10. Chapter 10
It was midway through the first period when it started.
At first, Ethan wasn’t sure it was on purpose, thought maybe it was just a bit of a too-enthusiastic check by one of the Wolves’ d-men, though he should know better.
He’d been around hockey long enough to know rookies got targeted by the older guys.
That some of them considered it a trial by fire for the players new to the league.
Charlie had brought it up at practice two days ago, though Ethan hadn’t needed him to say anything. He’d come in expecting it.
But he hadn’t expected the way the guy dug his fucking elbow into his side, grinding it in as his body blocked the ref’s view so that he couldn’t blow the play dead and call a penalty.
It was bullshit, sure, but Ethan could handle it. Could handle himself.
But then it happened again. And again.
It wasn’t always the same guy, though it was the same handful, for sure.
When Charlie had brought it up, Ethan had asked him if he’d ever felt the need to return the rough treatment that he’d been subjected to as a rookie, and Charlie had just looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
And yeah, Ethan had already known the answer to that.
Charlie wasn’t a fighter. Barely knew how to throw a punch, though if forced, could hold his own on the ice.
“Of fucking course I didn’t,” Charlie retorted. “Why would I be that stupid?”
And it was stupid. Stupid to kick someone’s ass and possibly cause an injury for no other reason than someone had done it to you. It was petty and the kind of pointless bullshit that kept hockey from really meeting the bar set by the other pro sports, in Ethan’s humble opinion.
When Ethan skated back to the bench at the end of his shift, already feeling the beginnings of a real bruise wrapping around his side, Max leaned over. “You good?” he asked.
Ethan nodded. He wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. He’d known it was going to happen, and he could handle it.
He was already the baby rookie, even more so because he was Barney’s little brother. He wasn’t going to draw even more attention to it.
“You’ll tell me, right, if it gets too bad?” Max asked, clearly disinclined to drop it.
Ethan huffed out a breath. “Sure, yeah,” he said.
From Max’s other side, Charlie made a scoffing noise. “He’s not gonna tell you,” he said.
Ethan made a face and dealt with it, making sure to not favor the side he wanted to after that because screw Charlie, he could handle it.
One of the trainers pulled him aside between the first and the second, to make sure he didn’t need anything, but Ethan waved him off. It was just a bruise. He could deal with bruises. This was hockey.
And it sure helped because the second was almost over when Ethan caught a great pass from Sasha—it was only his second year, and Ethan hadn’t been sure what to make of the guy, because his English wasn’t awesome, and he’d also been stuck on the fourth line, right along Ethan—and slid the puck right between the goalie’s legs, scoring his first NHL goal.
“That’s fucking it,” Charlie said when Ethan skated by the bench and felt his brother’s helmet tap even long after it ended.
When the game ended, with a score of four to two, notching the Bandits’ first win of the season, Ethan would’ve been a lot more pissed, because he was being targeted, no question, but his goal and Charlie’s two points and the win helped assuage at least some of the pain.
“Shit,” Danny said, next to him, when Ethan pulled his gear off. “You’re bruised to hell, kid.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, wincing a little as he poked at the spots that had already gone multicolored.
“Seriously,” Danny continued, like Ethan had actually bitched, even though he’d actually done the opposite. “That kind of fuckery just isn’t cool. I don’t know why those guys still do that shit.”
“You know why,” Max said, from a few stalls down. “Thinks it makes them cool.”
“Doesn’t,” Brock retorted without heat.
“Don’t have to tell me that,” Danny said.
“Yeah.” Charlie barked out a laugh. “’Cause you’ve never been cool a day in your life.”
Danny made an outraged squawk, the room dissolving into shouts and laughter, and Ethan was glad.
He was pissed, sure, and he hadn’t enjoyed it, but he didn’t want to give a single person on this team the opportunity to say he couldn’t hack it. That he was resting on his last name, using Charlie to shield him.
After he showered and waited for Charlie to finish his interminable post-game routine and media session, Ethan pulled out his phone.
He wasn’t surprised to see a whole bunch of texts. A string on his family’s group chat, and even more, all from Avery, on the bro-chat.
Even more congratulations and good jobs from his old Evergreen teammates and even a message from his coach at Portland, Gavin Blackburn.
But Ethan scrolled past all of them, to find his convo with Hank. Sure enough, there were a ton of new messages.
shit, what the fuck are these guys doing to you?
