20. Chapter 20
The first sign that something was off was that during drills the next day at practice, Silas pulled Hank aside and said, “Hey, Tuck. You ever play on the right side?”
Hank hesitated. “Yeah. Um. A few times. Do you want me—”
“Nothing for right now,” Silas said easily, casually. He patted Hank on the shoulder pad. “Don’t worry about it.”
But it was impossible for Hank to not think about it. He spent the next twenty minutes half focused on the drills and half focused on all the other defensemen on the Bandits’ roster. Watching them all, trying to figure out how Silas might switch up the pairs.
The most obvious choice would be switching him and Jonesy because Avery played on the left.
But there was no way that Silas could seriously be considering putting him with Avery freaking Barnes. Maybe Avery and Jonesy hadn’t quite clicked yet, but that didn’t mean with more work and time they wouldn’t.
Silas didn’t tend to make a lot of knee-jerk decisions. See him leaving Eth a center on the third line forever, even though it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was much better suited to playing wing—at least for now—on Max’s line.
“Your face is gonna freeze like that and then what’s Ethan going to do with you?” Jonesy asked during a break, as Hank was loitering by the boards, trying to pretend that he wasn’t watching as Avery naturally didn’t take the break but instead was running some edge-work drills.
His skating was a fucking marvel and watching him really proved to Hank that Silas would have to be fucking nuts to put them together.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hank lied, badly.
“You’re frowning, Tuck. What’s wrong?” Jonesy glanced over in the direction that Hank had been trying to pretend he wasn’t looking. “Oh, yeah, well, he makes us all look bad,” he added wryly.
Hank debated saying something, but it was obvious that Brock had already realized part of the problem. “You’re just having a tougher time adjusting to each other. V played in a really different system, and you just approach the ice in two distinct ways,” he offered.
He did not say that Avery made Brock look like every one of his thirty-two years.
And not that thirty-two couldn’t still be a fucking amazing d-man.
There was just an understandable adjustment when you were no longer the fastest or the strongest guy on the ice, and the problem was that Avery didn’t have to make those adjustments.
Brock smiled, looking tired. Worn out, really.
Which made sense. It was late January. They were all kind of tired.
The season was a slog, and this season had been especially tough, because they kept losing when they needed to be winning.
They were four games out of playoff contention, and the trade, which should’ve kick-started them, hadn’t seemed to make much difference.
“You’re a good guy, Tuck,” Brock said, patting him. “Remember that, okay?”
Hank didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he figured it out pretty damn quick when they came back after the break, Silas calling all the d-men over.
“We’re gonna switch a few things up,” Silas announced. “Nothing’s permanent, but I wanna see some different looks. Jonesy, why don’t you partner up with Keegan. I want Trey and Gian together. And V, you’re gonna be with Tuck.”
Hank had been half expecting this. It wasn’t that insane for the coaching staff to see what other options they had, if Avery and Brock never gelled right.
You weren’t going to waste that kind of opportunity.
But even though Avery had been unassuming and frankly ridiculously non-egotistical considering his skills since arriving in New York, Hank was still half convinced that he was going to put his hand up and say, Coach, I’m not partnering with some kid fresh up from the AHL. I’ve been a Norris finalist, twice.
But of course, in reality Avery would rather die than bring up the Norris in the middle of a practice. He just looked over at Hank and gave a nod.
That was about as good as anyone got out of Avery in a practice, it seemed, so Hank didn’t take it personally.
What he did take personally was the drill that the coaches picked, which Hank tried not to think was designed to make him look bad. That they hadn’t chosen it to prove to themselves that it would be a mistake to put Hank and Avery together.
Not thank Hank was bad at it; he wasn’t. It was just a drill practically invented to showcase all of Avery’s best skills.
Hank huffed out a breath and met Ethan’s eyes from across the ice. Let his steady gaze calm him. He was good, too. No Avery Barnes, but he could hold his own. He could.
The drill started—it was a gap-control drill with Jay, one of the line coaches, holding the puck—with Hank mirroring while Avery did his best to not give Jay a second to get properly positioned with the puck or to take any kind of shot on net.
The drill went on for about thirty seconds at top speed, Avery using his fucking amazing skating to keep right up with Jay, as Hank did his best to follow along and close any gaps that Avery might’ve given away with a slightly off angle.
