Page 132 of Hockey Bois
Shit, guess I’m sprinting to the room…
He wasn’t as wet as he thought he’d be after the run. Then he fumbled with the slick keycard and learned just how leaky the upstairs walkway actually was. He’d barely gotten into the room by the time Brady was shouldering past the door behind him.
His T-shirt clung to him, as it probably had in the dining room, but somehow Nick hadn’t noticed, and Brady kicked the door closed like some kind of waterlogged hockey model.
“It’s getting worse,” Brady grumped.
“Don’t say that.”
“Well…” Brady tossed the bags onto the loveseat masquerading as a couch, way too small for either of them and certainly no substitute for the missing second bed. “Too late. I guess I can promise not to say it again.”
“You suck,” Nick whined.
Now Brady was running his hands through his hair. Where the fuck was his hat?He always wore a hat!This should be illegal.
“Wanna watch TV?” Brady suggested as he grabbed a remote.
Nick’s heart leapt. He was back in their last shared room, remembering in picture-perfect clarity how a night of TV had replaced the chance for anything else. It’d meant avoidance and rejection, and Nick bristled at the memory.
But no. One look at Brady, and it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He was relaxed, finally calmed down from the drive, and seemed genuinely interested in the pay-per-view movie selections.
Nick didn’t know what to do with that. Mentally he was spent; he needed to pass out for a reset. He’d zone out if he tried to watch anything. And he was certainly too exhausted to deal with… all of this.
“I’m actually kind of beat,” Nick said with a tentative glance to the bed. “How you wanna do this?”
“Pick a side. I’m gonna grab a towel; want one?”
How can you be so blasé about this!?he wanted to shout. “Sure,” was what he said.
More damp than dry, stripped of his wettest layers, Nick collapsed under the blankets and sighed in relief. It wasn’t home and it smelled a little musty, but it was dry.
“I’m not bothering to set an alarm,” Nick groaned. “I’m sure the absence of rain will wake me up, the silence so overpowering I’ll think I’ve gone deaf.”
“Uh huh.” Brady fiddled with his phone. “I’ll set one in case I fall asleep. Check how things are going in a couple hours.”
“’kay,” he said around a yawn. His adrenaline spent and his body safely shielded from Brady by the blankets, Nick was asleep within seconds.
*
He woke up to relative silence. For one hopeful second, he thought the rain had stopped, but no, he could still hear it banging against the window. Blinking his eyes open, he found the room was nearly black. It couldn’t be that late; it was most likely the storm making it appear dark. The only light came from the TV, screen on but dimmed and displaying the pay-per-view menu. Brady’s movie had ended and that must have woken Nick—the shift from movie noise to the steady thrum of rain outside.
As his eyes adjusted, he rolled over to survey the room. Where was Brady—?
His breath caught in his throat.
Nick had been facing the window, back to the room. Now he saw everything: a better view of the TV, the bathroom door ajar with its faint light peeking through, the ugly motel art by the door, their bags on the minuscule loveseat… and Brady sleeping no more than a foot away from him.
Brady always looked good. It was unfair how attractive he was, and more unfair that he could be sweaty, exhausted, and smelling of hockey gear and still outshine the sun. Now was no exception. His features were softened by sleep, his breathing long and steady and hitching on a barely audible snore that Nick shouldn’t be able to hear over the rain but they were thatcloseto each other.
Transfixed, Nick watched as Brady slept. It looked like he’d been leaning against the headboard to watch the movie and then gradually fallen asleep. He now slumped against his pillow with his hair cascading over his forehead and into his eyes.
That’s probably why he wears hats, Nick thought, an absurd thought. Almost as absurd as how his fingers itched to reach out and brush the stray hairs away, or to caress his cheek, or to justtouch, to bridge that divide that had always kept them apart.
Those last few inches…
He didn’t know how long he stared. Too long. There was no platonic length of time for watching his friend sleep.
Brady frowned and opened his eyes.
