bandits, right?”
“That’s my cue,” Wally said with a little salute and then melted away, probably headed back to the living room and its crowd on the makeshift dance floor.
Brody raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“It’s just . . . it’s nothing,” Ethan said.
Brody was cool, but so cool. Too cool, probably.
They weren’t really friends, even though they were teammates.
Ethan tended to stick to the younger group of guys, and Brody was a senior and going to medical school when he graduated at the end of the year.
Then there was his boyfriend, who was enormous and so good at football that scouts piled into the stands at every game.
Ethan wasn’t easily intimidated, but Brody was pretty damn intimidating, even though there was no question he was an incredibly nice guy. Thoughtful and kind.
“If it was really nothing, Wally wouldn’t have been giving you shit,” Brody said, leaning against the back counter.
“Not true,” Dean spoke up in his deep, rumbling voice. “Wally’s kind of full of it.”
“Fair,” Brody said. He pinned Ethan with an intent gaze. “So which is it?”
“Uh, it’s not about the Bandits. Not really. Just . . . a guy I met at development camp, a few months back. Thought we hit it off, but he won’t text me back.”
Brody raised an eyebrow. “A guy, huh?”
For a split second, Ethan wanted to explain, again, that he wasn’t sure if he was queer or into guys like that. The only guy that had ever made him want to find out was Hank, and clearly, at this point, that wasn’t going anywhere.
“Yeah,” Ethan said.
“Hmm,” Brody said. He glanced over at Dean. “You wanna take this one?”
Dean just shrugged. “Maybe your guy freaked out.”
“Freaked out?” For a split second Ethan wanted to inform the both of them that while they might both be freakishly athletic and freakishly smart, this was Hank Tucker.
Hank Tucker, who’d already played in a dozen-plus NHL playoff games, who was tearing it up in Syracuse, playing for the Bandits’ AHL affiliate.
Who might, in fact, be called up any day now, because he was so fucking good. Maybe Hank wouldn’t text him back, but that didn’t mean Ethan wasn’t following his progress and watching all the games he could get his hands on.
Hank Tucker wouldn’t be freaked out by Ethan.
“Not that surprising if he was,” Dean said gently. “It’s freaky, when you first realize you’re maybe into something you didn’t think you were into.”
“Okay,” Ethan said doubtfully.
But not only was Hank good at hockey, he was smart—definitely smarter than the average hockey player, anyway—and remarkably straightforward. All things that Ethan liked about him. Not the only reasons Ethan liked him, but then he was also nineteen and Hank was so fucking hot.
“I totally freaked out when I realized I was attracted to Brody,” Dean said quietly.
That surprised Ethan. Dean had that same driven mindset that he recognized from Hank.
The same no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way about him, sometimes.
He might not know Dean well, but he was around enough, being Brody’s boyfriend, and since Brody was the captain of their team this year, Brody was pretty much always around.
“Not when you realized you were attracted to me,” Brody teased, smile lighting up his face. “You freaked out after we . . . well, you know.”
Dean flushed. “I was trying to keep it PG! Ethan’s only . . .” He paused. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Ethan admitted. “But my brothers—”
“He’s got two older brothers and an older half sister,” Brody finished for him, giving him a fond smile. “I’m not sure you need to keep it PG for him.”
“Nope,” Ethan retorted cheerfully.
“That does beg the question though,” Brody said, “why you haven’t been talking to them about this.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Ethan complained, even though he hadn’t.
Brody shot him a knowing look. “I can just tell, okay?”
“Call it his captain gene,” Dean added with a smirk.
“Okay, fine, I haven’t, because there’s nothing to tell. I thought I could . . . I might . . . like him, maybe, but then he won’t text me back.”
“Where’s he now?”
Ethan almost said, he’s in Syracuse, but knowing Brody and his mysterious captain gene, he’d figure exactly who it was and then dig up Charlie’s number and tell him to intervene. As much as this sucked, that would be fucking catastrophic. Charlie couldn’t even get out of his own way.
“Not here,” Ethan said instead.
Dean chortled, clearly amused. “Oh, he’s worried you’re gonna do something,” he told Brody.
Brody rolled his eyes. “God, you’re such an ass.” He turned to Ethan. “If he’s not around, and you think you might be into him and into guys, I’m gonna suggest something you might not like.”
“Brody,” Dean warned.
“It’s not like the guy’s around or even texting Eth back? Kinda his loss, you know?” Brody retorted.
“You want me to find some other guy,” Ethan said. He took a long sip of his seltzer. He didn’t really want anyone else, not any other guy, or at least he hadn’t before, but Brody had a point. Hank wasn’t here, and even if Hank was here, it wasn’t like he was doing anything about it.
“Might be a decent way to figure out if you do like guys,” Brody pointed out.
“I’ll think about it,” Ethan said.
“My advice,” Dean said, “don’t just go around kissing someone because you want to see if you’re queer. As for the guy? Be patient with him, okay? I know it sucks, but sometimes we’re idiots.”
“That’s true,” Brody said, but Dean didn’t look convinced.
“I mean it,” Dean reiterated and Ethan nodded, finishing up his drink. He leaned over and grabbed another from the cooler.
“That’s . . . that’s good advice,” Ethan agreed. “Thanks.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Brody said dryly, then gave him a playful shove. “Go hang out with younger and cooler people than us, okay?”
Ethan nodded and headed off in the same direction that Wally had—into the living room and its crush of bodies, writhing along to the beat of the thumping music.
He found Wally in a group—a few girls he knew played volleyball, a guy who ran track, and a few others he didn’t recognize—and it was easy enough to fall into the rhythm. To let the angst of his unanswered text finally fall away.
He was going to be okay. Better than okay, actually.
One segued into the next, and the next. He danced with a girl and then another and then the track guy. Then someone else he didn’t know. It was fun and easy and he liked it, but he was never tempted to take it any further.
Finally, he pushed back his sweaty hair and motioned to Wally that he was going to grab another drink. He was in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cooler, swirling around the melting ice, trying to find something he wanted, when his phone buzzed in his back pocket.
It was probably just the bro-chat, though it was late for Charlie. Might be Avery, though Ethan had thought he was in the Midwest right now, not in the West Coast.
He finally found a flavor he could stand and pulled it out, popping the top and taking a long drink before pulling out his phone, juggling both while he unlocked the screen.
Nearly dropped it when right there on the screen was the text he’d been waiting for, for so fucking long.
Two weeks, okay, but it had felt like so fucking long when it hadn’t come in and hadn’t come in and hadn’t come in.