The thing was, as Hank expected, Avery was really freaking good at this. Hank didn’t think he’d done half badly at it, either, when Avery turned to him.
Hank waited for the worst. Waited for the moment when Avery turned to Jay and Silas and said, What were you thinking?
But that wasn’t what he said at all. Instead, he shot Hank a blunt look and said, “You can actually keep up.”
“Uh,” Hank said. He knew he was pretty good. That he had skill. That he could be even better with time and practice.
Avery huffed out an annoyed breath. How was he not actually out of breath? Hank thought he was pretty conditioned, but Hank’s own chest was heaving a bit and Avery looked bored, like they were just getting going. “But,” he added, “you’re gonna need to keep up, too. There was that one move—”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. He’d gone on instinct some, and once, he’d read Avery’s intention wrong. If they played together more, he might not’ve, but they’d never been paired together before.
But Avery didn’t say anything else. Just looked over at Jay and said, so clearly there was no mistaking it, “He’s with me the rest of practice.”
“Uh,” Hank said again.
Avery only looked amused. “You got a problem with that, Tuck?”
“No, just . . .” Confused. Unsure. Positive that you don’t really want me.
But Hank got it too, because there really wasn’t anyone else. Willy might’ve been a better fit but he was out, week to week.
“Alright,” Avery said, like he didn’t really need an answer. And frankly, he probably didn’t.
They were almost done with practice, Hank sucking down water like he was dying of thirst—which, he kinda was, if he was being honest, because keeping up with Avery was fucking work—when Avery approached him. “You spent some time in Syracuse, yeah?” he asked, very casually.
Hank swallowed a big gulp of water. “Yeah.”
“Last year and this year, too, right?”
It was hard not to ask if it was emblazoned on his forehead or something. Because how else would Avery have known? He wasn’t exactly pulling out his phone to google Hank during practice.
“Yeah,” Hank admitted.
Avery grunted in the back of his throat. “You and I are gonna be a real talkative pair, aren’t we?”
God, that was probably true. It wasn’t that Hank didn’t talk but he was particular about who he talked to. Didn’t open up to just anyone. And if the person intimidated him, then it made it even tougher.
But then, if he and V couldn’t communicate, they wouldn’t end up paired together. And even with only half a practice under their belts, if Hank pulled back and left all his insecurities behind, he could see if he stepped up to the plate, how he and Avery might be a pretty good fit.
“How did you know?” Hank forced out of his mouth.
Avery raised a dark eyebrow. “How did I know what?”
“That I spent time in the AHL.” But it wasn’t surprising he’d had some idea about it; surely he’d looked up every guy on the Bandits he could be paired with. Even the ones that didn’t make sense, like Hank.
Avery chuckled. “You think my brother falls for a guy and I don’t look him up? But really, it’s more than that. A lot more. I had a feeling this trade would go down this year and I wanted to know who they’d put me with.”
“Jonesy, obviously,” Hank said.
But Avery only shrugged. Took another long drink of water. Shot Hank a conspiratorial grin. “Would you freak out even more if I told you I actually wanted you and not Jonesy from the beginning?”
Hank’s jaw dropped. “Because I’m Ethan’s—”
Avery just interrupted him with a flat look. “You think I’d pick out a d-partner because of who my brother’s fucking?”
He felt even dumber then. Out of his depth and confused.
“Anyone ever tell you that you think too much?” Avery asked, tone softening.
“All the fucking time.”
“Then quit it,” Avery said, shooting him one of the trademark Barnes quicksilver grins and then skating off.
After practice, he and Ethan headed to lunch and Hank was picking at his sandwich probably too obviously, when Ethan pinned him with one of those looks.
Hank had always assumed they were Ethan-branded, but now he was beginning to realize he’d gotten them from someplace else first. That someplace else being his eldest brother.
“What’s up with you?” Ethan asked.
“Nothing,” Hank said. Your brothers are all fucking intimidating. And not just because I know they’d rightfully kick my ass if I screwed up with you.
“That’s bullshit,” Ethan said, blinking hard at him. “Did my vision get worse in the last twenty-four hours?”
“No?”
“Then do you really think I’d miss that you were running drills with Avery? My brother Avery?”
“It’s just . . . it’s not a big deal,” Hank said weakly. Except it was, which was why he was still freaking out about it.
“It kinda seems like a big deal,” Ethan pointed out. “We should talk about it.”