20. Chapter 20 #2
“What is there to say? He and Jonesy aren’t clicking, everyone can see it, and who else are they gonna put with him? Willy maybe, but his knee isn’t getting better anytime soon.”
“Dude, you were the obvious choice. Not Jonesy, really, and definitely not Willy, even if his knee wasn’t fucked,” Ethan said flatly. “How do you not see that?”
Hank put down his sandwich. Couldn’t quite force himself to meet Ethan’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted quietly.
“When I said we should talk about it, you know I didn’t mean let’s talk about the fucking awesome possibility that you two could be d-partners and tear it up, because I think that’s pretty obvious—”
“It is?” Hank couldn’t help but interrupt.
Ethan put down his sandwich, which clearly meant something dire was about to go down.
“I’d tell you to stop being so self-deprecating, but I don’t think that’s it.
And you’ve never been necessarily cocky, but when I met you for the first time, there was just this .
. . quiet confidence about you. It was so fucking sexy.
I thought, I will never be cool enough for that guy. ”
“Me?” Hank squawked.
“You. And now it’s like . . . you’ve forgotten that. You’re good, Tuck. I know how much it sucked, being sent back to Syracuse all those times.”
“It did.” It had. And now that Hank was thinking about it, thinking back to that guy who’d met Ethan a year and a half ago, it was easier to see what had changed.
He had been sure. Sure that he’d make the Bandits’ roster, maybe not at the beginning of that season, but the next one?
He’d had an almost naive sense of rightness about that thought.
Knew he could do it and knew he’d deserve it.
When had the going up and down started to chip away at that confidence?
Hank didn’t know and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to put his finger on exactly when it started, but he could look back and see now that it had.
And he hadn’t even noticed it, not until this situation with Avery and Ethan bluntly pointing it out to him.
“Do you know the first time anyone ever said your name to me?” Ethan asked softly.
Hank shook his head.
“It was Charlie. We were sitting around the firepit and I hadn’t even been drafted to the Bandits yet, but it was after the combine, and people were starting to talk.
” Ethan made a face. “Okay, they’d been talking for awhile, but it was the first time the rumors really started to heat up, because the Bandits had the eighth pick, and that was about where a lot of experts ranked me in the draft class.
Charlie didn’t want to get ahead of himself—I didn’t want to get ahead of both of us—but one night, he’d had one too many beers and started talking about the team.
Not just Max, though obviously that was a popular subject, but the other guys on the team too.
Danny and Jonesy and Dom and Gabby and all these guys that he wanted me to play with.
But then he talked about the up-and-comers too.
The guys I’d be rookies with, maybe. And he said, there’s this offensive d-man who I think is gonna be just as good as Avery, if not better.
” Ethan looked so earnest Hank’s heart was melting, and he knew what he was going to say before he even said it. “That guy was you, Hank.”
Hank swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
Ethan reached over and tangled their hands together, ignoring the smear of mustard on his thumb. “You’re so good, and I want everyone to see that—though I think they already kinda do—but even more than that, I want you to see it again.”
“Kind of like how I want you to see how great you fit in with Max and Gabby?” Hank asked archly. But he was smiling. Feeling lighter inside than he’d been in ages. Funny that the confidence wasn’t really gone, just currently a bit misplaced.
Ethan barked out a laugh. “Is that how it’s gonna be?”
Hank squeezed his hand. “It’s how it’s been so far.”
It was a lot later that night, when they were having dinner at Max’s place—all of them, all three Barneses and Max and Hank—when Avery approached him again.
Hank was bringing dishes into the kitchen, and to his surprise, Avery had already parked himself at the sink.
“I told Charlie not to bother, for once,” Avery said, glancing over at him. “You can bring those over here.”
“Yeah?”
Avery rolled his eyes. “If Charlie had his way, he’d clean every inch of not only his apartment, but Max’s, and he’s making me a little nuts, right now. Maybe Max can sit on him or something.”
“His own personal weighted blanket,” Hank observed, and Avery barked out a laugh as he flicked the water on.
