15. Chapter 15 #4
“It’s not . . .” Hank clamped his lips together. It was exactly like that, so he couldn’t really argue it wasn’t.
“Oh, please, dude, we all know it’s like that. And we’re all cool with it, whenever you wanna go lay a big smooch on our rookie over there.” Danny smirked.
“Sure,” Hank said, because what else was he supposed to say?
“You talk to him about moving to Max’s line?”
“Only every single day,” Hank said.
“He and Max would be a solid one-two punch. Not that Max is old—”
“Max is twenty-four,” Hank inserted, a little disbelieving. He shouldn’t be surprised. This was just typical Danny bullshit; the only shocking thing was when he didn’t pull anything out of his ass.
“Right, exactly,” Danny said. “I’ll tell you, keeping up with Barney keeps me young. Or at least that’s what Morgan keeps telling me.”
And there it was. Hank mentally squirmed. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Don’t tell me you hero-worship that asshole, too,” Danny said jovially, leaning in and slinging an arm around Hank’s shoulders. Hank was at least three inches taller than Danny, so the way Danny took over space was impressive and must be something he’d practiced for awhile.
“He’s not . . .” Hank stuttered. “He’s not an asshole.”
“Let me guess, you had his jersey over your bed. I’m here to enlighten you, Tuck. That guy isn’t real special. At all. He shits the same way we all do.”
Hank didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t actually had a Reynolds jersey, but that wasn’t for a lack of asking.
His dad had balked at him not celebrating “Canadian exceptionalism” so he’d ended up with a Sundin jersey, though he had thought about how Mats Sundin was Swedish, not actually Canadian.
Still, he couldn’t be mad at that, even if the Leafs hadn’t won a Cup in like a hundred years.
“And, even better,” Danny said, the edge of his voice going teasing and sly, “he fucks up relationships just as much as the rest of us. Don’t pull a Reynolds and fuck this up with the baby Barnes, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to,” Hank said. At least he was going to try really fucking hard not to. He liked Ethan so much; was afraid, now that they were finally back in the same geographical area, that he might more than like him.
But it was way too soon to even think that, never mind say it.
“I just had to make sure,” Danny said.
“And you don’t fuck up relationships?” Hank asked archly, unsure where he’d gotten the courage from, but he’d taken enough of Danny’s gentle teasing for the night. If Danny could dish it out, he could take it, too.
Danny just threw his head back, cackling. “Oh, Tuck, that’s exactly the point. I don’t do relationships, so that means I don’t have the opportunity to fuck them up.”
“Yeah, but—” Hank broke off. What Danny said made sense. It also sounded lonely, but Hank wasn’t going to say that. He wasn’t stupid.
“But what?”
“It’s just . . . nice, you know? To know I have someone. To know I’ve had someone.”
Danny just grinned and patted him on the cheek. It was obnoxious, sure, but it also filled Hank with a feeling that might be belonging. Something he hadn’t had in a while, being constantly shifted back and forth between New York and Syracuse.
“You’re adorable. Giving Max a run for his money when it comes to your Barnes-devotion,” Danny said.
It didn’t sound like an insult, even in Danny’s smug voice. And Hank wouldn’t have taken it as one, anyway. Instead, it sounded damn good to him.
“What are you two chatting about over here?” Ethan approached, a little crease between his brows. Hank had a brief thought that he might be jealous, but that would be ridiculous. Didn’t Ethan know that—well, he should know that Hank couldn’t even look at anyone else.
Not now. Not ever, probably.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Baby Barnes,” Danny teased. He nudged Hank. “He’s plenty loyal. Only got eyes for you. Besides, I don’t swing that way—I don’t think.”
“You don’t think?” That crease on Ethan’s face deepened.
But Danny just shrugged, like deciding to hook up with a guy would only be a minor thing. No big deal. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right guy yet,” he said.
“Danny, you’re thirty-three,” Hank pointed out.
But Danny just laughed. “Don’t remind me. Besides—I never feel thirty-three when I play on Barney’s line. Especially on nights like tonight.”
Ethan rolled his eyes but looked amused as Danny sauntered off. “What was all that about?”
Hank still wasn’t sure. But despite his regular dosage of bullshit, he had a feeling there had been . . . well, something going on there. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.
“Maybe he’s lonely,” Hank said.
But Ethan just scoffed. “Yeah, okay. He’s lonely. That seems ridiculous. He’s around us all the time.”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. He didn’t say that didn’t mean you couldn’t be lonely. He’d been lonely all the time in Syracuse, and it had felt like he’d never actually been alone.
“Hey,” Ethan said, lowering his voice, “you wanna—” He gestured towards the door. “I have it on good authority this’ll go on for awhile and we could . . . you know.”
Hank didn’t need to be asked twice. He nodded. “Yeah.”