11. Chapter 11
November
“Dude, who would’ve thought you’d end up being just as pathetic as me.”
The Black Knights had taken over the back of this bar, deep in this Massachusetts suburb, after they’d won the game against the Providence Bruins.
Usually, Hank got out of these kinds of things, because everyone knew he was antisocial, and now he had the good excuse that Bo also wasn’t going either.
But it was hard to dodge your own quasi-celebration.
Hard, but not impossible.
Which was why Trey, the Knights’ captain, had cornered him before they left the arena and insisted that he come tonight, and that he bring Bo with him.
“What,” Hank had said, crabbier than he should’ve been, considering the Knights’ win/loss record and how he’d been contributing to that in a major kind of way, “you actually want to hang out with Bo now?”
Trey had grimaced. “Is he bringing his meditations?” Hank had only been able to laugh at that. “I’ll confiscate his earbuds first,” Hank had promised.
So, yeah, when Bo accused Hank of being equally pathetic . . . that would normally be a Come to Jesus kind of moment.
But what was he supposed to do? He was already doing everything he fucking could to get back to New York.
Doing less would be unacceptable.
Maybe what really mattered was that Ethan didn’t think he was even remotely pathetic.
“You’re making a necessary sacrifice to elevate your game,” Hank told Bo weakly.
Bo shot him a look. “That girl that you just stared blankly at and then just straight up said no thanks . . . she was hot, man. I might be willing to un-elevate my game just to get into her panties.”
“You’re disgusting,” Hank declared flatly. But the truth was, he’d barely noticed what the girl looked like. He was only thinking of one person these days, and Ethan wasn’t a girl.
He was pretty sure Bo had figured that whole situation out, but they were both doing Hank the favor of pretending that he didn’t know shit.
“But honest,” Bo said, waggling his eyebrows before tipping the rest of his beer back. “That gives me a real leg up on most of these losers.”
Hank glanced over at him. “I wanna argue with you, but . . .”
“You know I’m fucking right,” Bo declared, grinning. “You want another beer or are you gonna go off and call your . . . um . . . your friend? The littlest Barnes?”
“If he knew you were calling him the littlest Barnes, he’d kill you, slowly.”
“Good thing he doesn’t know, then,” Bo said. “So, how about it? You gonna stay?”
“Nah,” Hank said. “I’m gonna take off in a few.”
But then Hank remembered that the Bandits had played earlier tonight, and their game had finished a few hours before the Knights’, so they were already on the plane, flying home.
There was no real reason to go back to the hotel room; if he wanted to text Ethan, he could do that right here, at the bar.
Maybe that would actually make him slightly less pathetic.
“Um, yeah, actually. Grab me another?” He tipped the empty bottle towards Bo, who nodded and took it.
Hank pulled his phone out after Bo left.
Bo just told me I was a pathetic brother in arms with him. Should I re-evaluate my entire life? Y/N
ouch, Ethan texted back. does my opinion count for anything?
more than bo’s? 100%
good, cause I think you’re fucking awesome.
It wasn’t easy to get all these pieces of Ethan and not reach out and take the ones he wanted. The ones he craved.
The ones he knew Ethan wanted to give him.
Some days, being noble was manageable. Hank could compartmentalize. He could remind himself that this wasn’t forever. That at some point, Inverness would call him up and he’d take someone’s slot.
Niko was still playing well, but there were other d-men. D-men that Ethan kept telling Hank that he was better than.
Hank could usually laugh Ethan’s comments off. Tell him that he shouldn’t be saying that shit, even if nobody on the team could hear him.
But tonight was not as easy as those times.
He wanted to be on that plane with Ethan. To feel like he belonged, with one of the few people who he felt had ever really seen him.
why’s bo giving you shit?
Because I’m sitting here, in this bar, surrounded by other people and I’m thinking about you.
But Hank didn’t say that, because it probably would be pathetic. Ethan knew how much he wished things were different. Hank had said it enough times, in enough different ways. Unfortunately saying it didn’t change anything.
When he didn’t answer Ethan right away, naturally Ethan texted again.
ARE you being pathetic?
just feeling a little bit sorry for myself.
after the three assists you had tonight?
doesn’t feel like it’s good enough.
And there it was. That was the thing that was bothering him, that had made him want, more than he usually did, to crawl back to his shitty hotel room, pull the covers over his head and try to zone out as Bo listened to his stupid fucking meditations.
Nothing he was doing felt like enough; like he wasn’t good enough.
you’re wrong. you’re second on the team in points, and first in plus minus. Inverness is gonna get his head out of his ass, eventually. i swear. it’s NOT you.
Bo returned then, carrying two beers.
