11. Chapter 11 #3
He didn’t say it, not explicitly, but she was his mom and she got it, the way she usually did. Reaching out, she gave his arm a firm, reassuring squeeze. “He sounds great, honey. We could use a good d-man in the family.”
“We have Avery,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes.
“And I’m sure he could use some company, especially with . . .” Charlotte glanced up at where Max was now whipping the potatoes in the pot, biceps bunching under the sleeves of his T-shirt and if Charlie wasn’t fucking drooling, he was close enough. “Well. You know.”
“God, don’t I?” Ethan complained.
She laughed. “Be nice to your brother. He’s trying his best.”
“Is he though?”
“He’s got a lot of pressure on him,” she soothed. “You know that.”
“And now you sound just like Avery,” Ethan bitched.
“Maybe he got it from me,” she said, smiling. “You know . . . you know how your dad can be, about things.”
Ethan swallowed hard. He knew in a lot of ways Charlie protected him from all that. That he always had.
“Yeah.”
She patted him again. “Just be gentle with him, sometimes, okay? Because Charlie isn’t always gentle with himself.”
Ethan had gotten lucky, he supposed, if he was tallying things up.
Their dad had gotten a taste of potential NHL success with Avery, but Charlie had always been the son that everything had ridden on.
The one with the skills that could really push their family into the stratosphere.
Then there’d been Ethan, who’d been born fourth and who’d been not an afterthought, not exactly, but there’d been way less pressure and way less focus.
He’d spent three years at Portland and it had been good.
At the time he hadn’t been sure he should go to college after he’d done a stint in the US development program.
But they’d made sure he went, unlike Charlie, who’d headed straight to the Bandits’ main roster after the draft. Eighteen and so fucking young.
Charlie had never explicitly said to Ethan he should go to college because he hadn’t. He’d never said he regretted the path he’d taken, but maybe he didn’t need to say it for Ethan to recognize that it was true.
“I’d be happy being gentle with him if he’d just take what is so obviously his,” Ethan said.
He didn’t need to look pointedly at Max for his mom to get it. She laughed again. “You’re so much my most straightforward child. Did you just march up to Hank and tell him you liked him?”
Ethan made a face. “No. Not exactly.” Though kinda, yeah. He’d waited, at least at the very beginning, for Hank to come to him, to show him that he was in this, too, but after he’d been sure of it, he’d had no issue pushing them forward.
Had enjoyed it, even.
“But close enough,” she guessed.
“Um, yeah, kinda.” He flushed. “I don’t see the point of pretending that I don’t like him. He likes me. If he was here . . . well, you know how it would be.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I do?”
“I mean, we’d be together, and we’d probably be the ones giggling over the potatoes. Or he’d be in the living room, debating who was going to win the football game. Either way, it would be straightforward. Because it is.”
“Exactly.” She chuckled again. “Don’t lose that, Eth. It’s special.”
Ethan found that difficult to believe, but then out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Charlie’s lovesick expression, and well, yeah, maybe it was.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Are you going to tell your dad? About Hank?”
Ethan hadn’t been sure. He didn’t like keeping secrets. He hadn’t really intended to keep Hank a secret, even, but then by late November and Thanksgiving, he’d expected that Hank would be back in New York. That he’d be around to introduce to his family.
That would make it all very straightforward. Cut and dried. Simple.
“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “I don’t think he’d be mad.”
“Why would he? He loves you boys.”
Ethan didn’t say he had a funny way of showing it sometimes because it was a holiday and he didn’t want to have an argument. Sometimes his mom could be blind to the pressure Michael put on all of them. It wasn’t her fault, necessarily, but sometimes it did frustrate him.
Especially when Charlie got off the phone with him, and he looked pale and drawn. Or in the bro-chat when Avery asked Charlie if he’d talked to their dad lately and Charlie always clammed up. Went silent.
“I know,” Ethan said. “It’s just . . . things aren’t like official official yet. Because Hank’s not here.”
“Any idea when he might come up?” she asked.
Ethan wished he had a better answer for her. For himself. For Hank, who was working his ass off to prove to Inverness that he was worthy of the Bandits’ roster.
But he had no idea.
“No,” he admitted.
“That must be tough.” His mom put her arm around him and tugged him close. “I want to meet him, when he does.”
“You’ll like him,” Ethan said, because he knew she would. Even Michael would probably like him.
“You like him, so of course I would,” she said softly. She straightened. “Come on, let’s go rescue your brother and the potatoes before Max beats them both completely into submission.”
Ethan huffed out a breath, but he got up too and followed Charlotte deeper into the kitchen.