Page 109 of Hockey Bois
Nick squinted and tried to think. “Not much, I don’t think? Like, I remember getting to the rink, and I remember playing, but I don’t really remember anything else. There’re some things that maybe I remember or maybe it’s just my brain trying to come up with a memory for things I know happened. I know I got hit, so I kind of have a mental picture for that, but I have no idea if it’s real or not.”
Brady nodded along and slid the nachos closer. Nick took one but didn’t eat it, just absentmindedly used it as a prop as he kept talking.
“I know the Gregs and Gail helped me out in the locker room, and I can totally picture it… except if you ask me any details about what bench we used or who did what, I have no clue. And I know you took me to the clinic by the rink, but I don’t remember being in the car or talking to the doctor or anything. First thing I actually remember is waking up and wondering what the hell Jenna was doing on my nice recliner while I was passed out on my shitty old couch.”
Brady nodded again. He looked disappointed but unsurprised. “So you basically lost the whole night?”
“Yep. Why, I say some really embarrassing shit or something?”
“I’ve seen you eat it painfully on the ice. I’ve seen you take an epic swing at a puck only to miss entirely. You’ve never been embarrassed, ever, so I’m not sure what you’d have to say to feel anything close to embarrassment.”
That surprised him. Nick had been embarrassed a great many times in his life, and a startling number of those times had occurred in front of Brady Derek Jensen. Sure, he laughed them off, but some had been downright mortifying at the time.
And apparently Brady hadn’t noticed.
Nick faked a laugh and ate his nacho in an attempt to look natural. “So what I’m hearing is, I said some ridiculous stuff, but you’re not going to tell me what.”
Brady tried to hide a smile. “It wasn’t that bad, I promise. You asked me a million times what happened to my hand. That was the worst of it.”
“Oh.” That was a relief considering the wealth of things hewantedto say to Brady, and a whole lot more that heneverwanted to say to Brady. “Guess that’s not so bad.” Fuck, why was he upset hehadn’tsaid anything else? Rather than overanalyze it, Nick changed the topic. “Thanks for taking me to the doctor, by the way. Not sure if I actually put that into words already or if I was too out of it.”
“I’d say ‘any time,’ but you better not get your dumb ass concussed again, so I’ll leave it at ‘you’re welcome.’”
“I don’t think it was my ass that got concussed, but okay.” He stole the last nacho. It was soggy and kind of gross, but it gave him something to look at that wasn’t light-blue eyes. “You gonna abandon me to shitty bars once your suspension is up?”
“Absolutely. Though by then, the lights and ice shouldn’t hurt your eyes or whatever. You could come be our cheerleader.”
“I’ll see if I can find some pompoms.”
They didn’t talk about concussions or any other dangerous stuff like feelings for the rest of the game. It was a good reminder that this “friend” thing they had going wasn’t completely busted.
Chapter Twelve: The Championship Run
The Jagr Bombs waited outside the rink doors, the pre-game chatter more subdued than usual.
The ice glistened as the Zamboni disappeared into its little corner of the rink. The few times he’d gone skating as a kid, Nick had always tried to be the first out after the Zamboni cleaned the ice. When it was this wet, he could get a running start and slide headfirst through center ice. It got him in trouble with the rink staff. Hurt, too,becausehe’d been a terrible skater and had usually fallen right out of the doors.
Now the impulse niggled at the back of his mind, but his focus was on the game.
Hockey nerves weren’t uncommon for him. His first month, he’d had butterflies in his stomach from the time his car entered the parking lot until midway through his first shift. He’d managed to fool himself into thinking he was over pre-game jitters. But today, he felt that same energy buzzing beneath his skin; it kind of made him want to throw up. There weren’t a whole lot of big games, not for rec-league adult hockey, so maybe that’s why he’d thought he was past this.
This was, unfortunately, a big game. The biggest game he’d ever played in. Of course, his dad always said, “the most important game is the one you’re about to play,” but there were actual stakes to this one beyond season rankings.
If they won today’s game, they were still alive. If they lost, they were once again kicked out. Bye bye, championship. Maybe next time, tournament.
No one was talking about that, though, so Nick refused to think about it.
They were going to win, Nick was going to contribute, and that stupid coffee cup would be theirs.
There were still a couple minutes on the timer for warm-ups, but most of the team was at the benches.
Apparently Nick wasn’t the only one who felt nervous, and he figured that’s why everyone jumped when Young Greg started talking.
“Welcome to the Wheaton Cup Semi-Finals. I’m Young Greg, here with Young Greg, to give you guys the full game commentary,” Young Greg said into his water bottle.
“Thanks, Young Greg,” he said to himself with a nod. “And, by the way, may I say you look stunning today?”
He paused, scooting down the bench to play the role of his other self. “Thanks, bro. You too.”
