Page 145 of Hockey Bois
Brady huffed in annoyance and nearly strangled the bottle of beer before he answered. “I thought you were a disaster and I hoped you weren’t on my team because I didn’t want to have to play with someone who sucked and wouldn’t listen to criticism. I’ve been on enough teams with guys like that; didn’t want to do it again.”
That was… disappointing, but it made sense. Not like he’d thought much of Brady at the time, either. “Is that why you were such a grump and wouldn’t give me the time of day?”
“I wasnota grump—”
“It was like a whole month before I even saw you smile!”
Brady opened his mouth to argue, but Nick interrupted. “You were a grump, don’t worry about it. You’re cute when you’re grumpy. So why’d you change your mind about me? Is it ’cuz I’m cute? Please tell me it’s ’cuz I’m cute.”
That earned him a middle finger. “Actually it’s because I saw you at stick-and-puck. You weren’t great, but you weren’t nearly as bad as I’d worried you’d be, and you were trying to get better, so I figured you were okay.”
“Not a total disgrace to the sport and the name Jagr?”
Brady smiled, the exact same shy smile Nick had gotten to see at that stick-and-puck. “Something like that. So why’d you start playing hockey as an adult?”
“This is truth or dare, Jens. You don’t just get to ask me a question like that.”
He made a face. “Fine, truth or dare? Spoiler: Iwilldare you to jump into the river.”
“Wow, you really know how to manipulate the game. Truth.”
“Why’d you start playing hockey so late?”
“I’m notthatold.”
“I started when I was three. Are you three?”
“No, but—”
“Four? Maybe a late bloomer at five?”
“Fuck off.” He did his best to maintain a stern scowl despite Brady’s shit-eating grin. Give a little, get a little, right? “Never played or skated as a kid. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t really a hockey area like Pittsburgh. Not a lot of youth programs or rinks. My parents like hockey, but it wasn’t a dream of theirs to have a kid who won them the Cup or whatever. They didn’t play when they were kids, and we didn’t know people whose kids played…” He shrugged, going for nonchalant but feeling too stiff. “I didn’t want to play when I was that young, either. There was other stuff going on, and with a lack of opportunity and awareness, it didn’t occur to me to ask for it, y’know?”
Brady nodded as he took a swig of his beer. “I get that. But what made you pick up a stick one day and go ‘yeah, now’s the time’?”
“That’s… that’s a good question.” Nick had explained it to other people, most notably his mom who was concerned for his safety—and unfortunately his concussion had justified her fears—but he wanted to be more honest now. With Brady. “I went to one of my high school’s games when I was a junior. We’d won States the year before, and there was this energy at the game… seeing those guys out there—kids my age—I guess I was jealous and thought I’d missed my chance. They’d all been playing since they were kids. Three or four or five or whatever. And Ididfeel super old at sixteen. Way too old to start, much less get anywhere as good as they were, skating as easily as they walked. So I put aside that wish and it stayed in my subconscious for a while, kind of festering more each passing year.
“As an adult, even further removed from my chance to play, I heard about co-workers and friends doing adult leagues for fun. They did softball and dodge ball and pool, and I thought, well, maybe there’s adult hockey. Maybe they’ve got classes for adults who can barely skate. I can’t be the only one out there who wants to try. I’ve got time. I’ve got money. If I want to give it a shot, I can. So after hesitating for a few months, I said ‘fuck it’ and signed up for an adult Intro to Hockey class.”
“And the rest is history,” Brady said as he tapped their beer bottles together.
“And the rest is history,” he agreed. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Nick went for coy but knew he was a long cry from it when he asked, “How long have you wanted in my pants?”
Brady choked on his beer; Nick had to pat his back and almost felt bad for his timing.
Almost.
“I don’t know,” he said as he gasped for air, red-faced and eyes watering. “A while? Just, uh… wasn’t sure you were interested or what you were interested in.”
Nick wanted to answer that he wanted anything, everything, but he held back. Too soon, even in these moments of truth building between them. “Fair,” he said instead. “Hard starting something with a teammate.”
“Starting something’s easy,” Brady said. “It’s the aftermath that’s tricky, and we both have a good thing going with the Jagr Bombs.”
There was something there, a bitterness that spoke of experience. Before Nick could diplomatically broach the topic, Brady took over.