“He could use that,” Avery agreed. Gave him a look. “You’re funny. Not that I believed Eth would go for a guy without a sense of humor, but you’re quiet about it.”
Hank knew. “Like you said at practice; we’re gonna be the quietest d-pair in the east. Maybe in the whole NHL.”
Avery laughed again but the look he gave him before his attention returned to the dirty dishes in the sink was contemplative. “You’ve been thinking about it, huh?”
“Well, yeah,” Hank said. “How could I not? Coaches seem to want it. You said you want it.”
“What about what you want?”
Hank leaned against the kitchen counter. “For awhile, I wasn’t really thinking beyond how much I wanted to make the roster and finally stay there.”
“For better or for worse, I never had that struggle,” Avery said matter-of-factly. And of course he hadn’t. He was a generational talent.
“No,” Hank said dryly.
“I said for better or for worse for a reason,” Avery said.
“I was overwhelmed, at first, when I got to the NHL. Got dumped into the deep end, immediately, because everyone just assumed I could do it. You had more time to get used to the speed and the strength and the schedule. More developmental time. Less pressure.”
Hank hadn’t ever thought of it that way; had only thought, like when he’d been a kid in midgets and every time he’d let in a goal he’d sat on the bench after and cried, that he might end up being a failure. That in the end, the only person who might believe in him might be him.
All potential. No follow-through.
But that hadn’t happened. He’d worked hard. He’d made the most of his opportunities.
He hadn’t failed. Instead, he’d fucking succeeded.
“I can see that,” Hank said slowly.
“But here’s the other thing,” Avery said, shooting him a look, and Hank didn’t need more than that to pick up a towel and begin to take the dishes that Avery handed him, drying each one after he washed it.
“You spent a lot of time in the AHL. Maybe more than you should’ve. Those guys are there for a reason.”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. Hated to say it, because he’d been one of them, but there was a reason they hadn’t made it to the NHL yet.
“They’re a hair slower and slightly less skilled. Which isn’t to say they can’t get better. But you play down to what you’re around all the time. You become a reflection of what you see, constantly.”
Hank had a feeling he understood what Avery was trying to say. He didn’t need to be so careful about it; Hank could take the criticism. Needed the honesty, especially if they were going to end up paired together.
But he shouldn’t have worried. Avery looked over at him and continued. “You’ve got the talent and the skill and the capability. But you’ve gotten a little lazy.”
“Ouch,” Hank said. But not hurt about it, not really, because Avery was right, and Hank had needed someone to say it.
“Not your fault, really. Nobody’s pushing you.” Avery gave him an expectant look. “You want to be pushed, Tuck?”
Impossible not to think about when he’d first thought he might be attracted to Ethan. There’d been a moment, balanced on the precipice of that realization that he might like guys like that when he’d considered shying away from it. Turning away. Not embracing what he knew to be true.
But Hank had never been the guy to let his fear own him.
He’d only met every challenge with a determination of his own, pulled from the endless well inside him.
He’d faced down his insecurities and told them to fuck right off, and he’d won the guy.
Ethan was his, a precious kind of gift he didn’t think he’d ever take for granted—and if he did, he knew there were at least two guys out there, probably more though, who would kick his ass about it.
Time to do this, too.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Hank told Avery, and Avery smiled at him.
“I thought so.”
Ethan fully expected Si to come into the locker room before the game and read the lineup out, changing it up as he had at practice. This was his fifth game starting on Max’s line now and he knew that by the time Hank and Avery hit that mark, they were going to be an unstoppable force.
But when Silas walked in and read the lineup, nothing was changed.
Avery with Brock. Hank with Keegan.
He expected Avery to complain. To bitch about it. But Avery didn’t even look up from his skates.
Ethan met Hank’s eyes across the locker room and Hank just tilted his head, shrugging briefly, like it’s alright.
But it wasn’t really alright.
Still, Avery started the game with Jonesy, and midway through the first period, they had a weird line change, getting caught with an extra man on the ice, and they went on the penalty kill.
It was a short one, because one of the Flyers’ guys hit a breakaway, escaping from Jonesy’s containment, and hit the net just above Dom’s shoulder.