“Do you even know how many women have looked over here in the last five minutes?” Bo asked, sounding exasperated. “What’s up with their sudden obsession with gingers? Maybe I should dye my hair red.”
Hank rolled his eyes and took one of the beers. “You’re fucking stupid,” he said. “Even if you did, and even if they were all over you, what are you gonna do with them? Take them back to our room and let them borrow an earbud?”
“Ouch,” Bo said, but he was still grinning.
“You’re a dick,” Hank muttered.
“Maybe, but tonight, you’re the one sitting here acting like a dick,” Bo pointed out dryly.
“I got a second beer,” Hank defended.
He glanced down at his text convo with Ethan. Ethan’s words soothed, because they usually did. He knew what to say to him, but Hank needed to figure out what the fuck to say to himself.
thx, he texted back. needed that.
Ethan sent a thumbs-up and then a heart, and Hank didn’t need a dictionary to understand what both of those meant, sent together.
“Listen, I know you’re some big-shot guy, first-round pick, gonna end up on the Bandits’ roster, sooner rather than later. Gonna be all chummy with the Barnes bros. Be famous. Probably end up on the cover of a video game.”
Hank made a scoffing noise.
“Just saying. Remember us little people when you’re big and rich and famous, okay?”
“You’re still a dick,” Hank said.
“When you’re pulling in as many girls as you want. When you’ve got that hot WAG at home.” Bo shot him a knowing glance.
Hank sighed, suddenly just very tired of all this bullshit. He was tired of pretending. Tired of not being with Ethan, but also just fucking sick of acting like what was happening wasn’t happening at all. “What if she wasn’t blond or a WAG? What if she wasn’t a she at all?”
Bo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are we talking about it now? Your obvious obsession with the littlest Barnes?”
“Shut up,” Hank muttered. “It’s not . . . we’re friends. But yeah, I guess so. ’Cause if I was in New York, then . . . yeah. Yeah.”
But Bo only grinned at him, like he wasn’t bothered at all. Of course Bo wasn’t bothered; Bo was too weird to be homophobic. He’d say, I see your preoccupation with dick and raise you my entire personality.
“So that’s why you’re pouting. You miss your boy.”
“He’s not my—” Hank broke off. But Ethan kinda was, and he was tired of pretending otherwise. “Yeah,” he said instead.
So this was how it felt to come out. It felt .
. . well, not that different. He kinda felt the same as he had five minutes ago.
He was still missing Ethan. Still annoyed that Inverness hadn’t called yet.
Still wishing that first line would fucking watch their zone entries and stop making such sloppy decisions that Hank had to clean up after the fact.
“Thought so,” Bo said smugly. He tipped the neck of his beer bottle against Hank’s, clanking them together. “Congrats, man. He’s hot. And rich and famous. See, this is why you’re gonna get there, too. No way Inverness leaves you here, not when you could have an in with the Barneses.”
“They’re not like that, and neither is Inverness,” Hank protested.
“Sure, sure. ’Cause Inverness isn’t gonna dangle the whole fucking roster at the Mavs to get the oldest one there, too. Imagine the jerseys they’d sell if they had all three on the same team. Inverness wants to win championships, sure, and Avery’s not a bad way to go about that—”
“Not a bad way,” Hank interrupted, grimacing. “Avery’s a fucking legit hockey player, man.”
“Better d-man than I’ll ever be,” Bo agreed. “But sometimes it’s not about that, you know?”
“You are absolutely full of shit,” Hank said. But secretly, deep down, he wasn’t sure that Bo actually was. After all, even a broken clock was right twice a day. Was Bo right about this? Would Inverness go out of his way to get Avery on the Bandits’ roster?
He’d told Hank that he was going to use Niko as trade bait. Would he use Hank too?
If he was going to use Hank, Hank would already be on the Bandits’ roster. The Mavericks weren’t going to want some AHL guy in trade for Avery fucking Barnes.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Bo shot him a knowing look. “You wanna stay off Inverness’ trade radar? You’re doing it. Be glad, ’cause I have a feeling he’ll do whatever it takes to get the third one to New York.”
Hank thought about it as they finished their beers and headed back to the hotel with the rest of the team.
He pulled up his text convo with his agent, Claude, and sent a quick message. hearing some weird rumors about the bandits trading for avery barnes. legit?
Claude answered almost immediately. rumors are legit. not sure he’ll get it done. be glad you’re in syracuse. keeps you off the trade radar.
And as Hank lay there in the bed, sleep elusive, he wondered if that was really why Inverness had sent him back to Syracuse and kept Niko, instead. He was willing to trade Niko, but not to trade Hank.