Chapter 5 #3
“I gotta ask though,” Ethan continued. “How much did you have to drink? ’Cause you seem like . . .” He didn’t say not yourself, because he wouldn’t. But even Hank knew he was acting differently. Too many things too close to the surface.
“I’m not drunk,” Hank claimed, and he definitely wasn’t. But buzzing? For sure. Inhibitions way down? No question.
“Didn’t think you were. Just . . . pretty damn relaxed, I think?”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed, because that was pretty close to the truth. He was relaxed enough to not be worrying, for once. To keep all those things he’d shoved in the Do Not Open box locked up nice and tight.
“You’re not gonna tell me, huh?”
“It’s just those guys make me nervous and weird, and so I drank more than I usually do,” Hank confessed. “Couple of shots. Some beers. I . . . it helped.”
“Aw. You’re cute. I like it.” He dropped his voice. “But then you’re cute kinda all the time.”
“Ethan,” Hank retorted, reflexively, but instead of the word coming out as a reprimand, it was all soft and shit. Endeared, probably. Maybe even fond.
“Sorry.” But Ethan didn’t sound sorry at all.
And Hank decided he kinda didn’t want him to be.
Maybe tomorrow morning he’d feel different. But tonight? It was kinda nice to not worry. To just let the possibilities wash over him, tantalizing and tempting.
“You’re not sorry at all,” Hank pointed out dryly.
“Nope,” Ethan declared with a wide grin. “So you’ll think about it, yeah?”
Hank didn’t know what he was supposed to be thinking about, but if it had anything to do with Ethan’s mouth on his mouth, and Hank’s mouth on any other parts of him at all—mouths and hands and oh God, even more—then yeah, it was going to be tough to not think about it. Tonight, anyway.
“Think about what?” he croaked.
Ethan just shook his head, laughing. “About next summer, dummy! You coming to Michigan.”
“I thought your brothers owned that house.” That was better than saying yes please, let’s get way ahead of ourselves. It’s that kinda night.
“Oh sure they do,” Ethan said, making a face. “But it’s mine, too.”
“Is it?”
Ethan complained sometimes—probably not as often as he could—about being treated like the baby of the family. But once in awhile, he definitely leaned into it. Took advantage of it, and Hank wasn’t going to be the guy who called him out.
“Oh yeah,” Ethan argued. “Besides, Charlie likes you.”
Hank wasn’t sure that was true. Charlie respected him, sure, but Charlie had been understandably upset at the end of the season, when the Bandits had just missed the playoffs.
He’d given an impassioned speech about how they all needed to do better, and Hank had taken that to heart, even though the entirety of the Bandits’ problems didn’t lie with him.
But he’d been brought in to help add a boost to the defense and some extra offensive firepower, and nothing he’d done had been enough.
“Does he though?” Hank questioned. Again, normally he’d never have said that, or he’d have said it differently, but the booze removed at least one filter. More like a handful, though.
Hank had spent enough time around Charlie to know that Charlie wasn’t the kind of guy—or the kind of hockey player—to take that lying down. Sure, he’d blame himself first and foremost, but that blame would extend to the rest of the team.
“Sure he does,” Ethan said staunchly. “And Avery’s gonna love you.
You two can put your heads together and talk d-men business all the time.
I’ll probably have to drag you two apart, if I wanna get any Hank time of my own.
” The way Ethan said it made it clear he wanted a lot of Hank time, on his own, and Hank’s nerves, all up and down his body, prickled at the thought of it.
Ethan wanting him. Ethan claiming him.
“Sure,” Hank said.
This was all ridiculous because Avery Barnes was a generational kind of talent.
A defenseman who was regularly on the top five guys in the NHL.
He’d been nominated for a Norris twice, and it was universally agreed that the only reason he hadn’t won was because Avery’s team, the Mavericks, continually underperformed, despite all his best efforts.
And Hank? Well, Hank had talent. He had skill. But he was not Avery Barnes. He didn’t have so much of an ego he couldn’t admit that.
Ethan rolled his eyes again. “I know you don’t believe me, but V’s talked about how good you were, even though the Bandits didn’t make the playoffs last season. You know we watch all each other’s games.”
“Okay,” Hank said, because it was easier to just accept it than to listen to Ethan argue it. He still wasn’t sure he believed it, but hey, if Avery Barnes actually thought he was decent, then that was pretty damn cool.
“Ugh, don’t tell me you’ve got a hockey crush on Avery,” Ethan joked.
“I think most d-men have a hockey crush on your brother,” Hank said dryly.
“Which one?” Ethan said impudently.
“The ones with taste love a good d-man, so Avery, obviously,” Hank retorted. “As for Charlie . . . he just fucking terrifies them.”
“Fair,” Ethan said.
Yeah, Charlie was kind of terrifying. In his easy, casual, I’m-going-to-fucking-dominate-your-ass kind of way. All NBD about it.
“What about me?” Ethan asked, before Hank could say he should get some sleep. Even though he didn’t want to stop talking to Ethan. He liked talking to Ethan, so goddamn much.
“What about you?”
Ethan just shot him a look. “How do they feel about me?”
Hank had had two shots and three beers, over a six-or-so-hour period.
He definitely wasn’t sober. But he wasn’t drunk enough to miss the knowing edge to Ethan’s voice.
How he was probably asking about more than just how the NHL guys in general felt about Ethan.
Was probably asking how Hank felt about Ethan, even though he really shouldn’t be.
If they were going into shouldn’ts, this whole conversation was probably off-limits. Hank should be shutting the fuck up right about now.
But of course, he didn’t.
Of fucking course, he opened his mouth and what came out was, “Well, I think they probably think you’re full of promise. Like a lot of talent. Young and exciting.”
“Exciting?” Ethan smirked.
“Probably they’re a little intimidated by you, too. Two Frozen Four appearances. A national championship. First-round draft pick. Last name Barnes.”
Ethan huffed.
“I’m just telling it like it is,” Hank soothed. “But yeah. Very exciting prospect. Interested to see what happens when you get to camp. When you play in the NHL.”
They weren’t him, obviously, Hank told himself, but honestly, it was closer to the truth than he’d probably be comfortable saying, even now.
Definitely if he was sober.
“Yeah, should be interesting,” Ethan said.
And Hank didn’t ask what exactly would be interesting, because he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.