6. Chapter 6
September
Ethan was pretty fucking sure he was about to vibrate out of his skin.
“For the last time, quit it,” Charlie hissed as he pulled into the parking lot of the Bandits’ practice facility in Jersey. “You’re literally making me anxious, and—”
“And you don’t need the extra help?” Ethan retorted fondly.
Charlie just shot him a soft-as-fuck glare. “You’re an ass, and I’m going to tell Avery that on your first day trying to really, officially make the roster, you’re all excited instead about seeing Tuck.”
“Am not,” Ethan said. Obviously, yes, that was part of it. He was excited to see Hank. It had been a year. A year where he’d wondered so many times if what he’d felt—the spark between them—was real or not.
It wasn’t impossible to recreate that spark over phone calls and FaceTime, and Ethan felt like he’d experienced enough of it to be fairly certain he hadn’t been imagining things, but nothing was as good as being right next to Hank to know for sure.
“Oh come on,” Charlie said. “Lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me.”
“And what, you’re not excited to see Max?”
“That’s not the same,” Charlie argued, as he parked the car.
But it was. Well, actually, it was different, but only because Ethan was pretty sure that four years into their NHL careers on the same team, he and Hank wouldn’t still be dancing around each other, pretending that they didn’t want each other so bad it made them stupid.
“Sure,” Ethan said noncommittally. “Like you didn’t go up to Max’s place the moment we got in two days ago.”
Charlie turned the car off and looked over at Ethan. “That was a leadership meeting.”
Ethan did not make a face, but it was a near thing. He also didn’t say, Leadership meeting, my ass, even though there was no way that was all it was.
“Okay, bud, but I’m the one lying to myself,” Ethan said. If Avery was here right now, he’d be giving Ethan a look. The you’re stepping too close to the sun, and you’re gonna get burned look.
“I hate you,” Charlie grumbled.
“No, you hate that I see through your stupid bullshit. Especially when you lecture me about my stupid bullshit,” Ethan said.
“So you agree,” Charlie said, popping the trunk so they could grab their equipment bags. “You are mostly excited to see Tuck.”
“I mean, sure I am. He’s . . . well, he’s pretty much my best friend,” Ethan said. They hadn’t said that, but he’d never been closer to anyone, just his brothers. And they were his brothers.
“That’s what Max and I are, and we’re good at keeping things focused on hockey,” Charlie said, so smug and patronizing that Ethan imagined Avery also sending him the look.
“You don’t even know that we won’t, you’re just being paranoid,” Ethan said, grabbing his bag from Charlie’s trunk. “The season hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already freaking out.”
Charlie huffed out a breath as Ethan turned to head into the building.
“Wait,” Charlie said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
Stopping him in his tracks. Ethan might’ve shrugged him off, but this was still Charlie.
Still one of the people Ethan loved more than anyone else.
“It’s just . . .” Charlie hesitated. “Last year sucked so much. You don’t even know what it’s like to be the savior of the franchise and then not be able to fucking save it.
To fail year after year, to not even make the playoffs last year.
And every year before that, to make it but not make it far enough.
The Bandits drafted me to bring a Cup to New York, and I’m failing. ”
Ethan wanted to tell Charlie that he wasn’t failing.
Not even fucking close. That he’d been drafted when he was eighteen.
That he’d taken his first puck drop at nineteen, and that he’d only been doing this for three full seasons, and nobody expected him to work miracles.
To drag the entire team to the Stanley Cup finals and then over the finish line.
But then Charlie knew that, even if he wouldn’t accept it.
“I know, Barney,” Ethan said softly and reached out, squeezing his arm back. “I know. I’m gonna take it seriously, I promise. I won’t let you down.”
Charlie huffed again. Looking away as he grabbed his own bag. “I know. I know you wouldn’t.”
It was probably a really good thing that Charlie couldn’t hear his heartbeat, though, as they approached the double doors that led into the practice facility. Couldn’t hear it double and then triple as Charlie pulled the doors open and led them deeper inside.
Any moment, they’d walk around a corner, and Hank would be right there. In person. Again. Finally.
But they got all the way to the locker room, and Ethan didn’t see him. He and Charlie passed their bags off to Karl, the equipment manager, and Ethan resisted the urge to pull his phone out of his pocket to recheck Hank’s last text from last night. see you tomorrow, he’d said, just ten hours ago.
