6. Chapter 6 #4
Was it Hank’s imagination or was Ethan leaning closer, angling his body? Alarm bells should be going off in Hank’s head now, but they seemed so far away, almost impossible to hear, even as they clanged insistently.
“Do you feel better?” Hank asked, mouth going dry. He didn’t really feel better; he felt like he was cartwheeling on the edge of the cliff, gazing down and thinking that the fall didn’t look so bad from this angle.
“Yeah.” So fucking sincere. Ethan was killing him. Killing him.
“Good.”
“Hank,” Ethan said in a low voice, and then he was leaning in even closer, and God, Hank knew he should push him away.
This was the worst possible timing; a bucketful of what should be cold water all over his hopes and dreams, shocking him back to reality.
But the truth was the water was warm and sweet, and he wanted to lean in. Swim in it too.
It’s not never, he reminded himself, it’s not right fucking now. No matter how bad you want it. You make the team? You both make the roster? You can celebrate by recreating this exact moment and being the one to lean in. To take everything you’ve tried so hard not to want.
It was just enough to convince Hank to turn his head.
Clear his throat. “I should . . . uh . . .” He should do something, certainly.
But what, he had no fucking clue. Not his fault, really, there wasn’t much blood left in his brain.
That should be embarrassing: that he could get this hot and hard just from a loaded moment and an almost kiss.
But Ethan was addicting like that.
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, which surprised Hank.
He’d half expected Ethan, with his happy-go-lucky earnestness, to just grab Hank and go for it. But he did seem to realize that the timing wasn’t great.
An honest-to-god fucking miracle.
Because a second later, the door opened and Charlie was there. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the two of them sitting on the foot of Ethan’s bed. Hank tensed, forcing himself not to lean farther back, and definitely not to spring back in a reactionary way.
He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and he wasn’t about to act like they had.
“Eth,” Charlie said.
“What?” Ethan complained. He turned to Hank. “Don’t let him freak you out.”
“I’m not freaked out,” Hank said steadily. Though he was, a little. Barney was a force to be reckoned with, no question. But Hank was no slouch, either. He’d proven that, more than once, at the end of last season.
Ethan gave him an unapologetic and approving once-over. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re being a dick,” Charlie complained.
“Why would I freak anyone out? I’m just surprised to see Tuck here, that’s all.
When I left you, you were all cozy in bed, claiming you were gonna watch some TV, and now here’s Tuck and you two are—” He broke off before he could finish that sentence, which Hank was grateful for.
He had a good idea how they looked. He didn’t need Charlie to say it out loud.
“I changed my mind and I’m fucking allowed to do that,” Ethan said stubbornly.
Over the last year, Hank had gotten to know Ethan pretty well, and honestly, every single thing he discovered, every personality trait he uncovered through time and proximity and conversation? Only made him like Ethan more.
But Ethan steadfastly refusing to admit to his brother, who clearly loved him and wanted the best for him, that he hadn’t done a good job of reassuring him before his first game? When Ethan obviously knew it would hurt Charlie’s feelings? It made Hank melt, in the best possible kind of way.
“Alright.” Charlie sighed. “But I wanna go to sleep soon . . .” He didn’t need to look pointedly over at Hank, because he was already moving, getting up.
“It’s cool, I was just leaving,” Hank said.
Ethan pouted. “But—”
“We both need to get some sleep,” Hank said gently. Reached out and put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Ignored the way even the simple touch rolled through him like a fucking earthquake.
He squeezed a little, warmth from Ethan’s skin leaking through the fabric. “You got this, okay?”
Ethan’s smile was even warmer. “Yeah. So do you.”
“I’m touched,” Charlie bitched behind them.
“Hey,” Ethan retorted pointedly to Charlie. “I have to tolerate so much with you and—”
“Fine, fine,” Charlie said hurriedly. Like it might be some kind of fucking mystery whose name Ethan was about to say. Newsflash: Hank and everyone else on the team—probably everyone else on the planet—knew about how Charlie was with Max.
Hank squeezed Ethan’s shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you at breakfast, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, and Hank took his last smile—warm, still, and sweet, and a little private, even—back to his room with him.
Bo was still “meditating.” The soothing-voice woman was now directing Bo to dip each toe into the pool.
Next morning, Hank was gonna give him shit about what kind of foot-fetish meditation he was doing now.
Easier, anyway, to focus on that, as he tugged his sweatshirt off, than what had almost happened in Ethan’s room.