I mean, I know, but it’s bullshit.
Ten minutes later, like Hank had been stewing about it for the whole intermission.
I fucking wish I was there. I’d stop them.
Something warm and sweet bloomed inside Ethan, and sure, he’d just thought that he didn’t want special treatment from his teammates.
That he didn’t want them to make a big deal out of what was kind of a rite of passage.
But when Hank said he wanted to throw down and protect Ethan, that melted his heart and made him hot under the collar.
Ethan kept scrolling. There were some comments on the game. On Ethan’s goal. The text that Hank had sent about it wasn’t all that different than the others he’d gotten, but it made him flush, anyway.
And finishing up the thread, Hank had sent one last text: remember. text me when you’re on your way home.
Like Ethan was going to forget. That hadn’t been likely, even before Hank’s reminder, and now it was even less likely, after hearing how Hank had been pissed and ready to do something about how the other team had been on Ethan’s ass all game.
Ethan’s fingers hovered over the screen. He should say something but he felt so much, how could he possibly break it all down into a few letters and words?
Nothing he typed was going to express even a fraction of it.
Not a situation he’d ever encountered before. Every other emotion had always been easy enough to express.
But Hank was complicated.
the game was good, Ethan finally typed, because he could hear noise coming down the hallway, and that was probably Charlie. Probably Max, too. but one of the best parts were your texts. thx for the congrats. glad I got the first one out of the way fast. and I couldn’t possibly forget. not you.
He didn’t say anything about Hank’s wishful defending, because that was something he was going to need to tackle on FaceTime.
When he could see Hank’s face. When he could see Hank’s flush, and how it went all the way up from his chest to his cheeks.
He hadn’t even gotten Hank naked the one time they’d kissed, hadn’t even gotten his shirt off when they’d ground together to that crazy hot orgasm, and that was a situation that Ethan was going to make sure to change this next time.
But sure enough, a second later, Charlie and Max rounded the corner, heads tipped together, laughing about something.
Catching a glimpse of him, Charlie straightened. “There you are, Eth. You ready to go?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, pushing away from the wall.
“Max is gonna catch a ride with us,” Charlie said.
“If that’s alright,” Max asked, shooting him a soft, dimpled smile.
“’Course,” Ethan said, nudging Max with his shoulder to give that little extra bit of approval.
Like Ethan was going to be dumb enough to say no when it was clear that Charlie wanted Max to come with them.
Besides, Ethan liked Max.
A few days after Hank had gone back to Syracuse, he’d admitted to Ethan that when Charlie had showed up in his apartment, interrupting their quasi-date, he’d been surprised to discover that Charlie hadn’t known, because Max would have.
And Max had kept that secret. Waited until it was common knowledge to say anything.
Ethan would’ve liked Max on his own merits, because he seemed like a really solid captain, dependable and kind, but that had made him respect Max even more.
Still, as much as he did like Max, it was very much like being a third wheel.
Ethan demurred and sat in the back seat of Charlie’s car, because he’d made the mistake of separating these two once by sitting in the front seat, and he wasn’t doing that again.
At the bar, Danny snuck him a beer and a shot, and it was decent enough, Ethan supposed.
He wasn’t trying to live in that alternate reality where Hank had stayed with the Bandits, but it was hard, sometimes.
He could almost feel the shape of him next to him, even though Hank hadn’t been around very long.
It had only been a few weeks of camp and preseason, but it had felt like a lot longer than that.
Good enough, too, that Ethan could’ve gotten used to having him there, forever.
Wanted to glance next to him and see him there, warm hazel eyes on Ethan like he couldn’t look anywhere else. Wanted to feel his hand reach over and squeeze Ethan’s knee, under the cover of the table. Wanted him to be closer than a text or a phone call away.
“You’re sulking, a little,” Dom said to him, sliding into the booth where Ethan was relaxing, trying to ignore the way Charlie was leaning right into Max’s space as they chatted by the bar.
Maybe Avery was right, but this was honestly getting more ridiculous by the minute.
“I’m not,” Ethan claimed.
But their goalie gave him a frank look. “Yeah, you are. Have anything to do with a guy who asked me for restaurant recs before he left town?”
Ethan supposed that he and Hank being attached at the hip hadn’t been all that subtle; after all, the team was clearly used to it, because they’d been watching Charlie and Max dance around each other forever.