Where the hell was he?
Max was there. Danny. Brock Jones. Both the goalies.
More than half the room was full of guys, all shouting greetings at each other after a summer apart.
Making fun of each other for the weight they had—or hadn’t—put on.
Charlie was even smiling, but that was probably because he and Max had their heads tucked together.
Ethan changed and resisted another urge. This one to text Hank and ask where the hell he was.
He finished getting ready to warm up, going slow as hell, thinking that maybe the longer he delayed, the more chances he’d have for Hank to just walk in.
First day of camp, and Ethan knew how desperate Hank was to make the roster, once and for all, officially.
Because of that, he’d have thought Hank would be here early.
But he and Charlie had gotten here pretty dang early, because Charlie was Charlie and for once he hadn’t had to twist Ethan’s arm about it, because he’d been eager, too.
But there was nothing to be done about it. Hank wasn’t here.
Finally, Ethan nudged Charlie and mumbled something about warming up in the gym, and Charlie nodded absently.
At least Ethan had been right about that, which was how the second year in, Charlie was more relaxed about them playing together. Wasn’t acting like Ethan needed to follow him around like a lost duckling.
Ethan pushed open the gym doors and was half a step inside when he froze.
Hank was here, pedaling on one of the stationary bikes, backwards hat on, biceps bunching under his T-shirt as he leaned over the handlebars.
God, he looked good. Big and strong and hot.
And then there was the way he looked when he saw Ethan approach.
A smile, wide and genuine, stretching across his face. “Eth!” he called out, and Ethan didn’t need any further encouragement.
His fingers itched as he walked closer to the bikes.
He’d spent most of last night tossing and turning in between dreams where he got to reach out and touch.
Where none of their touches were like last time, casual and easy.
Instead, where every one dripped with purpose and meaning. When they touched, the earth quaked.
But Hank was on the bike and Ethan didn’t want to force him to get off, just so they could embrace.
Ethan came to a stop in front of Hank’s bike, leaning onto the handlebars a bit. “Hey,” he said.
Hank was still smiling at him. “Imagine seeing you here,” he said.
The guy was hot, sure, and Ethan definitely liked that about him. But he was funny too. Dry and sarcastic and snarky. Made Ethan feel like he had to work a little to keep up with him—to make Hank laugh the same way he made Ethan laugh. And he liked that so goddamn much.
“I was beginning to wonder if I should send out a search party,” Ethan joked. “Felt like everyone else was already there, in the locker room.”
“Then what took you so long?” The corner of Hank’s mouth tilted up. “Maybe I should’ve been sending out a search party for you.”
And oh. Oh. Hank had come in here because he’d thought Ethan would come here first, right after changing. Something warm bloomed inside Ethan’s chest as they gazed at each other.
It was just like one of their FaceTime calls, except now it was real. Hank was flesh and blood, right there, in front of him.
And if Ethan was brave, he could reach out and touch Hank. Reach out and take everything he was beginning to believe they both wanted.
“Well, I’m here now,” Ethan said. He didn’t do anything he was thinking about, because it was the first day, the first minute really, and he could see how they were both still feeling out how this would work, them both in the same city, the same zip code, the same room.
Hank grinned. “Yeah, you are.” His feet slowed on the pedals even more and before Ethan could say anything else, he slipped off the bike and tugged Ethan into a hug.
For a second, Ethan just felt. The warm broadness of Hank’s body, the closeness of it, and how his head managed to tuck right under Hank’s chin.
He’d never been that happy about his six-foot height before—always wanted to be that inch or two taller—but now he could see the advantage.
Hank smelled good—like something fresh and green and also a little like his own sweat, and it lit Ethan up, pinging all his nerves.
Even nerves he would rather not be pinged, right now, in the middle of the Bandits’ practice facility gym.
“Took you long enough for that too,” Hank said, pulling away and letting go.
Ethan felt a tiny pulse of disappointment that was quickly swamped by the realization that whatever they’d just shared, it wasn’t the standard hockey bro hug. Not even close.
Then there was the smug look on Hank’s face, like it had been just as good for him.
“Just, you were . . . um, on the bike and everything.” Ethan knew usually he was the confident and sure one. Usually, though, everything he felt confident and sure about didn’t matter—or they did, just less. Because he was beginning to wonder if Hank was one of the most important things.