14. Chapter 14 #4
Definitely none of the Panthers’ d-men could keep up. Barkov made it across the blue line, giving Charlie a two-on-one, something he could handle in his sleep. But then, Bobrovsky, the Panthers’ goalie, was one of the best in the league.
He’d already given up two goals to Charlie tonight. He wasn’t going to want to give up a hat trick.
“Wants it bad,” Emil said dryly. He wasn’t wrong—the determination was nearly radiating off Charlie—and then he finally took his shot.
It was a damn good shot, but personally, Ethan would’ve waited until he was a little closer, a little tighter to Bob. As it was, he totally saw the puck coming, and even though Charlie managed to elevate it, it wasn’t enough and Bob plucked it out of the air with his glove hand.
Ethan didn’t have time to make a face, because it was his turn to go over the boards and take his shift.
That dickhead Tkachuk hit him along the boards, definitely harder than he needed to, but Ethan was actively trying to steal the puck so he knew he wasn’t going to get the ref saying shit.
As expected, the refs let them play.
Hank skated up and used his bulk to try to help Ethan pry the puck loose, and sure enough, they finally got it, Hank passing it in a quick move to Emil.
Ethan pushed off, using his speed to make it past the blue line.
It was late in the third, maybe, and he was a little gassed, but he used what was left in his tank to try to get into the offensive zone before the Panthers could quite get set into their defensive formation. Maybe even catch them off guard.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan caught a glimpse of Jonas, his other winger, getting into position, and that was good, but as the Panthers arrayed themselves around the goal, Ethan thought he saw a better choice.
Not just because he wanted to get Hank a goal, but because it was genuinely the best play.
He flicked the puck back to Hank, who didn’t hesitate. Took the shot. And unlike Charlie’s, he got a little more air on it, and it sailed past Bob before he could have a chance to get in position to stop it.
The puck hit the back of the net, and Ethan fist-pumped as the Bandits’ goal song blared across the ice.
“That’s fucking it,” he yelled to Hank as their bodies collided for the celebration.
Hank huffed under his breath at Ethan’s enthusiasm, but then that was Hank for you. Never thinking he was as spectacular as he was.
He’d seen the play too. Gotten into position. Trusted Ethan to get him the puck, and when Ethan had, that quick little flick of a pass, he’d grabbed it on his stick like he’d been born to do it.
“Sick move, bro,” Charlie said, Ethan tailing behind Hank as he skated by the bench, getting his fist bumps.
Yeah, it really had been. And Charlie wanted to win enough that he wasn’t going to hold back, only caring that they’d scored and given the Bandits a little more breathing room.
Of course, late in the third, when the Panthers pulled Bob, trying to pull even with them and make up the two-goal deficit, Niko made another shitty move, letting in a goal on the man disadvantage.
Even over the crowd, and the music, and everything reverberating through the arena, Ethan could still hear Charlie’s huff of frustration.
Charlie wasn’t that good of a penalty killer—he was too offensively minded—but Ethan wondered if that would be the next thing he tried to conquer.
He’d end up playing the whole goddamn game if he thought it would get the Bandits a win.
Still, they did win, time running out thirty seconds later, Hank actually pulling a good move on the second shift of the penalty kill team, clearing the puck and ending the game.
After, in the locker room, while Hank was getting dressed, Ethan walked up to him.
“Knew you could nail that,” he told him, giving him a fist bump.
Only their first game playing together, and they’d already scored together.
Ethan was enough of a superstitious hockey player to believe that boded well.
Not just for them on the ice, but off it, too.
But then, he’d never really had any doubts about that.
A corner of Hank’s mouth quirked up. “I just put the shot in that you set up,” he said, modest as always.
“That’s bullshit, not everyone could get that shot where you did,” Ethan argued.
“Hey,” Hank muttered under his breath, “maybe if we can’t get the defense to do their fucking jobs, we can just score enough goals it doesn’t matter.”
“You guys weren’t bad,” Ethan defended. He leaned against the side of Hank’s stall.
On the other side of the room, Charlie and Max had their heads together as they broke down the game, already.
“We were fucking sluggish for the whole second.”
“You should be playing with Jonesy, not Niko,” Ethan said quietly after glancing around and checking that Niko was still in the showers.
Hank glanced up, his wet curls falling over his forehead. They were dark still, barely showing auburn even in the bright fluorescent light of the locker room. “And you should be on Max’s line.”
“Not you too,” Ethan complained. “I’m fine.”
“I saw what Tkachuk was doing to you. And Bennett,” Hank said flatly.
“That’s just their normal MO,” Ethan argued. “They do that shit to everyone.”
“Maybe, but you can’t tell me that the shit nearly every team has been pulling is typical.”
“For a rookie? Yeah.” Ethan shrugged. “This is just how it is.”
“Yeah, okay, and smart teams pair their rookie up with a guy who’ll fuck them up if the opposition doesn’t cut it out. You should be with Max.”
“I don’t wanna be with Max,” Ethan muttered.
“And I haven’t earned a slot on the first pair, with Jonesey. Not yet. It’s the same thing,” Hank insisted.
But it wasn’t. Not really. Niko seemed to be teetering on the edge of his slump. He’d been almost listless out there tonight. And Hank was good.
Just his first game and he’d already scored a goal and made more than a few great defensive plays.
“Besides,” Ethan said, “it’s not up to me who I’m playing with.”
Hank just shot him a look. “Don’t even try that with me. You aren’t going to tell me if you allowed Charlie to work his Silas magic, that Coach wouldn’t just stick you on Max’s line?”
“I’m a center,” Ethan repeated. He was going to end up saying that in his goddamn grave.
“Taking a little help and letting Max protect you for a bit isn’t not being a center,” Hank reminded him, but it still rankled.
And what rankled even more was on the way home, when Ethan pulled his phone out and checked his messages—no longer the most important thing he needed to do after a game because miraculously Hank was right here and not on the other end of the phone line anymore—there was a text from Avery to the bro-chat.
you should let Charlie work his magic. get you on Max’s line.
Ugh.
Ethan didn’t even react to the text. Just turned his phone off.
He didn’t need everyone telling him what to do; he’d gotten a goal and an assist tonight.
“Ice when we get home,” Charlie said from the front seat, all frustratingly know-it-all about it. Like Ethan wasn’t going to already ice. He was. And if Charlie didn’t make him, then he was pretty dang sure that Hank would remind him, too.
“I got it,” Ethan said a little testily. They’d won the game; he shouldn’t be so annoyed. But he was. Maybe he was the rookie, but he was tired of everyone, especially his brothers—telling him what to do.