Page 126 of Hockey Bois
Young Greg’s eyes lit up, and he practically vibrated with excitement. “BRO! Did you see that laser experiment they’re doing to prove the Earth is flat? See, the way it works is…”
A half hour later, Nick was nodding along to a very strange explanation of how the moon landing hadn’t solely been used to fuel American propaganda (which, granted, it had been used for, even if admitting so out loud somehow meant agreeing that the government had also filmed the whole thing in a Hollywood lot) but to propagate the myth of a round Earth. It was actually impressive how much thought Young Greg had put into this whole thing. It was wrong, all of it, but Nick enjoyed the enthusiasm. He also questioned the Maryland education system, but he got the distinct impression that Young Greg’s love of conspiracy theories was fueled by too much time on the internet. He was self-taught, as it were, and nothing a teacher or expert could say would make him change his mind.
“You guys get lost?”
They turned to see Brady before he slid an arm around Young Greg’s shoulder. Nick tried hard not to be jealous. “You drinking water?” Brady asked seriously.
“I will.”
“So no?”
“Iwill!” Young Greg whined, then grabbed the remains of his beer and fled to the rest of the team for protection.
Brady turned to Nick, giving him a once over that he hadn’t given Young Greg. “Having fun?” he teased.
“Young Greg is insane, and I’m slightly worried for the future. But thankfully he’s studying programming and not like… science or something. Programmers are weird, right? Quirky?”
“Yeah, usually.” Brady took Nick’s beer out of his hands, smelled it, and put it aside. “You drinking light beers now? They got a good porter on tap. Figured that was more your thing.”
His protest about stolen beer became an open-mouthed gawk. “Did you—did you just make a pun about my name?”
Brady’s lips twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. “What? Nick Porter doesn’t like porters?”
“I hate you.” He really didn’t. “So not fair. There are no jokes I can make about your name.”
Brady’s eyes darkened, and he turned away. “Lucky me,” he muttered, and flagged down a bartender to order them beers. “C’mon, let’s go be social.”
Ten minutes later, the team was hotly debating which version of Spider-Manwould make a better hockey player, with most of the votes going to Tom Hollandbut with the Spider Gwen contingent gaining traction.
For all Nick’s worry about falling drunkenly into Brady’s hotel room if given the chance, he was so caught up in the team dynamics that he had the perfect distraction against temptation. He got to enjoy Brady’s dry barbs about both characters as much as he got to enjoy Gail arm-wrestling Lexi (and winning) to prove a point. In this bubble built by the tournament and the hotel bar, he was safe from Brady Derek Jensen’s charms.
Or at least he was safe from acting on his attraction to them.
*
Brady’s Jeep shook as they passed over a speed bump too quickly, and Nick braced himself automatically. It seemed Brady’s speed was increasing as his desperation for a parking spot grew.
“It makes no sense,” Nick said while Brady rounded another corner in the parking garage. “How do we lose to the Louisiana team but beat the Chicago team?”
“I have no fucking clue,” Brady said. He signaled for an open spot, then realized the spot was already taken by a motorcycle. He sighed and kept going. “Hockey’s weird as shit sometimes.”
“Think we’ll do okay in the semi-finals?”
“Honestly? We’re gonna get slaughtered if we go up against that Michigan team again. They’ve won every game so far.”
“We gotta go through New York first. We did okay against them.”
Brady didn’t answer as he backed into an empty spot hidden behind a concrete column. “Yeah, but they’ve got more depth,” he finally said as he shut off his car. “My guess is we have at most two games left. Plenty of time to get some rest before heading out tomorrow.”
“Well, some of us aren’t crazy enough to drive all the way to friggin’ Canada,” Nick said. He had to wiggle around the column, but it was otherwise a good spot close to the main stairwell. “I can sleep on the plane if our games go late.”
“It’s only, like, double driving to Pittsburgh,” Brady said dismissively. He checked his phone. “Looks like Benns’s family is waiting for us at the Hall of Fame.”
That was his new plan for navigating this Brady thing. The two of them got caught in each other’s orbit too much, and Nick didnotwant a repeat of PA. He didn’twantto be pissed or hurt or let down or unhappy, and having teammates around had helped last night for drinks, so why not keep the trend going? Inviting Benns’s family to the Hall of Fame made sense, both strategically and because his girls would get the most out of it. Everyone else just wanted to drink and hang out in the hotel lobby, which was extremely boring to kids under the age of twelve.
They took the stairs up to the main level two at a time.
“I’m surprised you didn’t drive. Nice summer vacation in Canada, the freedom to spend an extra day if you want or make some stops on the way back…”
